“It’s the future, Matron. It’s ‘what if’ that frightens them the most. They see the world they knew becoming something different. Of all our deep-seated fears, the fact that the future will be different frightens us the most.”
They continued for another half hand of time, Rain Bear steering them toward a gap between two small forested islands that rose above the surf. He shipped his paddle, standing in the stern to study first one shoreline and then the other.
“You fish here often?”
“Yes.” He squinted at the rocks. “This looks pretty close. We’ll know when we put the poles in the water.” He glanced at her. “Would you like to help?”
She shipped her paddle and carefully picked her way to the center. Rain Bear raised what looked like a flexible three-pronged harpoon from the floor. He handed it to her while he pulled out one of the long poles.
The odd harpoon was like nothing she had ever seen before. Its prongs were blunt, and it had an unreasonable amount of spring to it.
“You’ll never get this to stick into any fish.”
“Here, watch this.” He shifted closer, took the harpoon, and fixed it onto the end of the long pole. “You are about to see something I don’t think any North Wind person has ever seen.”
His strong brown hands pulled a cord tight, binding the pronged head to the long pole. Next he picked up a round stone about the size of her two clenched fists and tied it a hand’s length above the binding. This done, he slipped the harpoon over the side and let it sink until only a forearm’s length of pole extended. “Very carefully, without tipping us over, pull out another of the poles.”
She worked a second of the narrow poles free and maneuvered it around.
“Can you lift it upright?” he asked. “This is the tricky part.”
Tricky indeed. She managed to raise the pole, holding it against the slight breeze. “You wouldn’t want to do this when the wind was blowing.”
“No, you wouldn’t. In fact, you can’t.” He grinned in a boyish way. “The stone acts as a weight to carry the entire length to the bottom. Without it, the wood buckles and floats to the surface.” He maneuvered the end of her pole into a hollow carved atop the first and fitted them together. This, too, he tightly bound, adding, “The lengths have to be tied together. If it comes apart, you still need to be able to retrieve all the pieces.”
“I see.” She reached for yet another of the endless lengths of pole. “How deep are we fishing?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are there crabs or clams that live so deep?”
“Oh, yes. We sink our traps very far down and catch crabs. As to clams, we haven’t figured out how to dredge for them at these depths.” He stared at the murky water. “If we could, it might alleviate some of the hunger in the camps.”
One by one she helped him tie the lengths of pole together and watched them vanish over the side. Water slapped at the hull, and the gentle drizzle fell from the sky.
Finally, as he was lowering the long contraption, she saw it stop, the shaft quivering. He looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. “There we go. Bottom. And perfect for our purposes.”
“How do you know?”
“By the feel through the wood. It’s sandy, soft. If it were rock, we wouldn’t find what we’re looking for.”
“And just what is that, Chief?”
“Well, let’s see. You ready?”
She glanced around, taking in the five bald eagles that perched on a dead fir tree on the island across from them. “Sure. Ready for what?”
He smiled at the tone in her voice and began pulling the pole from the depths. One by one, he laboriously untied each pole as he drew it from the water, and Evening Star maneuvered the unwieldy length back into the canoe without capsizing them. Finally, Rain Bear lifted the pronged head with its stone from the murky depths.
“And there it is. Two of them in fact.” He shot her a dazzling grin. “You’re good luck, Matron.”
She bent down, aware of his warmth as she knelt by his shoulder. Two white slivers were caught between the prongs. Rain Bear wiggled the first loose and handed it to her.
She took the thin white shell in her hand, immediately recognizing it. “Dentalium.”
“Dentalium,” he agreed, and stared at the murky water. “The only place they come from is down there. If you lay the poles out on the beach, it’s about the same distance that a strong man can throw an egg-sized rock. They live that deep.”
She sat back on her haunches as the canoe rocked and studied the delicate shell in her fingers. “That’s how you’ve done it. That’s how you’ve survived this long. You’ve used dentalium to buy food and tribute for Sandy Point Village.”