Norseman Chief (12 page)

I looked at her a moment, searching for sarcasm, but there was none.  By the time I called, “It is good to be back among such fine peoples as you.”  The other women, younger than the hag, giggled and rejoined their labors with hers.

“Biiwede!” shouted an approaching familiar voice.

“Kesegowaase!  You are a head taller than when we last saw one another.”

“That is unlikely.  We left you just over one moon ago.”  The young man smiled at my words, though.

“Yet something is different about you.  You look even more confident than when we parted company last.”

He considered this for a moment as we clasped forearms.  Right Ear jumped up and down, slapping his front paws into Kesegowaase’s chest until the man recognized him with a rough scratch of his ears.  “It is probably because I have begun the process of making a son.”

“What?  With who?  How?”

“I would have thought that at your age you would have at least heard of the “how” part.”  He laughed at his own joke.  “With my wife.  We have been married since my return.  She has strong legs and will no doubt give me strapping sons.”

“Is this mystery woman already with child, then?”

In the universal sign of uncertainty, he shrugged his shoulders, adding, “I don’t really know if I will soon have a son or a daughter or any little creature.  I just know that I like trying to create one.”

I slapped his shoulder and laughed at him.  This young man, who was just a boy some months ago, now had his own woman and was intent on making babies with her.  He reminded me of me so long ago.  I was genuinely happy for him and told him as much.

As we unloaded my gear from the canoe, setting it on the well worn earth leading to the village, I asked, “Where are your leaders?  I don’t see Etleloo, Rowtag, Ahanu, anyone.”

A tilt of his head pointed to the chief’s large mamateek up the path.  “In council.”

My eyebrows rose, “War?”

I watched with concern as he tossed my prized books onto the ground.  Kesegowaase answered, “No, no.  Just discussing our relationship with the Huntsman.”

“Nothing’s wrong is it?”  In the end, some days after Kesegowaase’s impassioned speech at the manhood ceremony, Ahanu held a meeting with the elders.  They argued back and forth for what seemed like days, before Ahanu emerged saying that they would make it their business to befriend the new neighbors.  Since then they had traded simple items that neither party had a need for, but such actions built the trust.  At the time I left for Leifsbudir, the partnership was running smoothly.

“Not at all.  The Huntsman is here visiting.  He joins our men in council.”

“What do they discuss?”

“I am here.  Not there.  Why don’t we discuss matters of our own and not worry about the matters they discuss?”

“You are more like your grandfather everyday – wise.”  We hefted my belongings onto our backs and strolled through the village.  I nodded to the many familiar faces and was pleased to see smiles in return.  What a difference this greeting was to last year’s!

We approached the structure that had been my mamateek and I tossed back the flap to duck inside, but Kesegowaase stopped me, saying, “Halldorr, my friend.  That is now my home.  I will gladly share its warmth with you this winter, but I will not ask you to live with me and my woman.”  Right Ear was already inside rutting through the familiar smells and scents.  Kesegowaase called him, “Come Right Ear, let’s drop this gear elsewhere.”

The council was breaking up as we passed Ahanu’s bark house with men pouring out.  They wore smiles and it seems that whatever they discussed came to a positive resolution.  My sullen countryman, the Huntsman, squinted at me with his typical feigned scorn.  I gave him a quiet nod.  Nootau came out next, followed by Etleloo and Ahanu.  All three men greeted me in their own way.  Nootau came and embraced me, wishing well in my visit.  Etleloo, my one-time enemy huffed and shook his head, a thin smile etched in his face.  He said, “The giant stranger is back.  We had best hide the women again.”

Ahanu walked over and was already laughing at something unknown to all but himself.  He coughed a time or two into the air, grabbed my arm and led me down the village path, leaning a bit on me.  It seems he wasn’t his normal strong self, fighting a small, ill spirit caught on his return trip from dropping me at Leifsbudir.  Yet he did indeed try to keep up his normal routines, continuing his chuckling for a long time before speaking.

