Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival (5 page)

This time the two women did not worry about hidden cracks beneath the ice. They were too tired. Mindless of the danger, they crossed the frozen river and kept right on going up the tributary. The women walked until late that night. The moon slowly emerged over the trees
until it hovered above them, lighting their way along the narrow creek. Although they had walked more hours than they had on earlier days, the women continued on. They felt sure the old campsite was near and they wanted to reach their destination that night.

Just about the time Ch’idzigyaak was ready to beg her friend to stop, she saw the campsite. “Look over there!” she cried. “There are the fishracks we hung so long ago!” Sa’ stopped and suddenly felt weak. It was with great effort that she stood on her shaking legs, for a feeling of somehow coming home suddenly overwhelmed her.

Ch’idzigyaak moved closer to her friend and gently placed an arm around her. They looked at each other and felt a surge of powerful emotion that left them speechless. They had traveled all this way by themselves. Good memories came back to them about the place where they had shared much happiness with friends and family. Now, because of an ugly twist of fate, they were here alone, betrayed by those same people. Because they were thrown together in hardship, the two women developed a sense of knowing what the other was thinking, and Sa’ was usually the more sensitive one.

“It is better not to think of why we are here,” she said. “We must set up our camp here tonight. Tomorrow we will talk.” Clearing the bitter emotion from her throat, Ch’idzigyaak heartily agreed. So, with slow, dragging movements, the two women climbed up the low bank of the creek and walked to the campsite, where they found an old tent frame that they used for shelter that night.

Though their clothing shielded them from the awful cold, the caribou skins did a better job. Coals from the fire pulsated amidst the ash all through the night and kept the shelter warm. Finally, the morning cold seeped through, and the women began to stir. Sa’ was the first to move. This time her body did not protest so much as she moved about the shelter, placing the wood they had gathered the night before on the tiny embers still burning in the fireplace. After a few moments of softly blowing the dried sticks, a flame began a gentle dance as it spread onto the bundle of dry willows. Soon the shelter was warm and glowing.

That day, the women worked steadily, unmindful of their aching joints. They knew they would have to hurry to make final preparations for the worst of the winter, for even colder weather lay ahead. So they spent the day piling snow high around the shelter to insulate it and gathering all the loose wood they could find. Then without resting, they set a long line of rabbit snares, for the area was rich in willow, and there were many signs of rabbit life. Nighttime had arrived when the women made their way back to the camp. Sa’ boiled the remains of the rabbit’s innards and the women feasted on the last of their food. After that, they leaned against their bedding and stared into the campfire.

The two women had not known each other well before being abandoned. They had been two neighbors who thrived on each other’s bad habit of complaining and on sharing conversations about things that did not matter. Now, their old age and their cruel fate were all they had in common. So it was that night, at the end of their painful journey together, they did not know how to converse in companionship, and instead, each woman dwelled on her own thoughts.

Ch’idzigyaak’s mind went immediately to her daughter and grandson. She wondered if they were all right. A surge of hurt streaked through her as she thought about her daughter again. It was still hard for Ch’idzigyaak to believe that her own flesh and blood would refuse to come to her aid. As the self-pity overwhelmed her, Ch’idzigyaak fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and her lips formed a thin, rigid line. She would not cry! This was the time to be strong and to forget! But with that thought a huge single tear dripped down. She looked at Sa’ and saw that she also was lost deep in thought. Ch’idzigyaak was perplexed by her friend. Except for a few moments of weakness,
the woman next to her seemed strong and sure of herself, almost as if she were challenged by all of this. Curiosity replaced her pain and Sa’ was startled when Ch’idzigyaak spoke.

“Once when I was a little girl, they left my grandmother behind. She could no longer walk and could hardly see. We were so hungry that people were staggering around, and my mother whispered that she was afraid that people would think of eating people. I had not heard of anything like this before, but my family told stories of some who had grown desperate enough to do such things. My heart filled with fear as I clung to my mother’s hand. If someone looked into my eyes, I would turn my head quickly, fearing he might take notice of me and consider eating me. That is how much fear I had. I was hungry, too, but somehow it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was because I was so young and had my family all around me. When they talked about leaving my grandmother behind, I was horrified. I remember my father and brothers arguing with
the rest of the men, but when my father came back to the shelter, I looked at his face and knew what would happen. Then I looked at my grandmother. She was blind and too deaf to hear what was going on.” Ch’idzigyaak took a deep breath before continuing with her story.

“When they bundled her up and put her blankets all around her, I think Grandmother sensed what was happening because as we began to leave the camp I could hear her crying.” The older woman shuddered at the memory.

“Later, when I grew up, I learned that my brother and father went back to end my grandmother’s life, for they did not want her to suffer. And they burned her body in case anyone thought of filling their bellies with her flesh. Somehow, we survived that winter, though my only real memory of that time was that it was not a happy one. I remember other times of empty stomachs, but none as bad as that one winter.”

Sa’ smiled sadly, understanding her friend’s painful memories. She, too, remembered. “When I was young, I was like a boy,” she began. “I was always with my brothers. I learned many things from them. Sometimes, my mother would try to make me sit still and sew, or learn that which I would have to know when I became a woman. But my father and brothers always rescued me. They liked me the way I was.” She smiled at her memories.

