Chapter 23
It was another three days before Klatskania canoes pulled ashore on the beach below the Wayam village. Nowamooks and Raven’s Heart had met with the Willamette chiefs twice more and had forged an agreement that pleased both sides. It was almost as if the war had not occurred. In an unexpected gesture the Willamettes honored our warrior/paddlers. Nowamooks and I were feasted on both sides of the river.
When the Klatskanias finally arrived, glowering and angry, they did not find the gathering divided between allies and enemies. To their frustration, we were pleased with each other. The Willamettes were unwilling to even express displeasure.
The morning of the great council we had our remaining gifts piled behind us. Many hundreds crowded to witness. Representatives from up and down the River spoke of the importance of this peace and of their desire to make it last.
It was clear that the Klatskanias were the outsiders now. Their obvious unhappiness was an embarrassment to their former allies and traders fell into embarrassed silences whenever they approached.
It seemed almost unfair. The Willamettes had sent commoners to kill nobles yet their canoes were returned and they were offered a partnership in river business. While the Klatskanias, after receiving the scalped heads of their tortured youths and taking the brunt of the battle’s losses and being frozen out of trade. Coming late had been a strategic mistake. Most of their previous allies pretended now that they’d never been friends.
raiding neighbors and travelers had been an accepted tradition, but when it interfered with trade it wasn’t tolerated. Now everything they did seemed to work against them. With no way to save face, they sat sullen and scowling.
Their bitterness was obvious, but when the final bundle of sage was burnt and the ceremonial pipe presented, they took the pipe and offered their breath to our healing. Begrudged or not, they made the pledge to forego raiding and renounce revenge. The Willamettes distributed their gifts; large piles went to Smohalla, piles to the Klatskanias and larger ones to us. Then Smohalla, for his Wayam, presented gifts and small mementos to all who witnessed.
Nowamooks rose and moved to the fire and began to speak. Contrary to tradition she first distributed small gifts before the larger gifts to allied chiefs. A large pile was given to Smohalla for hosting the council and another pile to the Willamettes. Then she addressed the Klatskanias and thanked them for their offering of peace. Turning to the gifts behind her, now diminished to a meager pile, she slapped her forehead and wailed that in the long delay before for their arrival, too much had been given away/
“This pile of gifts is yours and we’ll make up the difference with out coming boatloads.” She sobbed in mock embarrassment.
The circle fell silent, but then the silence filled by sniggering laughter. Nowamooks hurriedly explained that more goods were already on their way and that the Klatskania would get their proper due if they would only “wait a few more days.” There was another murmur of chuckles and comments finding that fair payback for purposely arriving late.
The Klatskania spokesman didn’t even attempt to hide his anger. “It’s an insult,” he yelled. After spitting on the ground he and his party swept away to their canoes in frustrated defiance.
The audience sat in shock, then Nowamooks rose and calmly thanked our host again, then suggested that the pipe be passed again. She was eloquent in pledging Tsinuk compliance and suggested that trade would flourish now that they’d freed themselves of ‘disrupting influences.’
Smohalla gracefully invited all to a feast the following day. It was a smooth diplomatic touch that allowed each community time to reflect and talk among themselves.
The council ended and the crowd melted away. The Klatskanias’ insult would be remembered for many years, but there was nothing they could do; revenge had been disavowed; to try and claim it now would bring warriors to burn their lodges. Their attempt at insulting us had turned against them.
The biggest winners seemed to be the ones most responsible for everyone’s suffering. The Willamettes and Tewaugh would reap huge profits in the renewing surge of trade even though their bickering brought the war. Kilakota seemed to have achieved half of the revenge she wanted; the Klatskania had been weakened beyond recovery and would not be a political factor for generations to come. Not accepting peace gracefully increased their suffering—perhaps it was because they had no elders left to guide them.
The final feast was elaborate, with entertainment and food grinding into a second afternoon. It hadn’t officially ended when three of the largest of Tewaugh’s canoes pulled up to the beach with goods from Yakaitl-Wimakl. Two canoes carrying Northern Traders pulled up behind them and by evening other traders from around the river arrived. Traders were making offers before the goods were even unloaded.
Traders, both large and small were quick to make the rounds. Nowamooks and I moved among them more slowly. She would negotiate then pause to look to me as if asking for advice. I would scowl and look away or stare into her rival’s eyes—trying to keep from smiling. Shrugging apologetically she would give the trader a conciliatory glance and adjust her offer.
