The Devil's Making (21 page)

The forest became less dense, varied with arbutus. We were near Cormorant Point. I wished we could go on longer. I felt surprisingly comfortable with this strange woman – more like a girl. I almost counted the plodding of the horse's hooves, wanting them to go slower. I couldn't come riding into the Tsalak Camp like this. She must have had the same thought, and turned slightly as if to say something. I reined in and dismounted. She glanced behind her and with her usual grace, without setting foot in the dangling stirrup, she leaned forward on the pommel, swung her leg over the saddle, and let go, landing nimbly on the ground. She winced, though, and smiled ruefully down at her foot. Then she set off ahead, with me leading the horse behind. I found myself thinking of something I had blocked out of mind: had she really said ‘Thank you' the last time I had left her at this spot? I must have been hallucinating, in my tiredness.

‘Lukswaas', I said.

She stopped and turned to look at me. She pointed to her chest and repeated: ‘Lukswaas.'

‘Thank you', I said.

She simply looked puzzled, then smiled. ‘Thank you', she repeated, pronouncing it correctly – but I knew by now she had a good ear.

She looked at me questioningly. I was stuck for words. Instead, at last I gave in to a simple impulse. I leant forward and gave her a gentle kiss on her left cheek – like a boy kissing his mother Goodnight – then stood back. To my surprise she leaned towards me and standing on tip-toe gave me an identical kiss, her lips brushing my cheek delicately. Then she smiled again and turned to walk ahead.

‘Monkey see, monkey do', I thought. But why such cynicism? To Hell with Firbanks. What a lovely girl this was! We understood each other. I followed her, leading the horse, feeling for a moment light footed and light hearted.

*   *   *

We came out into the clearing on the bluff overlooking the sea. The camp had somehow changed, become more compact, with fewer tents. There were no longer piles of boxes and baskets. I guessed they had been loaded in the big canoe, in case the Tsalak needed to depart quickly. I took all this in as I was attempting to compose my own mind and ignore the most disconcerting fact about the Indians: although much of the clearing was in the shadow of the forest since the sun was low behind it, the day was still warm, and most of the Indians were naked or nearly so. To be exact, although two or three of the men wore leggings, most were completely naked. This hardly disconcerted me – it was something like in the baths at my school, though their bodies were coppery and not very hairy. But the women wore only a kilt or double apron of bark fibre, and since most of them were plump, their breasts were conspicuous.

I dismounted and tied my horse to a tree. I turned to face the clearing. Lukswaas had disappeared. The Indians were abandoning their tasks and gathering to hear what I had to say. The thickset man, who had been with Lukswaas at the Court-house, now quite naked, took up a position in front.

‘Nika Hobbes', I said, pointing to my heart.

‘Nika Waaks', the man said with the same gesture.

Lukswaas reappeared from one of the makeshift tents of matting and canvas. She had changed her HBC blanket for her chilcat, wrapped modestly across her chest, pinned with a carved wooden brooch, with the flat shiny stone I had noticed before dangling outside it. She stood forward from the group but still back from Waaks, not as close as she had to Wiladzap.

I explained in Chinook that I had a song from Wiladzap. I took out my notebook and opened it and explained that I had made signs to keep Wiladzap's song. There was a murmur of interest from the Indians, and some seemed to be interpreting my words to others. Waaks turned to face them and with an air of ceremony spoke to them in Tsimshian, then faced me again.

I felt as nervous as when I had done long recitations, by rote, at my Dame School – Macauley's ‘The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck' came to mind. I read out the song as best as I could:

‘Dinarhnawraw handehabewaw angurhkurhl tramawhee…'

The Indians visibly strained to understand. When I had finished, Waaks said ‘Weght'. (‘Again')

I started reading. After the first phrase Waaks stopped me by holding up a finger. Then he repeated the phrase complete with the glottal stops and clicks of the tongue, which I had of necessity omitted. Then I read the second phrase and Waaks repeated it. Then the third and the fourth. Then Waaks turned to the Indians and pitching his voice in a chant recited Wiladzap's song from beginning to end. All listened attentively. Some nodded their heads. There was a murmur of conversation.

