Two Old Women
by
Velma Wallis

Harper Perennial

Copyright 1993

ISBN 0-06-097584-9

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

CHAPTER 1: Hunger and cold take their toll

CHAPTER 2: "Let us die trying"

CHAPTER 3: Recalling old skills

CHAPTER 4: A painful journey

CHAPTER 5: Saving a cache of fish

CHAPTER 6: Sadness among The People

CHAPTER 7: The stillness is broken

CHAPTER 8: A new beginning

About the Gwich'in People

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all of the elders whom I have known and who
have made an impression in my mind with their wisdom, knowledge and
uniqueness.

Mae P.  Wallis, Mary Hardy, Dorothy Earls, Sarah Gottschalk, Ida
Neyhart, Patricia Peters, Edison Peters, Helen Reed, Moses Peter, Martha
Wallis, Louise Paul, Minnie Salmon, Lilly Herbert, David and Sarah
Salmon, Samson and Minnie Peter, Herbert and Louise Peter, Stanley and
Rosalie Joseph, Margaret John, Paul and Margaret Williams, Leah Roberts,
Natalie Erick, Daniel Horace, Titus Peter, Solomon and Martha Flitt,
Doris Ward, Amos Kelly, Margaret Kelly, Maggie Beach, Sarah Alexander,
Peter and Nina (Chidzigyaak) Joseph, Paul and Agnes James, Mariah
Collins, David Collins, Mary Thompson, Sophie Williams, Elijah John,
Jemima Fields, Ike Fields Sr., Joe and Margaret Carroll, Myra Francis,
Blanche Strom, Arthur and Annie James, Elliot and Lucy Johnson, Elliot
and Virginia Johnson II,

Harry and Jessie Carroll, Margaret Cadzow, Henry and Jennie Williams,
Issac and Sarah John, Charlotte Douthit, Ruth Martin, Randall Baalam,
Harold and Ester Petersen, Vladimer and Nina Petersen, Addle Shewfelt,
Stanley and Madeline Jonas, Jonathon and Hannah Solomon, Esau and Delia
Williams, Margie Englishoe, Jessie Luke, Julia Peter, Jacob Flitt,
Daniel and Nina Flitt, Clara Gundrum, Jessie Williams, Sarah W.  John,
Mary Simple, Ellen Henry, Silas John, Dan Frank, Maggie Roberts, Nina
Roberts, Abraham and Annie Christian, Paul and Julia Tritt, Agnes Peter,
Charlie Peter, Neil and Sarah Henry, Mardow Solomon, Ruth Peterson,
Phillip and Abbie Peter, Archie and Louise Juneby, Harry and Bessie
David, Margaret Roberts, John Stevens, Steven and Sarah Henry, Abel
Tritt, Moses and Jennie Sam, Mary John, Martha James, Alice Peter,
Nathanial and Annie Frank, Fred and Charlotte Thomas, Richard and Eva
Carroll, Elsie Pitka, Richard and Helen Martin, Paul Gabrial, Grafton
Gabrial, Barbara Solomon, Saastian McGinty, Simon and Bella Francis,
Mary Jane Alexander, and Uncle Lee Henry.

Acknowledgements

Most artists can say that if it were not for a number of people he or
she would not have achieved a certain success.  In the case of this
story and myself, the list is long and varied and I would like to
acknowledge them as follows.

First, thank you to my mother, Mae Wallis.  Without you, this story
would not be, and I never would have developed a desire to be a
storyteller.  All those many nights that you spent telling us stories
are greatly appreciated.

I would like to thank these people for believing in this story all these
years, and for reviving it just when I thought it would sink back into
oblivion: Barry Wallis, Marti Ann Wallis, Patricia Stanley, and Carroll
Hodge; Judy Erick from Venetie for her flexible assistance with the
Gwich'in translations and Annette Seimens for letting me use her
computer.

Last, I would like to thank Marilyn Savage for her generosity and
persistent rallying.  Thank you to the publishers, Kent Sturgis and Lael
Morgan, for sharing the same vision as all of us.  Thank you to Virgina
Sims for making sure that the story remained the same with your editing,
and to James Grant for making the characters come to life with your
talented illustrations.

Mahsi Choo to each and all of you for sharing in this humble story.

Introduction

Each day after cutting wood we would sit and talk in our small tent on
the bank at the mouth of the Porcupine River, near where it flows into
the Yukon.  We would always end with Mom telling me a story.  (There I
was, long past my youth, and my mother still told me bedtime stories!)
One night it was a story I heard for the first time - a story about two
old women and their journey through hardship.

What brought the story to mind was a conversation we had earlier while
working side by side collecting wood for the winter.  Now we sat on our
bedrolls and marveled at how Mom in her early fifties still was able to
do this kind of hard work while most people of her generation long since
had resigned themselves to old age and all of its limitations.  I told
her I wanted to be like her when I became an elder.

We began to remember how it once was.  My grandmother and all those
other elders from the past kept themselves busy until they could no
longer move or until they died.  Mom felt proud that she was able to
overcome some of the obstacles of old age and still could get her own
winter wood despite the fact that physically, the work was difficult and
sometimes agonizing. During our pondering and reflections, Mom
remembered this particular story because it was appropriate to all that
we thought and felt at that moment.

Later, at our winter cabin, I wrote the story down.  I was impressed
with it because it not only taught me a lesson that I could use in my
life, but also because it was a story about my people and my past -
something about me that I could grasp and call mine.  Stories are gifts
given by an elder to a younger person.  Unfortunately, this gift is not
given, nor received, as often today because many of our youth are
occupied by television and the fast pace of modern-day living.  Maybe
tomorrow a few of today's generation who were sensitive enough to have
listened to their elders' wisdom will have the traditional word-of-mouth
stories living within their memory.  Perhaps tomorrow's generation also
will yearn for stories such as this so that they may better understand
their past, their people and, hopefully, themselves.

Sometimes, too, stories told about one culture by someone from another
way of life are misinterpreted.  This is tragic.

Once set down on paper, some stories are readily accepted as history,
yet they may not be truthful.

This story of the two old women is from a time long before the arrival
of the Western culture, and has been handed down from generation to
generation, from person to person, to my mother, and then to me.
Although I am writing it, using a little of my own creative imagination,
this is, in fact, the story I was told and the point of the story
remains the way Mom meant for me to hear it.

This story told me that there is no limit to one's ability certainly not
age - to accomplish in life what one must.  Within each individual on
this large and complicated world there lives an astounding potential of
greatness.  Yet it is rare that these hidden gifts are brought to LIFE
unless by the chance of fate.

CHAPTER 1

Hunger and cold take their toll

The air stretched tight, quiet and cold over the vast land.

Tall spruce branches hung heavily laden with snow, awaiting distant
spring winds.  The frosted willows seemed to tremble in the freezing
temperatures.

Far off in this seemingly dismal land were bands of people dressed in
furs and animal skins, huddled close to small campfires.  Their
weather-burnt faces were stricken with looks of hopelessness as they
faced starvation, and the future held little promise of better days.

These nomads were The People of the arctic region of Alaska, always on
the move in search of food.  Where the caribou and other migrating
animals roamed, The People followed.  But the deep cold of winter
presented special problems.  The moose, their favorite source of food,
took refuge from the penetrating cold by staying in one place, and were
difficult to find.  Smaller, more accessible animals such as rabbits and
tree squirrels could not sustain a large band such as this one.  And
during the cold spells, even the smaller animals either disappeared in
hiding or were thinned by predators, man and animal alike.  So during
this unusually bitter chill in the late fall, the land seemed void of
life as the cold hovered menacingly.

During the cold, hunting required more energy than at other times. Thus,
the hunters were fed first, as it was their skills on which The People
depended.  Yet, with so many to feed, what food they had was depleted
quickly, Despite their best efforts, many of the women and children
suffered from malnutrition, and some would die of starvation.

In this particular band were two old women cared for by The People for
many years.  The older woman's name was Ch'idzigyaak, for she reminded
her parents of a chickadee bird when she was born.  The other woman's
name was Sa', meaning "star," because at the time of her birth her
mother had been looking at the fall night sky, concentrating on the
distant stars to take her mind away from the painful labor contractions.

The chief would instruct the younger men to set up shelters for these
two old women each time the band arrived at a new campsite, and to
provide them with wood and water.  The younger women pulled the two
elder women's possessions from one camp to the next and, in turn, the
old women tanned animal skins for those who helped them.  The
arrangement worked well.

However, the two old women shared a character flaw unusual for people of
those times.  Constantly they complained of aches and pains, and they
carried walking sticks to attest to their handicaps.  Surprisingly, the
others seemed not to mind, despite having been taught from the days of
their childhood that weakness was not tolerated among the inhabitants of
this harsh motherland.

Yet, no one reprimanded the two women, and they continued to travel with
the stronger ones - until one fateful day.

On that day, something more than the cold hung in the air as The People
gathered around their few flickering fires and listened to the chief. He
was a man who stood almost a head taller than the other men.  From
within the folds of his parka ruff he spoke about the cold, hard days
they were to expect and of what each would have to contribute if they
were to survive the winter.

Then, in a loud, clear voice he made a sudden announcement: "The council
and I have arrived at a decision." The chief paused as if to find the
strength to voice his next words.  "We are going to have to leave the
old ones behind."

His eyes quickly scanned the crowd for reactions.  But the hunger and
cold had taken their toll, and The People did not seem to be shocked.
Many expected this to happen, and some thought it for the best.  In
those days, leaving the old behind in times of starvation was not an
unknown act, although in this band it was happening for the first time.
The starkness of the primitive land seemed to demand it, as the people,
to survive, were forced to imitate some of the ways of the animals. Like
the younger, more able wolves who shun the old leader of the pack, these
people would leave the old behind so that they could move faster without
the extra burden.

The older woman, Ch'idzigyaak, had a daughter and a grandson among the
group.  The chief looked into the crowd for them and saw that they, too,
had shown no reaction.  Greatly relieved that the unpleasant
announcement had been made without incident, the chief instructed
everyone to pack immediately.  Meanwhile, this brave man who was their
leader could not bring himself to look at the two old women, for he did
not feel so strong now.

The chief understood why The People who cared for the old women did not
raise objections.  In these hard times, many of the men became
frustrated and were angered easily, and one wrong thing said or done
could cause an uproar and make matters worse. So it was that the weak
and beaten members of the tribe kept what dismay they felt to
themselves, for they knew that the cold could bring on a wave of panic
followed by cruelty and brutality among people fighting for survival.

In the many years the women had been with the band, the chief had come
to feel affection for them.  Now, he wanted to be away as quickly as
possible so that the two old women could not look at him and make him
feel worse than he had ever felt in his life.

The two women sat old and small before the campfire with their chins
held up proudly, disguising their shock.  In their younger days they had
seen very old people left behind, but they never expected such a fate.
They stared ahead numbly as if they had not heard the chief condemn them
to a certain death - to be left alone to fend for themselves in a land
that understood only strength.  Two weak old women stood no chance
against such a rule.  The news left them without words or action and no
way to defend themselves.

Of the two, Ch'idzigyaak was the only one with a family - a daughter,
Ozhii Nelii, and a grandson, Shruh Zhuu.  She waited for her daughter to
protest, but none came, and a deeper sense of shock overcame her.  Not
even her own daughter would try to protect her.  Next to her, Sa' also
was stunned.  Her mind reeled and, though she wanted to cry out, no
words came.  She felt as if she were in a terrible nightmare where she
could neither move nor speak.

As the band slowly trudged away, Ch'idzigyaak's daughter went over to
her mother, carrying a bundle of babiche - thickly stripped raw
moosehide that served many purposes.  She hung her head in shame and
grief, for her mother refused to acknowledge her presence.  Instead,
Ch'idzigyaak stared unflinchingly ahead.

Ozhii Nelii was in deep turmoil.  She feared that, if she defended her
mother, The People would settle the matter by leaving her behind and her
son, too.  Worse yet, in their famished state, they might do something
even more terrible.  She could not chance it.

With those frightening thoughts, Ozhii Nelii silently begged with
sorrowful eyes for forgiveness and understanding as she gently laid the
babiche down in front of her rigid parent.  Then she slowly turned and
walked away with a heaviness in her heart, knowing she had just lost her
mother.