“My friend, Enkoodabooaoo.  It seems you cannot tear yourself from my people.  You kill us.  We kill you.  We enslave you.  You visit us.”  Ahanu interrupted his talk with a mighty cough which produced a good slug of phlegm onto the path.  To my disgust Right Ear was there to lap it up before I even had a chance to shove him out of the way.

“You’re right, Chief Ahanu.  You may have to call me by a different name since I no longer live alone, but instead live among the al gumna kyn.”

“So you expect to live here?” he asked.  Before I answered he continued, “I anticipated this, so you are welcome to stay with us.  Others in the council thought you would be better served with the Huntsman at his isolated outpost, but I disagreed.  You will live with us.”

Kesegowaase still followed us, carrying half of my goods.  “Thank you chief,” I said.  “Where will I stay?  Kesegowaase wrestles his woman all night and I’d rather have some peace than hear his humping.”

“Ah, that is right; we have a new union in our family.”  The old man looked pensive.  “I know you speak the truth because we all hear their pawing when the moon is up, or when the sun is up, or when the clouds are out.  At all times of the day, really, the village is certain that a new son from my line will arrive.”  Kesegowaase lifted his chin a little higher at the mentioning of his lineage.  “We will allow you to stay with Hurit.”

“That will be fine with me.  Is that appropriate?”

“Ask her yourself,” the chief answered.  Hurit stood in front of me, blocking our path.  I would have walked into her had Ahanu not stopped himself.

“Ask me what?”

I answered when it was clear Ahanu had no intention of responding.  “Is it appropriate that I reside in your home?”  The woman was somewhat surprised by my question, but her features softened as she thought on the subject.  Her eyes darted to Ahanu who betrayed no emotion at all then they settled back to me.

“A strange wording, but the answer is, yes.”  She revealed a genuine smile then walked off on whatever her business had been.  Hurit called over her shoulder, “I will prepare a meal with Kesegowaase’s woman and we will all eat together tonight.”

“That is good,” was all I called.  I did not think my wording odd, but I still made an occasional mistake with their language.

But it was good.  I was back among people.  Not my people, but people nonetheless.  I would not be in charge of sewing another man’s tunic or skinning some beast.  I would be my own man in their society, an outsider, but a man.  I vowed that someday when my Norse brothers and sisters returned to their rightful life of exploration instead of hiding behind the veil of civilization in Greenland, when they returned to Leifsbudir and beyond, that I would march out to them with my new friends and establish the generations-long bond that Kesegowaase envisioned.

. . .

It turns out I was married that day on the path with Hurit.  Ahanu and Kesegowaase served as witnesses, knowing all along what was happening.  Hurit was left to believe I was proposing the union.  I, the one asking, had no idea of what I asked.

Until that point I had never witnessed a wedding ceremony of the al gumna kyn, or Beiuthook as they called themselves.  I had seen the ceremonies of my people when we served the old gods.  I had been at my own when I wed Kenna among the birches under the watchful eye of Crevan, who followed the One God.  My skraeling friends, I found that I was calling them skraeling less and less, had no real marriage rite.  A man and woman, who would become man and wife, simply began living together.  As the villagers saw them enter and leave the same mamateek together, more and more people would come to understand the couple was husband and wife.  So it was with Hurit and me.

At first I was upset at being fooled in such a way by Ahanu.  After eating dinner with Kesegowaase and his wife the night of my wedding, Hurit came to lie with me under my blanket on the packed earth of her mamateek.  She had saved my life from brutal torture, nursed me to health, and I had lusted after her on occasion so I did not hesitate as we both sought refuge in one another’s arms.  The next morning as we gave adolescent grins back and forth while eating to fulfill our ravenous appetites, the woman asked me if I would like her to mend some of my clothing.

“I thank you for the offer,” I said, feeling light-hearted.  “But you do not have to do that for me.  I’ve become handy with such tasks myself.”

