Brother Wind (16 page)

It was a jointed hook, its two pieces carved from bone and bound together with twisted sinew line. The straight strong shaft ended in a small socket that held the bulb end of the barb. It was a wonderful hook. The sinew would snap before the hook broke, and even if the barb broke, replacing it would mean carving only part of the hook instead of the whole thing. Better than my clamshell hooks, Kukutux thought, but then wondered if the hook would be worth spending a night with a trader as Many Babies had. Who could tell what a trader would do? What did a trader care if he angered or offended a woman? There was no need to protect a friendship with the woman’s husband or father. There was no need to keep peace with others in the village. What protection did a woman have against a trader except her own wits?

Kukutux watched as Many Babies threw her pebble-weighted fishing line into the water. If a trader was happy with Many Babies, he would be happy with me, Kukutux thought.

Many Babies was old. Her face was lined, and her hair had swaths of white at each temple. She was not ugly, no. And though she had given Hard Rock five babies, she was still strong and straight. Unlike most women in the village, her cheeks were not sunken nor her body too thin from a winter of starving.

The whales had not come to Whale Hunter waters last summer, and there were few seals, but Hard Rock had managed to bring in enough sea lions to share and still have meat and oil to keep his wives well fed. In most families, hunters had taken enough only for themselves. The women and children had to live on what could be gathered from the beaches, saving oil and rich meat for the men. Hunters had to eat first. What hope would the village have if the hunters grew weak and thin?

Kukutux felt a tug at her line. She waited a moment, then jerked her hands to set the hook. She felt the weight of the fish, pulling, then suddenly the line was slack.

“Gone?” Many Babies asked.

Kukutux nodded.

“Check your bait,” Many Babies said.

Kukutux did not look at the woman. She wrapped the line around the thick driftwood stick she held in her left hand. It was always that way when she fished with Many Babies. The woman told her what to do, as though Kukutux were a child just learning women’s ways.

Kukutux told herself to be patient, to remember the joy she had felt when Many Babies invited her to fish in the ik. She asked only because I have no ik, Kukutux reminded herself. It is not because Hard Rock told her to ask me.

“It got your bait?” Many Babies asked.

“Yes.”

“Wrap your hook better. You do not do it right. You are like your mother. She always lost her bait.”

Kukutux pressed her lips together and wrapped another strip of gut tightly around the hook, then began to unwind her line, but Many Babies reached over, grabbed her line, inspected the hook. Kukutux looked away as the woman removed the bait, spit on it, then wrapped it over the hook once more.

“I wonder that you catch anything,” Many Babies said. “I see why you are so thin. It is a good thing you do not have a husband to feed. It is a good thing you are not nursing a baby. You can eat all your fish. Me, I must share with my husband and my children, even with my sister wives’ children. If you knew how to do a few things, you would eat well and be fat. Then you would
have no
trouble finding a husband.”

Many Babies released Kukutux’s line and let it fall into the water. She watched as Kukutux unwound the line, then said, “Yes, in these two years we have all mourned. The spirits favored me. I lost no one except a sister wife, but when life is lived as the spirits would have us live it—with respect to all things—then we are favored.”

Kukutux took a long breath, let it out in a sigh. How many nights had she lain awake in her sleeping robes trying to recall something she had done, some impoliteness, some disrespect, that might have brought a curse to those she loved. How many times had she asked herself why she of all the people in the village had lost everyone—husband, child, parents, brother, sister—everyone but her brother’s wife, and her brother’s wife was a selfish woman.

“You are sure you did not eat puffin meat?” Many Babies asked. “It is taboo for women at the age of bearing children.”

“I did not,” Kukutux answered. Each time she was with Many Babies, the woman asked questions, as though in proving Kukutux at fault, she could restore the village to what it once had been.

“You did not step across your husband’s weapons? You did not touch his food during your bleeding times?”

“No,” Kukutux said softly. There was a strong jerk on her line. She waited a moment, then set the hook, felt the satisfying weight of a fish on the line.

“You are sure you did not …”

“I have a fish,” Kukutux said.

“Another?”

