Raven Stole the Moon (5 page)

“S
O HOW DOES IT REALLY WORK?
” F
ERGUSON CALLED OUT FROM
his perch on the edge of the fire pit. The heat from the flames felt good on his back.

David was wandering around the other side of the community house, occasionally giving his rattle a shake as he examined the walls, ceiling beams, and windows.

“How does what work?”

“The shaman stuff. The magic.”

“Now you want a primer on shamanic technique?”

Ferguson shrugged. ”I don’t know. What are you doing now, for example?”

“Right now? I’m looking at the craftsmanship of the building. They did a nice job with these beam joints.”

“I don’t get it. Aren’t you going to cast a spell?”

David laughed and started toward Ferguson, weaving through a maze of dinner tables covered with upside-down chairs.

“Not yet. There may be no need. We don’t know what’s out there.”

David reached the fire pit. He took a chair off one of the tables and sat across from Ferguson.

“I’ll try to explain. The world is full of people and spirits which all give off a certain energy, although most don’t give off very much and not many can feel it. As a shaman, I give off a lot of energy and I can feel others’ energy. So, what I’m doing now is giving off energy. I’m like a sonar. I’m sending out waves, and if my waves are detected by a spirit that feels I’m invading its space, it will let me know.

“You, on the other hand, don’t have as much energy as I do, so that same spirit may not notice you. But when a lot of people like you get together, like a whole town’s worth, you
will
become noticeable, and that’s when there could be a problem. Am I making sense?”

“Sure,” Ferguson said, even though he wasn’t that sure. “But how come you give off so much more energy?”

“Because I’m a shaman. During my apprenticeship, I came into contact with a lot of spirits and I took their energy from them. They’re my spirit helpers, called
yeks
. And I keep their energy in my pouch.”

David lifted the leather bag around his neck.

“What’s in it?”

“Tongues. Not whole tongues. Pieces of tongues. Enough to signify that I have their power. If I ever take off my pouch, I’ll lose my power.”

“Can I try it on? I want the power.”

David laughed.

“If anyone other than a shaman wears his pouch, that man will go insane.”

“Really? How insane?”

“Stark, raving. You’d find yourself running through the woods naked with wild hair. You’d eat frogs for food. People in the village would tell stories about you at the campfire. Children would be afraid.”

“Okay, forget it. I don’t want to scare the children. But then what? After the spirits feel your sonar, what happens?
Then
you cast a spell?”

“It’s not really a spell thing,” David said, screwing up his face in an effort to figure out how to explain it to Ferguson. “There
are
spells, but they’re really for spirits of lower energy, spirits a shaman can dominate. This would be something different, most likely.

“Let’s say a spirit inhabits this area and wants it for himself. He can make your life very difficult by scaring away animals so you can’t find food, haunting the place, things like that. If that happens, I’ll try to broker a peace. I’ll try to placate the spirit by offering homage. You know, every year the resort will make a sacrifice of such and such, like that.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Ferguson asked.

“Well, then we make a choice. Call the whole thing off, or I go into battle. If I go into battle, I’ll call on the spirits in my power for help—the spirits whose pieces of tongue I have in my pouch—and we’ll slug it out and hopefully I’ll win.”

“I see,” Ferguson mused. He briefly wondered if David was making this all up. Maybe it was all a crock. Although it was interesting enough. Indian spirits were much more tangible than Christian spirits. Hand-to-hand combat with a spirit. He couldn’t ever imagine a priest doing battle with the devil. Although it happened in
The Exorcist
. So maybe it was the same after all.

“I see,” Ferguson repeated. “Now, for instance, that logging company you told me about. With the owls. How did that work? Did you apologize to the spirits?”

“Yes.”

“And did it work?”

“No. The company was doing it to make newspaper copy. They didn’t hold up their end of the deal and offer sacrifice.”

“So what happened?”

“A mud slide took out their whole operation.”

“Really?” Ferguson exclaimed. “The spirits did that?”

“Yes.”

“So were they evil spirits?”

“No.”

“But they destroyed the logging operation.”

David sighed. There were a lot of questions, and each answer opened up more questions. Still, he thought, education is the road to ending ignorance. At least Ferguson wanted to know.

“The Tlingit don’t have good and evil,” David explained. He stood up and threw a couple more logs into the fire pit. “Let me tell you another story . . .”

