The Spirit Keeper (40 page)

Hector frowned at my scars for a long moment before looking sadly into my eyes. “I do not want you to stay with me only because you are stuck with me.”

I half-smiled as I lost myself in his deep, dark gaze. “It matters not what you want, Hector. And it matters not what I want. All that matters is what
he
wants—at least until we fulfill his Vision.” I waited for him to consider the truth of these words before adding, “And, honestly, I’m relieved we’re stuck with each other, aren’t you? Who else could put up with either one of us? We’re both so stupid it’s a wonder we can walk without tripping o’er our own feet!”

The unexpected jibe made Hector laugh, which gave me a surge of joy almost as strong as if we were engaged in a bout of passion. He held me tight, his face in my hair, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Running Fox glance our way with a smug smile. I gave her a long blink of thanks. She nodded before bending o’er her sewing.

 • • •

In the months we have been here, Hector has oft been gone from me, out hunting or fishing or helping the villagers in one way or another. To cope with my loneliness, I dug through our packs ’til I found the leather satchel containing the beaverskin pouch with the two ledgers. I asked Running Fox if I could use some black paint and asked Gran for a large goose feather.

I tried to explain about writing. I told Hector I hoped to send this first ledger back east someday, to whate’er remains of my family, but he could not comprehend how marks I make on paper can reveal my thoughts to people who are not here. Everyone has concluded it must be some sort of magic my people use to recover from illness, and I let them think what they will.

I’m not sure why I wanted to write my story down. Part of my motivation, I know, has been to create a private space for myself in these close quarters. When I write, everyone stays well away from me, leery of my supernatural powers, and I am in my own little world. For that I am grateful. Another reason is that this past year has been so incredible, so providential, that I needed to get it all out of my head, to organize it, to control it, to put it down on paper to see if I could somehow make it all make sense. In a very literal way, filling this ledger with my thoughts
has
healed me, because it has helpt me establish some small isle of sanity in the swirling madness of this crazy savage world.

Shortly after I began writing, Running Fox was out late one night, tending a sick baby. As she arose in the morning to get dressed, I glanced up from my writing and happened to see that she had male organs. I immediately looked back at my ledger, dumbfounded. Running Fox is not a woman after all. She’s a man.

She must’ve seen my face—or is it
he
must’ve seen my face? At any rate, she came to me when she was dressed and looked at me inquisitively. She gestured, saying I seemed disturbed.

I gestured that I was just tired of being stupid. “I think I know how things are. Then I find out I am wrong, always wrong!”

She laughed as she gestured, “Getting tired of being stupid is the first step to wisdom!” She said that because I have the Spirit of a man inside me, we are alike, she and I, and she believed I had been sent to her for a reason. I could not argue with that. Then she said something that will stick with me for the rest of my days. “Rules do not apply to people like you and me,” she gestured. “Our power comes to us because we go where others cannot go, see what they cannot see, and know what they cannot know.”

I stared at Running Fox as understanding began to dawn. Being a Spirit Keeper is like having a Guarantee of Safe Passage signed by the King himself. I can go where I please, do what I want, say what I will, and no one can stop me. My power is limited only by my imagination.

And so I have spent the rest of the winter learning many, many things from Running Fox. She is teaching me to be a Holyman, a Spirit Keeper. Many things are clear to me now that were not clear before, but one truth stands out above all others:

In a world full of scrupulously honest people, my greatest power is my ability to lie.

 • • •

When I am not writing or learning the Sacred Ways, I talk in gestures with Running Fox’s mother; she is the only person other than Running Fox who isn’t deathly afraid of me. One day in mid-winter, after Hector set off for an overnight hunting trip, I asked Gran to help me with something. She did so happily, and when Hector returned, Gran and I exchanged giggling glances when he came into the lodge. We waited in breathless anticipation as he went to put his things away. He suddenly froze, staring at the beautiful new pair of shoes perched on his sleeping fur. He looked at me, his eyes filling as he grabbed me and buried his face in my hair. I think e’en Running Fox was crying by the time Hector had the shoes on his feet.

Every day I yearn to be alone with Hector, but the weather is far too cold for me to spend much time outside and the lodge is oft filled with people eager to hear my strange tales. Hector has encouraged me to tell about my chickens and cows and big dogs. After watching Running Fox and other storytellers gesture their stories, I have e’en dared to act out Hamlet’s tale again, as well as that of Romeo and Juliet. My storytelling ability has improved with each tale I tell, and the villagers clearly appreciate the diversion on these long, dark winter days.

