Salt (3 page)

as they both look at my sister.

A quiet smile crosses

Rain Bird's face,

like a bird

landing on a branch,

then flying off again. I notice something

for the first time—some people might think Rain Bird

has a pretty face. This smile makes her

look older.

JAMES

Ma gives Molly a hard crust to chew—she has two new teeth, ready

to pop through.
Play with her, will you, James? She's so fussy, you're

the only one who can make her smile.
I let her pull my hair—she likes that,

but the trouble is, she's getting stronger and it hurts! I wiggle my toes

in the new moccasins Ma got for me today—she knits wool socks to trade

for moccasins Mink makes. They've done that all my life. Ma says to Pa,

The trading seemed fair today
. He doesn't answer right away.
Yes,
he finally

says. Then:
The President and Governor have asked me to try to sell more goods

to the Miami than they can afford, to deliberately get them into debt.
Ma says,

We don't go into debt ourselves. It would be wrong to encourage others to do so.

Pa explains,
We'd get paid next time they sign a treaty. If they sell some

of their land, the government will pay off their debt as part of the agreement.

At first it sounds fair, but then I think about it more. If they sell their land,

where will they hunt and pick berries and plant corn? Where will they live?

ANIKWA

I figured out why

Rain Bird hid her licorice candy.

We're all playing tossball when I notice

Kwaahkwa's mouth is stained black,

different from makiinkweemina

stains. Rain Bird gave

her licorice

to Kwaahkwa! Why would

she do that? I try to act like I don't

notice, but Toontwa sees it too, and he can't

swallow his laughter. I toss the ball to him to make him stop

laughing long enough to hold it up and decide where to toss it next.

Miililo,
Kwaahkwa shouts.
Give it to me!
Toontwa forgets about

the licorice and throws the ball to Kwaahkwa—happy

because Kwaahkwa noticed him. Kwaahkwa's

happy too, because Rain Bird is watching

when he makes a goal—she

has that same smile

on her face.

When the game is over,

we gather round the fire to eat:

roasted raccoon, hot corn, beaver soup.

Fireflies light up the edge

of the dark forest.

JAMES

Wish Molly would hurry up and get big so she could help

find moss to plug the cracks between the logs. Gotta do it,

or the wind will blow right through our walls. Ma never stops

fretting about winter, even now when we're all sweating

in the summer sun. We've never yet frozen to death—I doubt

it will happen this year. But Ma handed me a sack and said,

See if you can fill it,
so here I am, lifting moss from rocks, shaking

off the sticks and spiders. When I look up, a mother deer with two

fawns is watching me—one of them has a white patch on its leg.

Now here come two bucks. They all stand there together, trying

to make me lonesome. When they turn and walk away, I could follow

to see where they go. I could tell Pa where they are so he could go out

and get one. He'd be happy; the meat would taste good. But those little

ones … naw. My moss sack is full. I go home and help Ma stuff the cracks.

ANIKWA

We're down by the river,

cutting cattails to make walls for the longhouse.

Toontwa calls us over:
Look,
he says,
fresh tracks in the mud.

One set of big tracks, two sets of small ones—

a mother black bear and her cubs

came here to drink, early

this morning,

and we don't want

to surprise them or disturb them.

Grandma speaks quietly, in case they're nearby:

We'll go home on the other trail, and come back later.
We've

been here all afternoon, and now we spread the cattails in the sun.

We should have enough to sew together into three more mats,

to cover the frame we're working on. We've cut saplings,

dug holes to set them in the ground. Next, we'll tie

the frame together. We'll finish this longhouse

before the geese fly south. When it's cold,

the cattail walls will keep out

wind and snow.

Our fire will keep us warm

inside while we tell winter stories. Today,

these cattails spread out on the ground make me think

of winter. In winter, the longhouse will

remind me of this summer day.

JAMES

Isaac comes to the door.
Let's go do something.
Not sure I want to—

doing things with Isaac usually leads to trouble. But we head out,

walking by the river. He finds some cattails and whacks them on a tree

to make the brown parts burst. All the fluff goes flying—looks like fun.

Let me try that,
I say.
Where'd you get those?
Then I see: cattail reeds are

laid out on the ground beside the long green leaves, drying in the sun.

Isaac grabs as many reeds as he can hold.
Leave them alone,
I say.
People

put these here—they'll be back to get them.
But Isaac never listens to me.

He keeps busting up the cattails' fluffy parts and walking on the reeds,

leaving muddy boot prints all over them. Then he stomps across all the

animal tracks so I can't see what animals have been here.
Hey, look!
he says,

pointing.
A hornet nest!
Before I can stop him, he whacks it with a stick—

the hornets come raging out, and we run off. I get stung six times! Isaac:

not once. I'm hollering in pain. He's laughing his head off—just like usual.

ANIKWA

Four men

went out looking for

the black bears—they followed

the tracks around a bend

in the river, then

farther, until,

two hours

from Kekionga, they saw

where the tracks crossed a shallow place

to the other side. Even though they didn't find the bears,

now we know it's safe to go back for our cattails. They should be

lighter, easier to carry home, after drying out here in the sun all day.