T
HERE WAS A VERY
powerful chief who kept the sun, moon, and stars locked up in three boxes, which he never let anyone touch. Raven had heard many stories of these boxes, and wanting them for himself, he devised a plan to get them.

Raven knew that the chief loved his family above all other things. The chief had a daughter whom he cared for very much and guarded very carefully. Raven realized he could get to the boxes if he became the chief’s grandson.

Since Raven could change into any form, he turned himself into a blade of grass. He let himself down on the rim of a bowl from which the daughter was drinking, and when she drank, she swallowed Raven. The daughter knew she had swallowed something, but it was too late. She became pregnant, and when the time came, she gave birth to a boy. Nobody suspected that this boy was Raven.

The grandfather took great joy in his grandson and loved the child more than anything. So when Raven cried and cried for one of the chief’s valuable treasure boxes, the grandfather could not refuse. Raven took the box outside to play, and when he opened it, all the stars jumped into the sky, leaving the box empty. The grandfather was sad to lose his prize, but he did not scold his grandson.

Raven cried again, this time for the second box. The grandfather reluctantly gave the box to the boy, warning him not to open it as he had the last box. Raven, again, took the box outside and opened it, releasing the moon into the sky.

The grandfather firmly refused to give his grandson the third box, for it contained the sun, his most valuable possession. Raven’s cries and wails could do nothing to persuade the chief. But when Raven stopped eating and drinking and became ill, his grandfather could not refuse. He gave his grandson the box, this time with the strict warning that he would be punished if he opened it.

Raven went outside, and having the third box in his possession, he turned himself into a bird and flew off. As Raven flew, he called out for the people of earth, but because there was no sun he could not see them. When he heard the people calling for him, Raven opened the box and the sun burst out, shining on all the lands. From that time on, the earth had light.

“D
O YOU UNDERSTAND,
Ferguson? Raven didn’t just give us the sun, moon, and stars. He had to steal them from someone else.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Stealing is an act of evil. But giving is an act of good. So was Raven good or evil?”

Ferguson felt a little dumb for having to be led to the answer.

“Both.”

“Both. Exactly. You now have a complete understanding of the Tlingit religion.”

Ferguson nodded.

“Tlingit spirits are to be respected, Ferguson. They are to be treated fairly. If they are not respected, they can be harsh and vindictive. If they are treated fairly, they can be generous and kind.”

“I see,” Ferguson said, for lack of anything better to say. This was all getting a little intense for him. He wanted to get it over with. Enough with the lessons.

“I’m here because you wanted me here,” David continued. “I hope this isn’t simply something you’re doing to appease the locals.”

“It isn’t,” Ferguson answered quickly, turning his back to Livingstone and warming his hands before the fire. “It isn’t.”

T
HE GIRL COUNTED
J
ENNA’S ITEMS AND UNLOCKED A WHITE
door. Jenna went into the little booth, stripped down, and then stood staring at the pile of new clothes on the bench. Jeans, underwear, socks, bras, sweaters, and a pretty ankle-length dress that she knew she wouldn’t need where she was going but she wanted anyway—it fit so nicely and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity. What the hell was she doing? She was buying a complete line of Banana Republic clothes. Something that only a fugitive would do. Something that only a frightened person would do.

And she
was
frightened. Out of her mind. Because it finally hit her that she had bought a ticket and had every intention of boarding a ferry that would take her to Wrangell, Alaska. The scene of the crime. Well, not exactly. The scene of the crime was a few nautical miles south and west of Wrangell. Thunder Bay. It was like a drain, and Jenna was spinning helplessly in the bathwater. Being drawn inevitably toward some kind of confrontation. Some kind of conclusion.

She had sworn never to set foot in the state of Alaska again. Two years ago, as she flew away from the place where her heart had been ripped from her body. Where her very soul had been crushed. Where her spirit had drowned with her baby. She swore she would never go again. And now, in a Banana Republic changing room, being hassled by a stupid high school girl about how many items she was trying on, Jenna was actually realizing that unless she veered drastically to the right or left, she would get on a ferry, and that ferry would deposit her exactly where she said she would never be seen again.

That’s why she was afraid.

But her fear was not stopping her.

She stepped out of the store wearing jeans, a T-shirt and sweater, a leather jacket, boots, and carrying a backpack stuffed with another pair of jeans, khaki shorts, extra T-shirts, socks and underwear, and the dress. She ditched her black suit that Christine liked so much in the garbage can on the street.