The grandson, Shruh Zhuu, was deeply disturbed by the cruelty.  He was
an unusual boy.  While the other boys competed for their manhood by
hunting and wrestling, this one was content to help provide for his
mother and the two old women.  His behavior seemed to be outside of the
structure of the band's organization handed down from generation to
generation.  In this case, the women did most of the burdensome tasks
such as pulling the well-packed toboggans.  In addition, much other
time-consuming work was expected to be done by the women while the men
concentrated on hunting so that the band could survive. No one
complained, for that was the way things were and always had been.

Shruh Zhuu held much respect for the women.  He saw how they were
treated and he disapproved.  And while it was explained to him over and
over, he never understood why the men did not help the women.  But his
training told him that he never was to question the ways of The People,
for that would be disrespectful.

When he was younger, Shruh Zhuu was not afraid to voice his opinions on
this subject, for youth and innocence were his guardians.  Later, he
learned that such behavior invited punishment.  He felt the pain of the
silent treatment when even his mother refused to speak to him for days.
So Shruh Zhuu learned that it caused less pain to think about certain
things than to speak out about them.

Although he thought abandoning the helpless old women was the worst
thing The People could do, Shruh Zhuu was struggling with himself.  His
mother saw the turmoil raging in his eyes and she knew that he was close
to protesting.  She went to him quickly and whispered urgently into his
ear not to think of it, for the men were desperate enough to commit any
kind of cruel action.  Shruh Zhuu saw the men's dark faces and knew this
to be true, so he held his tongue even as his heart continued to rage
rebelliously.

In those days, each young boy was trained to care for his weapons,
sometimes better than he cared for his loved ones, for the weapons were
to be his livelihood when he became a man.  When a boy was caught
handling his weapon the wrong way or for the wrong purpose, it resulted
in harsh punishment.  As he grew older, the boy would learn the power of
his weapon and how much significance it had, not only for his own
survival but also for that of his people.

Shruh Zhuu threw all this training and thoughts of his own safety to the
winds.  He took from his belt a hatchet made of sharpened animal bones
bound tightly together with hardened babiche and stealthily placed it
high in the thick boughs of a bushy young spruce tree, well concealed
from the eyes of The People.

As Shruh Zhuu's mother packed their things, he turned toward his
grandmother.  Though she seemed to look right through him, Shruh Zhuu
made sure no one was watching as he pointed to his empty belt, then
toward the spruce tree.  Once more he gave his grandmother a look of
hopelessness, and reluctantly turned and walked away to join the others,
wishing with a sinking feeling that he could do something miraculous to
end this nightmarish day.

The large band of famished people slowly moved away, leaving the two
women sitting in the same stunned position on their piled spruce boughs.
Their small fire cast a soft orange glow onto their weathered faces.  A
long time passed before the cold brought Ch'idzigyaak out of her stupor.
She was aware of her daughter's helpless gesture but believed that her
only child should have defended her even in the face of danger.  The old
woman's heart softened as she thought of her grandson.  How could she
bear hard feelings toward one so young and gentle?  The others made her
angry, especially her daughter!  Had she not trained her to be strong?
Hot, unbidden tears ran from her eyes.

At that moment, Sa' lifted her head in time to see her friend's tears. A
rush of anger surged within her.  How dare they!  Her cheeks burned with
the humiliation.  She and the other old woman were not close to dying!
Had they not sewed and tanned for what the people gave them?  They did
not have to be carried from camp to camp.  They were neither helpless
nor hopeless.  Yet they had been condemned to die.

Her friend had seen eighty summers, she, seventy-five.  The old ones she
had seen left behind when she was young were so close to death that some
were blind and could not walk.  Now here she was, still able to walk, to
see, to talk, yet ...  bah!

Younger people these days looked for easier ways out of hard times.  As
the cold air smothered the campfire, Sa' came alive with a greater fire
within her, almost as if her spirit had absorbed the energy from the
now-glowing embers of the campfire. She went to the tree and retrieved
the hatchet, smiling softly as she thought of her friend's grandson. She
sighed as she walked toward her companion, who had not stirred.

Sa' looked up at the blue sky.  To an experienced eye, the blue this
time of winter meant cold.  Soon it would be colder yet as night
approached.  With a worried frown on her face, Sa' kneeled beside her
friend and spoke in a gentle but firm voice. "My friend," she said and
paused, hoping for more strength than she felt.  "We can sit here and
wait to die.  We will not have long to wait

"Our time of leaving this world should not come for a long time yet,"
she added quickly when her friend looked up with panic-stricken eyes.
"But we will die if we just sit here and wait.  This would prove them
right about our helplessness."

Ch'idzigyaak listened with despair.  Knowing that her friend was
dangerously close to accepting a fate of death from cold and hunger, Sa'
spoke more urgently.  "Yes, in their own way they have condemned us to
die!  They think that we are too old and useless.  They forget that we,
too, have earned the right to live!  So I say if we are going to die, my
friend, let us die trying, not sitting."

CHAPTER 2

"Let us die trying"

Ch'idzigyaak sat quietly as if trying to make up her confused mind.  A
small feeling of hope sparked in the blackness of her being as she
listened to her friends strong words.  She felt the cold stinging her
cheeks where her tears had fallen, and she listened to the silence that
The People left behind.  She knew that what her friend said was true,
that within this calm, cold land waited a certain death if they did
nothing for themselves. Finally, more in desperation than in
determination she echoed her friend's words, "Let us die trying." With
that, her friend helped her up off the sodden branches.

The women gathered sticks to build the fire and they added pieces of
fungus that grew large and dry on fallen cottonwood trees to keep it
smoldering.  They went around to other campfires to salvage what embers
they could find.  As they packed to travel, the migrating bands in these
times preserved hot coals in hardened mooseskin sacks or birchbark
containers filled with ash in which the embers pulsated, ready to spark
the next campfire.

As night approached, the women cut thin strips from the bundle of
babiche, fashioning them into nooses the size of a rabbit's head.  Then,
despite their weariness, the women managed to make some rabbit snares,
which they immediately set out.

The moon hung big and orange on the horizon as they trudged through the
knee-deep snow, searching in the dimness for signs of rabbit life.  It
was hard to see, and what rabbits existed stayed quiet in the cold
weather.  But they found several old, hardened rabbit trails frozen
solid beneath the trees and arching willows.

Ch'idzigyaak tied a babiche noose to a long, thick willow branch and
placed it across one of the trails.  She made little fences of willows
and spruce boughs on each side of the noose to guide the rabbit through
the snare.  The two women set a few more snares but felt little hope
that even one rabbit would be caught.

On their way back to the camp, Sa' heard something skitter lightly along
the bark of a tree.  She stood very still, motioning her friend to do
the same.  Both women strained to hear the sound once more in the
silence of the night.  On a tree not far from them silhouetted in the
now silvery moonlight, they saw an adventurous tree squirrel.  Sa'
slowly reached to her belt for the hatchet.  With her eyes on the
squirrel and her movements deliberately slow, she aimed the hatchet
toward this target that represented survival.  The animal's small head
came up instantly and as Sa' moved her hand to throw, the squirrel
darted up the tree.  Sa' foresaw this, and, aiming a little higher,
ended the small animal's life in one calculating throw with skill and
hunting knowledge that she had not used in many seasons.

Ch'idzigyaak let out a deep sigh of relief.  The moon's light shone on
the younger woman's smiling face as she said in a proud yet shaky voice,
"Many times I have done that, but never did I think I would do it
again."

Back at the camp, the women boiled the squirrel meat in snow water and
drank the broth, saving the small portion of meat to be eaten later, for
they knew that otherwise, this could be their last meal.

The two women had not eaten for some time because The People had tried
to conserve what little food they had.  Now they realized why precious
food had not been given to them.  Why waste food on two who were to die?
Trying not to think about what had happened, the two women filled their
empty stomachs with the warm squirrel broth and settled down in their
tents for the night.

The shelter was made of two large caribou hides wrapped around three
long sticks shaped into a kind of triangle.  Inside were thickly piled
spruce boughs covered with many fur blankets. The women were aware that,
although they had been left behind to fend for themselves, The People
had done them a good deed by leaving them with all their possessions.
They suspected that the chief was responsible for this small kindness.
Other less noble members of the band would have decided that the two
women soon would die and would have pilfered everything except for the
warm fur and skin clothing they wore.  With these confusing thoughts
lingering in their minds, the two frail women dozed.

The moonlight shone silently upon the frozen earth as life whispered
throughout the land, broken now and then by a lone wolf's melancholy
howl.  The women's eyes twitched in tired, troubled dreams, and soft
helpless moans escaped from their lips.

Then a cry rang out somewhere in the night as the moon dipped low on the
western horizon.  Both women awoke at once, hoping that the awful
screech was a part of her nightmare.  Again the wall was heard.  This
time, the women recognized it as the sound of something caught in one of
their snares.  They were relieved. Fearing that other predators would
beat them to their catch, the women hurriedly dressed and rushed to
their snare sets.  There they saw a small, trembling rabbit that lay
partially strangled as it eyed them warily.  Without hesitation, Sa'
went to the rabbit, put one hand around its neck, felt for the beating
heart, and squeezed until the small struggling animal went limp.  After
Sa' reset the snare, they went back to the camp, each feeling a thread
of new hope.

Morning came, but brought no light to this far northern land.
Ch'idzigyaak awoke first.  She slowly kindled the fire into a flame as
she carefully added more wood.  When the fire had died out during the
cold night, frost from their warm breathing had accumulated on the walls
of caribou skins.

Sighing in dull exasperation, Ch'idzigyaak went outside where the
northern lights still danced above, and the stars winked in great
numbers.  Ch'idzigyaak stood for a moment staring up at these wonders.
In all her years, the night sky never failed to fill her with awe.

Remembering her task, Ch'idzigyaak grabbed the upper rims of the caribou
skins, laid them on the ground and briskly brushed off the crystal
frost.  After putting the skins up again, she went back inside to build
up the campfire.  Soon moisture dripped from the skin wall, which
quickly dried.

Ch'idzigyaak shuddered to think of the melting frost dripping on them in
the cold weather.  How had they managed before?  Ah, yes!  The younger
ones were always there, piling wood on the fire, peering into the
shelter to make sure that their elders' fire did not go out.  What a
pampered pair they had been!

How would they survive now?

Ch'idzigyaak sighed deeply, trying not to dwell on those dark thoughts,
and concentrated instead on tending the fire without waking her sleeping
companion.  The shelter warmed as the fire crackled, spitting tiny
sparks from the dry wood.  Slowly, Sa' awoke to this sound and lay on
her back for a long time before becoming aware of her friend's movement.
Turning her aching neck slowly she began to smile but stopped as she saw
her friend's forlorn look.  In a pained grimace Sa' propped herself up
carefully on one elbow and tried to smile encouragingly as she said, "I
thought yesterday had only been a dream when I awoke to your warm fire."

Ch'idzigyaak managed a slight smile at the obvious attempt to lift her
spirits but continued to stare dully into the fire. "I sit and worry,"
she said after a long silence.  "I fear what lies ahead.  No!  Don't say
anything!" She held up her hands as her friend opened her mouth to
speak.

"I know that you are sure of our survival.  You are younger."

She could not help but smile bitterly at her remark, for just yesterday
they both had been judged too old to live with the young.  "It has been
a long time since I have been on my own. There has always been someone
there to take care of me, and now..." She broke off with a hoarse
whisper as tears fell, much to her shame.

Her friend let her cry.  As the tears eased and the older woman wiped
her dampened face, she laughed.  "Forgive me, my friend.  I am older
than you.  Yet I cry like a baby."

"We are like babies," Sa' responded.  The older woman looked up in
surprise at such an admission.  "We are like helpless babies." A smile
twitched her lips as her friend started to look slightly affronted by
the remark, but before Ch'idzigyaak could take it in the wrong way Sa'
went on.  "We have learned much during our long lives.  Yet there we
were in our old age, thinking that we had done our share in life.  So we
stopped, just like that.  No more working like we used to, even though
our bodies are still healthy enough to do a little more than we expect
of ourselves."