Behind her, a Black Mouth carried a small fortune of dentalia and obsidian. She got a substantial discount buying the last remaining boxes of last year’s salmon; we took possession of forty heavy boxes and committed to a significant portion of this year’s take. We traded obsidian with the Yakamas and Umatillas for slabs of dried huckleberries.
We took a break to visit the horse-camp of the Cayuse and watched their young men riding almost recklessly. Everywhere we wandered we were offered food we could not tactfully refuse. We ate and talked and viewed trade goods and making at least token trades with every group that offered.
“Tewaugh would have loved this,” Nowamooks smirked, her smile stretching as wide as the labret below her nose. “Lucky for us he was timid.”
I grinned and stroked her cheek. He was back home overseeing drying fish while we were making trades that would bring us recognition. I was blessed to have a wife so beautiful and brilliant. At last our purchases were piled beside our boats and our Black Mouths were impatient to return. Traders still milled ceaselessly as porters carried goods from one camp to another and canoes plied the waters. The world already had the feel of being healed. There was a vigorous, successful mood and smiles met us wherever. The bad feelings that accompanied the Klatskanias had evaporated in the hot, dry air.
After another few days of trading, we settled our obligations and prepared for the journey home. Word had come from Yakaitl-Wimakl that Ellewa was nearing her time of birthing. As Nowamooks wanted to be there our canoes were readied then offered our last goodbyes as our final purchases were tucked away. The sun along the river was far warmer than on the coast. I was tired and was drawn to the thought of returning to my quiet life.
We started our journey to Yakaitl-Wimakl in a convoy of canoes. Hawks circled overhead as our boats caught the current and made the first wide curve. It seemed that now, everyone wanted to ally with Nowamooks. She had attracted a following; a group of Salish speaking families pledged to follow her as a “silent” chief much as those who supported her mother. Now returning home, many chose to accompany with us in a gesture of solidarity.
I turned and smiled at Nowamooks as we glided downstream. Then allowed my mind to roam. It had taken days to battle upstream, but with the river’s flow and our paddler’s strength we would return in a single day. As the banks sped by I listened to the sounds of the river. I remembered verse of the Maitreya Buddha, “How can awareness and wisdom differ, when they’re as bound as waves and water?” I pushed the distraction from my mind, but it returned.
Eddies from a half-submerged tree trunk swirled as that verse spun within my mind. Realization has been called “returning to ones’ self.” At that moment I felt returned to my own true self. I was all I was aware of. I smiled and felt lifted into the air.
‘Enlightenment is simply being.’
It was that si
mple. Awareness might ripple and evolve, but I was each moment’s experience. The universe might be limitless, but enlightenment had no substance. It and I simply were. I was so excited I almost screamed with joy. Awareness rippled across water’s surface; enlightenment rippled. Bodhi was merely a point in the Tao’s endless flow.
I heard the rustling of birds on distant mountains, felt green buds bursting open and sensed the movement of fish beneath our hull. I crawled up on the elk hides before me, opening my arms to the sky above. The universe buzzed with life and even the mud beneath us vibrated with the spirit of life.
My remaining doubts melted. The deeper dharma emerged naturally from this land. The essence of Chan tradition was no different than Tsinuk. In time, both would be swept away, but the truth of the Way was eternal. Enlightenment was merely being in synch with the natural flow. Tradition was neither important nor mistaken; it was simply what had been.
Meaning was illusion. Reality simply was. Tradition evolved endlessly. I am Chinese and Tsinuk and Chan. I’m a shaman and priest.. There was no distinction between Bodhidharma and Coyote. Kwan Yin and the salmon spirit hummed like dragonflies, their apparent differences just illusion.
I felt reborn—awareness filled me. I floated beyond distinctions. Enlightenment was not knowledge. The Path was not tradition. The Way was as empty as the sunrise. Acceptance was the key.
Our boat swept on, catching the fastest eddies and skittering across time and spirit. The waves and water were one. Life had rock awareness and fish awareness. I drifted within my human awareness. Just as I should...it was natural.
I took off my hat to feel the sun on my face. The universe was enlightened. I felt that truth without concepts. Abandoning understanding, I found enlightenment. For that brief instant I was perfectly enlightened.
Our paddlers were Buddhas, the sky was Buddha, the hawks Buddhas; clouds and trees and life. The truth was incredibly simple. Spiritual teachings did not matter. The distinctions between Tsinuk and Buddhist missed the point. In serving the unfolding Tao I was a Bodhisattva. The world we understood was illusion, but it was the human way.
