Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival (7 page)

Too soon, the sun lay orange and cool on the evening horizon, and the women knew summer was dwindling. About this time, the spawning salmon began to find their way up the little creek, much to the women’s pleasure, and for a short while they were busy with the reddish fish meat. The bear disappeared from the area, but still the women disposed of fish innards far down the creek. If the bear did not eat them, the ever-present ravens would devour them soon enough. The women also were frugal,
and they preserved many inside parts of the fish for other uses. For instance, the salmon intestines could be used for containing water, and the skin was fashioned into round bags to hold dried fish. These tasks kept them so busy they were up from early morning until late at night, and before they knew it, the short Arctic summer passed, and fall crept upon them.

When the season changed, the women retired from fishing and hauled their large supply back to the hidden camp. There they found a new problem. They had collected so much fish that there was no place to store it, and with the approaching winter there was no shortage of small animals searching for winter food. Eventually, the women made standing caches for their fish, and they placed great bundles of thorns and brush beneath them to discourage animals from bothering the fish. Perhaps this method worked, or perhaps it was just their luck, but animals kept away from their caches.

Far behind the camp was a low hill that the women had not had time to explore. One day,
with their summer hunting finished, Sa’ found herself wondering what bounties might lie on that hill or around it. So she took her spear and bow and the arrows the women had made, announcing that she would visit the hill. Ch’idzigyaak did not approve but could see that her friend would not be deterred.

“Just keep the fire going, and your spear nearby, and you should be safe,” Sa’ said as she set out, leaving Ch’idzigyaak behind shaking her head in disapproval.

It was a day of abandon for Sa’. She felt lighthearted for the first time in more years than she could remember, and like a child, she grasped greedily at the feeling. The day was beautiful. The leaves were turning a brilliant gold and the air was crisp and clear as Sa’ all but skipped along an animal trail. From a distance, one would not be able to see that Sa’ was an older woman, for she looked lithe and energetic. When she reached the top, she gasped in surprise. Before her lay vast patches of cranberries. Sa’ dropped to her knees and began to scoop
handfuls of the small red fruit, stuffing them into her mouth. As she gorged on this delicious food, a movement in the nearby brush made her freeze instantly.

Slowly, Sa’ forced herself to look toward the sound, imagining the worst. She relaxed when she saw that it was only a bull moose. Then she remembered that this time of year a bull moose could be the most fearful animal on four legs. Usually timid, the bull moose in his rutting stage was no longer afraid of man or of anything else that moved or stood in his way.

The moose remained still for a long time as if he were just as surprised and undecided about the small woman who stood before him as she had been about him. As her pulse slowed almost to normal, Sa’ imagined the delectable taste of moosemeat during the long winter months ahead. In another moment of unthinking craziness, she reached for an arrow from her pack and placed it in her bow. The moose’s ears flipped forward at the movement, then it turned and ran in the opposite direction just as the arrow landed harmlessly on the soft ground.

Pressing her fate, Sa’ followed. She could not run as strongly as when she was young, but with something that looked more like a limp than a jog, Sa’ was able to pursue the large animal. A moose can outrun a human any time unless, of course, there is too much snow. But on a snowless day like this, the moose sprinted far ahead as Sa’, gasping for breath, barely caught a glimpse of his large hind-end disappearing behind the brush. The big bull stopped many times, almost as if he were playing a game
with Sa’, and just when she almost caught up, he would saunter far ahead once more. Normally, a moose will run as far as he can from any predator. But today, the moose did not feel much like running, nor did he feel threatened, so the old woman was able to keep him in sight. She was stubborn and would not give up, although she knew that she was outmatched. By late afternoon, the moose seemed to grow tired of the game as he watched her from the corner of his dark round eyes, and with one flip of his ear he began to run faster. Only then did Sa’ admit to herself that there was no way she could catch it. She stared at the empty brush in defeat. Slowly she turned back, thinking to herself, “If only I were forty years younger, I might have caught him.”

It was late that night when Sa’ returned to the camp where her friend kept watch by a large campfire. As Sa’ sank wearily into a bundle of spruce boughs, Ch’idzigyaak could not help but blurt out, “I think many more years were taken from me while I worried for you.” Despite the admonishment in her voice, Ch’idzigyaak was deeply relieved that no harm had come to her friend.

Knowing that she had been foolish, Sa’ understood what her friend had been through and she felt ashamed. Ch’idzigyaak handed her a bowl of warm fish meat and Sa’ ate slowly. When a little of her strength returned, Sa’ told Ch’idzigyaak how she spent the day. Ch’idzigyaak smiled as she envisioned her friend chasing the long-legged bull, but she did not smile too broadly for it was not in her nature to laugh at others. Sa’ was grateful for that, and then, remembering the cranberries, told her friend about the great find and they both were cheered.

It took a few days for Sa’ to recover from her adventure with the moose, so the two old women sat still and wove birch bark into large round bowls. Then they went back to the hill and gathered as many berries as they could carry. By that time, autumn was upon them and the nights became chillier, reminding the
women that there was no time to waste in gathering their winter wood supply.

They piled wood high around their cache and shelter, and when they cleared all the wood from the area around the camp, they walked far back into the forest, packing in more bundles of wood on their backs. This went on until snowflakes fell from the sky, and one day the women awoke to a land shrouded in white. Now that winter was near, the women spent more time inside their shelter by the warm fire. Their days seemed easier now that they were prepared.

