“A sensation, you say?” The eyebrow hadn’t dropped entirely.
“I guess I’d never thought about it. But some Traders do have different wives, real ones, don’t they?”
“I know Traders who have six or seven families along the river, spending time with each as they follow their routes. It wouldn’t be a bad way to live, I suppose.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I had my reasons.”
Pearl nodded in sober understanding. “Red Moccasins was a fool.”
“No. She was very, very wise.” But Otter had to admit that for all her wisdom, she’d have lain shaking in the bottom of the canoe last night. Knowing that—and having witnessed Pearl throw her laughter to the fury of the storm—had changed something inside him.
He paddled silently, trying to figure out what to say, anything to keep her looking at him. “Would you teach me the stars? I mean, point them out. Which ones do I need to know?”
She leaned back toward him, her silky black hair cascading down her back, and he could smell her delicate odor again. It soothed him deep down.
“That is Blue Crab, the Scavenger,” Pearl told Otter, pointing to the south.
“We … my people, the White Shell, call that the Snail.”
“People have different names for things.” She stared up at the sky, remembering the warmth of his body and how he’d held her. You’re a fool, Pearl, she told herself. You know better than this. One man pulls you out of trouble with another man and you’re ready to latch on to him like a barnacle to a mangrove root?
“That’s Black Drum, there, to the west of Blue Crab. He’s turning in the water … with his mouth open. See, you can follow the stars and imagine his outline.” To sleep in his arms had been so pleasant after the terror of the storm. How secure she’d felt, as if she belonged there. How could a relative stranger kindle such warmth and security within her?
He’s not a stranger
“I’ve been traveling with him for over a moon now.
She frowned in the darkness. No man had ever made her feel as secure as Otter did; it was as if they’d been together forever, despite the fact that each day was a new beginning, fresh and exciting.
So, what are you going to do with him, Pearl?
“We make two constellations out of those groups of stars.” Otter continued to paddle. “One-legged Man, and part of Flying Squirrel.”
It simply wasn’t fair! In the height of the storm, they’d worked so well together, shared that sense of desperation, and … And what, Pearl? Did you imagine that was some magic moment?
Think, girl. He loves this Red Moccasins. The man is probably mired in guilt because he woke up with his arms around you.
She pointed to the east. “We call that one the Wedding Bowl.
You know that women ask for men in Anhinga society. The story is that once a young woman fell desperately in love with a handsome young man. Her family went to his and asked for the marriage. When he agreed, she was the happiest girl on earth.”
“What happened?”
“Among the Anhinga, a special bowl is made and decorated to show the symbols of each lineage. At the end of the marriage ceremony, both man and woman drink from the bowl.” What’s wrong with you! Your voice is almost trembling! “The new couple returns to their house—generally one borrowed from one of the-girl’s relatives for the wedding. After they’ve coupled and he’s planted his seed in her, they break the bowl and set the fragments outside to indicate that they are man and wife and that the union is complete.”
“I’ve seen that,” he murmured. “So how did the bowl get into the sky?”
Pearl took a deep breath, images of Khota hands grasping at her thoughts, tearing them like fabric. “After they went to the house where they were to spend that first night, he ducked inside first and turned. That’s when he told her that he could not couple with her. He said he was in love with” another woman, who would be in his heart forever. That woman, however, had married another man in order that her clan might gain great wealth and new fishing grounds. He, in turn, had married for the same reason, and even if he could never love her, never join with her, they could break the bowl and no one would ever know.”
“The man was a maggot,” Otter growled at the night.
Pearl studied him for a moment, watching the steady swing of his arms as he paddled. He seemed thoughtful, his attention on the water. Was he thinking of Red Moccasins even now?
Or of the fact that Wolf of the Dead planted his seed in you?
Is that it? Does he think you’re soiled, polluted by Khota semen?