“Our family was different from most. My father and mother let us do almost anything. We did chores like everyone else, but after they were done, we could explore. I never played with other children, only with my brothers. I am afraid I did not know what growing up was about because I was having so much fun. When my mother asked me if I had become a woman yet, I did not understand. I thought she meant in age, not in that way. And summer after summer, she would ask me the same question, and each time she looked more worried. I did not pay much attention to her. But as I grew as tall as my mother and just a little shorter than my brothers, people looked at me in a strange way. Girls younger than me already were with child and man. Yet I was still free like a child.” Sa’ laughed heartily as she now knew why she received all those strange looks from people then.

“I began to hear them laugh at me behind my back and I became confused. In a way, I did not care what people thought about me, so I continued to hunt, fish, explore, and do what I pleased. My mother tried to make me stay home and work, but I rebelled. My brothers had taken women, and I told my mother she had plenty of help, and with that I would escape. When my mother turned to my father to discipline me, I would show up with a huge bundle of ducks, fish, or some other food, and my father would say, ‘Leave her alone.’ Then I grew older, beyond that age when women should have man and child, and everyone was talking about me. I could not understand why, for although I was not with a man and having children, I was still doing my share of the work by providing food. There were times when I brought more food than the men. This did not seem to please them.
About this time in my life, we experienced our worst winter. It was cold like this.” Sa’ motioned with her hand.

“Even babies died, and grown men began to panic, for as hard as they tried they could not find enough animals to eat. There was an old woman in our group whom I rarely noticed. The chief decided we had to move on in our search for food. There was a rumor that far away we would find caribou. This excited everyone.

“The old woman had to be carried. The chief did not want this burden, so he told everyone that we would leave her behind. No one argued, except me. My mother tried to stifle me, but I was young and unthinking. She told me that this was to be done for the sake of the whole group. She seemed like a cold, unfeeling stranger as she tried to talk me out of my protest, but I angrily brushed her off. I was shocked and furious. I felt that The People were being lazy and were not thinking clearly. It was my job to talk some sense into them. And being who I was, I spoke up for the woman whom I hardly knew existed
until then. I asked the men if they thought they were no better than the wolves who would shun their old and weak.

“The chief was a cruel man. I had avoided him until the day I stood before him and shouted angry words at his face. I could see that he was twice as angry as I was, but I could not stop myself. Even though I knew that the chief disliked me, I argued on, not listening to him as he tried to answer my accusations. His action was wrong, and I meant to make it right. As I continued to talk, I was unaware of the shock that awakened the group from its malnourished lethargy. A fearful look fell upon the chief’s face and he put his large hand over my mouth. ‘All right, strange young girl,’ he said in a loud voice that I knew was meant to humiliate me. I could feel my chin go up farther so that he could see that I remained proud and unafraid. ‘You will stay with the old one,’ he said. I could hear my mother gasp, and my own heart sank. Yet I would not yield as I stared unblinkingly into his eyes.

”My family was deeply hurt, but pride and shame kept them from protesting. They did not want a daughter who would take such a stand against the strong leaders of the group. I did not think the leaders were strong. The chief acted as if I did not exist after that, and I was ignored by everyone else except my family, who begged me to apologize to the leader. But I would not give in. My pride grew with each moment the others pretended I was not there, and I continued to plead for the old woman’s life.” Sa’ broke into laughter at her impetuous youth.

“What happened after that?” Ch’idzigyaak wanted to know.

Sa’ paused as she deeply inhaled the pain from those long-ago memories. Continuing in a subdued voice, she said, “After they left, I was not so brave. There were no animals to be found for miles around. But I was determined to show what could be done by my good intentions. So the old woman—I never did know her name, for I was too busy trying to keep us alive—and I ate mice, owls, and anything else that moved. I killed it, and we ate it. The woman died that winter. Then I was alone. Not even my pride and usual carefree ways could help me. I talked to myself all the time. Who else was there? They would think I was crazy if The People returned to find me talking to the air. At least you and I have each other,” Sa’ told her friend, who nodded in wholehearted agreement.

“Then I realized the importance of being with a large group. The body needs food, but the mind needs people. When the sun finally came hot and long on the land, I explored the country. One day as I was walking along, talking to myself as usual, someone said, ‘Who are you talking to?’ For a moment I thought I was hearing things. I stopped in my tracks and turned slowly to find a big, strong-looking man with his arms crossed, smiling at me in a bold manner. Many feelings ran through me at that moment. I was surprised, embarrassed, and angry all at once. ‘You scared me!’ I said, trying to cover up my real feelings. Because my cheeks were burning, I knew I did not fool him, for
his grin grew deeper. He asked me what I was doing out there alone, and I told him my story. I felt at that moment that I could trust him. He told me that the same thing happened to him. Only he was banished because he was foolish enough to fight over a woman who was meant for another man. We were together a long time before we became a man and woman together. I never saw my family again, and it was years later that we joined the band.

“Then he tried to fight with a bear and died. Foolish man,” she added with grudging admiration, as a deep sadness weighed down her face.

It was the first time Ch’idzigyaak saw her friend so sad, and she broke the silence by saying, “You were luckier than I, for when it became apparent that I was not interested in taking a man, I was forced to live with a man much older than me. I hardly knew him. It was years before we had our child. He was older than I am now when he died.”

Sa’ laughed. “The People would have chosen a man for me too, had I been with them much
longer.” After a momentary silence, she continued. “Now here we are, truly old. I hear our bones creaking, and we are left behind to fend for ourselves.” The women fell into silence as they struggled with their emotions. They lay on their warm beds as the cold earth trembled outside. They thought about the experiences they had shared. As they fell into an exhausted sleep, each woman felt more at home because of her new knowledge of the other and because each had survived hard times before.