Distant Fires (2 page)

           Strangely, it was not put to the test, for he made no further attempt to “trouble” her. Thereafter, they were to sleep side by side with little more than incidental contact, in an arrangement that both puzzled and secretly relieved her. But while they were not to know married life through physical union amidst this cool and inauspicious beginning, the usual formality and reticence between married couples was replaced by an easy friendship. There was little indication that the seed of emotion was taking root, in a manner nothing in their upbringing could have foretold.
 

The initial few weeks behind him, Salgan came to know his new people and his place within the community, and in his ease, his true personality began to emerge. A skilful storyteller, he often regaled his eager audiences with fables, and in his dealings with women and children, reflected an attitude more capable and respectful than many of his elders and fellow clansmen, involved in purely masculine pursuits.  
 

For brief intervals throughout the day, he would seek out his young wife, amusing her with riddles, word games, even private reflections, sharing on a level heretofore unknown to her. Though young and hardworking, his were the hands of the craftsman rather than the warrior; his woodworking skills held in such esteem that in a very short time, word of his proficiency spread throughout the trading community. Soon he was extolled as one of a very select group of artisans in designing tools, adornment, and household/hunting items; an ability indispensable to community life.                                               
 

 One summer day in the quiet early hours, Ehta sat alone on a log bench outside the long house, beading necklaces out of colourful shells she had gathered with her cousins the previous day. Salgan had been different, as of late; distant. Not that he had changed in any overall way, but either by choice or responsibility, the playfulness they shared showed sign of diminishing. She saw less and less of him, and all but communal meals were shared in diligent silence. Moreover, recently, to her dismay, he had chosen to sleep with his fellow braves in the fields, causing her to wonder if it were a question of male camaraderie or a deliberate attempt to exclude her. She missed him and ached to tell him so, but his inaccessibility prevented her from expressing it. Perhaps she was being overly sensitive. Why, she wondered, did the slightest change on his part fill her with such emptiness and self-approbation?
 

           Her cousins joined her on the bench. Salgan appeared, without signalling his presence, and she watched as he set to work on the repair of a canoe taken on a recent trade with an Algonkian He was unusually quiet, hands moving with the assurance of his craft, giving no indication of listening to the interplay between herself and her cousins.  
 

She tried to keep her attention fixed on her task, but each time she glanced in his direction, she could not help but admire the long limbs, the veins and flexed muscle along the arms that flowed into his gleaming bronze chest. His eyes strayed to her and she felt herself flush. She forced herself to concentrate on a conversation with her cousin, Ottanwa, but he seemed to be following her words with a serious and unspoken fascination. Yielding to her first reaction, she smiled, and to her bewilderment and disappointment, he frowned, quickly turning away.   
 

What had she done to elicit such open hostility?  Surely she had shown him the value of his friendship in countless little ways. Had she somehow become the focus of his contempt? Careful to hide the extent of her hurt, she resumed chatting, but her mind was distracted, mulling over any action on her part that could give rise to such response.  
 

Sometime later, he moved into the gathering, less a participant than casual onlooker, his expression remote, as though wrestling with a problem. Preoccupied with the source of his confusion, she lifted the basket, and with a slip of her hands, sent loose shells flying in all
directions. Ordinarily the incident would have served to amuse, but his strange behaviour had so unnerved and hurt, she felt merely foolish. Fighting back tears, she bent to retrieve them, but Salgan’s close proximity as he came to her aid resulted in a further cascade of shells, and she fled from the scene in humiliation.
 

Salgan raced ahead, barring her from entry to the longhouse doorway. Lowering her head to mask her discomfiture, she attempted to walk around him, but he refused to budge.   
 

“Ehta, why do you worry about such a small accident? Are you so unhappy?” His concern was genuine, his voice soothing, but she didn’t want his interest if it came from pity. She wanted to ask him why he no longer spent time with her alone, why he watched her but rarely spoke, why he had never again sought the warmth of her body in the darkness to make them truly man and wife. And why did he now wish to be near her when his attitude of late had been anything but warm?
 

“I suppose it is because we do not play together as we used to.”  It was as near to the truth as she could muster.
 

She was at a loss to understand his motivation but sensed an action was at hand. True to her instincts, he smiled and tossed the handful of shells, still held, into the air.
 

She could not help but grin at the silliness of it all, but the instant the spell was broken, his voice, when it came, was again uncharacteristically tentative, even distant:  “The canoe must be tried to see if it has been properly repaired. I had planned to go upriver. Would you like to come along?
 

She was startled by his proposal, questioning his purpose when recent actions indicated feelings of a different sort, but her curiosity was equal to the unexpected thrill of sharing him with no one. To her surprise, she felt a warm, tingling excitement sweep through her body from her toes to her fingers in anticipation. Unable to disseminate the intensity of these unfamiliar feelings, she felt it necessary to hide them.  
 

“When?”  She inquired, coolly.
 

“Now. Today.” He responded, his tone anxiously conveying the belief that she would not accept.
 

She looked to the pale blue skies above his head that gave the promise of another day of blistering heat. “Well,” she replied, fighting to remain unmoved, “I must help mother in the fields but...if we return by tomorrow’s sunrise...I will go with you.”  
 

An amazed and welcome smile lit his face, but he quickly composed himself, and with a simple nod, went about gathering a few essentials in preparation.            
 

……….
 

By midday, as promised, with the sun blazing overhead, they cast their canoe into the water and set off upstream. Away from the village clearing, the land took on a different appearance; rockier along the edge, with deeper columns of mixed forest dappled in shadow and light.
 

