The Game of Silence

  Omakayas ran behind her, and then stood frozen on the shore outside the crowd clustered in front of Fishtail and her sister. She could see Angeline. She was almost alarmed, for it seemed to Omakayas that the last of the sun had entered her sister’s face. Angeline glowed with a hazardous-looking warmth. Her cheeks were flaming red and her eyes glittered as though with a fever. In fact, if Omakayas didn’t know that Angeline had been just fine, having been helping her haul in fishing nets just before Fishtail arrived, she would have thought that her sister was really ill.

  Fishtail was the same. Though gaunt and weary, he was so glad to see Angeline that the two rushed together with no notice of anyone else. They hugged so hard and for so long that the little boys started making kissing noises, laughing at them. They broke apart and grinned at each other in amazement.

  When Fishtail saw Omakayas, his face lighted up and he bent and scooped her into his arms. He squeezed her so tight that she couldn’t breathe. Tears started into her eyes, but she blinked them back only to have them burn and fall, later that night, when he spoke.

  For although Fishtail had returned, he spoke of the others who had died of the rotten pork and spoiled provisions. By the time he finished his report, there was only silence and weeping in the lodge. Fishtail said that he knew it would take the Ojibwe a very long time to recover from the loss. But still the government had not retreated from its position. The Ojibwe were being forced west, into the country of the Bwaanag, away from their gardens, away from their ancestors’ graves, away from their fishing grounds, away from their lodges and cabins and all that made the island home.

  After Fishtail delivered his message, there was a profound silence. He said that that the agent of the United States government would arrive in only days to make the official announcement. Omakayas slipped away and hardly knew where she was walking. It was not until she found herself sitting on her favorite rock, one that jutted far out into the water. It was not until she was surrounded by water and lulled by waves, that she dared to feel the other waves that stormed through her heart. In the great dream of her life, which she had seen when she was alone in the woods, all that would happen had appeared before her. She had seen the message, though not the messenger. She had seen the shock of sorrow and the gathering of strength. She had seen the going away. Now it was happening. She was experiencing in truth what she dreaded, what she had seen. Omakayas looked around her at the still beach and listened to the ever talking waves. All things change, all things change, they said to her. All things change, even us, even you.

  Omakayas closed her eyes and strained her hearing. She listened until her heart burned, but the waves said nothing else to her, so she left the rock and walked to the place where her little brother Neewo was buried. In her pocket, she had a piece of precious maple sugar. When she came to the small rectangular house that was built on top of the grave, Omakayas put the sugar lump on the sill of the tiny window that Deydey had built into the western end.

  “Here, take this, little brother,” said Omakayas. Then she sat in the long grass and let the sobs out, the tears flow down, let all of the sadness break out of her. “I don’t know where we are going,” she told Neewo. “But your spirit must watch out for us. Help us from your world.”

  There was no answer, only silence, a light breeze in the grass. The moon, when it rose shedding its kind light, had nothing to say to her either. Only when Omakayas let her mind grow very calm could she read what her heart was telling her to do. You will not take leave of your beloved and beautiful home in bitterness or in anger. You will not take leave in hatred. You are stronger than that. When the Anishinabeg must give way to a stronger force, they do so with the dignity of love. You will leave your home in gratitude for what the Gizhe Manidoo, the great and kind spirit, has given to you. All the spirits will help you, even the tiniest, your brother. Your heart is good. You are blessed. Go forward into your life.

  Nokomis sat on a woven pukwe mat, her bundles spread all around her—bark-wrapped packets, sweet grass twined together in braids, roots sewed into rings or wound into balls and tied. She had a little bag of crushed, dried honeybees. There was a small birchbark box that contained the puffball dust that Omakayas had helped her collect. Nokomis undid the string bags that held her seeds, and Omakayas helped her to pack them tightly into smaller containers.