Kukutux let herself smile at the frown on Many Babies’ face. “Another,” Kukutux said. “It is big.”

She struggled with the fish, winding the line in slowly, letting it out again as the fish made a quick, hard run toward the shore and then turned back out to sea. It was a halibut. She was sure of it, but she was afraid if she said the words out loud, some spirit would think her too proud and turn the fish into something smaller. So she sat as though she fought against pogy or cod, and for a long time let the fish tire itself against the line.

Kukutux’s arms began to ache, and she flexed her shoulders. Her breathing was jagged and short. The catcher’s share of a halibut—if the fish was as big as it felt on her line—would give her meat for several days. Kukutux made herself take a long breath, but the hope in her chest seemed to take up so much space that she did not have room for air.

I want the fish too much, she thought. But what was better than rich thick slabs of halibut, boiled with lovage and dipped in oil? You are foolish, she told herself. What better way to lose a fish than to see it in your boiling bag before it is in your ik?

Many Babies coiled in her line and set it aside. From the corner of her eyes, Kukutux could see the woman twisting her hands, moving as though she fought a spirit fish on a line made of wind. Then Many Babies reached over, clasped Kukutux’s hands.

“It is a halibut. It must be a halibut,” Many Babies said.

Kukutux, arms and chest muscles aching, only nodded. Why waste strength on words?

“Let me take it. I will take it,” Many Babies said. “I am stronger than you.”

“No,” Kukutux said. “No,” she repeated, though it was difficult to find breath enough for words.

“Lean forward,” Many Babies said, then after watching for a moment shouted out, “Lean back.”

Kukutux did not listen. She knew she must think only of the fish and of the line that brought the fish’s movements to her hands.

“I was catching halibut when you were only a baby,” Many Babies said. “I was catching halibut when you knew nothing more than to make messes in your own bed.”

“The fish is tiring,” Kukutux answered. “Paddle us closer to shore. Perhaps we can pull him up with us on the beach.”

Many Babies snorted, but she picked up the paddle and, nodding toward Kukutux’s line, said, “Tell me the next time it heads toward shore.”

Many Babies held the paddle just above the water until Kukutux called out, “Now!” Then she plunged the paddle into the water, moving the ik with quick, powerful strokes toward shore.

Kukutux wound the slack line, working as quickly as she could. The fish pulled back, slipped under the ik and again out to sea. Kukutux let out a little more line, then allowed the fish to fight. She called again when it headed toward shore.

Many Babies paddled, and finally Kukutux heard her cry out, “We have a halibut!”

Then there were men—Tall Hands and Fish Eater and two of the traders—in the water with gaffs and leisters, and Kukutux watched Fish Eater, that old man, as he plunged his leister into the fish. Tall Hands and Fish Eater brought the thrashing halibut to shore, and Tall Hands clubbed it until it was still.

Kukutux, the line still in her hand, climbed out of the ik. The halibut was as big as a large man. With the catcher’s portion, Kukutux would have enough to dry and save.

But then Many Babies was beside Kukutux, pushing Kukutux away. “I caught it,” Many Babies said. She ran to Fish Eater. “Fresh meat today!” she said to him. “You will have a double share for your help.”

Kukutux opened her mouth to protest, but for a moment she had no words. She looked at Many Babies, raised the driftwood stick wound with fishline that ran to the halibut’s mouth. “I caught it,” Kukutux said, her words soft. Fish Eater turned and looked at her.

“Many Babies …” he said, then narrowed his one seeing eye and looked away from Kukutux.

“I caught the fish!” Kukutux said, her words louder. “It is my fish.”

Tall Hands and the traders turned and stared at her.

“You lie!” Many Babies said. “I caught it.”

Again Kukutux held up her hand. The driftwood stick was painted with her mark, two circles side by side. She pointed to the circles. “See? My line.”

Tall Hands shook his head, and the traders looked away, shuffling their feet against the beach gravel.

And Kukutux thought, How can they stand against Many Babies when she is wife to the chief whale hunter? But Many Babies had a hunter to bring her food, and Kukutux had only what she herself could find. If she stood against Many Babies, what would the woman tell Hard Rock? What if she asked Hard Rock not to take Kukutux as wife? Then what would happen?

