Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival (9 page)

Sa’ already had thought of this, but she was not afraid. Instead, she answered, “We have to remember that they are suffering. Yes, they were too quick to condemn us, but now we have proven them wrong. If they do the same
thing, we both know that we can survive. We have proven that much to ourselves. Now we must put aside our pride long enough to remember that they are suffering. If not for the adults, then for the children. Could you forget your own grandson?”

Ch’idzigyaak knew her friend was right, as usual. No, she could not be so selfish as to let her grandson go hungry when she had so much food to eat. The men waited patiently as the two women whispered between themselves.

Sa’ was not through talking, for she knew that Ch’idzigyaak still harbored fear about what was happening and needed confidence to face the future. “They do not know we have done well for ourselves,” she said. “But tomorrow in the daylight they will see, and then we will know if what they say is true. But remember this, my friend. If they do the same to us again, we will survive. And if they truly mean what they say, then maybe we will always be a reminder to them in harder times ahead.”

Ch’idzigyaak nodded in agreement. For a
moment, seeing these members of the band, she felt her old fears and forgot her renewed strength. She looked at her friend with great fondness. Sa’ always seemed to know the right thing to say.

In the shelter that night, the two women and the guide exchanged stories while the younger men sat in respectful and attentive silence. The old man told all that had happened after The People left the two women behind. He spoke of the ones who had died. Most were children. Unshed tears glistened in the old women’s eyes as they listened, for they had loved some of these people, and the children were among their favorites. The women could not bear to think of how much the children might have suffered before they died so young and so cruelly.

After Daagoo finished his story, Sa’ told him how they survived. The men sat with mixed emotions. The story she told sounded unbelievable, yet the women’s very presence was evidence of its truth. Sa’ did not mind the look of awe she saw in the men’s faces. She continued
telling her story as she looked back into the eventful year she and Ch’idzigyaak had shared. When she ended her story by telling them of their many food caches, their visitors’ eyes became alert.

“When we heard your voice the first time, we knew we could trust you. We also knew that since you were able to find us in the night that it would take little time for you to find our food caches, too. That is why I am telling you now. We know you mean us no harm.” Sa’ spoke directly to Daagoo. “But what of The People? If they can do such a thing as leave us behind, then they will have no feelings about taking what is ours. They will think of us again as weak and old with no need for our large caches. I do not blame them now for what they have done to us, for my friend and I know what hunger can do to a person. But we have worked hard for what we have, and though we knew it would be too much for us to eat during the winter, we stored it anyway. Maybe it was because we thought this might happen.” Sa’ paused to consider her words carefully. Then she added, “We will share with The People, but they must not become greedy and try to take our food, for we will fight to our deaths for what is ours.”

The men sat in silence listening to Sa’ speak in a strong and passionate voice. Then she laid down their terms: “You will stay at the old camp. We do not wish to see anyone else but you,” Sa’ motioned to Daagoo, “and the chief. We will give you food, and we hope The People will eat sparingly in knowledge of harder times to come. This is all we can do for you.”

The guide nodded in acknowledgment and said in a quiet voice, “I will return with this message to the chief.”

After they said all that had to be said, the women invited the men to sleep on one side of the shelter. For the first time in a long time, the women felt themselves relax. In those long months they feared many things. Now their visions of wolves and other predators faded away, and the women fell into a worry-free sleep.

They were no longer alone.

B
efore the men left the next day, the women packed large bundles of dry fish, enough to restore The People’s energy for travel. Meanwhile, the chief waited anxiously. He feared that something had happened to his men, yet hope kept intruding on that thought. When the men returned, the chief quickly gathered the council to hear their story.

The guide told the stunned people what they had discovered. When he finished his story, he told them that the women did not trust them and did not want to see them. Daagoo told them of the terms the women had set. After a
few minutes of silence, the chief said, “We will respect the women’s wishes. Anyone who disagrees will have to fight me.”

Daagoo was quick to join in, “The young men and I will stand by you.”

The council members who had suggested abandoning the two old women were deeply ashamed. Finally, one of them spoke. “We were wrong to leave them behind. They proved it so. Now we will pay them back with respect.”

After the chief announced the news to all, The People agreed to follow the rules set by the two women. After their energy was restored by the nourishing dried fish, The People began to pack, for they could not wait to see the two women. In this time of hardship the news of their survival filled the band with a sense of hope and awe. Ch’idzigyaak’s daughter, Ozhii Nelii, wept when she heard the news. She had believed her mother to be dead but knew, despite her own overwhelming relief, that her mother would never forgive her. Shruh Zhuu was so ecstatic that, when he heard the news,
the young boy immediately gathered his things and was ready to go.

It took the band quite a while to reach the camp where the bark had been stripped off the birch trees. The chief and Daagoo had gone ahead to meet with the two women, and when they arrived at the women’s camp, the chief had to contain himself from embracing them. The women eyed him with distrust, so they all sat down to talk instead. The women told the chief what they expected from The People. He responded by telling them their wishes would be obeyed. “We will give you enough food for The People, and when it becomes low, we will give you more food. We will give you small portions at a time,” Sa’ told the chief, who nodded his head almost humbly.

It took another day before the band reached the new camp, unpacked and set up tents. Then the chief and his men arrived with bundles of fish and rabbit-fur clothing. Daagoo had hinted boldly to the old women of the poor condition of the band’s clothing after he spotted their
large collection of rabbit-fur garments. The women both knew they never would use the many mittens, head coverings, blankets and vests they had made in their spare time, so they felt obligated to share with those who needed them. After The People settled down in their new camp and their bellies no longer cried for nourishment, they became more curious about the two old women. But they were forbidden to go near that camp.