In the drugstore next door, Jenna bought miniature versions of all the toiletries she would need for her trip. She was relieved that the woman behind the counter was nice enough to let her use the bathroom in back to brush her teeth and get that sticky muffin-and-coffee taste out of her mouth.

It was nine thirty and Jenna strolled down to the dock. Cars and people were loading onto the ferry, and Jenna felt excited about her trip. She also felt that she at least had to tell Robert she would be gone. Seeing a pay phone up against the building, she went to it and called home. The phone rang four times and the answering machine picked up. That’s strange, she thought. Where could Robert be? Hopefully not out looking for her. Jenna left a quick message and hung up. She walked over to the gangway and got on line to board the ferry.

The lower level was dark, lit only by smoky greenish lights. The smell of car exhaust made Jenna feel a little nauseated. Gasoline smelled good; exhaust smelled bad. Passengers walked along the cold deck following bright yellow lines. The lines led to two elevators, where people were backed up waiting their turn. Jenna patiently stood on line.

Finally she squeezed her way into one of the elevators with twenty other people and it chugged upward, toward the top of the boat. Her elevator-mates spilled out into a lobby on the main deck and, pushing and shoving, ran toward one of the doors to the outside deck. Now Jenna remembered what the rush was all about. The ferries have only a few state rooms. There are the inside lounges with the big chairs that Jenna’s grandmother always stayed in. But most people go to the sundeck. Under the solarium they have heaters so you don’t freeze at night. Damn, Jenna thought, I should have bought a blanket.

Jenna moved with the pack up to the sundeck. It was a large open area: steel, covered with a thin green carpeting. The side that was toward the rear of the boat was open to the elements. About a third of it, toward the front of the boat, was a yellow-glassed solarium, like a giant hothouse. The end was open, but the walls and roof were covered, providing shelter from wind and rain. The solarium was already packed with travelers rolling out their sleeping bags and staking their claims. There were a few lounge chairs, but all of those had already been claimed. On the lower open deck, campers were pitching tents.

Jenna let out a sigh. She hadn’t planned this trip very well and it was showing. She had no sleeping bag, no blanket, no anything. And sleeping in her jacket on the deck didn’t sound too appealing. Maybe there was a place left inside. She hustled down the stairs on the side of the solarium and toward the front of the boat.

The sleeping lounge was a joke. First of all, it was already jammed with passengers. All the chairs were taken. And everyone was smoking. The room was filled with a thick cloud of toxic smoke. Jenna could hardly breathe. Several TVs suspended from the ceiling were blaring out sound to go with their staticky picture.

Despondent, Jenna headed for the cafeteria. She bought a cup of coffee and a banana and sat at a table. The excitement was gone. Jenna checked her watch. It was a quarter to eleven. Not too late to get off the ferry and go home. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Never follow your instincts—they’re always wrong. She cringed at the idea of being on a boat for three days with nowhere to sleep.

“Hey!”

Jenna looked up. It was Willie and Debbie.

“You didn’t say you were going on the ferry.”

Jenna smiled.

“It was kind of an impulse.”

“That’s cool.”

“I guess. Maybe too impulsive, though. I don’t have a sleeping bag or anything and there’s no place left inside.”

Willie grinned and looked at Debbie.

“Come hang out with us. We’re up on the deck.”

“I think I might get off and make the trip some other time.”

“No way. You can have my chair.”

“Willie’s been on the ferry before,” Debbie explained. “He knows the secret way up the stairs. He got us two lounge chairs under the sunroof.”

“You can have mine. I’ll sleep on the deck.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could. I’ve got a sleeping pad, I don’t care. I’ve done it before. I like the deck better, anyway. I got the chairs because of Debbie. She’s a girl.”

“Willie, don’t be a sexist. Girls can sleep on the deck, too.”

“Whatever.” Willie laughed. “When you’re done, come on up. You’ll take my chair. The boat’s leaving in a minute anyway, it’s too late to get off. Come on up.”

They both looked expectantly at Jenna. Jenna smiled.

“Okay.”

They smiled back and headed out of the cafeteria. At least it wouldn’t be a lonely trip, Jenna thought, peeling her banana.

