People of the Silence(18)
Cornsilk’s mother had not done a very good job on her head. Her face remained oval, though young men claimed she was still pretty—at least, they did after she threatened them. Corn-silk grinned to herself. The young warriors didn’t like her much, but the feeling was mutual. She had a pointed chin, full lips, and large dark eyes. When her black hair hung loose, it draped in a thick wealth to her hips. Her mother, however, insisted she wear her hair in large whorls over her ears, a style which resembled the wings of a butterfly—to announce to all the young men that she had reached a marriageable age. And she did wear them … within sight of the village.
She wiped her sweating forehead with the back of her mealy hand and tipped her pot to check inside. Still full. Oh, what she would give to be out with Leafhopper.
Beyond the village, little children played. Cornsilk’s best friend, Leafhopper, supervised them, ambling along behind while the children chased each other, threw sticks for their dogs, and laughed joyously.
Cornsilk sighed, reached into the pot for another handful of red corn …
Flapping wings split the air.
Cornsilk looked up. A huge raven fluttered to the ground ten hands away. His black feathers gleamed with a blue fire in the slanting light. Cornsilk glanced around the plaza. No one had noticed yet. She scowled at the raven.
“Brother, I swear you can smell the sweet scent of ground corn from half a day’s walk.”
The raven world was the first of the skyworlds.
“Go home,” she hissed at the big bird, and pointed heavenward.
Placing a handful of corn on the grinding slab, she sat back on her heels and took the opportunity to stretch her aching back muscles. Her brown dress spread around her knees. Warm sunshine drenched her face and glistened in her butterfly whorls.
The raven leaped into the air and came down closer to Cornsilk, head twisting curiously.
Across the crowded plaza her relatives turned to watch, whispering behind their hands.
“Look, brother,” she said, and gestured to the people in the plaza. “You have them whispering again. Do you wish them to think me a witch? We are Ant Clan. We don’t like you raven people. That’s why we always scare you away from our villages. From the instant the Creator breathed over us and brought us to life, the raven nation has been gobbling up Ant people. Why should I feed you when you have so many of my ancestors in your belly?”
The raven made a low pathetic sound and fluffed out his feathers, as if indignant at the suggestion.
“No,” Cornsilk said.
She picked up her handstone and pounded the red corn kernels on the coarse slab. After each sharp bang she rocked her stone back and forth, crunching the kernels, to grind them to a medium-grained flour. It took forever.
The raven thock-thocked at her.
“No! I’m not giving you any. Now, fly away!”
The raven stretched out his black neck and cawed loudly. He flapped his wings.
Leafhopper’s group of children trotted into the plaza and gathered into a knot near the kiva where the long-necked water jars sat. As they fought over who got to drink first, several pointed at her, their eyes wide. Leafhopper entered the plaza, herding the last children ahead of her, and stopped dead when she saw the raven.
Cornsilk glared at the big bird. “What’s wrong with you? Every day I scare you away. I throw rocks at you. I scream at you. Nothing works. Are you certain you’re not Trickster Coyote in disguise? Just seeing how much trouble you can mix up?”
Coyote had a bad reputation. After the First People emerged from the underworlds, Coyote had hidden in the grass with his long penis coiled in a basket on his back. He had stayed perfectly still until the first woman walked by, then he’d uncoiled his penis and sent it slithering through the grass after her. When she saw it, she thought it a snake, picked up a branch and proceeded to beat his penis half to death. Coyote had held a grudge ever since—for thousands of sun cycles. He got revenge whenever he could, tripping humans, fooling them, leading them off in the wrong direction on hunts.
Cornsilk eyed the raven. Surreptitiously, she tossed him several small bits of corn. “Now leave!”
The raven gobbled them down, rearranged his wings in satisfaction, and hopped closer.
“Hallowed thlatsinas!” she yelled. “Go away!” She waved her arms furiously, and shouted, “Go on! Leave me alone! Get out of here!”
The raven just hunched and waited for the tirade to be over. When Cornsilk’s arms fell limply to her sides, he straightened again and took a tentative step toward her.
Glum, she scooped the corn flour from her coarse slab and placed it into the black-and-white bowl at her side. Then she rose and walked toward the fire.