her from dying. The old woman fell silent and their eyes met. Even the forest grew quiet, as if the spirits and ghosts, the birds and small animals were aware that a monumental turning point had been reached. Finally, Opaka averted her eyes, turned away from the ghost-girl who had refused to die, and disappeared through the trees.
* * *
Finally came a dawn when the blinding sunlight pierced Marimi’s eyes like a knife, sharp and swift. She lay immobilized, enveloped in agony, but through the pain came a vision— her spirit guide, the raven, sitting on a branch, blinking his cunning black eye at her. And this time she heard him whisper, “Follow me.”
Marimi gathered up the herbs and plants she had collected during her sojourn in the land of the dead, and the rabbit skin pouches she had made and filled with seeds and leaves and roots. She took Payat’s hand, and said, “We are leaving this place.” Filled with a strange new resolve and no longer afraid of the tribe’s laws and taboos, she went to her family shelter, where everyone was still asleep, and helped herself to her possessions, which her mother had not yet buried. Marimi squatted next to her sleeping mother and, alarmed at how old and wasted she had become from her long period of mourning, bent close and whispered, “Mourn for me no longer. I am going to follow my raven. My destiny lies no more with this family. I can never come back, Mother, but I will carry you in my heart. And whenever you see a raven, stop and listen to what he says, for he might be the one carrying a message from me. The message will be this: I am safe. I am content. I have found my destiny.”
She left, wearing her best clothes: a long buckskin skirt and a rabbit skin cape around her shoulders, grass sandals on her feet. Rolled on her back was her sleeping mat which she had woven herself from cattails, a rabbit skin blanket, and the cradle board she had woven for the child to be born in the spring. She carried a basket for gathering seeds, a spear and a spear thrower, fire-starting tools, and pouches containing medicinal herbs. In this way did she come to understand why the raven had instructed her to follow Opaka and learn the medicine woman’s teachings. It had been to prepare Marimi for her great journey.
The Topaa might wander far and wide in their eternal search for food, but there were limits and all were taught at an early age that “the land over there” belonged to the ancestors of another tribe and so it was forbidden for Topaa to walk there. But Marimi sensed, as she and Payat followed the raven who flew before them, that they were going to be led, for the first time in the history of her people, into forbidden territory.
They walked all day, and when they reached the westernmost boundary of Topaa territory, Marimi approached the escarpment with fear and caution because this was a new land, where no Topaa had ever walked, with unfamiliar rocks and plants and, therefore, unfamiliar spirits. She looked out at the desert valley stretching away to the horizon. She didn’t know the rules here, the taboos. She knew that she must be cautious with every step for she might accidentally offend one of the spirits. As she was about to take the first step on the incline down the escarpment, she said, “Spirits of this place, we mean you no harm, we mean you no disrespect. We come with peace in our hearts.” