note of the moon’s phase, the position of the stars, the thickness of the dew upon the leaves.
Marimi also listened as Opaka instructed her sister’s granddaughter in the ways of herbs and medicines, showing the girl how to age alder bark first before boiling, as the green bark will cause vomiting and stomach pain, and how to allow the decoction to stand for three days until the yellow color had turned black. When administered during the full moon, Opaka told her sister’s granddaughter, alder tea strengthened the stomach and stimulated appetite. The berries also made an excellent vermifuge for children.
Sometimes when Opaka left her shelter, which stood apart and secluded from the rest of the camp, Marimi would go inside to see what the medicine woman was doing with the plants she gathered. In this way did Marimi learn the secret of the inner bark of slippery elm, which Marimi had seen Opaka harvest and set out to dry. Next to the bark, on a buckskin, were a mortar and stone with some of the bark already ground to a fine powder. Drying on a string were slippery elm suppositories which Marimi knew were used vaginally for female troubles, and rectally for bowel difficulties.
Through the long winter, as her baby grew beneath her heart, everything Marimi observed and heard she committed to memory. The terrors of the forest were forever around her, threatening, lurking, keeping her alert to malicious ghosts as she sought to protect herself and Payat from being possessed by an evil spirit. But Marimi felt an inner strength growing within her, and a sureness of purpose and knowledge. The moon had saved her for a reason, and so she kept her bargain with the moon. Whenever Marimi came upon a pond that was littered with leaves so that the moon’s reflection could not be seen, Marimi scooped the leaves from the surface, allowing the moon to shine proud and beautiful on the water. And when she came across night-blooming flowers in the woods, such as evening primrose, she would clear branches overhead so that the moon would have an unobstructed view of the beautiful blossoms opening up to her.
Thus did they survive, the sturdy girl and the trusting boy as they haunted the edge of the encampment but never daring to cross into the circle. Marimi didn’t wonder about the future because the Topaa never did. There was today and times past, but tomorrow was a vague and puzzling concept, since tomorrows always turned into todays. She wished she could consult a shaman about what to do when spring came— were she and Payat to remain in the woods, or were they to seek summer homes near their families? What did the living dead do? And how did they learn to be ghosts? When Marimi and Payat had been cast out, there was no one on the other side to teach them. Marimi and the boy should have died, but Marimi had prayed to the moon and the moon had shown them the way to survive. Had they broken yet more tribal taboos by not dying?
Marimi was too young to ponder for long the complex questions that plagued her. And so she set them aside, instead facing each new dawn with the basic task of survival for another day, and leaving the mysteries of life and death to the shamans.
And then came the day when she learned of her true power. After weeks of being haunted by Marimi, Opaka had grown increasingly wary and nervous, emerging cautiously from her shelter, or entering the forest with trepidation, looking this way and that for the girl. Her old hands began to shake, her temper grew short, her distress increased daily. She must not acknowledge the creature and yet the creature was forever shadowing her, straining her aged nerves. At last, unable to take it any longer, Opaka startled Marimi one day at the creek by suddenly whirling around and crying out, rattling her sacred sticks and chanting in a language unknown to Marimi.
Marimi stood her ground, tall and proud, her swollen belly evidence of her vital life force and the strong will that had kept
Marimi also listened as Opaka instructed her sister’s granddaughter in the ways of herbs and medicines, showing the girl how to age alder bark first before boiling, as the green bark will cause vomiting and stomach pain, and how to allow the decoction to stand for three days until the yellow color had turned black. When administered during the full moon, Opaka told her sister’s granddaughter, alder tea strengthened the stomach and stimulated appetite. The berries also made an excellent vermifuge for children.
Sometimes when Opaka left her shelter, which stood apart and secluded from the rest of the camp, Marimi would go inside to see what the medicine woman was doing with the plants she gathered. In this way did Marimi learn the secret of the inner bark of slippery elm, which Marimi had seen Opaka harvest and set out to dry. Next to the bark, on a buckskin, were a mortar and stone with some of the bark already ground to a fine powder. Drying on a string were slippery elm suppositories which Marimi knew were used vaginally for female troubles, and rectally for bowel difficulties.
Through the long winter, as her baby grew beneath her heart, everything Marimi observed and heard she committed to memory. The terrors of the forest were forever around her, threatening, lurking, keeping her alert to malicious ghosts as she sought to protect herself and Payat from being possessed by an evil spirit. But Marimi felt an inner strength growing within her, and a sureness of purpose and knowledge. The moon had saved her for a reason, and so she kept her bargain with the moon. Whenever Marimi came upon a pond that was littered with leaves so that the moon’s reflection could not be seen, Marimi scooped the leaves from the surface, allowing the moon to shine proud and beautiful on the water. And when she came across night-blooming flowers in the woods, such as evening primrose, she would clear branches overhead so that the moon would have an unobstructed view of the beautiful blossoms opening up to her.
Thus did they survive, the sturdy girl and the trusting boy as they haunted the edge of the encampment but never daring to cross into the circle. Marimi didn’t wonder about the future because the Topaa never did. There was today and times past, but tomorrow was a vague and puzzling concept, since tomorrows always turned into todays. She wished she could consult a shaman about what to do when spring came— were she and Payat to remain in the woods, or were they to seek summer homes near their families? What did the living dead do? And how did they learn to be ghosts? When Marimi and Payat had been cast out, there was no one on the other side to teach them. Marimi and the boy should have died, but Marimi had prayed to the moon and the moon had shown them the way to survive. Had they broken yet more tribal taboos by not dying?
Marimi was too young to ponder for long the complex questions that plagued her. And so she set them aside, instead facing each new dawn with the basic task of survival for another day, and leaving the mysteries of life and death to the shamans.
And then came the day when she learned of her true power. After weeks of being haunted by Marimi, Opaka had grown increasingly wary and nervous, emerging cautiously from her shelter, or entering the forest with trepidation, looking this way and that for the girl. Her old hands began to shake, her temper grew short, her distress increased daily. She must not acknowledge the creature and yet the creature was forever shadowing her, straining her aged nerves. At last, unable to take it any longer, Opaka startled Marimi one day at the creek by suddenly whirling around and crying out, rattling her sacred sticks and chanting in a language unknown to Marimi.
Marimi stood her ground, tall and proud, her swollen belly evidence of her vital life force and the strong will that had kept
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