I balanced there on the elk hides a long while before sliding back to my place.
I slowly returned to myself. Grinning like a madman, I began chuckling, then giggled until I laughed so hard I cried. Turning around, I smiled at Nowamooks; my lover and wife.
Tilting her head, she stared as if I’d lost my mind.
I wished I could touch her as she smirked indulgently. She nodded her head in encouragement and turned with me to watch a flock of snow geese rising from the rushes.
We returned as heroes to Yakaitl-Wimakl. The world was returning to balance and trade would again flow through our open hands. Great whoops of laughter and surprise greeted our warrior’s stories about Nowamooks’ and the Klatskania. She had struck coup and earned honor through cleverness and guile. She had showed wily political wisdom and turned the Klatskania efforts against themselves so they caused their own dishonor.
All agreed it was a masterful stroke of genius.
Komkomis and Tewaugh invited me to discuss the eastern tribes. Nowamooks spent long hours with Kilakota. In Yakaitl-Wimakl, Ellewa was said to be close to her time of labor. The next day was a celebratory feast.
Tewaugh was overjoyed at the return of trade and the resolution of the problems. Gleefully anticipating increased profits, he talked of sending his traders south beyond the falls. He pledged to purchase Nowamooks the names and titles of a famous chief. It was late when she and I escaped to our alcove. The celebration continued into the night.
The next morning, Komkomis and Kilakota started planning Yakala’s potlatch. Within days the Naselle and Chetlo, Multnomahs, Wahkiakums, Tillamooks, Kathlamets, Ilwacos and Clatsops had responded with messages pledging their presence and support. Frenetic preparations were begun.
I fled the confusion and climbed to the cliff over looking the Great River. I was slowly accepting that enlightenment and everyday life were actually the same. Today I am here, tomorrow there; sometimes smart, sometimes not, asleep or awake, with more clarity. Enlightenment was simply being…without the confusion of thought…whatever the state of our intellect or health. Accepting that truth was hard however.
In truth, acceptance was a secret joke because its very simplicity hides it from view. Awareness and wisdom, like water and waves, are the same. My samadhi experience on the journey home was not magical. I’d simply accepted reality and was overwhelmed by what it triggered. In that way, enlightenment is simply accepting the perfection of flatulence and lice, accepting how miraculously mundane life is.
I no longer grieve that scholarship is meaningless here. I’m priest who has abandoned what most priests cling to. Certainly Chan has had many eccentrics; its sages and teachers have often embarrassed staid practitioners. I fit that tradition quite well. I’m quite Tsinuk in that way.
Very few Chan sutras, rituals or traditions offer insights useful to those I counsel. Compassion, mindfulness and the clarity of the deeper dharma are what sustain me. Abandoning the detritus of two thousands years of Buddhist tradition, I stumbled upon the simple clarity of true Buddhism. I stumbled upon enlightenment unwittingly.
I sat proudly beside Nowamooks that evening, smiling and sharing small talk with friends and family. Soon we will return to Nahcotta and I’ll take long walks with Uncle Tanaka, look out over the bay and pull weeds from the moss before my temple.
Kilakota and Komkomis chose to remain in Yakaitl-Wimakl for Ellewa’s birthing while Tewaugh accompanied us to Nahcotta. As word of renewed trade spread north, traders would need welcoming. The day after we returned a messenger arrived announcing Ellewa’s labor. The following morning was word that the baby was a boy and both mother and child were well. A cheer arose. If he survived his first few days he would be acknowledged as part of our tribe, if he survived his first weeks he would receive a proper name.
A great wound had been healed so the salmon returned to our rivers. Much time passed since Yakala and Comcomly’s murders and it was finally time for Komkomis to prove his worthiness. Kilakota’s answer to both was a potlatch and the distribution of great wealth. Her revenge had been taken. Our family’s names would be reclaimed. Tewaugh, Nowamooks and I quickly traveled back to Yakaitl-Wimakl.
In our villages, every clan, society and family depended upon Komkomis and his prestige. His potlatch would bring honor to all. Ever Salish speaking village had a stake in his success as did both Eagle and Raven Clans. Even distant villages sent pledges of support.
Not only would Komkomis give away all he owned, we would go into spectacular debt to give more. Traders seeking to cement alliances were delighted to have us endebted. Tewaugh, as Komkomis’ uncle staked an incredible sum. Even Kilakota, dowager queen and matriarch offered him everything she owned. Of course Nowamooks and I would support him to our last dentalia. Our fortunes were immutably linked and the good will generated would spark enough trade to see us through.