Hurit thought about that for a moment, “Yes, but I cannot have my husband known among the men as someone who patches his own makizins.”  And that is how I learned.  To be sure I had many questions following that exchange.  My questions quickly caused misunderstanding, then anger between us.  Then I turned angrier and she cried.  I could not bear the weight of her tears and so I softened my words and tone.  It was work to do so, but I meant what I said, nonetheless.

“Hurit, I am honored to be your husband.  No, I would not need to be tricked into the union if I ever thought marriage to you was possible.”  I tried to explain that my whole life I sought a good woman.  I searched for a woman to warm me, to please me, to bear sons.  I wanted a woman whom I could lead and provide for with my bow, my sword.

And then it was as obvious as an axe cleaving a skull.  Leif was correct.  I had to stay behind in Leifsbudir, in Vinland, in these lands in order to meet my woman.  I sat here in front of her.  This woman who was everything all of my other loves had been, but she was all of them at the same time.  She had the strength of Freydis, without the obvious insanity.  Hurit had the quick intelligence of Kenna, with her mind constantly working.  I saw Gudrid too, in her acceptance of her place in the world.  Situations outside her control overwhelmed the woman at times, yet she was confident and continued on.  Hurit, yes Hurit, was my wife.  And she was always to be my wife!

When these thoughts hit me, I leaped over the fire like a child playing games.  I pounced onto Hurit who fell back onto her sleeping mat, frightened and surprised.  But I was laughing, “It is truly amazing.”  My head was spinning, “This fate, these norns, this Providence, by Hel, this Glooskap has such a sense of humor!  I love you, Hurit.”

The woman looked truly panicked, fearing I was mad.  Then her temper flared, “Get off me.  Stop mocking me.”

What followed was more arguing, more explaining, more anger, more tears, and at last more love making.  We moaned and sweated in each others’ company throughout the day.  I ignored Etleloo when he called for me to hunt with him.  I placed my hand over Hurit’s mouth when Kesegowaase called for his mother.  She tried to answer, but still I clutched her chin, continuing to grind her like a stone grinds grain.  It was a warm day before the icy chills of winter.  We should have been making preparations for the coming cold, but we did not.  That afternoon, I stirred to find Right Ear who barked at something far away, but my woman, Hurit, my wife, she did her best to wrestle me back to the ground.  We fell in a mess of naked arms and legs onto soft pelts and laughed ourselves to sleep.

I had aged forty-three years since my birth.  I was married to a good woman who was still young enough to give me sons.  I was happy.

. . .

No one in the village showed any interest in learning the art of making parchment.  Not even those I considered the wisest among them.  Ahanu did not care.  Kesegowaase did not care, nor did Rowtag.  I had hoped Hurit would care to at least explore the art with me so that the mechanical task could bring her mind closer somehow to appreciating writing or at the least reading.  It was not to be, however.  Written word was too much a foreign concept to them.  And I should not be too harsh because there are many among my own people who neither read nor write.  I did not learn the skills until I was far into adulthood.  Some of Ahanu’s people actually scoffed at the thought of recording something on the page.  Ahanu told me he thought that doing so would dull the mind for building memories, a fate he was unwilling to allow for his village.  But an exception could be made for me and my peculiarities.

That winter with my new woman, we made love.  I suppose we were like Kesegowaase and his woman, full of wonder as we explored each others’ bodies.  The feelings brought a new lift to my attitude and even made me feel younger for a time.  I could barely contain my enthusiasm to return to our home and find her each night.  Many times we found ourselves far too occupied to eat dinner until darkness had long seeped into the forest, our noises of love much faster than the distant pulse of the ocean’s waves.  I would mope for the three or four days Hurit would withdraw herself from me for her time of bleeding.  She took it well, patting me on the head as she handed me a simple clay bowl with dinner before repeating the gesture for Right Ear, my faithful companion.