The weather's good: warm, but not too hot, no rain, not many

flies or mosquitoes. Black and orange butterflies

all around us, like flying flowers,

and others, deep purple-

blue, the color

of the

sky

on a half-moon night.

Here's where we left the cattails.

What? Who did this? Why are all these hornets

flying everywhere, so lost

and angry?

JAMES

What happened to your face?
Ma asks. Don't want her to know about the cattails.

Hornet nest,
I say—maybe that'll be enough. But she keeps asking questions

until she figures out what happened. Like I expect, she says,
You'll have to

go back and cut new cattails
. Then:
I'll go with you.
As we walk, Molly laughs

at the butterflies fluttering around her, the wind blowing through her hair.

Could've been a good time. No hornets—no Isaac. But when we get to where

the cattails are, Anikwa is already there with his family, studying the tracks

around the broken reeds. My moccasins and Isaac's boots—the same size.

They look at my feet. Do they notice that it's Isaac's muddy tracks, not mine,

that ruined all their cattails? Anikwa's grandma looks at me like she can

see my thoughts. She searches around, picks some plants, takes my face

in her hands, and presses leaves on all the hornet stings—cool on my hot skin.

I don't look at her. (Sometimes I'm glad she can't talk English.) I watch

to see what Anikwa does—then take out my knife and start cutting cattails.

SALT CRYSTALS SHINE

Sunlight travels

through the sky

as water flows

within the earth

dissolving salt,

carrying it on.

When salty water

surfaces to light,

salt crystals shine,

a jeweled ring

around this shallow

pool of brine.

ANIKWA

The longhouse

is finished. Now we're helping

Kwaahkwa's family put the roof on their log

house, and stuff the cracks with moss.

Soon it will be time to bring in

our corn and dry it

for the winter.

If we dry enough corn

and fish and meat; if snow doesn't

come too soon, or last too long; if no one

gets sick this year—maybe we will all survive until

next summer. Today lots of friends and relatives from

other villages are coming. We'll have games—

lacrosse and tossball—food and music,

stories, dancing.
Come on, Toontwa,

let's get plenty of firewood,

so the fire will last

all night long.

This time,

he comes running,

glad to help, because he knows

the longer we keep the fire burning, the more

time we'll have with our friends

and cousins.

JAMES

I have my snares in my pocket, and I know exactly where to set them.

I'm heading out the door, when Ma says,
Wait a minute, James
. What?

She's always glad to see me snare some rabbits. She likes rabbit meat,

and she needs a few more skins to make a coat and hat for Molly.

She hesitates.
Maybe you should stay inside the stockade today,
she says.

But, Ma,
I argue,
there's no rabbits inside the stockade!
She frowns.

Well, something's been eating my cabbages. See what you catch in my garden.

I tried that already. Everyone knows, rabbits like to stay on their trails.

Yesterday, one hopped down the river trail and looked right at me,

like a challenge.
I won't go far,
I say.
I promise!
She's thinking about it.

I'll pick some blackberries,
I add.
All right,
she finally says.
But don't go

farther than the berry patch. And … let me know if you see anything unusual.

I'm out the door, through the stockade gate, and halfway to the trail

before I stop to wonder what Ma means by “anything unusual.”

ANIKWA

Kwaahkwa is our

best lacrosse player, but he sure

likes to tease the little kids.
Toontwa,
he says,

you call that a stick? That little twig

with an acorn on the end?

Toontwa is proud

of his stick.

He worked hard

on it, and I helped him.

What do you expect?
I say.
He's only

six years old.
Toontwa stands beside me, trying

to make himself look bigger, and Kwaahkwa smiles.

Let me have a look,
he says, reaching for the stick.

He tightens a few knots, and gives it back,

then tosses the ball to Toontwa, who

scoops it up and throws it back to

Kwaahkwa. Toontwa won't

play in the men's

game tonight,

but we're all having fun

before the big game starts.
Miililo!
I call,

holding up my stick. I get the ball and throw it toward

Toontwa. He runs for it and looks up to catch

Kwaahkwa's smile.

JAMES

Before I set my snares, I look for pawpaws. Should be almost ripe.

Yes—here's the tree I found last year. Even more fruit this year.

I go check the bluebird nest. Good—all four babies, still alive in there.

Five or six more days, they'll leave the nest—hope I get to see that.

I come to the oak tree that fell in the river, half in, half out of the water.

Ducks and geese swim past. A pair of herons lifts out of a treetop.

I sit on the dry end of the log, staying still so I don't scare the turtles

when they climb out on the log's other end: two … four … five … seven.

A family of raccoons was here this morning, Anikwa's tracks mixed in

with theirs. His tracks are like mine because Mink makes the same

kind of moccasins for him as she makes to trade with Ma. I follow his

tracks—going toward that hole we saw. Don't want to get too close,

so I climb a tree to look down into it. Empty. From up here, I can see

the berry bush. Anikwa's there, with Toontwa—do they see me up here?

ANIKWA

Aya,
James calls out

as he climbs down from the tree.

He saw me before I had a chance to trick him

into thinking I'm a crow, but I make

a crow call on my whistle

anyway, and then I

show him

how to do it.

Looks like he's come out