The colder days came and stayed a long time, and The People carefully rationed the food that the old women shared. Then the hunters killed a large moose and hauled it many miles back to the camp where all rejoiced at the good fortune.

All this time the chief and the guide took turns making daily visits to the women. When it became apparent that the two women also were curious about The People, the chief asked permission for others to visit, too. Ch’idzigyaak was quick to say no, for her pride was the strongest. But later, the two women talked about it and admitted to themselves that they
were ready for visitors. This was especially so for Ch’idzigyaak, who missed her family terribly. When the chief arrived the next day, the two women told him of their decision, and soon people began visiting. At first they were timid and unsure. But after a few visits, they all talked more easily, and soon laughter and light-hearted chatter could be heard from inside the shelter. Each time the visitors came, they brought the two women gifts of moosemeat or animal furs, which the women accepted gratefully.

Relations became better between The People and the two women. Both learned that from hardship, a side of people emerged that they had not known. The People had thought themselves to be strong, yet they had been weak. And the two old ones whom they thought to be the most helpless and useless had proven themselves to be strong. Now, an unspoken understanding existed between them, and The People found themselves seeking out the company of the two women for advice and to learn new things. Now they realized that because the two women had lived so long, surely they knew a lot more than The People had believed.

Visitors came and went daily from the women’s camp. Long after they left, Ch’idzigyaak would stand and stare after them. Sa’ watched her and felt pity for her friend, for she knew that Ch’idzigyaak expected to see her daughter and grandson, but they did not come. Ch’idzigyaak harbored a secret fear in her heart that perhaps something bad had happened to them and The People did not want to tell her, but she was afraid to ask.

One day, as Ch’idzigyaak gathered wood, a young voice behind her said softly, “I have come for my hatchet.” Ch’idzigyaak stood slowly and the wood in her arms fell unnoticed to the ground as she turned. They stared at each other, almost as if they were in a dream and could not believe what they saw. Faces wet with tears, Ch’idzigyaak and her grandson stared at each other in happiness, and no words seemed worth speaking at that moment. Without further hesitation, Ch’idzigyaak reached out to embrace this young boy whom she loved.

Sa’ stood by smiling at the happy reunion. The young boy looked up to see Sa’ and went over to her and gave her a gentle hug. Sa’ felt her heart swell with love and pride for this youngster.

Still, Ch’idzigyaak wondered about her daughter. Despite all that had happened, Ch’idzigyaak yearned to see her own flesh and blood. Being the observant one, Sa’ knew this was why her friend seemed sad despite their good fortune. One day after another of the grandson’s visits, Sa’ reached over and grasped her friend’s hand. “She will come,” she said simply, and Ch’idzigyaak nodded her head, although she did not quite believe it.

Winter was almost over. A well-trodden path lay between the two camps. The People could not get enough of the women’s company, especially the children, who spent many hours laughing and playing in the camp while the old women sat beside their shelter and watched. They were grateful to have survived to witness this. No longer did they take each day for granted.

The young grandson came every day. He helped his grandmothers with their daily chores as before and listened to their stories. One day, the older woman could wait no longer and finally found the courage to ask, “Where is my daughter? Why does she not come?”

The young boy answered honestly. “She is in shame, Grandmother. She thinks that you have
hated her since that day when she turned her back on you. She has cried every day since we parted,” the young boy said as he put his arms around her. “I am worried about her, for she is making herself old with grief.”

Ch’idzigyaak sat listening, and her heart went out to her daughter. Yes, she had been very angry. What mother would not be? For all those years she trained her daughter to be strong, only to find the training had been for nothing. Yet, Ch’idzigyaak thought to herself, she is not to be blamed for everything. After all, everyone had participated, and her daughter had acted out of fear. She had been frightened for her son’s and mother’s lives. It was as simple as that. Ch’idzigyaak also acknowledged that her daughter had been brave to leave the bundle of babiche with the two women. To have left a thing of such value with old ones thought to be near death would have been seen as a foolhardly waste.

Yes, she could forgive her daughter. She could even thank her, for she decided that had it not
been for the babiche, they might not have survived. Ch’idzigyaak broke out of her thoughts as she realized that her grandson waited for her to say something. Putting her arms around his shoulders she patted him gently and said, “Tell my daughter that I do not hate her, Grandson.” Relief flooded the boy’s face, for he had spent months worrying about his mother and grandmother. Now, everything was almost the way it once was. Without further encouragement, the boy gave his grandmother an exuberant hug before he bolted out of the shelter and ran all the way home.

He arrived at the camp breathless. Bursting in on his mother, the excited youth said in between gasps, “Mother! Grandmother wishes to see you! She told me there are no hard feelings!” Ozhii Nelii was stunned. She had not expected this, and for a moment her legs became so weak that she had to sit down. Her body trembled, and she looked once more at her son.

“Is this true?” she asked.

“Yes,” Shruh Zhuu replied, and his mother saw that he spoke the truth.

At first, she was afraid to go, for she still felt guilty. But at her son’s gentle insistence, Ozhii Nelii gathered enough courage to take the long walk to her mother’s camp with her son at her side. When they arrived, the two old women were standing outside the shelter, talking. Sa’ saw the visitors first, then Ch’idzigyaak turned to see what caused Sa’s silence. When she saw her daughter, her mouth opened but words would not come out. Instead, the women stared at each other until Ch’idzigyaak walked to Ozhii Nelii and embraced her tightly, weeping. All that had stood between them seemed to vanish with the touch.