Ch'idzigyaak sat listening, alert to her friend's sudden revelation as
to why the younger ones thought it best to leave them behind.  "Two old
women.  They complain, never satisfied. We talk of no food, and of how
good it was in our days when it really was no better.  We think that we
are so old.  Now, because we have spent so many years convincing the
younger people that we are helpless, they believe that we are no longer
of use to this world."

Seeing tears fill her friend's eyes at the finality of her words, Sa'
continued in a voice heavy with feeling.  "We are going to prove them
wrong!  The People.  And death!" She shook her head, motioning into the
air.  "Yes, it awaits us, this death. Ready to grab us the moment we
show our weak spots.  I fear this kind of death more than any suffering
you and I will go through. If we are going to die anyway, let us die
trying!"

Ch'idzigyaak stared for a long time at her friend and knew that what she
said was true, that death surely would come if they did not try to
survive.  She was not convinced that the two of them were strong enough
to make it through the harsh season, but the passion in her friend's
voice made her feel a little better. So, instead of feeling sadness
because there was nothing further they could say or do, she smiled.  "I
think we said this before and will probably say it many more times, but
yes, let us die trying." And with a sense of strength filling her like she
had not thought possible, Sa' returned the smile as she got up to
prepare for the long day ahead of them.

CHAPTER 3

Recalling old skills

That day the women went back in time to recall the skills and knowledge
that they had been taught from early childhood.

They began by making snowshoes.  Usually birch wood was collected during
late spring and early summer, but today the young birch would have to
do.  They didn't have the correct tools, of course, but the women
managed with what they had to split the wood into four parts each, which
they boiled in their large birch containers.  When the wood became soft,
the women bent it roundish and pointed at the tips.  Putting two of
these half-rounded sides together, the women awkwardly drilled many
little holes into both sides with their small pointed sewing awls.  The
work was hard, but despite their aching fingers the women continued
until they finished the task.  Earlier, they had soaked the babiche in
water.  Now they took the softened material, sliced it into thin strips,
and wove it onto the snowshoes.  As the babiche hardened with a little
help from the campfire, the women prepared leather bindings for their
snowshoes.

When they finished, the women beamed with pride.  Then they walked atop
the snow with their slightly awkward but serviceable snowshoes to check
their rabbit snares and were further cheered to find they had caught
another rabbit.  The knowledge that a few days before The People had
tried to snare rabbits in the area without success made the women feel
almost superstitious about their good luck.  They went back to the camp
feeling lighthearted about all that had been accomplished.

That night the women talked about their plans.  They agreed that they
could not remain in the fall camp where they had been abandoned, for
there were not enough animals on which to survive the long winter.  They
also were afraid that potential enemies might come upon them.  Other
bands were traveling, too, even in the cold winter, and the women did
not want to be exposed to such dangers.  They also began to fear their
own people because of the broken trust.  The two women decided they must
move on, fearing that the cold weather would force people to do
desperate things to survive, remembering the taboo stories handed down
for generations about how some had turned into cannibals to survive.

The two women sat in the shelter, thinking about where to go.  Suddenly
Ch'idzigyaak burst out, I know of a place!"

"Where?" Sa' asked in an excited voice.

"Do you remember the place where we fished long ago?  The creek where
the fish were so abundant that we had to build many caches to dry them?"
The younger woman searched her memory for a moment, and vaguely the
place came to mind.  "Yes, I do remember.

But why did we not ever return?" she asked.  Ch'idzigyaak shrugged.  She
did not know either.

"Maybe The People forgot that place existed," she ventured.

Whatever the reason, the two women agreed that it would be a good place
to go now and since it was a long distance, they should leave at once.
The women yearned to be as far away as possible from this place of bad
memories.

The following morning they packed.  Their caribou skins served many
purposes.  That day, they served as pulling sleds.

Taking the two skins off the tent frame, the women laid the skins flat
with the fur facing the snow.  They packed their possessions neatly in
the skins and laced them tightly shut with long strips of babiche.  They
fastened long woven ropes of mooseskin leather onto the front of the
skin sleds, and each woman tied a rope around her waist.  With the fur
of the caribou hides sliding lightly across the dry, deep snow and the
women's snowshoes making the walking easier, the two women began their
long journey.

Temperatures had dropped, and the cold air made the women's eyes sting.
Time and time again, they had to warm their faces with their bare hands,
and they continually wiped tears from their irritated eyes.  But their
fur and skin clothing served them well, for cold as it was, their bodies
remained warm.

The women walked late into the night.  They had not gone too far, but
both were bone-weary and felt as though they had been walking forever.
Deciding to camp, the women dug deep pits in the snow and filled them
with spruce boughs.  Then they built a small campfire, reboiling the
squirrel meat and drinking its broth.  They were so tired they soon fell
asleep.  This time they did not moan or twitch but slept deep and
soundlessly.

Morning arrived, and the women awoke to the deep cold surrounding them
while the sky above seemed like a bowl of stars.

But as the women tried to climb out of their pits, their bodies would
not move.  Looking into each other's eyes, the women realized they had
pushed their bodies beyond their physical endurance.  Finally, the
younger, more determined Sa' managed to move.  But the pain was so great
that she let out an agonized groan.  Knowing this would happen to her,
too, Ch'idzigyaak lay still for awhile, gathering courage to withstand
the pain she knew would come.  Finally, she, too, made her way slowly
and painfully out of the snow shelter, and the women limped around the
camp to loosen their stiff joints.  After they chewed on the remaining
squirrel meat, they continued their journey, slowly pulling their laden
toboggans.

That day would be remembered as one of the longest and hardest of the
days to come.  They stumbled numbly on, many times falling down into the
snow from sheer fatigue and old age.  Yet they pushed on, almost in
desperation, knowing that each step brought them nearer to their
destination.

The distant sunlight that appeared for a short while each day peeped
hazily through the ice fog that hung in the air.  Now and again, blue
skies could be seen, but mostly the women noticed only their own frosty
breath coming in thick swirls.  Freezing their lungs was another worry,
and they took care not to work too hard in the cold and, if such work
was unavoidable, they wore a protective covering over their faces.  This
could cause irritating side effects, such as frost buildup where the
covering brushed against their faces.  However, the women did not notice
such minor discomforts compared with their aching limbs, stiff joints,
and swollen feet.  Sometimes even the heavy sleds seemed to serve a
purpose by keeping the women from falling flat on their faces as they
pulled onward with the ropes wrapped around their chests.

As the few hours of daylight slipped away, the women's eyes readjusted
to the darkness that began to enfold them.  But they knew that night had
not yet arrived and that there was still time to move.  When it became
time to camp, the women found themselves on a large lake.  They could
see the outline of trees along the shore and they knew that the forest
would be a better place to camp.  But they were so exhausted they could
go no farther.  Again they dug a deep pit in the snow, and after
snuggling down and covering themselves with their skin blankets they
were soon asleep.  The thick skin and fur clothing held their body heat
and protected them from the cold air.  The snow pit was as warm as any
shelter above ground, so the women slept, mindless of freezing
temperatures that made even the most ferocious northern animals seek
shelter.

The next morning, Sa' awoke first.  The long sleep and cold air cleared
her mind considerably.  With a twisting grimace she stuck her head out
of the hole to look around.  She saw the outline of trees on the shore
and remembered how they had been too tired to complete their crossing of
the lake.

She got up slowly, not wanting to disturb her friend's slumber and
knowing that with a wrong move her stiffened body would lock up and
refuse to go farther.  A smile hovered around her lips as she thought of
how she and her friend had complained loudly and often of their minor
aches and pains a few days before, and of the walking sticks they had
used until forgetting them at the camp the day before.  Slowly
stretching in the chilly air, she made a mental note to remind her
friend of this when the right time came.  They could laugh over the fact
that for years they had carried those sticks around to help them walk
better and now, somehow, they had managed many miles without them.
Putting on her snowshoes, Sa' walked about to loosen the stiffness in
her sore joints.

From within the snow pit, Ch'idzigyaak looked up at her more agile
companion who slowly circled the shelter.  Ch'idzigyaak was still tired
and feeling miserable.  But she knew she must do her best to stand
beside her friend through this hardship.  She had lived long enough to
know that if she gave up, her friend would give up, too.  So she forced
herself to move, but the pain that filled her body made her lie back
down, and let out a deep sigh.

Sa' saw that Ch'idzigyaak was having a hard time, so she reached down to
help her climb out of the pit.  Together they grunted, struggling to
move.  Soon they were walking again, and kept right on going until they
reached the edge of the lake.

There, they built a fire and, after eating some of the rabbit meat they
had carefully rationed, they returned for their sleds and resumed their
journey.

The frozen lakes seemed endless.  Struggling through the many spruce
trees, willow thickets, and thorn patches that lay between the lakes
wore the women out until they felt as if they had traveled many more
miles than they had.  Despite having to make many detours around
obstacles, the women never completely lost their sense of direction.
Sometimes, fatigue clouded their judgement, and they found themselves
straying slightly off course or going in circles, but they soon found
their way again.  In vain, they hoped that the slough they sought would
appear suddenly.  Indeed, there were times when one of them would
fantasize that they had reached their destination.  But the constant
reminders of the intense cold and aching bones brought them quickly back
to reality.

On the fourth night, the women almost stumbled onto the slough.
Everything around them stood shrouded under silvery moonlight.  Shadows
stretched beneath the many trees and over the slough.  The women stood
on the bank for a few moments, resting as their eyes took in the beauty
of that special night.  Sa' marveled at the power the land held over
people like herself, over the animals, and even over the trees.  They
all depended on the land, and if its rules were not obeyed, quick and
unjudgemental death could fall upon the careless and unworthy.

Ch'idzigyaak looked at her friend as Sa' sighed deeply.  "What's the
matter?" she asked.

Sa's face creased in a sad smile.  "Nothing is wrong, my friend.  We are
on the right trail after all.  I was thinking about how it used to be
that the land was easy for me to live on, and now it seems not to want
me.  Perhaps it is just my aching joints that are making me complain."

Ch'idzigyaak laughed.  "Perhaps it is because our bodies are just too
old, or maybe we are out of shape.  Maybe the time will come when we
will spring across this land again." Sa' joined in the joke.

Such musings were meant only to lift their spirits and the women knew
that their journey was not over, nor would their struggle for survival
become easier.  Although they had grown soft in their old age,
Ch'idzigyaak and Sa' knew they would pay a high price of hard toil
before the land yielded them any comforts.

The two women walked down the winding slough until they came upon a
large river.  Even in times of cold weather, the swishing undercurrents
of the river eroded the ice and made it thin and dangerous to walk on.
The women realized this as they carefully inched their way across the
quiet river, keeping their senses alert for the sound of cracking ice or
any hint of steam rising from between the ice chinks.

When they finally reached the other side, the tension and fatigue left
both women mentally and physically drained.  With what little energy
remained, they numbly set to the task of building yet another overnight
shelter.

Chapter 4

A painful journey

Nights past when they had managed to build shelters were nothing
compared to this one for the women were so tired they could barely move.
In blind determination they stumbled about gathering spruce boughs for
their beds and large chunks of wood for the campfire.  Finally, they
huddled together and as stared as if hypnotized into the large orange
blaze they ignited from the live coals carried from the first campsite.
Soon they slipped mindlessly off to sleep.  They did not hear the
lonesome howl of a distant wolf, and before they knew it the cold air of
morning brought them back to their senses.

They had fallen asleep leaning against one another and somehow managed
to stay in that position all night.  Because they were sitting up on
their legs, the women knew getting up would not be easy.  They sat still
for a long time.  Then Sa' made an effort to rise, but her legs had lost
their feeling.  She grunted and tried again.  Meanwhile, Ch'idzigyaak
closed her eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep.  She did not want to
face the day.

Sa' gathered a little courage to force herself to move, but the aches in
her bones proved to be too much for her this time.

Again they had pushed their bodies beyond their limits.  Without meaning
to, Sa' let out a painful moan, and she felt a great urge to cry.  She
hung her head, defeated by all they had been through these past few
days, and the cold made her feel even more despair.  As much as she
wanted to, her body would not move.  She was too stiff.