  There were corn kernels, tiny and pointed, bright red. She had traded with an Odaawa woman long ago for that special corn. The kernels puffed when heated in the fire and made a delicious treat. There were pale yellow kernels of corn and speckled blue kernels. Omakayas helped Nokomis pack the mottled beans, the squash and pumpkin seeds, the dried-out bits of the blue potatoes they loved to dig and roast. At last, all of the seeds were neatly fit together in a large makuk with a birchbark top that Nokomis tied down. The two looked at the square box. Omakayas lifted it. The box was heavy.

  “Not all that heavy when you think there’s a whole garden inside of it.”

  “Not all that heavy,” agreed Nokomis. Her eyes were sad, but she was proud of what she saved.

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  “Nokomis?” Omakayas was almost afraid to ask something that had bothered her ever since she knew that they must leave. Nokomis looked at her quietly, waiting for the question. Omakayas tried to find the words, for it was a personal question, and she wanted to ask as carefully as possible. She was afraid to make Nokomis sadder than she already was.

  “You know you can ask me anything,” said Nokomis. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Well, Nookoo, I was just wondering about your little memegwesi, your helper. Can he follow us? Will he know where you are?”

  Nokomis looked at her in surprise, then she smiled.

  “How good you are to think of your grandmother, when you are so troubled yourself.” She put her arm around Omakayas’s shoulder, and indeed, her voice was very sad when she spoke.

  “I have left tobacco where I think my little friend will find it, and some cloth, too, for a special set of clothes. It does break my heart to leave the place where he found me, and helped me, so long ago. But my granddaughter, the memegwesiwag have relatives all through this land. Perhaps he will send word to his cousins across the bay, perhaps he will ask them to care for these persons who must leave their home, perhaps they will be waiting for us, watching over us. That’s what I hope.”

  Omakayas put her arms around her grandma and held her tightly. It was the best thing she’d heard all day. With a calmer heart, she went back to the cabin with Nokomis and helped her decide what to pack.

  All that they possessed and had collected over the years on the island was before them. There were the special hoes—the moose horn, the iron, the one of an antler that Omakayas used. These they had to leave. Omakayas’s gun barrel scraper was too heavy to take along, and even though Deydey had given it to her, she left it without a great sense of loss. Too many times she’d used it to scrape those stinking hides! Her rabbit-skin blanket was rolled and stuffed into a pack that she would carry on the difficult portages. Of course, she took her doll, the one Deydey had made for her, and its cradle board. She put it carefully into a skin back that she would wear on her shoulder. Her winter dress and the beautiful shawl that Angeline had made for her came too. She took her mittens and her winter makazinan. She made a rack of their snowshoes. They took makuks of maple sugar, dried fish, what remained of last year’s rice. In the end, they left a great deal behind with the few families whose people were too old to travel, or sick, or who preferred to try their luck and remain behind.

  They could not take their cabin, their sweet cedar cabin by the pine, and they could not take Makataywazi.

  “There’s just no room for the dog,” said Yellow Kettle, and she spoke as gently as she could, for she knew how Omakayas felt about her dog. “If we take the dog, we’ll have to leave one of us behind. We don’t have enough room and besides, we are going into dangerous country. We can’t have barking dogs.”

  “I bet Old Tallow will not
leave her dogs behind,” Omakayas said in a tiny, stubborn voice.

  “Her dogs are older, perfectly trained,” said Yellow Kettle. “Her dogs are all that she has.”

  Omakayas sat for a long time with Makataywazi, down on the shore, on the rock where she’d said her good-bye. Together, they watched the unchanging line of dark green across the bay. Not only would her dog stay here, but her crow, Andeg, had not come back yet. He would find them gone when he returned from his winter hunting grounds. Omakayas forgot all of the strength she gained, the gratitude, and she wanted to sob with fury. She tried a few deep sighs, even tried to make crying sounds, but her sadness and anger was too big. It was a stone. A smooth stone with no chips or cracks.

  “Ombay,” she said to her dog, and Makataywazi jumped up in such a concerned way the Omakayas knew he understood. The dog wagged his tail and grinned as though to say he’d be all right, and so would Omakayas, and not to worry. Things could be worse. But Omakayas already knew what she would do, and the thought made her more cheerful. She would roll Makataywazi into her rabbit-skin blanket and hide her dog in the canoe. By the time anybody knew she had taken her dog along, it would be too late. They would be far out on the water.

