The same way her husband, Salamander, did. Who was he? What was he? That morning in her presence, Salamander had transformed himself from a fool to a mystery. Clearly uncomfortable with her presence, he had been aloof, hesitant, and protective. After the miracle of the morning sunrise, they had walked down, loaded his canoe with fish traps, and paddled out into the channels to bait and set the traps. In the process, Salamander had stopped them under a low-hanging cypress to watch as one of the large yellow-and-black spiders spun a beautiful web between the branches.
At first she had chafed at the inactivity, baffled by the rapt expression on his face. It had finally occurred to her that for the first time, his guard was down. She was seeing him as he really was. The wonder she saw reflected in his face was the image of his true souls shining through. Then, in an effort to understand his fascination, she had really paid attention to what the spider was doing.
Strand by strand the spider enlarged the spiral of its web. Each action was like a carefully practiced Dance. The gossamer threads were spun and carefully set in place by a graceful manipulation of the legs.
“I’ve never realized how perfect their webs are,” she had remarked. “Isn’t that curious? In all of my life, I’ve never watched one being built.”
“People are too busy,” Salamander had remarked offhandedly. “We are in such a hurry to feed our bellies that we forget our souls.”
“So tell me, what does a soul need for food?” she had asked somewhat sharply.
She had never seen his eyes like that. They looked ancient, knowing, like tunnels to the infinite. He said, “Beauty, peace, and tranquillity.”
For a moment she mulled his words. “What about authority, prestige, and security?”
“Tell me something, Pine Drop. Are you happy with your life? Don’t just answer for the sake of answering. Think about it. When you close your eyes at night do you take a deep sigh and say to yourself, ‘Feel the joy in my souls. Thank the Sky Beings that I have had such a good day.’ Then, do you look back over the wondrous things you saw and experienced that day?” He smiled shyly. “Tell me the truth.”
She had searched his eyes, then lied. “Yes, I do.”
A knowing smile had been his only answer before he turned back to watching the spider.
His question had unsettled her, as had his serene presence as they finished laying out fish traps. He had seen the heron, and drifted them silently into the marshy flats where they now watched the bird through a screen of grass. Pine Drop had taken the time to study him with the same scrutiny she applied to the wondrous heron.
“How do you answer that question, Salamander?” she whispered softly. “Do you go to sleep happy every night?”
He shrugged slightly where he lay beside her in the canoe. “Depends on the day. On a day like this, I will. If I have to spend the day involved in clan dealings, I won’t.”
“You’re a Speaker. You have to deal with those things.”
“Responsibility can kill the souls,” he whispered.
“It can also fulfill them. It is what you make of it.”
“The difference is where you find responsibility. Is it responsibility to yourself, to your lineage, your clan, or your people? That’s the soul killer. Responsibility to self, however, fulfills.”
“So, what are you doing today?”
“I am feeding my souls.”
“And when people are looking up to you as Speaker?”
“My souls are dying.” A pause and a gesture. “Watch.”
The heron took a half step and froze. Balanced on one foot, it shot its head forward, the long yellow beak flashing into the water. It lifted its head in a sinuous motion, flipping the silver fish in the air and swallowing it. Only then did it gracefully insert its raised foot into the water.
“Isn’t that remarkable?” Salamander’s voice was reverent. “A person couldn’t do that, not with that kind of balance. Did you see how the heron just seemed to flow. At the Creation, Heron must have done something wonderful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the Creator gifted Heron with so much grace and beauty.”
“People generally don’t think of herons that way.”
“People usually don’t receive the kind of gifts that you and I have just received.”
“You think this is a gift, being able to spy on a heron this way?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because my souls have been fed. How about yours? What will you tell yourself tonight when you lie down to go to sleep? Will you look back on today and smile as you remember the sunrise? What about the way the spider’s legs moved so precisely to place each strand of web? Or the way the heron moved?”