People of the Lakes(29)
When they had found the right tree—a towering monster Otter had said the appropriate prayers and begun the arduous task of felling the swamp giant. To kill the tree, he’d ringed it, using a hafted adze to chip away the gray bark and expose the wood. Next, because the tree stood in a backwater swamp, he’d built a platform of mud and brush around the base of the tree to support his fires. Then he’d burned the ringed area, making sure the flames ate deeply into the green wood.
He’d returned in late fall to find the huge tree dead and partially desiccated. For days, he’d alternately burned and chopped at the base of the trunk, working around it like a beaver. When the tree finally cracked with a thunderous roar and teetered in the breeze, he’d whooped and jumped. The giant seemed to hang for a moment, as if in disbelief that it could reach in any direction but the eternal sky. Slowly it had gathered speed, crashing down and smashing its lesser rivals before smacking the water so hard that it sent white breakers rolling.
Then came the task of limbing the giant. Afterward, with help from his kin, he’d paddled the thick trunk out of the swamp, into the river channel, and onto White Shell territory. Through fall, winter, and spring, he worked, using fire, ground-stone adzes, and hafted chert bifaces to hollow out the interior of the canoe and shape the hull.
Under his hands, she’d slimmed—a sort of oversized gar— sleek, fast, and agile. Despite the extra effort, he shaped the high prow to withstand rough water and worked it into the shape of a fox’s head so she could spot trouble and be clever enough to avoid it. To smooth the hull, he used blocks of coarse-grained sandstone. He kept the hull lines straight with cords for guidelines, and listened as Uncle advised him on the proper shape so the heavy canoe would plane the water just right when ten strong men were paddling against the current.
Above the waterline, he’d carved the clan totems: faces of the ancestors and images of Spirit Animals like Many Colored Crow, Spider, Water Serpent, and Snapping Turtle. These he painted, using the brightest colors. With each stage of progress, he ritually poured river water over the wood to ensure that the Power of the Father Water soaked into the grain along with his own sweat, and yes, more than a little blood, too. His soul had joined with that of the wood. He’d felt the canoe’s spirit taking form, growing under his hands.
He’d sensed the essence of her spirit and named her Wave Dancer, from the way she took to the water, riding high and skipping across the chop.
Finished, she lay pale and sleek, with a beam wide enough that two big men could sit side by side, and long enough that four men could lie head to toe. Fully loaded, she could carry as much as fifteen strong men could manage in the stoutest of packs.
As the rain trickled down his face, he stroked the polished wood. Perhaps if he’d loved Wave Dancer less, Red Moccasins might have loved him more. He should have suffered a pang of guilt at that secret knowledge, and it did sadden him. But if only she could have experienced the splendor of the river, perhaps she would have learned to love Wave Dancer and the Father Water as he did.
With a critical eye, he glanced down the keel, a strip of oak fastened to the centerline of the hull by means of wooden pegs that had swollen to fit tightly. That trick he’d learned from the saltwater Traders, who carried tobacco, colored feathers, and other goods up from the south. With such a keel, a canoe worked better against the wind and held a truer course. On the other hand, the keel made crabbing against a current considerably more difficult, and sometimes, in fast water, treacherous.
“Tomorrow we’ll see about this moss. Wave Dancer. We’ll be gone soon, girl.” He stared along the curving bank. “Northward, taking the shells and feathers upriver. Maybe we’ll search out more copper this time … or silver. Pan pipes are in demand in the south. They don’t weigh much, and we can get many times their weight in conch shell, tobacco, and sharks’ teeth.”
He gave the pointed bow one last pat, then wound his way through the other beached canoes before following the muddy path upward.
The White Shell had placed their clan house on the high terrace overlooking the Father Water. According to the stories, Old White Shell had been the leader when the people traveled here from the east. It was here that Many Colored Crow appeared in the Elder’s Dreams. White Shell had been both a valiant warrior and a pious member of the Star Society. As a result, he gave orders to his daughters that they bury him in a tomb—as Many Colored Crow decreed—and cover it with earth. Since that time, two layers of soil had been added to the burial mound, with Yellow Reed’s grandmother and mother buried there along with their brothers. That mound looked somber in the slanting rain, the sloped sides tawny with flattened grass.