Late in the afternoon the river began to narrow and with the current coursing more rapidly, waves clipped the bow, bumping the craft as the strenuous work of paddling began.
 

Not since she was a youngster had she handled a canoe. Her people used dugouts; much heavier, less manoeuvrable craft, and though the light weight was infinitely preferable, her strokes were ill adept. Coupled with the intensity of the sun bearing down upon her like a searing flame, she was soon reduced to feverish and tired.  
 

Masking her distress, she turned to Salgan and found herself further daunted by the sight of her companion, seemingly unaffected by the heat and effort; the glow of his strong arms deftly carving the water with clean, expert strokes.                         
 

Arriving in an area unknown to her, the river branched into a smaller stream, and he signalled his intention to proceed. Here, the currents began to slow and veer off, gradually widening into the tranquil basin of a little pond.  
 

A loon flew over the water, its distinctive call echoing an alert to the other denizens of the region, while a moose, feeding amidst the reeds on the opposite side, remained calmly unaffected by the presence of these strangers.
 

Unwilling to reveal the extent of her fatigue and discomfort, she was much relieved when she spied a grassy spot along the embankment and he gestured to stop.                                  
 

Coming up along the bank enabled them to disembark, but once the bow had been lifted up out of the water, Salgan spontaneously jumped back in, swimming and floating like a carefree otter. She, too, felt the need to refresh herself, but the pleasure of his company notwithstanding, she was so overcome with exertion that she chose to sit, head resting on her arms, until she felt the strain release from her body.
 

She momentarily dozed but was jerked awake in the absence of his splashing. He was nowhere in sight.
 

Thinking he had gone off to look for food, she remained as she was, but soon began to question his whereabouts. Surely he would have told her before he left the site, and there were no surface bubbles to suggest his presence in the water. Where could he have gone?   
 

Leaning forward on her knees, she peered over the bank, quaking at the image that might present itself, and at that second felt a push from behind, sending her headfirst into the water. The shock of both the action and the cooler temperatures was exasperating, but her annoyance was quickly replaced with relief, as she resurfaced in a burst of spray to the mischievous grin of her companion; unharmed and every bit as playful after so arduous a journey.
 

“I thought you were in trouble, you fox!” She scolded, sending back a volley of splashes.
 

“See what happens when you let your guard down and fall asleep?” he teased back. Leaping up onto the mossy bank, with her in close pursuit, he lost his footing, causing him to fall and her to topple over him, in a heap of weariness and mirth.         
 

Laughing uproariously, barely able to catch their breath, they lay side by side recovering. The sun disappeared behind a cloud. Soon nothing could be heard but the buzz of an insect, a tweeting of finches, the tinkling of the poplar leaves on the rise of a breeze, and the gentle churn of water lapping against the bank. Ehta lay upon the moist warm earth, exhausted but happy, while Salgan turned onto his stomach, bracing himself on his elbows.
 

A small chipmunk, its cheeks bulging from a recent meal, scampered out of the wood with an end to the ruckus, poising itself a safe distance on a nearby rock.
 

 “Ehta,” asked Salgan earnestly, with a turn of thought, “have you ever wondered why the chipmunk has a stripe on its back?”  
 

Shaking her head, she turned to face him, smiling in the realisation of his intent.
 

Leaning forward, he stared into her with heart stopping intensity. A previously unfelt sense of excitement welled within her, caught by the spell of those eyes, whose mystery and colour matched the forest depths.
 

“Well, I will tell you then...” He began, unaware of this arousal and its effect upon the listener.
 

“Long ago when the earth was young, the porcupine was chosen to be leader of all of the animals. On the first day that he met with them, he posed this question, ‘Shall we have eternal night and remain in darkness, or forever day and the light of the sun?’
 

 “As was expected, there was much talk among the animals over this very important question, but before long, anger rose up between them, dividing them into two groups. While they
argued, the air became shrill with the song of a chipmunk. ‘The light will come; we must have light,’ it sang over and over again, until the forest resounded.  
 

“Not to be outdone, the leader of the second group, the bear, began to sing, ‘Everyone knows that night is best; we must have darkness.’
 

 “As it happened, the chipmunk was singing when daylight suddenly dawned. The bear saw this as a sign that he was losing and became enraged. In his fury, he chased the chipmunk and reached out to grab him, but the creature but so fast that he only managed to graze its back with his huge paw, leaving a stripe along its back, as it escaped to a hole in a hollow tree.”
 

Salgan paused, grinning like a clever owl as he stretched his arms behind his head.
 

“So what does the lesson teach us? Since that time, he has worn the stripe. The bear thought that he had won, but who was truly the victor? We have both daylight and darkness. The chipmunk was forced to bear the mark of his aggressor but his song did not go unheeded, and the bear discovered that for every victory, there is a loss.”
 

He closed his eyes at the return of the sun and remained quietly beside her. It was a learning story, like the many others she had heard, but on this occasion she found herself drawn from the tale to the teller, watching him with an indefinable, mystical sense of longing.  
 

During the early weeks of their marriage, she had felt so wonderfully alive and content just being in his presence, but somehow even in that, something was missing.
 

Again, she found herself looking at him more, studying, as she now did, the line of his nose, his square jaw, full lips, lean, strong arms... This time, for reasons against her will, her eyes roamed further, and with greater curiosity, to the firm, smooth skin of his upper body, the rippling muscle across his stomach, sweeping down to the deerskin mound, rising up below that...
 

Strangely, an impulsive and compelling need took hold within her, enflaming her mind and body. She had a need to touch and be touched, in a manner at once unfamiliar, yet inherently known.