Waaks turned back to me. ‘Kloshe', he said. (‘Good'). Then he asked me if I would stay and eat with them. Surprised, I accepted. The gathering broke up, women going to the cooking fires, the few children running over the beaten down grass, throwing a tied bundle of bark to and fro like a ball. Waaks was joined by another man, taller and with a somewhat gloomy cast to his features. He wore a small bone ornament in his nose making him look like a South Sea Island cannibal in a picture book. ‘Nika Tsamti', he said, touching his heart.

*   *   *

They led me over to a place where mats had been laid on the ground, in front of logs of wood. The Indians sprawled down in the mats, leaning against the logs. I felt extremely hot, so I unbuttoned my tunic to expose my blue flannel shirt. A woman came over from one of the fires carrying a long-stemmed tobacco pipe with a small bowl, and presented it to me. I took in a puff, and avoided sputtering – it tasted foul. Then I blew out the smoke in a long stream. Instinctively, I handed it to Waaks, who was on my left. He took a few puffs and gave it back to me, and I took another puff and gave the pipe to Tsamti on my right. This ritual continued for a few minutes, then the pipe began to taste even more horrible, and finally went out.

A social conversation began, rather as it might have in England. It was hot, yes it was hot. Even the nights were becoming warmer. But there were still salmon in the bay, and they were not yet swimming deep.

Then the tone changed. Waaks began a litany of complaint. They could not go to sell their goods. People were afraid of them. This was wrong. The Tsalak were peaceful people. Not like the Cowitchan (a bloodthirsty tribe whose territory was twenty miles from Victoria) or the Kwagiutl. The Tsalak had good hearts. Why was the Tyee Wiladzap in the big house of the King George men? The King Georges said that Wiladzap would have to die. Why? He did not kill the doctor. Now the Tsalak would stay in the camp. That was in Wiladzap's song. Wiladzap would be free soon. The King George men would find who really killed the doctor. ‘Hops' would find.

I let all this pass, making as few replies as possible, until Waaks's complaints were spent. Then I began my own questions, starting with what I hoped was polite curiosity, remarking on the fact that there were more women than men in the camp. Waaks, and Tsamti, who began putting in a word now and again, explained that on a trading mission women were more useful than men. They could work at baskets, and the cooking, and perhaps take work for short periods helping the whites in housework – although this was not possible now. Besides, each man needed a woman. And the women of the men needed women to work with them. Through more questions, I learned that there were two castes or classes, among these Tsimshian at least, although the lines of demarcation were not quite clear. Most of the ten men on this expedition were of the higher class, described as ‘Tyees', but less than half of the twenty women. The rest of the women worked at the more menial duties. At home there were several hundred Tsalak, including some slaves who formed a still lower class. These slaves had been captured in war. None were with them on this voyage. They might try to escape. The slaves had ‘no names' – meaning apparently no important names – although very exceptionally one might become known for bravery and skill, and therefore gain a name and become free. The higher classes had important names, and had to maintain and support these names. The Tsalak were divided into four clans, like all Tsimshian: eagle, raven, wolf, and some kind of fish whose name in Chinook they did not know.

Was Wiladzap an eagle? I asked. Yes, and Lukswaas, and Waaks – although the name Waaks meant ‘tiny bird.' Both men laughed at this, reminding me that Wiladzap had referred to the alienist's member as a ‘bird'. The name Tsamti meant ‘light in the sky' – lightning? And what did the name ‘Hops' mean?

I explained that Hobbes meant in English a man from the country, not from the town. This was a rather doubtful etymology of my family name, but I felt I should provide something.

Then I asked how many King Georges in all had visited the camp, since the Indians had first arrived. Waaks said that the first time the doctor, McCloly, had come, there had been a yellow man with him. Another time two farmers had come, looking for labour. Waaks did not know their names, although he attempted to describe them. They had gone away when told that their wages were too low. At any rate they had wanted men, not women, to work in the fields, and the Tsalak men would not pick around in the earth like women looking for roots. Then two men and a woman from the Cordova Bay direction had visited together and brought baskets. Tsamti had tried to sell them some silver bracelets he had made, but they made a face at them. Then there was an ugly man who wanted to buy women.