Ch'idzigyaak listened lethargically to her friend's sniffles.  She was
amazed that she could sit and listen to Sa' cry and feel no emotion.
Perhaps it was not meant for them to go on.  Perhaps the young ones were
right - she and Sa' were fighting the inevitable.  It would be easy for
them to snuggle deeper into the warmth of their fur clothing and fall
asleep. They would not have to prove anything to anyone anymore. Perhaps
the sleep that Sa' feared would not be so bad after all.  At least,
Ch'idzigyaak thought to herself, it would not be as bad as this.

Yet, for as little will as her older friend had, Sa' possessed enough
determination for both of them.  Shrugging off the cold, the pain in her
sides, her empty stomach, and the numbness in her legs, she struggled to
get up and this time succeeded.  As had become her morning habit, she
limped around the campsite until feeling slowly began to course through
her bloodstream.  When the circulation returned, there was more pain.

But Sa' concentrated her attention on gathering more wood to build the
fire.  Then she boiled a rabbit head to make a tasty broth.

Ch'idzigyaak watched all this from between narrowed lids.

She did not want her friend to know that she was awake, for then,
Ch'idzigyaak felt, she would be obligated to move, and she did not want
to move.  Not now and not ever.  She would stay exactly as she was, and
perhaps death would steal her quickly away from the suffering.  But her
body was not ready to give in just yet.

Instead of slipping blissfully into oblivion, Ch'idzigyaak suddenly felt
the urgent need to relieve her bladder.  She tried to ignore this, but
soon her bladder could wait no more, and with a loud grunt she felt her
bladder letting go.  In quick panic she jumped up and headed for the
willows, startling her friend.  When Ch'idzigyaak came out of the
willows looking slightly guilty, Sa' tilted her head in wonder.  "Is
something wrong?" she asked. Ch'idzigyaak, feeling embarrassed,
admitted, "I surprised myself by how fast I moved.  I did not think I
would be able to move at all!"

Sa' was thinking of the day ahead.  "After we have eaten, we should try
to move on, even if we go only a little way today," she said.  "Each
step brings us closer to where we are going.

Although I do not feel good today, my mind has power over my body, and
it wants us to move on instead of staying here to rest - which is what I
want to do." Ch'idzigyaak listened as she ate her portion of the rabbit
head and broth.  She, too, felt like staying there for a while.  In
fact, she desperately wanted to stay.  But after putting aside her
foolish thoughts, she felt ashamed and reluctantly agreed they should
move on.

Sa' felt a slight disappointment when Ch'idzigyaak agreed to resume
their journey, wondering if deep within her she had hoped Ch'idzigyaak
would refuse to move.  But it was too late for second thoughts.  So both
women tied the ropes around their thin waists and pulled onward.  As
they walked, they kept their eyes open for signs of animals, for their
food was nearly gone, and meat was their prime source of energy. Without
it, their struggle would be over soon.  Sometimes, the women stopped to
discuss the route they had chosen and to ask themselves if it was the
correct way.  But the river led in only one direction from the slough,
so the women walked along the riverbank as they kept a lookout for the
narrow creek that would lead them to a place remembered for its
plentiful fish long ago.

The days dragged on as the women slowly pulled their sleds across the
deep snow.  On the sixth day, Sa', who had grown accustomed to staring
dully only at the path ahead, happened to glance up.  Across the river
she saw the opening to the creek.

"We are there," she said in a soft, breathless voice.

Ch'idzigyaak looked at her friend, then at the creek.  "Except we are on
the wrong side," she said.  Sa' had to smile at her friend, who always
seemed to find the negative side of a situation.  Too tired to offer a
lighter point of view, Sa' sighed to herself as she motioned to her
friend to follow.

This time the two women did not worry about hidden cracks beneath the
ice.  They were too tired.  Mindless of the danger, they crossed the
frozen river and kept right on going up the tributary.  The women walked
until late that night.  The moon slowly emerged over the trees until it
hovered above them, lighting their way along the narrow creek.  Although
they had walked more hours than they had on earlier days, the women
continued on.  They felt sure the old campsite was near and they wanted
to reach their destination that night.

Just about the time Ch'idzigyaak was ready to beg her friend to stop,
she saw the campsite.  "Look over there!" she cried.

"There are the fishracks we hung so long ago!" Sa' stopped and suddenly
felt weak.  It was with great effort that she stood on her shaking legs,
for a feeling of somehow coming home suddenly over-whelmed her.

Ch'idzigyaak moved closer to her friend and gently placed an arm around
her.  They looked at each other and felt a surge of powerful emotion
that left them speechless.  They had traveled all this way by
themselves.  Good memories came back to them about the place where they
had shared much happiness with friends and family.  Now, because of an
ugly twist of fate, they were here alone, betrayed by those same people.
Because they were thrown together in hardship, the two women developed a
sense of knowing what the other was thinking, and Sa' was usually the
more sensitive one.

"It is better not to think of why we are here," she said.

"We must set up our camp here tonight.  Tomorrow we will talk."

Clearing the bitter emotion from her throat, Ch'idzigyaak heartily
agreed.  So, with slow, dragging movements, the two women climbed up the
low bank of the creek and walked to the campsite, where they found an
old tent frame that they used for shelter that night.

Though their clothing shielded them from the awful cold, the caribou
skins did a better job.  Coals from the fire pulsated amidst the ash all
through the night and kept the shelter warm. Finally, the morning cold
seeped through, and the women began to stir.  Sa' was the first to move.
This time her body did not protest so much as she moved about the
shelter, placing the wood they had gathered the night before on the tiny
embers still burning in the fireplace.  After a few moments of softly
blowing the dried sticks, a flame began a gentle dance as it spread onto
the bundle of dry willows.  Soon the shelter was warm and glowing.

That day, the women worked steadily, unmindful of their aching joints.
They knew they would have to hurry to make final preparations for the
worst of the winter, for even colder weather lay ahead.  So they spent
the day piling snow high around the shelter to insulate it and gathering
all the loose wood they could find.  Then without resting, they set a
long line of rabbit snares, for the area was rich in willows and there
were many signs of rabbit life.  Nighttime had arrived when the women
made their way back to the camp.  Sa' boiled the remains of the rabbit's
innards and the women feasted on the last of their food.

After that, they leaned against their bedding and stared into the
campfire.

The two women had not known each other well before being abandoned. They
had been two neighbors who thrived on each other's bad habit of
complaining and on sharing conversations about things that did not
matter.  Now, their old age and their cruel fate were all they had in
common.  So it was that night, at the end of their painful journey
together, they did not know how to converse in companionship, and
instead, each woman dwelled on her own thoughts.

Ch'idzigyaak's mind went immediately to her daughter and grandson.  She
wondered if they were all right.  A surge of hurt streaked through her
as she thought about her daughter again.  It was still hard for
Ch'idzigyaak to believe that her own flesh and blood would refuse to
come to her aid.  As the self-pity overwhelmed her, Ch'idzigyaak fought
the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and her lips formed a
thin, rigid line.  She would not cry!  This was the time to be strong
and to forget!  But with that thought a huge single tear dripped down.
She looked at Sa' and saw that she also was lost deep in thought.
Ch'idzigyaak was perplexed by her friend.  Except for a few moments of
weakness, the woman next to her seemed strong and sure of herself,
almost as if she were challenged by all of this. Curiosity replaced her
pain and Sa' was startled when Ch'idzigyaak spoke.

"Once when I was a little girl, they left my grandmother behind.  She
could no longer walk and could hardly see.  We were so hungry that
people were staggering around, and my mother whispered that she was
afraid that people would think of eating people.  I had not heard of
anything like this before, but my family told stories of some who had
grown desperate enough to do such things.  My heart filled with fear as
I clung to my mother's hand.  If someone looked into my eyes, I would
turn my head quickly, fearing he might take notice of me and consider
eating me.  That is how much fear I had.  I was hungry, too, but somehow
it didn't matter.  Perhaps it was because I was so young and had my
family all around me.  When they talked about leaving my grandmother
behind, I was horrified.  I remember my father and brothers arguing with
the rest of the men, but when my father came back to the shelter, I
looked at his face and knew what would happen.  Then I looked at my
grandmother.  She was blind and too deaf to hear what was going on."
Ch'idzigyaak took a deep breath before continuing with her story.

"When they bundled her up and put her blankets all around her, I think
Grandmother sensed what was happening because as we began to leave the
camp I could hear her crying." The older woman shuddered at the memory.

"Later, when I grew up, I learned that my brother and father went back
to end my grandmother's life, for they did not want her to suffer.  And
they burned her body in case anyone thought of filling their bellies
with her flesh.  Somehow, we survived that winter, though only real
memory of that time was that it was not a happy one.  I remember other
times of empty stomachs, but none as bad as that one winter."

Sa' smiled sadly, understanding her friend's painful memories.  She,
too, remembered.  "When I was young, I was like a boy," she began.  I was
always with my brothers.  I learned many things from them.  Sometimes,
my mother would try to make me sit still and sew, or learn that which I
would have to know when I became a woman.  But my father and brothers
always rescued me. They liked me the way I was." She smiled at her
memories.

"Our family was different from most.  My father and mother let us do
almost anything.  We did chores like everyone else, but after they were
done, we could explore.  I never played with other children, only with
my brothers.  I am afraid I did not know what growing up was about
because I was having so much fun. When mother asked me if I had become a
woman yet, I did not understand.  I thought she meant in age, not in
that way.  And summer after summer, she would ask me the same question,
and each time she looked more worried.  I did not pay much attention to
her.  But as I grew as tall as my mother and just a little shorter than
my brothers, people looked at me in a strange way. Girls younger than me
already were with child and man.  Yet I was still free like a child."
Sa' laughed heartily as she now knew why she received all those strange
looks from people then.

"I began to hear them laugh at me behind my back and I became confused.
In a way, I did not care what people thought about me, so I continued to
hunt, fish, explore, and do what I pleased.  My mother tried to make me
stay home and work, but I rebelled.  My brothers had taken women, and I
told my mother she had plenty of help, and with that I would escape.
When my mother turned to my father to discipline me, I would show up
with a huge bundle of ducks, fish, or some other food, and my father
would say, 'Leave her alone." Then I grew older, beyond that age when
women should have man and child, and everyone was talking about me.  I
could not understand why, for although I was not with a man and having
children, I was still doing my share of the work by providing food.
There were times when I brought more food than the men.  This did not
seem to please them.  About this time in my life, we experienced our
worst winter.  It was cold like this." Sa' motioned with her hand.

"Even babies died, and grown men began to panic, for as hard as they
tried they could not find enough animals to eat.  There was an old woman
in our group whom I rarely noticed.  The chief decided we had to move on
in our search for food.  There was a rumor that far away we would find
caribou.  This excited everyone.

"The old woman had to be carried.  The chief did not want this burden,
so he told everyone that we would leave her behind. No one argued,
except me.  My mother tried to stifle me, but I was young and
unthinking.  She told me that this was to be done for the sake of the
whole group.  She seemed like a cold, unfeeling stranger as she tried to
talk me out of my protest, but I angrily brushed her off.  I was shocked
and furious.  I felt that The People were being lazy and were not
thinking clearly. It was my job to talk some sense into them.  And being
who I was, I spoke up for the woman whom I hardly knew existed until
then.  I asked the men if they thought they were no better than the
wolves who would shun their old and weak.

"The chief was a cruel man.  I had avoided him until the day I stood
before him and shouted angry words at his face.  I could see that he was
twice as angry as I was, but I could not stop myself.  Even though I
knew that the chief disliked me, I argued on, not listening to him as he
tried to answer my accusations. His action was wrong, and I meant to
make it right.  As I continued to talk, I was unaware of the shock that
awakened the group from its malnourished lethargy.  A fearful look fell
upon the chief's face and he put his large hand over my mouth.  All
right, strange young girl, he said in a loud voice that I knew was meant
to humiliate me.  I could feel my chin go up farther so that he could
see that I remained proud and unafraid.  'You will stay with the old
one,' he said.  I could hear my mother gasp, and my own heart sank.  Yet
I would not yield as I stared unblinkingly into his eyes.