Can I hunt seals myself and so have enough oil for the next winter? Kukutux thought. She had almost starved through the last winter, even with sea lion bellies of oil from her husband’s hunting.

“We fished together,” Kukutux said. “The fish took my line, but Many Babies helped me.” She looked at Many Babies, hoped the woman would agree, but Many Babies threw back her head and stared hard at Kukutux.

“I caught the fish with my line,” Many Babies said. “You think my husband will not believe me?”

“Look,” Kukutux said. She coiled the kelp line around her stick until her hands were only an arm’s length from the halibut’s mouth. “My line,” she said, and again she held the stick so the men could see the marks.

“What is her mark?” one of the traders asked.

“Two circles,” Kukutux said, holding the stick toward him.

“Her mark is two circles?” the trader asked and looked at the men around him. Tall Hands shrugged, coughed, and turned away, but Fish Eater nodded.

“Then it is her fish.”

Kukutux looked up, boldly met the trader’s eyes. “Many Babies should have an equal share,” she said, but Many Babies had turned her back on all of them and was walking toward the ulas. Kukutux looked after her, but then said, “More for the rest of.us.”

She took her woman’s knife from its packet and squatted beside the fish, ready to give shares. “Tell your wives and sisters to come,” she said. “Everyone will have fresh fish today.”

Fish Eater went up toward the ulas, and Kukutux began to slice the fish into sections. Tall Hands took a portion. But as he was carrying his share to his ulaq, Many Babies came back and stood beside Kukutux.

“I have come for my share,” Many Babies said.

“The head and half of what is left after the dividing is yours,” Kukutux said, giving Many Babies more than what she should expect.

Many Babies laughed, a snort that blew out from her nose. “You think that will make me tell my husband to take you as fifth wife?”

And Kukutux knew that Many Babies’ arguing was not about a fish, but about a husband. So Kukutux said, “You know the fish is mine. You know that I have just offered you the catcher’s share. What more do you want?”

“You think I care about a fish?” Many Babies said. “No. My husband is a good hunter. I have food enough to eat, for myself and my children and grandchildren.” Her voice was loud, and Kukutux, looking up from her knife, saw that other women of the village had begun to gather, each with a carrying net to take a share of the halibut.

“I do not want this fish,” Many Babies said. “I only want you to know what it is like to have someone else take something that is yours. What is that fish compared to my husband?”

There was murmuring among the women, and Kukutux’s face began to burn.

“You think I do not see the way you look at my husband? You think he needs another wife to feed? You think I want to share my children’s food with a woman who cannot even use both arms?”

Kukutux bent her head over the fish. She held some hope in her heart that one of the other women would speak for her—Night Woman, who had also lost a husband and was now third wife to a man too old to hunt, or Long Wood, an old woman known for her wisdom. But the women were silent, so finally Kukutux lifted her head and stood up. Her woman’s knife, red with halibut blood, was still in her right hand, and she moved it, only slightly, so that the sharp edge of the blade was out, ready to slice any false words Many Babies might say.

“Your husband is a strong hunter,” Kukutux said. “He is a leader among our people. If he asks me to be his wife, then I will be his wife. If he does not, I will find some way to live through this next winter without a husband. I do not try to dishonor him or you by my actions.” She moved her head toward the halibut. “Though I caught the fish, I have offered you the catcher’s share, and you know that I need the meat more than you do.”

“I will take the catcher’s share,” Many Babies said and pushed through the women to grab a large slab of meat and the halibut’s head. The women made loud sounds of disapproval, but Many Babies took the meat and did not look back.

“Make our shares smaller,” Long Wood said.

Kukutux shook her head. “I do not carry a child, I do not nurse. I need less meat. Who knows, perhaps Many Babies carries a child in her belly, one so small we do not yet know about it.” And though Kukutux said the words with gentleness, all the women laughed. Who did not know that Many Babies was past the years of bearing children? Who did not know that Many Babies would eat the fish herself?

M
ANY BABIES SCRAMBLED DOWN
the climbing log and threw a slab of halibut meat on the floor between Waxtal and Hard Rock.