What? I asked for more details.

This man had come with another man, not so ugly, who had said nothing. The man who talked was called Sam. He said he wanted two or three girls to come to Victoria and make hee-hee and bebe-bebe with shipmen, Waaks said solemnly. Tsalak women did not go with King George men or Bostons at all, Tsamti added, with less tact in my presence.

I asked why.

Because then they would get fire sick. Then the Tsalak would get fire sick too.

I wondered if among themselves they lived in a state of promiscuity. My ears burned as I thought of Lukswaas and how forward she had been. But how could she not be? She lived day and night half naked in the company of naked men. At this very moment, Waaks, lounging against a log, was as naked as the day he was born. Tsamti wore leggings.

Who else had visited? I asked.

A ‘Mektakatla man.' They described Firbanks' abortive visit rather as he had. Tsamti said Mektakatla men were dangerous because they wanted the Tsimshian to live in small houses, like white people. At Tsalaks, the houses were each as big as this clearing. Many families lived in each. Then, the Mektakatla men wanted the Tsimshian to give up their names! And take King George names! And only trade with King George men, not with each other. And … But Waaks interrupted in Tsimshian, and Tsamti fell silent.

I asked if anyone had visited the camp since the murder. No one had. Waaks said the King Georges were afraid of the Tsalak now.

I looked across the clearing at the fires where the women were bustling around. It was becoming cooler. The shadow of the trees, through which the sunset could be seen as flecks and cracks of fiery red, covered the whole clearing. Sea and sky had turned a dull silvery blue. Most of the Indians had flung on their blankets. They were a quiet people. There was only the occasional call or exclamation.

Waaks and Tsamti rose to their feet and I did the same. The small, pretty woman who had been with Lukswaas at the jail was coming towards us. ‘Muckamuck,' she said, pointing to her mouth. She beckoned to me to follow her across to one of the fires, near which mats had been spread and people were sprawling or squatting. There were several flat stones on which salmon, wooden skewers of clams, and vegetables were spread. The women had been cooking up rice – brought by the sack from traders, I supposed – in big cauldrons. The area around the fire was cluttered with iron cooking vessels and pots. It reminded me of gypsy camps in England.

People began eating at random from oval wooden platters into which the cooks had spooned the rice. They would go to the flat stones and cut themselves a hunk of the salmon with their knife, and pick up a skewer of clams and some of the shoots I had seen at the jail. They ate these either separately from the rice, or mushed in, using wooden spoons which were like small ladles. Water was passed around in wooden cup-like bowls. Waaks and Tsamti had appeared again, Waaks in a chilcat, Tsamti in the more usual blanket of red bark fibres. They beckoned me to the fire. The young woman who had been Lukswaas's companion gave me a platter with a heap of rice, then cut me a generous piece of salmon, the tail end of a side, where there would be few bones, and helped me to the raw shoots and two skewers of clams. She then motioned to me to follow her to one side where Lukswaas was sitting on a mat, a platter on her bare knees, with her back against a log. The other woman spoke to me in Tsimshian, indicating the space beside Lukswaas. I could not help feeling amused at the formal manners which I felt clumsily incapable of matching, in the ambience of a very formal picnic.

Lukswaas seemed shy. Her braids were swung behind her shoulders so that her ears with their shiny discs of abalone were exposed, her chilcat was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and the black stone ornament dangled in front. Stimulated by the earlier sight of the other women's naked breasts, I found myself imagining hers, but wrenched my concentration back to my food. I did not understand Indian manners or how I was being treated. It seemed always that the men were in command. They did the ‘official' talking. Yet they shared certain tasks with the women, and Lukswaas seemed able to do what she wanted. Probably because she was Wiladzap's wife. And Wiladzap was at this moment in prison … Should she not be more upset or disturbed? I kept silent and watched Lukswaas for a moment. She cut pieces of the salmon with a knife, its blade very clean and obviously very sharp, then ate them with her spoon. I followed the same procedure with my bowie knife and the wooden spoon I had been given. The rice was soggy and plain, the salmon chewy but flavoursome, the clams exquisitely smoked, and the shoots like asparagus from an English garden.