"My family was deeply hurt, but pride and shame kept them from
protesting.  They did not want a daughter who would take such a stand a
against the strong leaders of the group.  I did not think the leaders
were strong.  The chief acted as if I did not exist after that, and I
was ignored by everyone else except my family, who begged me to
apologize to the leader.  But I would not give in.  My pride grew with
each moment the others pretended I was not there, and I continued to
plead for the old woman's life." Sa' broke into laughter at her
impetuous youth.

"What happened after that?" Ch'idzigyaak wanted to know.

Sa' paused as she deeply inhaled the pain from those long-ago memories.
Continuing in a subdued voice, she said, "After they left, I was not so
brave.  There were no animals to be found for miles around.  But I was
determined to show what could be done by my good intentions.  So the old
woman - I never did know her name, for I was too busy trying to keep us
alive and I ate mice, owls, and anything else that moved.  I killed it,
and we ate it.  The woman died that winter.  Then I was alone. Not even
my pride and usual carefree ways could help me.  I talked to myself all
the time.  Who else was there?  They would think I was crazy if The
People returned to find me talking to the air.  At least you and I have
each other," Sa' told her friend, who nodded in wholehearted agreement.

"Then I realized the importance of being with a large group.

The body needs food, but the mind needs people.  When the sun finally
came hot and long on the land, I explored the country. One day as I was
walking along, talking to myself as usual, someone said, 'Who are you
talking to?" For a moment I thought I was hearing things.  I stopped in
my tracks and turned slowly to find a big, strong-looking man with his
arms crossed, smiling at me in a bold manner.  Many feelings ran through
me at that moment.  I was surprised, embarrassed, and angry all at once.
'You scared me!" I said, trying to cover up my real feelings. Because my
cheeks were burning, I knew I did not fool him, for his grin grew
deeper.  He asked me what I was doing out there alone, and I told him my
story.  I felt at that moment that I could trust him.  He told me that
the same thing happened to him.

Only he was banished because he was foolish enough to fight over a woman
who was meant for another man.  We were together a long time before we
became a man and woman together.  I never saw my family again, and it
was years later that we joined the band.

"Then he tried to fight with a bear and died.  Foolish man," she added
with grudging admiration, as a deep sadness weighed down her face.

It was the first time Ch'idzigyaak saw her friend so sad, and she broke
the silence by saying, "You were luckier than I, for when it became
apparent that I was not interested in taking a man, I was forced to live
with a man much older than me.  I hardly knew him.  It was years before
we had our child.  He was older than I am now when he died."

Sa' laughed.  "The People would have chosen a man for me too, had I been
with them much longer." After a momentary silence, she continued.  "Now
here we are, truly old.  I hear our bones creaking, and we are left
behind to fend for ourselves."

The women fell into silence as they struggled with their emotions.  They
lay on their warm beds as the cold earth trembled outside.  They thought
about the experiences they had shared.  As they fell into an exhausted
sleep, each woman felt more at home because of her new knowledge of the
other and because each had survived hard times before.

Days shortened as the sun sank deeper under the horizon.  It grew so
cold there were times when the women jumped as the trees around them
cracked loudly from the cold pressure.  Even the willows snapped.  But
as the women settled down they also became depressed.  They feared the
savage wolves that howled in the distance.  Other imagined fears
tormented them as well, for there was plenty of time to think as the
dark days drifted slowly by. In what daylight they had, the two women
forced themselves to move.  They spent all their waking hours collecting
firewood from underneath the deep snow.  Though food was scarce, warmth
was their main concern, and at night they would sit and talk, trying to
keep each other from the loneliness and fears that threatened to
overcome them.  The People rarely spent precious time in idle
conversation.  When they did speak, it was to communicate rather than to
socialize.  But these women made an exception during the long evenings.
They talked.  And a sense of mutual respect developed as each learned of
the other's past hardships.

Many days went by before the women caught more rabbits.  It had been
some time since they had eaten a full meal.  They managed to preserve
their energy by boiling spruce boughs to serve as a minty tea, but it
made the stomach sour.  Knowing it was dangerous to eat anything solid
after such a diet, the two women first boiled the rabbit meat to make a
nourishing broth, which they drank slowly.  After a day of drinking the
broth, the women cautiously ate one ham off a rabbit.  As the days
passed, they allowed themselves more portions, and soon their energy was
restored.

With wood piled high around the shelter like a barricade, the women
found that they had more time to forage for food.  The hunting skills
they learned in their youth reemerged, and each day the women would walk
farther from the shelter to set their rabbit snares and to keep an eye
out for any other animals small enough to kill.  One of the rules they
had been taught was that if you set snares for animals you must check
them regularly. Neglecting your snareline brought bad luck.  So, despite
the cold and their own physical discomforts, the two women checked their
snares each day and usually found a rabbit to reward them.

At nightfall, when their daily chores were completed, the women wove the
rabbit fur into blankets and clothing, such as mittens and face
coverings.  Sometimes, to break the monotony, one would present a woven
rabbit-fur hat or mittens to the other.

This always brought wide smiles.

As the days slowly passed, the weather lost its cold edge, and the women
savored moments of glee - they had survived the winter!  They regained
what energy they had lost and now they kept busy collecting more
firewood, checking the rabbit snares and scouting the vast area for
other animals.  Though the women had lost the habit of complaining, they
grew tired of the daily fare of rabbit meat and found themselves
dreaming of other game to eat, such as willow grouse, tree squirrels,
and beaver meat.

One morning, as Ch'idzigyaak awoke, she felt something was not quite
right.  Her heart pumped rapidly as she slowly got up, fearing the
worst, and peeked out of the shelter.  At first, all seemed still.  Then
suddenly she spotted a flock of willow grouse pecking at some tree
debris that had fallen not far away.  With trembling hands, she quietly
got a long, thin strand of babiche out of her sewing bag and slowly
crept out of the tent. Selecting a long stick from the nearby woodpile,
she fashioned a noose at the end and began to crawl toward the flock.

Nervously, the birds started to cluck as they became aware of the
woman's presence.  Knowing that the birds were about to take fight,
Ch'idzigyaak stopped for a few minutes to give them time to calm down.
They were not too far from her now, and she hoped that Sa' would not
awake and make a noise that would scare away the birds.  With knees
aching and hands slightly trembling, Ch'idzigyaak slowly pushed the
stick forward.  Some grouse excitedly flew away to another patch of
willows nearby, but she steadfastly ignored them as she continued to
lift the stick slowly as the remaining birds walked about faster.
Ch'idzigyaak concentrated on the grouse closest to her.  It made small
movements towards the noose, its head nodding back to front.  As the
birds started noisily to run and fly off, Ch'idzigyaak shoved the noose
forward until the bird's head slipped right into it. Then she jerked the
stick upward as the bird squawked and twisted until it hung motionless.
Standing up with the dead grouse in her hand, Ch'idzigyaak turned toward
the tent to find her friend's face wreathed in smiles.  Ch'idzigyaak
smiled back.

Looking into the air, Ch'idzigyaak took note of a warmth in the air. The
weather gets better," Sa' said softly and the older woman's eyes widened
in surprise.  "I should have noticed.  Had it been cold, I would have
frozen in my position of a sneaky fox." The women found great laughter
in this as they went back into the shelter to prepare the meat of a
different season to come.  After that morning, the weather fluctuated
between bitter cold and then warm and snowy days.  That the women did
not catch another bird failed to dampen their spirits, for the days
gradually grew longer, warmer, and brighter.

CHAPTER 5

Saving a cache of fish

Soon winter was gone and the two old women spent more time hunting game.
They feasted on the feisty little squirrels that bolted from tree to
tree and on the flocks of willow grouse that seemed to be everywhere.

With the warm days of spring came the time for muskrat hunting.  The
women long ago had been tutored in the skills and patience required.
First, special nets and traps had to be made. A willow branch was bent
into a circle and bound securely at the ends.  The women wove thin
strips of moose leather into the frames until each formed a crude but
sturdy net.  Then, on a sunny day, they set out in search of a muskrat
tunnel.

They walked a long way before they came to a cluster of lakes with signs
of muskrat life.  They picked out a lake with little black lumps of
muskrat houses still showing on the rotting ice.  After locating the
muskrat tunnel, the women marked each end of the underground pathway
with a stick.  When the stick moved, it meant a muskrat was coming
through the tunnel and when it emerged from the opening, one of the
women would snatch it with her net and end its life with a blow to the
head.  The first day, the women caught ten muskrats.  But they were worn
out by the stress of bending down and waiting, so the walk back to camp
seemed long.

The spring days brought little time to talk or to reflect on the past as
the women kept busy catching more muskrats and some beavers, all of
which were smoke-dried for preservation.  Their days were so full they
hardly took time to eat, and at night they slept deeply.  When they
decided they had caught more than their share of muskrat and beaver,
they packed everything and hauled it back to their main camp.

Still, the women felt vulnerable.  The area was rich in animal life now,
and they felt in time other people might come. Normally, other people
meant their own kind.  But since being left behind on that cold winter
day, the women felt defenseless against the younger generation and had
lost trust that they knew they never could regain.  Now, suspicion left
them wary of what might happen if anyone were to come upon them and find
their growing store of food.  They talked about what they should do, and
in time they agreed they should move to a place less desirable - a place
other people would not wish to explore, perhaps a place where it would
be hard to manage the mighty swarms of summer insects.

The women did not relish having to face the many blood-thirsty
mosquitoes that awaited them in the thick willow bushes and trees.  But
their fear of people was greater.  So they packed all they had and began
the unpleasant trek to the hiding place.  They decided to work in the
heat of the day when mosquitoes seemed to hide.  At night, they sat near
a smoky fire to protect themselves.  It took days to transfer the camp,
but at last, the women stood by the creek and took one last look around,
wishing a wind would blow away any hints of their presence.

Before deciding to move, the women had torn large amounts of birch bark
from the trees.  Now they recognized their mistake. Although by habit
they took pieces of bark from trees spaced far apart, the women knew
that any alert eye would take notice of this detail.  But they also knew
that nothing could be done about it, and in resignation they left the
camp for their less desirable place within the thickets.

The two women spent the remaining days of spring trying to make their
new camp more hospitable.  They put up their shelters under the deep
shade of tall spruce trees and hidden among many willows.  Then they
found a cool spot where they dug a deep hole that they lined with
willows.  There, they laid their large cache of dried meat for the
summer.  They also placed a few traps atop the ground to scare off any
sharp-nosed predators.  The mosquitoes were everywhere, and as they
worked, the women relied on long-used methods of shielding themselves to
keep from being eaten alive.  They hung leather tassles around their
faces and their thick clothing to keep the small insects from biting
into their skin.  When it seemed as if they would be carried away, the
women covered their skin with muskrat grease to repel the masses of
flying pests.  Meanwhile, they charted a small hidden path to the creek
where they got their water and, with summer nearly upon them, made their
fish traps.  Once the traps were set, the women had no trouble catching
fish and found they had to move nearer to the creek to keep up with the
task of cutting and drying.  In time, a bear began helping himself to
the fish the women had stored.  This worried them, but in time they
reached an unusual agreement with the bear.  They carried the fish guts
far from the camp where the greedy bear could laze about and eat at his
leisure.

Too soon, the sun lay orange and cool on the evening horizon, and the
women knew summer was dwindling.  About this time, the spawning salmon
began to find their way up the little creek, much to the women's
pleasure, and for a short while they were busy with the reddish fish
meat.  The bear disappeared from the area, but still the women disposed
of fish innards far down the creek.  If the bear did not eat them, the
ever-present ravens would devour them soon enough.  The women also were
frugal, and they preserved many inside parts of the fish for other uses.
For instance, the salmon intestines could be used for containing water,
and the skin was fashioned into round bags to hold dried fish.  These
tasks kept them so busy they were up from early morning until late at
night, and before they knew it, the short Arctic summer passed, and fall
crept upon them.

When the season changed, the women retired from fishing and hauled their
large supply back to the hidden camp.  There they found a new problem.
They had collected so much fish that there was no place to store it, and
with the approaching winter there was no shortage of small animals
searching for winter food. Eventually, the women made standing caches
for their fish, and they placed great bundles of thorns and brush
beneath them to discourage animals from bothering the fish.  Perhaps
this method worked, or perhaps it was just their luck, but animals kept
away from their caches.