The only time Hector and I are truly alone now is when we are wrapt in the buffalo robe. Then we lean our foreheads together and whisper for hours. It has been good for us, I think, to talk again instead of always wrestling in lust, and we enjoy sleeping together as we ne’er could before. We hold each other as we sleep, and if I roll outside my husband’s grasp, he snaps awake, looking for me.

The night after I gave him the shoes, I presst myself against him and moved my hands upon him, but he pulled away, gently holding my wrists, and said we must not do that. He said he would not do it. Touching my scarred temple with his fingertips, he said, “Katie, I will not risk your life again. I will not risk putting you through what you have already been through, and, in any case, I could not go through it again myself. We must wait ’til we are home and you are safe.”

“But I miss you!” I said pitifully, nuzzling his chin with my face.

“I am right here,” he whispered, e’en as he held me firmly away.

I flopt onto my back, breathing heavily. “So we must wait for what—a year?” He murmured an affirmation, and I gasped. “But Hector—I
need
you! You know I go crazy without you!”

Hector put his fingers on my mouth and felt my lips slowly, sensuously, in such a way that I knew he wanted nothing more than to touch them, to kiss them, to lose himself in them. That’s when I knew I had him. He might protest, and he might feel bad, but if I wanted him I would have him, and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. All I need do is say “If you truly love me, you will do this for me!” and he would give in. How could he not give me what I want if he truly loves me?

Then he spoke again, and my reason was undone.

“I know this will be hard for you, Katie, but you are not alone. I am right here with you, suffering the same way you are suffering. All I can do is ask you to have mercy on me. Before I met you, he told me how smart you were, how strong, how brave. You must be strong now, and, as you love me, you must not torture me. I am not as strong as you, and if you entice me, I will fail, and then I will hate myself. Please do not make me hate myself. Love me enough to be strong for both of us.”

How was I to argue with that? In my world, love was manipulation, a power struggle, an endless cycle of self-gratification and guilt. In his world, love is trust, mutual support, and a willingness to put the needs of another before your own. I rolled o’er and wept ’til I fell asleep, as he gently stroked my hair. E’er since that night I have buried myself in writing so that I do not succumb to temptation, entice him, and thereby destroy everything we have.

 • • •

Sometime thereafter, Hector repaid our hosts for their hospitality by taking a group to the site of our battle, where they recovered the traders’ canoes and all the goods therein. They had to drag the canoes back here, for the ice on the river was thick. But then, just yesterday, Hector reported the ice is breaking, and we will soon be able to resume our Journey. I was terribly excited, ’til he added that he has convinced three of his new friends to travel with us to the perilous mountain passage. We need their help, he said, because, as he put it, “You may keep the Spirit of a man inside you, Katie, but your body is definitely that of a woman.” His eyes twinkled as he said this.

I knew I should be happy about this news, but I had been looking forward to being alone with my husband again. However, when he pointed out this plan should cut many months off our journey, I agreed it was an excellent idea. I am ready to leave the moment the river allows.

 • • •

It has been a year now, since Hector and Syawa burst into the loft and took me away from the miserable life I had been living. I have suffered greatly on this Journey, but I have also experienced exquisite joy, far more than I knew existed. As I look back thru the ledger I have filled with my words, I am struck by an obvious question: how is it possible for someone to know almost nothing, yet every day feel as if she knows less and less? Clearly no one could be as stupid as I seem to be and yet survive. Therefore, it cannot be that I am so stupid; it can only be that I truly am in a different world than the one into which I was born.

Things are different here. I understand that now. Everything is different. Consider, for example, my delirious dream of Syawa. Was that a message from the Spirit I keep, or was it merely a delusion, spawned by fever and fear? In this world that question itself is a joke, for e’en if I knew the answer, which I do not, I have it on good authority it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Knowing
, I’ve been told, doesn’t change a thing.

Indeed, what good is
knowing
in a world where time and space themselves are strange—always shifting, transforming, swirling ’round and ’round like the relentless current of a river? As I bob along, subject to the whims of those whirling circles, only one thing remains constant regardless of the world I am in, only one truth remains inviolable no matter how much I lie and lie and lie. Love. I love Hector—he loves me. Love is all we have to keep our heads above the water, and it is all we need. I understand now that it is love and only love which enables us to whisper at the end of our Journey:
It was worth it.

So, Syawa, if you can hear me and e’en if you can’t—I understand my mandate now. I will do whate’er I must to keep your friend, my husband, safe and sound. If, in order to protect him, I must lie to him, then I will ne’er again hesitate to lie. And tho’ I may fret about what the future holds, I intend to enjoy the ride in any case, because life itself is, after all, such a glorious gift.

I thank you, Syawa, for the great gift you have given me; I will use it well. I will be your Spirit Keeper. And I will see you safely home.