  ANGELINE AND FISHTAIL

  When everything was packed down to the shore, and loaded into the canoes, Omakayas noticed that Angeline was loading her things in the canoe that Fishtail came home in, and she was glad. The night before, they had gone somewhere together and that morning they’d talked to Deydey, Yellow Kettle, and Nokomis.

  Now, with everyone assembled and ready to leave, there was a pause. Everyone stopped what they were doing and sat down. Miskobines, Deydey, and Fishtail took out their pipes and sat together. The women sat with them while the men smoked and prayed. Then Nokomis brought out a beautiful piece of red cloth and tied Angeline’s hand to Fishtail’s hand. The two sat together. Fishtail wore the beautiful beaded vest that Angeline had made for him. The vines twisted up each side of his chest and the flowers gleamed in the morning light. His face was starved and thin, but he was handsome with his carved cheeks and thick hair down to his shoulders.

  “Children,” said Miskobines, “you have decided to spend your life with one another. You have decided that you love each other and want to walk the same road. This is the beginning. From here, we don’t know where we go. Only proceed along this path with love, and you will find the strength.”

  He put his arms around them both and embraced them. Then Old Tallow came up to the two. She stood before them, scowling, and it was clear that she wanted to speak. Several times she opened her mouth, but every time she did, the wrong words seemed to jump from her lips.

  “I was married twice, no, three times…I scared away my husbands, but…no. You are married, but you have no dogs…no.” Finally she gave up, threw her head forward in a belligerent way, and then growled at Fishtail. “You be good to her or else!” She thrust a beautifully tanned lynx skin at them and stomped off to see to her own canoe. In turn, everybody went up to Fishtail and Angeline, held their hands, wished blessings upon them, or just hugged them tight.

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  Then it really was time to go. Around them, a few curious chimookoman people stood watching. One of them was the Break-Apart Girl. She came to Omakayas and in her hand she had a piece of cloth stitched carefully with letters. The Break-Apart Girl pointed at the letters, then at Omakayas, then at herself, and spoke the same words over and over.

  “I can’t tell what she is saying,” Omakayas finally said to Deydey, who spoke the trader’s English. Although he frowned to be taken from his task, for he was busy, he stepped near and looked down at the piece of cloth. The two of them worked out the meaning of the letters.

  “I think this is your name, how she hears it.” Deydey pointed at some of the tracks. “And this is her name. She made this cloth for you and wanted to give it to you. She wants you to remember her.”

  Omakayas flung her arms around the Break-Apart Girl and hugged her, feeling as though her stone heart would crack. She was surprised that the girl cared for her, and the gift made her happy in spite of the tremendous sorrow of leaving.

  “I’ll keep it always,” she said. The little tan dots on the Break-Apart Girl’s face went a rosy red and she smiled. Yellow Kettle gave Bizheens to Omakayas to hold while she prepared the canoe, and the girls tickled him and cooed at him. Omakayas wished the moment wouldn’t end and yet at the same time she was aware of the time pressing down.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion in the canoe that Omakayas had packed, and she turned in time to see that the rabbit blanket, bundled carefully around Makataywazi, had flung itself out of the canoe and was bouncing around on the ground and it was barking and growling. One of the village dogs had come too close, and Makataywazi had not been able to contain himself. He was trying to protect her family, even though he was tied up in the blanket!

  Omakayas ran for her dog, still carrying Bizheens. When he saw the bundle bouncing comically up and down along the shore, he threw his arms out. He little mouth opened wide, and he made a rusty little sound. The sound got bigger, more definite. Bizheens seemed to concentrate. His whole face crinkled into a laughing expression, and then the actual laugh came out. A big laugh. A baby’s belly laugh. His very first laugh! It was a laugh that would have made Omakayas laugh too, except that her dog was going to be discovered.

  Quick as a flash, Yellow Kettle untied the blanket and Makataywazi sprang free and bounded proudly to Omakayas. Bizheens was still laughing, delighted. Omakayas wanted to take heart from this good moment, which happened in the midst of sadness, but at the same time she knew she would be parted from Makataywazi. Shaking her head, Yellow Kettle called to Omakayas.