Far behind the camp was a low hill that the women had not had time to
explore.  One day, with their summer hunting finished, Sa' found herself
wondering what bounties might lie on that hill or around it.  So she
took her spear and bow and the arrows the women had made, announcing
that she would visit the hill.  Ch'idzigyaak did not approve but could
see that her friend would not be deterred.

"Just keep the fire going, and your spear nearby, and you should be
safe," Sa' said as she set out, leaving Ch'idzigyaak behind shaking her
head in disapproval.

It was a day of abandon for Sa'.  She felt light-hearted for the first
time in more years than she could remember, and like a child, she
grasped greedily at the feeling.  The day was beautiful.  The leaves
were turning a brilliant gold and the air was crisp and clear as Sa' all
but skipped along an animal trail.

From a distance, one would not be able to see that Sa' was an older
woman, for she looked lithe and energetic.  When she reached the top,
she gasped in surprise.  Before her lay vast patches of cranberries. Sa'
dropped to her knees and began to scoop handfuls of the small red fruit,
stuffing them into her mouth.  As she gorged on this delicious food, a
movement in the nearby brush made her freeze instantly.

Slowly, Sa' forced herself to look toward the sound, imagining the
worst.  She relaxed when she saw that it was only a bull moose.  Then
she remembered that this time of year a bull moose could be the most
fearful animal on four legs.  Usually timid, the bull moose in his
rutting stage was no longer afraid of man or of anything else that moved
or stood in his way.

The moose remained still for a long time as if he were just as surprised
and undecided about the small woman who stood before him as she had been
about him.  As her pulse slowed almost to normal, Sa' imagined the
delectable taste of moosemeat during the long winter months ahead.  In
another moment of unthinking craziness, she reached for an arrow from
her pack and placed it in her bow.  The moose's ears flipped forward at
the movement, then it turned and ran in the opposite direction just as
the arrow landed harmlessly on the soft ground.

Pressing her fate, Sa' followed.  She could not run as strongly as when
she was young, but with something that looked more like a limp than a
jog, Sa' was able to pursue the large animal.  A moose can outrun a
human any time unless, of course, there is too much snow.  But on a
snowless day like this, the moose sprinted far ahead as Sa', gasping for
breath, barely caught a glimpse of his large hind-end disappearing
behind the brush.  The big bull stopped many times, almost as if he were
playing a game with Sa', and just when she almost caught up, he would
saunter far ahead once more.  Normally, a moose will run as far as he
can from any predator.  But today, the moose did not feel much like
running, nor did he feel threatened, so the old woman was able to keep
him in sight.  She was stubborn and would not give up, although she knew
that she was outmatched.  By late afternoon, the moose seemed to grow
tired of the game as he watched her from the corner of his dark round
eyes, and with one flip of his ear he began to run faster.  Only then
did Sa' admit to herself that there was no way she could catch it.  She
stared at the empty brush in defeat.  Slowly she turned back, thinking
to herself, "If only I were forty years younger, I might have caught
him."

It was late that night when Sa' returned to the camp where her friend
kept watch by a large campfire.  As Sa' sank wearily into a bundle of
spruce boughs, Ch'idzigyaak could not help but blurt out, "I think many
more years were taken from me while I worried for you." Despite the
admonishment in her voice, Ch'idzigyaak was deeply relieved that no harm
had come to her friend.

Knowing that she had been foolish, Sa' understood what her friend had
been through and she felt ashamed.  Ch'idzigyaak handed her a bowl of
warm fish meat and Sa' ate slowly.  When a little of her strength
returned, Sa' told Ch'idzigyaak how she spent the day.  Ch'idzigyaak
smiled as she envisioned her friend chasing the long-legged bull, but
she did not smile too broadly for it was not in her nature to laugh at
others.  Sa' was grateful for that, and then, remembering the
cranberries, told her friend about the great find and they both were
cheered.

It took a few days for Sa' to recover from her adventure with the moose,
so the two old women sat still and wove birch bark into large round
bowls.  Then they went back to the hill and gathered as many berries as
they could carry.  By that time, autumn was upon them and the nights
became chillier, reminding the women that there was no time to waste in
gathering their winter wood supply.

They piled wood high around their cache and shelter, and when they
cleared all the wood from the area around the camp, they walked far back
into the forest, packing in more bundles of wood on their backs.  This
went on until snowflakes fell from the sky, and one day the women awoke
to a land shrouded in white. Now that winter was near, the women spent
more time inside their shelter by the warm fire.  Their days seemed
easier now that they were prepared.

Soon the women fell into a daily routine of collecting wood, checking
rabbit snares, and melting snow for water.  They sat evenings by the
campfire, keeping each other company.  During the months past, the women
were too busy to think about what had happened to them, and if the
thought did cross their minds, they blocked it out.  But now that they
had nothing else to do in the evenings, those unwelcome thoughts kept
coming back until soon each woman began to talk less as each stared
thoughtfully into the small fire.  They felt it was a taboo to think of
those who had abandoned them, but now the treacherous thoughts invaded
their minds.

The darkness grew longer, and the land became silent and still.  It took
much concentration for the two women to fill their long days with work.
They made many articles of rabbit-fur clothing such as mittens, hats,
and face coverings.  Yet, despite this, they felt a great loneliness
slowly enclose them.

CHAPTER 6

Sadness among The People

The chief stood surveying his surroundings with eyes made a little older
by deep sadness.  His people were in a desperate state, their eyes and
cheeks sunk low in gaunt faces and their tattered clothing barely able
to keep out the freezing cold.  Many of them were frostbitten.  Luck had
gone against them.  In desperation, still searching for game, they had
returned to the place where they abandoned the two old women the winter
before.

Sadly, the chief remembered how he fought the urge to turn back and save
the old ones.  But taking them back into the band would have been the
worst thing for him to do.  Many of the more ambitious younger men would
have seen this as an act of weakness.

And the way things had been going, The People would have been easily
convinced that their leader was not dependable.  No, the chief had known
that a drastic change in leadership would have proved more damaging than
the hunger, for in times when a band is starving, bad politics lead only
to further disaster.  The chief remembered that moment of terrible
weakness when he had almost allowed his emotions to ruin them all.

Now, once more, The People were suffering, and this winter found them on
the verge of hopelessness.  After turning their backs on the old women,
The People traveled many hard miles before coming on a small herd of
caribou.  The meat sustained them until spring when they began to
harvest fish, ducks, muskrats, and beaver.  But just when they regained
their energy to hunt and dry their food, the summer season ended, and it
was time to think of moving toward the place where they would be able to
find winter meat.  The chief had never known such terrible luck.  As
they traveled, the fall season came and went, and once more the band
found itself nearly out of food.  Now the chief looked at The People
wearily with a feeling of panic and self-doubt.  How long could he hold
out before he, too, became lost in the hunger and fatigue that
undermined his decisions?  The People seemed to have given up trying to
survive.  They no longer cared to hear his lectures, staring at him with
dulled eyes as if he made no sense.

Something else that troubled the chief was his decision to return to the
place where they had left the old women.  No one argued as he led them
here, but the chief knew they were surprised.  Now they stood looking
around as if they expected something from him, or expected to see the
two women.  The chief avoided their eyes, not wanting them to know that
he was as confused as they were.  There was not a single sign that
anyone had been left here.  Not one bone gave evidence that the old ones
had died.  Even if an animal had stripped their bones of flesh, surely
something would have been left behind to show that humans had died here.
But there was nothing, not even the tent that had sheltered the women.

Among The People was a guide named Daagoo.  He was an old man, younger
than the two old women, but still considered an elder.  In his younger
days, Daagoo had been a tracker, but the years had dimmed his vision and
skills.  He observed out loud what none of the others would acknowledge.
"Maybe they moved on," he said in a low voice so that only the chief
would hear him.  But in the silence, many heard him and some felt a
surge of hope for the women many had loved.

After setting up camp, the chief summoned the guide and three of his
strongest young hunters.  "I do not know what is going on, but I have a
feeling that all is not as it appears to be.  I want you to go to the
camps near here and see what you can find."

The chief was quiet about what he suspected, but he knew that the guide
and the three hunters would understand, especially Daagoo, for he had
watched the chief from season to season and had come to know what the
man was thinking.  Daagoo respected the chief and realized that he
suffered from self-loathing because of the part he had played in
abandoning the old women.  The guide knew the chief despised his own
weakness, for it showed in the hard lines of bitterness etched on his
face.  The old man sighed.

He knew that soon the self-hate would take its toll, and he did not like
the thought of a good man such as the chief being destroyed this way.
Yes, he would try to find out what had happened to the women, even if
the effort was wasted.

Long after the four men left camp the chief stared after them.  He could
not find a definite reason why he wasted precious energy and time on
what might be a futile effort.  Yet he, too, had a strange feeling of
hope.  Hope for what?  He had no answer.

AU the chief knew for sure was that in hard times The People should hold
together, and last winter they had not done so.  They had inflicted an
injustice on themselves and the two old women, and he knew that The
People had suffered silently since that day.

It would be good if the two women survived, but the chief knew the odds
weighed against that hope.  How could two feeble ones survive freezing
cold without food or the strength to hunt?  The chief acknowledged this,
yet he could not still the small speak of hope that sprang from months
of hardship.  Finding the women alive would give The People a second
chance and that, perhaps, was what he hoped for most.

Each of the four men was conditioned to run long distances.

What took the two women days to travel to the first camp the year before
took the four men a single day.  They found nothing but endless snow and
trees.  The trek taxed their limited energy, and they decided to spend
the night there.  When the first hint of morning dawned, the men were up
and jogging once more.

Daylight was fading when the men arrived at the second camp, and the
younger men saw no evidence that it had been used in a long time.
Impatience began to overtake them.  They had been trained from childhood
to respect their elders, but sometimes they thought they knew more than
the older ones.  Although they did not say so out loud, they felt
precious time was being wasted when they should be hunting for moose.

"Let's turn back now," one of the young men suggested, and the others
agreed quickly.

The guide's eyes lit up in amusement.  How impatient they were!  Yet
Daagoo did not criticize the others for he, too, had been impatient as a
young man.  Instead, he said, "Take a closer look around you." The young
hunters looked at him impatiently.

"Look closely at those birch trees," Daagoo insisted, and the men stared
blankly at the trees.  They saw nothing unusual. Daagoo sighed, and this
caught the attention of one of the younger men, who tried again to see
what the old man saw. Finally, his eyes widened.  "Look!" he said,
pointing to an empty patch on a birch tree.  Then they saw that other
trees spaced widely throughout the area had been stripped carefully,
almost as if done intentionally so that no one would notice.

"Maybe it was another band," one of the men said.

"Why would they try to hide those empty spots on the trees?"

Daagoo asked.  The young man shrugged, unable to find an answer.

Then Daagoo gave them instructions.  "Before we return," he said, I want
to search this area." Before they could protest, the guide pointed them
off in different directions.  "If you see anything unusual, come right
back here and we will go together to see what it is." Tired as they
were, the men began their search, although they were sulky and did not
believe that the two women still lived.

Meanwhile, Daagoo set out in the direction he believed the two old women
might have taken.  "If I were afraid to be found by The People who left
me to die, I would go this way," he muttered to himself.  "It is a
senseless direction because it is far from water.  But in winter they
would not have to rely on the river, so I think they might be this way."

Daagoo walked a long distance into the willows and beneath the tall
spruce trees.  As he trudged farther and farther over the snow, he felt
weary and wondered if he was doing the right thing.  How was it possible
to believe that two old women could survive when they, The People,
barely made it through that winter?  Especially those two women.  All
they did was complain. Even when little children were hungry, the women
complained and criticized.  Many times, Daagoo expected someone to
silence them, but that had not happened until the day things had gotten
out of control.  Daagoo began to feel they were on a useless hunt.  The
two women must have gotten lost and died along the way.  Perhaps they
had tried to cross the river and drowned.