Soon the women fell into a daily routine of collecting wood, checking rabbit snares, and melting snow for water. They sat evenings by the campfire, keeping each other company. During the months past, the women were too busy to think about what had happened to them, and if the thought did cross their minds, they blocked it out. But now that they had nothing else to do in the evenings, those unwelcome thoughts kept coming back until soon each woman began to talk less as each stared thoughtfully into
the small fire. They felt it was a taboo to think of those who had abandoned them, but now the treacherous thoughts invaded their minds.

The darkness grew longer, and the land became silent and still. It took much concentration for the two women to fill their long days with work. They made many articles of rabbit-fur clothing such as mittens, hats, and face coverings. Yet, despite this, they felt a great loneliness slowly enclose them.

T
he chief stood surveying his surroundings with eyes made a little older by deep sadness. His people were in a desperate state, their eyes and cheeks sunk low in gaunt faces and their tattered clothing barely able to keep out the freezing cold. Many of them were frostbitten. Luck had gone against them. In desperation, still searching for game, they had returned to the place where they abandoned the two old women the winter before.

Sadly, the chief remembered how he fought the urge to turn back and save the old ones. But taking them back into the band would have been the worst thing for him to do. Many of
the more ambitious younger men would have seen this as an act of weakness. And the way things had been going, The People would have been easily convinced that their leader was not dependable. No, the chief had known that a drastic change in leadership would have proved more damaging than the hunger, for in times when a band is starving, bad politics lead only to further disaster. The chief remembered that moment of terrible weakness when he had almost allowed his emotions to ruin them all.

Now, once more, The People were suffering, and this winter found them on the verge of hopelessness. After turning their backs on the old women, The People traveled many hard miles before coming on a small herd of caribou. The meat sustained them until spring when they began to harvest fish, ducks, muskrats, and beaver. But just when they regained their energy to hunt and dry their food, the summer season ended, and it was time to think of moving toward the place where they would be able to find winter meat. The chief had never known
such terrible luck. As they traveled, the fall season came and went, and once more the band found itself nearly out of food. Now the chief looked at The People wearily with a feeling of panic and self-doubt. How long could he hold out before he, too, became lost in the hunger and fatigue that undermined his decisions? The People seemed to have given up trying to survive. They no longer cared to hear his lectures, staring at him with dulled eyes as if he made no sense.

Something else that troubled the chief was his decision to return to the place where they had left the old women. No one argued as he led them here, but the chief knew they were surprised. Now they stood looking around as if they expected something from him, or expected to see the two women. The chief avoided their eyes, not wanting them to know that he was as confused as they were. There was not a single sign that anyone had been left here. Not one bone gave evidence that the old ones had died. Even if an animal had stripped their bones
of flesh, surely something would have been left behind to show that humans had died here. But there was nothing, not even the tent that had sheltered the women.

Among The People was a guide named Daagoo. He was an old man, younger than the two old women, but still considered an elder. In his younger days, Daagoo had been a tracker, but the years had dimmed his vision and skills. He observed out loud what none of the others would acknowledge. “Maybe they moved on,” he said in a low voice so that only the chief would hear him. But in the silence, many heard him and some felt a surge of hope for the women many had loved.

After setting up camp, the chief summoned the guide and three of his strongest young hunters. “I do not know what is going on, but I have a feeling that all is not as it appears to be. I want you to go to the camps near here and see what you can find.”

The chief was quiet about what he suspected, but he knew that the guide and the three hunters would understand, especially Daagoo, for he had watched the chief from season to season and had come to know what the man was thinking. Daagoo respected the chief and realized that he suffered from self-loathing because of the part he had played in abandoning the old women. The guide knew the chief despised his own weakness, for it showed in the hard lines of bitterness etched on his face. The old man sighed. He knew that soon the self-hate would take its toll, and he did not like the thought of a good man such as the chief being destroyed this way. Yes, he would try to find out what had happened to the women, even if the effort was wasted.

Long after the four men left camp the chief stared after them. He could not find a definite reason why he wasted precious energy and time on what might be a futile effort. Yet he, too, had a strange feeling of hope. Hope for what? He had no answer. All the chief knew for sure was that in hard times The People should hold together, and last winter they had not done so. They had inflicted an injustice on themselves and the two old women, and he knew that The People had suffered silently since that day. It would be good if the two women survived, but the chief knew the odds weighed against that hope. How could two feeble ones survive freezing cold without food or the strength to hunt? The chief acknowledged this, yet he could not still the small speck of hope that sprang from months of hardship. Finding the women alive would give The People a second chance and that, perhaps, was what he hoped for most.

Each of the four men was conditioned to run long distances. What took the two women days to travel to the first camp the year before took the four men a single day. They found nothing but endless snow and trees. The trek taxed their limited energy, and they decided to spend the night there. When the first hint of morning dawned, the men were up and jogging once more.

Daylight was fading when the men arrived at the second camp, and the younger men saw
no evidence that it had been used in a long time. Impatience began to overtake them. They had been trained from childhood to respect their elders, but sometimes they thought they knew more than the older ones. Although they did not say so out loud, they felt precious time was being wasted when they should be hunting for moose.