  “You know he can’t come along with us.”

  There was no choice. Omakayas put Bizheens down and knelt with her sweet dog, her cheerful and generous companion. The Break-Apart Girl patted Makataywazi too, and although it hurt her heart, Omakayas knew that there was nothing else that she could do. She pointed to the dog, and then to her friend. To her friend, the Break-Apart Girl, and then to the dog. She brought her hands together. Omakayas rubbed her face in Makataywazi’s rough fur, and then she gently took the Break-Apart Girl’s hand and put it on her dog.

  “Keep him, be good to him,” she said in a choked voice.

  The Break-Apart Girl nodded. She understood. She nodded and petted Makataywazi as Omakayas left, again holding Bizheens. As they got into the canoe, she heard Makataywazi bark, but she did not turn around. She could not turn around. She tried to remember what the waves told her. What her dream showed. She tried to remember how all things change and to go with gratitude. But she wanted to cry, or shout. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. A great roar built around her and she was afraid to look at all that she was leaving behind.

  OLD TALLOW’S JEEMAAN

  Now it was clear. Old Tallow had made the odd canoe, with the little roof to tie down, so that she would have a place for her dogs to travel when they all left together. Her cabin, stuffed with kettles, knives, skins, rags, bolts of fabric, brass pails, and assorted junk, could hardly be emptied into one canoe. She sold what she could to the trader and gave the rest away. Old Tallow stuffed as much as she could into her canoe, and then called her dogs. They came, each bounding into his or her place, some nestling in their little house in the rear of the jeemaan. Those that stayed out sat in the canoe with such authority that they looked as though they should be paddling too.

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  As the little party made its way across the water, the dogs silently watched the waves and seemed to wisely anticipate their progress. They were not worried. They knew that wherever they were going Old Tallow would take care of them. They had no fear.

  Sitting in the center of her family’s canoe with Bizheens, Omakayas decided that she would be like the dogs. The breeze was stiff, and Deydey and Yellow Kettle bent to their paddles with strong pulls. It is hard to stay unhappy out on the water, in a canoe. Eve
n the sorrow of leaving the island was soothed a little by the smell of water, the glitter of the waves, the cries of the gulls, the sight of one lone circling eagle who watched over them from above.

  Omakayas’s heart lifted, in spite of herself, as they neared the great rose-red beaches of the opposite shore and began to paddle along the edge of the lake. They paddled onward. They sang together, traveling songs that helped keep their paddling coordinated and helped their spirits rise. Deydey’s deep voice rose high and then Fishtail joined him from the next canoe. Even Pinch, who rode with Fishtail, Angeline, and Nokomis, sang those traveling songs. The women joined in, at a higher pitch, and once Old Tallow’s dogs even tried to howl before she shut them up with a sharp command.

  Everything changed when they entered the mouth of the river.

  Omakayas could feel the difference as they left the bright, open spaces of the island and the big lake, and went into the mouth of the mainland stream. Soon the leaves closed overhead. The air went dappled green. The river was a narrow road of water through the tree-confined woods of the country of the dangerous Bwaanag. The little family drew their canoes close together. Nokomis sang, in a very low voice, the song that introduced the game of silence. But this time there were no prizes. This time there would be no laughter if some child mistakenly spoke. The game was very different now and everyone knew it. Along the shore there were ears, and eyes, and enemies who resented the Ojibwe entering their territory and would gladly attack. Fishtail and Deydey kept lookout. They traveled swiftly, and without rest. The children bit their lips and held their tongues, for they all understood, even Pinch, that the game of silence was now a game of life and death.

  Yet through the flickering new leaves, with the shadows that raced across the water, among the bars and rods of sunlight that rode up and down the tree trunks, Omakayas thought she saw other spirits, good ones, perhaps the relatives of Nokomis’s little helper, and she threw her heart out before them. She gazed into the crush of green. Here, after all, was not only danger but possibility. Here was adventure. Here was the next life they would live together on this earth.