As Daagoo thought about all of this, he became more doubtful with each
negative thought.  Then, suddenly, he smelled something.  In the
crystal-clear winter air, a light scent of smoke drifted past his nose
and was gone.  Daagoo stood very still as he, tried to catch the scent
once more, but there was nothing.  For a moment, he wondered if it had
been his imagination.  Perhaps a summer fire nearby had left its
lingering smell in the air.  Not wanting to believe that, the old man
backtracked slowly until once again he caught the scent.  It was a light
smell, but this time Daagoo knew that it was no remnant of a summer
fire.  No, this smoke had a freshness about it. Excited, he tried
walking first in one direction, then another until the smoke grew
stronger.  Convinced that it came from a campfire nearby, his face
crinkled into a broad grin as a certainty filled him - the two women had
survived.

Daagoo hurried back to get the young men who were waiting as impatiently
as before.  They did not want to follow when he beckoned, but
reluctantly, they followed Daagoo into the night for what seemed a long
time.  Finally, the guide held out his hand signaling them to stop.
Lifting his nose, he told them to smell the air.  The hunters sniffed
but did not smell anything. "What is it you want us to smell?" one of
them asked.

"Just keep smelling," Daagoo answered, so the men sniffed the air again
until one exclaimed, I smell smoke!" The others walked around sniffing
the air with more interest now until they, too, smelled it.  Still
skeptical, one of the younger men asked Daagoo what he expected to find.
"We will see," he said simply as he led them farther toward the smoke.

The guide's eyes strained into the darkness looking for the light of a
campfire.  He saw nothing but outlines of spruce trees and willows.
Aided by the small lights of the many stars above, Daagoo saw that the
snow was untrampled.  Everything was still and quiet.  Yet, the evidence
of smoke told him that somewhere near someone was camping.  As sure as
the blood raced through his veins, the old tracker was now confident
that the two old women were alive and at that moment, close.  He could
not contain his excitement, turning to the younger men and saying, "The
two old women are near." Chills ran down the spines of the younger men.
They still did not believe that the old ones had survived.

Cupping his hands to his mouth, Daagoo called the women's names into the
velvet night and identified himself.  Then he waited, hearing only the
sound of his own words swallowed by the silence.

CHAPTER 7

The stillness is broken

Chid'zigyaak and Sa' had settled down for the night.  As usual, after
doing the daily chores and eating their supper, the two women sat and
talked over their fire.  They spoke more of The People these days.
Loneliness and time had healed their most bitter memories, and the hate
and fear born from last year's unexpected betrayal seemed to have been
numbed by the many nights they spent sitting and listening to their own
thoughts.  It all seemed like a distant dream.  Now, with their bellies
full, the women found themselves in the comfort of their shelter
speaking of how much they missed The People.  When they ran out of
conversation, the women sat silently, each wrapped in her own thoughts.

Suddenly, out of the stillness, the women heard their names called. From
across the campfire, their eyes met, and they knew what they heard was
not their imagination.  The man's voice became loud, and he identified
himself.  The women knew the old guide.  Perhaps they could trust him.
But what of the others?  It was Ch'idzigyaak who spoke first.  "Even if
we do not answer, they will find us."

Sa' agreed.  "Yes, they will find us," she said as her mind raced with
many thoughts.

"What will we do?" Ch'idzigyaak whined in panic.

Sa' took a while to think.  Then she said, "We must let them know we are
here." Seeing the look of hysteria enter her friend's eyes, Sa' hastened
to say in smooth, confident tones, "We must be brave and face them.  But
my friend, be prepared for anything."

She waited a moment before she added, "Even death." This did not comfort
Ch'idzigyaak, who looked as frightened as her friend ever had seen her.

The two women sat a long time trying to gather what courage they had
left.  They knew they could run no longer.  Finally, Sa' got up slowly
and went outside into the cold night air, hollering rather hoarsely, "We
are here!"

Daagoo had been standing patiently, alertly, while the young hunters
eyed him in doubt.  What if it were someone else?  An enemy perhaps?
Just as one of the men was about to voice doubts, out of the darkness
they heard Sa' answer.  The old guide's face broke into a wide smile. He
knew it!  They were alive.

Immediately, they headed in the direction of the sound.  The cold air
made the woman's voice seem close, but it took the men some time to
reach the camp.

Finally, the men approached the light of the campfire that had been
built outside the shelter.  Standing by it were the two old women armed
with long, sharp, dangerous-looking spears. Daagoo had to smile in
admiration of the old women who stood like two warriors ready to defend
themselves.  "We mean you no harm," he assured them.

The women stared at him defiantly a moment before Sa' said, I believe
you come in peace.  But why are you here?" The guide stood a moment,
unsure how to explain himself.  "The chief sent me here to find you.  He
believed you were alive and told us to find you."

"Why?" Ch'idzigyaak asked suspiciously.

"I do not know," Daagoo said simply.  Indeed, he was surprised to find
that he did not know what he or the chief thought would happen once they
found the two women, for it was obvious that the women did not trust him
or the other men.  "I will have to return to the chief to report that we
have found you," he said.  The two women knew this.  "What then?" Sa'
asked.

The guide shrugged.  I do not know.  But the chief will protect you no
matter what happens."

"Like he did the last time?" Ch'idzigyaak asked sharply.

Daagoo knew that if he wanted to, he and the three hunters easily could
overtake these two women and their weapons.  Yet, he felt his admiration
grow stronger because the two women were ready to fight whatever they
had to face.  These were not the same women he had known before.

"You have my word," he said quietly, and the women could feel the
magnitude of what he said as they stood still a long time.

Sa' noticed how worn and weary the men looked.  Even the guide who stood
proudly had a destitute look about him.  "You look tired," she said in a
grudging tone.  "Come inside," and she led them into their spacious and
warm shelter.

The four men entered the tent cautiously, knowing that they were not
welcome guests.  The women motioned them to sit down, and after the men
were seated around the warm fire, Sa' dug around in the back of her
bedding along the tent wall and pulled out a fishbag, handing a portion
of dried fish to each of the men.  As the men ate the fish, they looked
around.  They could see that the women's bedding was made of newly woven
rabbit fur. The two women looked to be in better shape than The People.
How could that be?  After the men ate their dried fish, Sa' served them
boiled rabbit broth, which they drank gratefully.

Meanwhile, Ch'idzigyaak sat to the side staring rather balefully at the
hunters, making them feel uncomfortable.  With astonishment, the men
realized these two women not only had survived but also sat before them
in good health while they, the strongest men of the band, were
half-starved.

Sa' also stared at the men as they ate their food.  She noticed that
they tried to eat slowly, but now that they were in the light, she could
tell from their lean faces that they had not been eating well.
Ch'idzigyaak noticed this, too, but her heart was filled with resentment
at this unwanted intrusion, and she did not feel pity.  When the men
finished their food, Daagoo looked at the women expectantly as he waited
for them to say something.

For awhile no one broke the silence.  Finally, Daagoo said, "The chief
believed that you survived, so he sent us to find you." Ch'idzigyaak let
out an angry grunt, and when the men turned to her, she gave them a mean
look and turned her face away.  She could not believe that these people
had the nerve to search for them.  Surely Sa' could see that they were
up to no good.  Sa' reached out and patted her friend's hand
consolingly, then turned to the men and said simply, "Yes, we have
survived."

Daagoo's mouth twitched in amusement at Ch'idzigyaak's wrath.  Yet Sa'
seemed not to hold too much of a grudge, so he avoided the glaring eyes
of Ch'idzigyaak and spoke to Sa' instead.  "We are starving, and the
cold gets worse.  Again we have little food, and we are in the same
shape as when we left you.  But when the chief hears you are well, he
will ask you to come back to our group.  The chief and most of The
People feel as I do.  We are sorry for what was done to you."

The women sat silently a long time.  Finally Sa' said, "So you may leave
us alone once more just when we need you the most?"

Daagoo took a few minutes to respond, wishing the chief was there to
answer, for the chief was more experienced in answering such questions.

"I cannot say that it will not happen again.  In hard times, some grow
meaner than wolves, and others grow scared and weak, like I did when you
were left behind." Daagoo's voice filled with sudden emotion at those
last words, but he steadied his voice and continued.  "I can tell you
one thing right now.  If it ever does happen again, I will protect you
with my own life as long as I live." As he spoke, Daagoo realized that
in these two women, whom he once thought of as helpless and weak, he had
rediscovered the inner strength that had deserted him the winter before.
Now, somehow, he knew that he never would believe himself to be old and
weak again.  Never!

The younger men had sat quietly and listened to the exchange between
their elders.  Now, one of them spoke out in a youthfully passionate
voice, "I, too, will protect you if anyone ever tries to do you harm
again." Everyone looked at him in surprise.  Then his peers also vowed
to protect the two women, for they had been witness to a miraculous
survival and had regained a stronger sense of respect for the old ones.
The women could feel their hearts soften at these words.  Still, there
was distrust, for, though they believed these men, the women were unsure
about the others.

The two women huddled together for a private conference. "Can we trust
them?" Ch'idzigyaak asked.  Sa' paused a moment, then nodded her head
and said softly, "Yes."

"What of the other people?  What if they knew of our caches?

Do you think they will hold back when they see all our food?  Look how
hungry these men are.  Last year they did not respect us. Here you are
willing to let them come to us!  My friend, I fear that they will take
our food from us whether we like it or not," Ch'idzigyaak said.  Sa'
already had thought of this, but she was not afraid.  Instead, she
answered, "We have to remember that they are suffering.  Yes, they were
too quick to condemn us, but now we have proven them wrong.  If they do
the same thing, we both know that we can survive.  We have proven that
much to ourselves.  Now we must put aside our pride long enough to
remember that they are suffering.  If not for the adults, then for the
children.  Could you forget your own grandson?"

Ch'idzigyaak knew her friend was right, as usual.  No, she could not be
so selfish as to let her grandson go hungry when she had so much food to
eat.  The men waited patiently as the two women whispered between
themselves.

Sa' was not through talking, for she knew that Ch'idzigyaak still
harbored fear about what was happening and needed confidence to face the
future.  "They do not know we have done well for ourselves," she said.
"But tomorrow in the daylight they will see, and then we will know if
what they say is true. But remember this, my friend.  If they do the
same to us again, we will survive.  And if they truly mean what they
say, then maybe we will always be a reminder to them in harder times
ahead."

Ch'idzigyaak nodded in agreement.  For a moment, seeing these members of
the band, she felt her old fears and forgot her renewed strength.  She
looked at her friend with great fondness. Sa' always seemed to know the
right thing to say.

In the shelter that night, the two women and the guide exchanged stories
while the younger men sat in respectful and attentive silence.  The old
man told all that had happened after The People left the two women
behind.  He spoke of the ones who had died.  Most were children.  Unshed
tears glistened in the old women's eyes as they listened, for they had
loved some of these people, and the children were among their favorites.
The women could not bear to think of how much the children might have
suffered before they died so young and so cruelly.

After Daagoo finished his story, Sa' told him how they survived.  The
men sat with mixed emotions.  The story she told sounded unbelievable,
yet the women's very presence was evidence of its truth.  Sa' did not
mind the look of awe she saw in the men's faces.  She continued telling
her story as she looked back into the eventful year she and Ch'idzigyaak
had shared.  When she ended her story by telling them of their many food
caches, their visitors' eyes became alert.

"When we heard your voice the first time, we knew we could trust you. We
also knew that since you were able to find us in the night that it would
take little time for you to find our food caches, too.  That is why I am
telling you now.  We know you mean us no harm." Sa' spoke directly to
Daagoo.  "But what of The People?  If they can do such a thing as leave
us behind, then they will have no feelings about taking what is ours.
They will think of us again as weak and old with no need for our large
caches.  I do not blame them now for what they have done to us, for my
friend and I know what hunger can do to a person.  But we have worked
hard for what we have, and though we knew it would be too much for us to
eat during the winter, we stored it anyway.  Maybe it was because we
thought this might happen." Sa' paused to consider her words carefully.
Then she added, "We will share with The People, but they must not become
greedy and try to take our food, for we will fight to our deaths for
what is ours."

The men sat in silence listening to Sa' speak in a strong and passionate
voice.  Then she laid down their terms: "You will stay at the old camp.
We do not wish to see anyone else but you," Sa' motioned to Daagoo, "and
the chief.  We will give you food, and we hope The People will eat
sparingly in knowledge of harder times to come.  This is all we can do
for you." The guide nodded in acknowledgement and said in a quiet voice,
"I will return with this message to the chief."