Jenna stepped out on the deck as the boat pulled away from the dock. There’s something about a boat leaving port that makes one pause. Perhaps it is something reminiscent of the
Titanic
, that fateful voyage. Or, is it simply that in this mode of transportation one actually has time to reflect? Airplanes move too fast; cars are too demanding of attention. On a boat trip, you kind of amble to the next destination, so you can think about what you’ve left and where you’re going.

Jenna had left Seattle. She had left Robert. She had left her house and her life. She had left her cameras. But that was nothing new. Her career as a photographer had ended long ago. The last time she had used her cameras was the last time she was in Alaska. Two years ago, when Bobby died. She had forced herself to process those rolls and print a couple of shots, but she couldn’t do any more than that. Thousands of dollars of camera equipment sitting in a closet gathering dust because Jenna couldn’t bear to touch it.

The ferry was about a hundred yards from the dock and Jenna suddenly felt a twang of regret. There was no going back. The next port was Prince Rupert in Canada, and that was two days away. After that, Ketchikan, and then Wrangell. Maybe after she visited her grandmother’s house, she’d get back on the ferry and go all the way up to Skagway to use up the ticket she’d bought. But maybe not. She’d have to see how things went. If she couldn’t even look at her last pictures from Alaska, she certainly didn’t know how she would feel about going there now.

She went up to the sundeck and claimed her lounge chair from Willie and Debbie. Willie moved his things off the chair and arranged them between Jenna and Debbie. The deck was now full of people and sleeping bags. Groups were clustered around common objects like coolers of beer, decks of cards, radios. Some people napped, some read, some ate. All were dressed in the colorful clothes of Alaskan travelers. The summer-weight travelers were dressed for success in bright purple and red nylon things with fuzzy Patagonia accoutrements and new boots. The seasoned travelers were in wools, flannel shirts, and worn jeans. Grunge. If these people could play music, they’d have it made.

Jenna lay back on the chair. It was one of those pool deck models with the sticky plastic straps that cross the aluminum tube frame. Jenna didn’t have a sleeping bag to make it more comfortable, but as she lay back she realized she didn’t need it. She was very tired and it was warm under the yellow glass. And she fell asleep almost immediately.

W
HEN JENNA WOKE UP
the sun was already starting down. The sky was getting dusky, and to the west a band of orange blanketed the horizon. Willie was lying on his sleeping bag, reading. Debbie was gone. The deck was quiet and the rumble of the engines made the floor vibrate.

Jenna felt groggy and a little nauseated. She never liked taking naps. They always made her feel sick. She lay still for a few minutes to get herself back together. She sat up as Debbie returned to her chair carrying a few small bags of pretzels.

“You slept for a long time,” Debbie said, smiling.

Jenna nodded. Willie put down his book and sat up, too.

“Me and Debbie got you something,” Willie said, tugging at Debbie’s jean leg. Debbie pulled a bundle of tissue paper out of her pocket.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“We wanted to,” Debbie said. “You’ve been so nice.”

She unwrapped a piece of tissue paper and revealed a silver charm on a black leather strap. Debbie handed it to Jenna. It was a beautiful, intricately carved design.

“I got it from an old Indian lady in the cafeteria,” Debbie said.

“It’s real silver,” Willie added.

“It’s wonderful. What is it? A fish?”

It kind of looked like a fish, but not quite. A fish with little arms. There were two faces on it, almost as if the bigger animal had swallowed the smaller one. A larger fishlike thing and, inside, another face.

“No, she said it was something else. An otter-something. I wrote it down,” Debbie said, fumbling in her pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. “It’s called a kushtaka.”

“A kushtaka? What is it? It’s beautiful.”

“An Indian spirit. I picked it because it seemed the most like you.”

Jenna smiled and looked up.

“Help me put it on.”

Debbie tied the leather strap around Jenna’s neck and they all admired how good it looked on her.

“A kushtaka,” Jenna said. “It sounds so mysterious.”

“The woman told me a story, but I forgot it. Something about stealing souls. It was sort of hard to understand her. She was real nice, but a little weird, I guess.”

“Well, it was very sweet of you both. Thank you so much.”

Jenna kissed each of them on the cheek. It was a very nice piece of jewelry. Jenna wondered how much it cost. She held the charm in her fingers. Kushtaka. What kind of an Indian spirit was it? Maybe she would find the old woman who sold it and ask her what it meant. Kushtaka.