The Kathlamets and Clatsops and Multnomahs chose to twist their karma with our own, creating a rope that would bind us closer. The potlatch’s impact would extend well beyond our villages. It would further heal the rifts that choked-off trade. For only trade could offer comfort, honor those that had fallen and re-knit the fabric of life.
Piles of soft furs and woven blankets were soon stacked to our rafters; baskets and boxes, inlayed trays and jewelry were amassed behind our lodge screens. The finest bowls and exquisite knives and jewelry were readied, along with a mountain of food.
The date was set—the next full moon. Komkomis set himself to visit every lodge with ties to our community. Day after day he cemented social ties, indebting himself to all.
Excitement sparkled. The village was abuzz. Relatives and friends out of touch for years now reunited. Personal quarrels and disputes were forgiven. Tradition demanded the settlement of scores before the feast and the fires of even minor lodges were heady with the mediation of old feuds.
Nowamooks and I commuted between Nahcotta and Yakaitl-Wimakl to address an endless array of issues. Simply her presence brought some parties to find settlement.
The coming potlatch attracted traders like flies. Soon it seemed almost as before. Sweat lodges were busy day and night and clans constantly honored visitors. Traders lounged around our lodge fires bragging of coups and dreaming of trade. With Northerners still averse to risking the River, uncountable boatloads of goods changed hands in Nahcotta. Small time traders bought and sold daily, multiplying their small margins. Tents and lean-tos again crowded our hillsides and everywhere people gossiped and gambled.
As the feast edged closer, spirits lightened and people again wore their finest clothes. Hair was braided, rubbed with clay or oiled, feathers appeared liberally. Clan, totem and family symbols appeared on bare skin and the grimness that had gripped us gave way to largess and laughter.
Though most people were eager to put the past behind them, some couldn’t or didn’t want to. Our Black Mouths combed the crowds with quiet deliberation, vigilant for subtle signs that signaled a desire for revenge or retribution.
Komkomis barely slept. As chief in Nahcotta he entertained traders into the cold, still hours and rose for rituals well before dawn. Midmorning, a party of shaman emerged to burn sage before each lodge to recognize and honor our village spirits.
From his lodge roof Komkomis offered thanks to all who had come. “Nearly two years have passed since my brother, the son of our chief died, and one year since our great chief, my father, fell. We observed the proper rituals and their spirits have been peaceful. Their totems are satisfied with the revenge that was taken.”
When a murmur of approval swelled, Komkomis waved his arm for silence. “Now the time has come to reclaim their names. I wish to prove my worthiness as chief. Our villages will prosper. Our people will thrive. Today I will give you everything I own so the example of giving will radiate through the world…until all people have what’s needed.”
Shouts and whistles responded and a drum circle took up a throbbing beat. Baskets of food were passed and a circus mood enveloped. Masked dancers cavorted through the village. Gambling games drew boisterous crowds and traders began hawking baubles. The cries of vendors and chatter of friends competed with the rhythms of a hundred drums. Children raced and crowds milled. Old friends promenaded and admired the mountain of gifts beside our lodge.
At last, Newha Mokst’s cautious Black Mouths escorted our inner family to the council circle for the distribution of gifts. Komkomis held up his hands. “First, we must respect all who died in the war. Every family has lost loved ones…this potlatch honors all of those we’ve lost; your families and mine, together.”
“Here and now, with all of you as witnesses I reclaim the name Yakala, so it can again be given life among our people. Finally we can again speak my brother’s name when we honor his life. Yakala...Yakala my brother, I call your name after so many moons of silence.” A respectful hush gripped the crowd, then slowly from that silence murmurs gradually swelled until voices called out their own loved one’s names.
“And…I reclaim the name Comcomly.” Komkomis’ voice reached the furthest ears, “It is an honorable name that has been with us since before our first ancient lodges. The name of my father is so respected that its esteem extends beyond words. I needn’t say more because you knew him as trader and chief. His name has been held by Tsinuk chiefs since Raven dropped us here. I now bequeath it to the next Tsinuk chief. This honored name with all its rank and power will become that of my infant son...Comcomly.”
A roar of approval erupted and cries of “Comcomly” shook the air as Ellewa raised the child high and walked about the circle so all might see him.
The assembled shaman burnt sage to acknowledge the end of mourning. They sang blessings and honored both friends and enemies, alive, dead and yet to be born.