After they said all that had to be said, the women invited the men to
sleep on one side of the shelter.  For the first time in a long time,
the women felt themselves relax.  In those long months they feared many
things.  Now their visions of wolves and other predators faded away, and
the women fell into a worry-free sleep.

They were no longer alone.

CHAPTER 8

A new beginning

Before the men left the next day, the women packed large bundles of dry
fish, enough to restore The People's energy for travel.  Meanwhile, the
chief waited anxiously.  He feared that something had happened to his
men, yet hope kept intruding on that thought.  When the men returned,
the chief quickly gathered the council to hear their story.

The guide told the stunned people what they had discovered. When he
finished his story, he told them that the women did not trust them and
did not want to see them.  Daagoo told them of the terms the women had
set.  After a few minutes of silence, the chief said, "We will respect
the women's wishes.  Anyone who disagrees will have to fight me."

Daagoo was quick to join in, "The young men and I will stand by you."
The council members who had suggested abandoning the two old women were
deeply ashamed.  Finally, one of them spoke.  "We were wrong to leave
them behind.  They proved it so.  Now we will pay them back with
respect."

After the chief announced the news to all, The People agreed to follow
the rules set by the two women.  After their energy was restored by the
nourishing dried fish, The People began to pack, for they could not wait
to see the two women.  In this time of hardship the news of their
survival filled the band with a sense of hope and awe.  Ch'idzigyaak's
daughter, Ozhii Nelii, wept when she heard the news.  She had believed
her mother to be dead but knew, despite her own overwhelming relief,
that her mother would never forgive her.  Shruh Zhuu was so ecstatic
that, when he heard the news, the young boy immediately gathered his
things and was ready to go.

It took the band quite a while to reach the camp where the bark had been
stripped off the birch trees.  The chief and Daagoo had gone ahead to
meet with the two women, and when they arrived at the women's camp, the
chief had to contain himself from embracing them.  The women eyed him
with distrust, so they all sat down to talk instead.  The women told the
chief what they expected from The People.  He responded by telling them
their wishes would be obeyed.  "We will give you enough food for The
People, and when it becomes low, we will give you more food.  We will
give you small portions at a time," Sa' told the chief, who nodded his
head almost humbly.

It took another day before the band reached the new camp, unpacked and
set up tents.  Then the chief and his men arrived with bundles of fish
and rabbit-fur clothing.  Daagoo had hinted boldly to the old women of
the poor condition of the band's clothing after he spotted their large
collection of rabbit-fur garments.  The women both knew they never would
use the many mittens, head coverings, blankets and vests they had made
in their spare time, so they felt obligated to share with those who
needed them.  After The People settled down in their new camp and their
bellies no longer cried for nourishment, they became more curious about
the two old women.  But they were forbidden to go near that camp.

The colder days came and stayed a long time, and The People carefully
rationed the food that the old women shared.  Then the hunters killed a
large moose and hauled it many miles back to the camp where all rejoiced
at the good fortune.

All this time the chief and the guide took turns making daily visits to
the women.  When it became apparent that the two women also were curious
about The People, the chief asked permission for others to visit, too.
Ch'idzigyaak was quick to say no, for her pride was the strongest.  But
later, the two women talked about it and admitted to themselves that
they were ready for visitors.  This was especially so for Ch'idzigyaak,
who missed her family terribly.  When the chief arrived the next day,
the two women told him of their decision, and soon people began
visiting.  At first they were timid and unsure.  But after a few visits,
they all talked more easily, and soon laughter and light-hearted chatter
could be heard from inside the shelter. Each time the visitors came,
they brought the two women gifts of moosemeat or animal furs, which the
women accepted gratefully.

Relations became better between The People and the two women.  Both
learned that from hardship, a side of people emerged that they had not
known.  The People had thought themselves to be strong, yet they had
been weak.  And the two old ones whom they thought to be the most
helpless and useless had proven themselves to be strong.  Now, an
unspoken understanding existed between them, and The People found
themselves seeking out the company of the two women for advice and to
learn new things.  Now they realized that because the two women had
lived so long, surely they knew a lot more than The People had believed.

Visitors came and went daily from the women's camp.  Long after they
left, Ch'idzigyaak would stand and stare after them.

Sa' watched her and felt pity for her friend, for she knew that
Ch'idzigyaak expected to see her daughter and grandson, but they did not
come.  Ch'idzigyaak harbored a secret fear in her heart that perhaps
something bad had happened to them and The People did not want to tell
her, but she was afraid to ask.

One day, as Ch'idzigyaak gathered wood, a young voice behind her said
softly, I have come for my hatchet." Ch'idzigyaak stood slowly and the
wood in her arms fell unnoticed to the ground as she turned.  They
stared at each other, almost as if they were in a dream and could not
believe what they saw.  Faces wet with tears, Ch'idzigyaak and her
grandson stared at each other in happiness, and no words seemed worth
speaking at that moment. Without further hesitation, Ch'idzigyaak
reached out to embrace this young boy whom she loved.

Sa' stood by smiling at the happy reunion.  The young boy looked up to
see Sa' and went over to her and gave her a gentle hug.  Sa' felt her
heart swell with love and pride for this youngster.

Still, Ch'idzigyaak wondered about her daughter.  Despite all that had
happened, Ch'idzigyaak yearned to see her own flesh and blood.  Being
the observant one, Sa' knew this was why her friend seemed sad despite
their good fortune.  One day after another of the grandson's visits, Sa'
reached over and grasped her friend's hand.  "She will come," she said
simply, and Ch'idzigyaak nodded her head, although she did not quite
believe it.

Winter was almost over.  A well-trodden path lay between the two camps.
The People could not get enough of the women's company, especially the
children, who spent many hours laughing and playing in the camp while
the old women sat beside their shelter and watched.  They were grateful
to have survived to witness this.  No longer did they take each day for
granted.

The young grandson came every day.  He helped his grandmothers with
their daily chores as before and listened to their stories.  One day,
the older woman could wait no longer and finally found the courage to
ask, "Where is my daughter?  Why does she not come?" The young boy
answered honestly.  "She is in shame, grandmother.  She thinks that you
have hated her since that day when she turned her back on you.  She has
cried every day since we parted," the young boy said as he put his arms
around her.  I am worried about her, for she is making herself old with
grief."

Ch'idzigyaak sat listening, and her heart went out to her daughter. Yes,
she had been very angry.  What mother would not be?  For all those years
she trained her daughter to be strong, only to find the training had
been for nothing.  Yet, Ch'idzigyaak thought to herself, she is not to
be blamed for everything.  After all, everyone had participated, and her
daughter had acted out of fear.  She had been frightened for her son's
and mother's lives.  It was as simple as that. Ch'idzigyaak also
acknowledged that her daughter had been brave to leave the bundle of
babiche with the two women.  To have left a thing of such value with old
ones thought to be near death would have been seen as a foolhardy waste.

Yes, she could forgive her daughter.  She could even thank her, for she
decided that had it not been for the babiche, they might not have
survived.  Ch'idzigyaak broke out of her thoughts as she realized that
her grandson waited for her to say something.  Putting her arms around
his shoulders she patted him gently and said, "Tell my daughter that I
do not hate her, grandson." Relief flooded the boy's face, for he had
spent months worrying about his mother and grandmother.  Now, everything
was almost the way it once was.  Without further encouragement, the boy
gave his grandmother an exuberant hug before he bolted out of the
shelter and ran all the way home.

He arrived at the camp breathless.  Bursting in on his mother, the
excited youth said in between gasps, "Mother!

Grandmother wishes to see you!  She told me there are no hard feelings!"
Ozhii Nelii was stunned.  She had not expected this, and for a moment
her legs became so weak that she had to sit down.  Her body trembled,
and she looked once more at her son. "Is this true?" she asked.  "Yes,"
Shruh Zhuu replied, and his mother saw that he spoke the truth.

At first, she was afraid to go, for she still felt guilty.

But at her son's gentle insistence, Ozhii Nelii gathered enough courage
to take the long walk to her mother's camp with her son at her side.
When they arrived, the two old women were standing outside the shelter,
talking.  Sa' saw the visitors first, then Ch'idzigyaak turned to see
what caused Sa's silence.  When she saw her daughter, her mouth opened
but words would not come out. Instead, the women stared at each other
until Ch'idzigyaak walked to Ozhii Nelii and embraced her tightly,
weeping.  All that had stood between them seemed to vanish with the
touch.

Sa' stood with her arms around Shruh Zhuu, tearfully watching mother and
daughter find the love they thought was lost forever.  Then Ch'idzigyaak
turned and walked into the tent, returning with a small bundle that she
pressed into her daughter's hands.  Ozhii Nelii saw that it was babiche.
She did not understand until Ch'idzigyaak leaned forward and whispered
something into her daughter's ear.  Ozhii Nelii looked surprised a
moment, then she, too, smiled.  Again the women fell into one another's
arms and embraced.

After everyone had been reunited, the chief appointed the two women to
honorary positions within the band.  At first, people wanted to help the
old ones in any way they could, but the women would not allow too much
assistance, for they enjoyed their newly found independence.  So The
People showed their respect for the two women by listening to what they
had to say.

More hard times were to follow, for in the cold land of the North it
could be no other way, but The People kept their promise.  They never
again abandoned any elder.  They had learned a lesson taught by two whom
they came to love and care for until each died a truly happy old woman.

About the Gwich'in People

The people Velma Wallis has written about in _Two _Old _Women are part
of the Gwich'in band that roamed the area around what is now Fort Yukon
and Chalkyitsik, one of eleven distinct Athabaskan groups in Alaska. The
Gwich'in people are found in the western interior of the state along the
Yukon, Porcupine and Tanana rivers.

While each group has its own dialect, many Alaskan Athabaskans not only
are able to understand the language of other bands but also share
language roots with the Navajo and Apache tribes.  All are believed to
have descended from Asians who crossed from eastern Siberia into Alaska
during an early Ice Age.

The Athabaskans are distributed throughout interior Alaska, most of them
living between the Brooks Range and the Alaska Range.  Those living on
the major river systems have relied on the annual salmon runs for
subsistence, while tribes farther inland such as the Gwich'in people -
also depend heavily on large game such as moose and caribou and small
animals such as rabbits and squirrels.

Historically, each of Alaska's Athabaskan groups had a traditional
territory.  The hunters of each group were well familiar with their
territory, in part because it was considered dangerous to travel through
the territory of other groups.  Each territory delineated the hunting
and fishing domain of the group.

Encroachment into another's territory was rare, and when it did occur,
it usually invited violence.

The mobility of the Athabaskans was naturally due to their lifestyle of
following the resources.  They could not afford to sit around and wait
for the resources to come to them; such negligence invited hunger and
starvation.  So they moved around, establishing camps at places which
predictably yielded good hunting or fishing according to the season.

Athabaskans sometimes faced times of starvation because the land was
unable to produce enough for them.  While not necessarily a daily threat
to existence, the possibility of starvation was a well-known fact of
life.  People worked hard. The boreal forest was not an easy place to
make a living.  Life was comprised of many tasks and duties, which, if
not performed, may have led to disaster.

By 1900, the Athabaskan people began to settle in more permanent camps
or villages.  This was a result of such factors as population declines
brought on by disease, involvement in the fur trade, access to trading
posts and later enforced school attendance.  Even today, although many
people work at wage labor and actively participate in the market
economy, subsistence living off the land - continues to be a vital
component of life for most Alaskan Athabaskans.

Velma Wallis

One of a family of 13 children, born in the rich fur-trapping country of
Fort Yukon, Alaska, Velma Wallis was raised in her people's traditional
Athabaskan values.  She was 13 when her father died, and she dropped out
of school to help her mother raise five younger siblings.

Later, she passed her high school equivalency exam and moved by herself
to a trapping cabin a 12-mile walk from the village, learning to live
off the land as her Indian forebearers had.

Wallis had a yen to write.  An avid eclectic reader, Wallis wrote her
first book in a simple yet polished style, not only rejuvenating a
tradition but giving her _Two _Old _Women a new life of their own.