like a last dying ember among cold ashes, she was beyond fear and caring. As she lay in their little hollow, Payat’s bony body curled against hers as he slept too deeply, Marimi kept her eyes on the glowing circle in the sky. Her breathing slowed, her heart fluttered behind her ribs. Her thoughts came on their own as, without realizing it, she silently spoke to the moon: “The crime was mine. This boy is innocent, as is the child in my womb. Punish only me and allow them to live. If you grant this, I will do whatever you ask of me.”
The light from the moon seemed to intensify. Marimi didn’t blink. She stared up through the branches as the lunar luminescence grew whiter, fiercer, until it covered the entire sky. Suddenly a sharp pain sliced through her head and Marimi realized in dismay that even in her ghost state she must still suffer the affliction that had plagued her since childhood. It was the moon punishing her. Marimi had had the arrogance to speak to the gods and now she would know only pain until she died. Then let it be so, Marimi thought as she delivered herself to its power and slipped into a deeper sleep than she had ever known. As her last conscious thought drifted away on waves of pain, she thought: I am dying.
But Marimi didn’t die, and while she slept her spirit guide, the raven, appeared to her in a dream. He beckoned, and as he flew ahead, Marimi followed until she came upon a small glade in the woods where a clump of milkweed grew.
When she awoke at dawn, barely alive but filled with a strange new compulsion, Marimi crept weakly from her bed of leaves and followed the vision in her dream. When she found the small glade where the milkweed grew, she ate ravenously of the starchy root which, though bitter, was nutritious. Then she took some back to Payat and coaxed him to eat.
They survived on milkweed after that, and as they grew in strength, Marimi and the boy were able to fashion small traps and supplement their gruel with squirrel and rabbit meat. Marimi found sticks to make fire and soon fashioned a round shelter out of branches and leaves. She and Payat scratched out a living far from the harvest settlement, alone with the ghosts and spirits of the unfriendly forest, but Marimi was less afraid than before, because at the moment of her deepest despair, when she had felt abandoned by her people, when she knew she and the boy were one step from death, she had had a revelation: she had prayed directly to the moon without the help of a shaman, and the moon had answered.
* * *
One night the affliction came upon Marimi again as she slept, sending pains through her skull as if ghosts with spears attacked her. And in her agony she heard her guide, the raven, instruct her to follow Opaka. Marimi was frightened at first, but as she was compelled to do what her spirit guide told her to do, she suddenly realized she had nothing to fear. She was a ghost and ghosts could go anywhere they wanted to. Therefore, she was free to spy on Opaka as she went about her daily work.
Marimi stood in the dappled sunlight, in full view of Opaka, as the old woman harvested raspberries. The whole tribe knew that medicine men and women used the berries and leaves of the raspberry in the manufacture of astringents, stimulants, and tonics, and in teas and syrups for curing diarrhea and dysentery, canker sores and sore throat. While anyone could gather raspberries, what the people did not know was the proper way to harvest the plant, the propitious times, the correct prayers to recite during harvesting, for without these the plant was powerless.
Marimi brazenly observed how Opaka approached a plant before harvesting it, the words of respect she spoke, the sacred signs she drew in the air with her beads and feathers. And when Opaka discarded a plant after drawing it from the ground, Marimi saw that its root was broken, which meant it had lost its spiritual power. As Opaka did most of her harvesting at night, Marimi made
The light from the moon seemed to intensify. Marimi didn’t blink. She stared up through the branches as the lunar luminescence grew whiter, fiercer, until it covered the entire sky. Suddenly a sharp pain sliced through her head and Marimi realized in dismay that even in her ghost state she must still suffer the affliction that had plagued her since childhood. It was the moon punishing her. Marimi had had the arrogance to speak to the gods and now she would know only pain until she died. Then let it be so, Marimi thought as she delivered herself to its power and slipped into a deeper sleep than she had ever known. As her last conscious thought drifted away on waves of pain, she thought: I am dying.
But Marimi didn’t die, and while she slept her spirit guide, the raven, appeared to her in a dream. He beckoned, and as he flew ahead, Marimi followed until she came upon a small glade in the woods where a clump of milkweed grew.
When she awoke at dawn, barely alive but filled with a strange new compulsion, Marimi crept weakly from her bed of leaves and followed the vision in her dream. When she found the small glade where the milkweed grew, she ate ravenously of the starchy root which, though bitter, was nutritious. Then she took some back to Payat and coaxed him to eat.
They survived on milkweed after that, and as they grew in strength, Marimi and the boy were able to fashion small traps and supplement their gruel with squirrel and rabbit meat. Marimi found sticks to make fire and soon fashioned a round shelter out of branches and leaves. She and Payat scratched out a living far from the harvest settlement, alone with the ghosts and spirits of the unfriendly forest, but Marimi was less afraid than before, because at the moment of her deepest despair, when she had felt abandoned by her people, when she knew she and the boy were one step from death, she had had a revelation: she had prayed directly to the moon without the help of a shaman, and the moon had answered.
* * *
One night the affliction came upon Marimi again as she slept, sending pains through her skull as if ghosts with spears attacked her. And in her agony she heard her guide, the raven, instruct her to follow Opaka. Marimi was frightened at first, but as she was compelled to do what her spirit guide told her to do, she suddenly realized she had nothing to fear. She was a ghost and ghosts could go anywhere they wanted to. Therefore, she was free to spy on Opaka as she went about her daily work.
Marimi stood in the dappled sunlight, in full view of Opaka, as the old woman harvested raspberries. The whole tribe knew that medicine men and women used the berries and leaves of the raspberry in the manufacture of astringents, stimulants, and tonics, and in teas and syrups for curing diarrhea and dysentery, canker sores and sore throat. While anyone could gather raspberries, what the people did not know was the proper way to harvest the plant, the propitious times, the correct prayers to recite during harvesting, for without these the plant was powerless.
Marimi brazenly observed how Opaka approached a plant before harvesting it, the words of respect she spoke, the sacred signs she drew in the air with her beads and feathers. And when Opaka discarded a plant after drawing it from the ground, Marimi saw that its root was broken, which meant it had lost its spiritual power. As Opaka did most of her harvesting at night, Marimi made
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