Then, laughing, Komkomis and his wives approached the piled gifts and began handing them out. Kilakota herself called people up; chiefs and dignitaries were individually. Gifts were handed out as fast as possible, but it still took hours and it was early evening before it was finished and the laughing crowds wended their way to the lodges of friends. At last, the taint of war seemed to fade.
Nowamooks and I hiked up to the rocky, tree-bound cliffs that overlooked the Great River.
“It’s been a hard year. I’m glad it’s over.” I held her close as she stood beside me.
“The year was good.” she leaned into me and sighed. “The Klatskanias were difficult. Until the very end, I didn’t think they could be baited into war.” She chuckled and her lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“Baited? It wasn’t their idea?”
“Of course not, Chaningsit, why else would Kilakota allow it? They wouldn’t have gone to war on their own. Kilakota was sure we could gather more warriors. She knew we would win.” she grinned happily and rubbed her cheek against my arm. “Their presence was bad for trade…how else could we stop them?”
“But hundreds died.” I could feel myself growing frantic as I realized the implication of what she’d said.
“But Chaningsit, Yakala is finally revenged and Tewaugh hasn’t any rivals.” Nowamooks looked over her shoulder and held her hair from her eyes. “Kilakota planned it after Yakala’s death.” She smiled indulgently.
“Kilakota? How could she think of such a thing?”
Nowamooks looked at me in surprise. “Think of it? Oh….of course she didn’t think of it, Chaningsit. She simply followed your suggestions.” Nowamooks beamed at me proudly and squeezed my hand.
“Nooo...” A tremor seized me–the number of dead stretched beyond counting.
“She and Raven’s Heart followed your counsel to the letter.” Nowamooks voice was light and fluting. “You said revenge was wrong so we didn’t attack them. You suggested their own behavior would hurt them…so Kilakota arranged that they destroyed themselves. You said to focus on trade...so Tewaugh helped the Willamettes’ trade go bad. When the battle was fought Komkomis kept our numbers hidden as you told him to. He kept retreating…over and over, as you advised.”
“But I didn’t…” I’d said those words, but I’d never had that meaning, Within me, I writhed..
“Kilakota is so very pleased. She says you are a genius. You are responsible for everything. She says you’re a great man and a worthy Tsinuk.”
“But it’s not what I meant.” I trembled. My stomach soured.
“I am so proud to be your wife. At each stage you gave wonderful advice.” She squeezed my fingers and happily looked up into my face, her lips pinched tight.
The quaking in my stomach threatened to overwhelm me. I was suddenly chilled. My skin was damp and clammy.
She smiled beatifically. “You said to wait and watch, so we waited.
You were right in every detail, Chaningsit. Everyone is SO very proud.”
“I thought the Willamettes and Klatskanias started the war.”
“Well, they did of course...but they were encouraged. Tewaugh started rumors in their lodges. It took a lot of prodding.” Nowamooks blinked playfully. “Raven’s Heart followed your council and the Klatskanias kicked the stone. She and Kilakota listened to you and nudged them into choosing to fight. She listened to you, Tewaugh listened to her...”
“Tewaugh?” I asked faintly. I studied her face wondering if this was teasing or true.
“Of course. Tewaugh had to ensure that they were desperate. Their own bad nature led them into to fight. When Tewaugh’s planted enough rumors that said they’d pledged revenge, eventually they assumed that they had. He planted rumors about their hatred of Tsinuks…eventually they believed they did. They needed allies or they would attack, so Raven’s Heart started rumors in the allies’ lodges that we’d wronged them as well. They needed to appear justified…but not too much. The Klatskania knew they weren’t strong enough, and twice almost backed away, so there were rumors of how no one would support us. They??
?d already believed so many planted rumors they couldn’t see what was actually real. But the wedges did confuse us.”
“The wedges?” I asked numbly.
She sighed and gave a shrug. “Oh that? Oluck Kiya explained it…well almost. The Willamettes and Klatskania did plan it. They did supply the wedges and force Quaempts. That idea was theirs. The old woman didn’t want to do it. She discussed it with Kilakota, But she had to be convinced to tell her daughters. Arranging things so the story could be checked was the hardest part. Don’t you think that it was right that the Klatskania felt our wrath?”
I stared into her eyes, feeling lost. “But I didn’t advise war or revenge. I didn’t want it.”
“No, of course not, my love.” Nowamooks beamed and squeezed my fingers. She smiled lovingly. “All you did was teach the Way.”
THE END
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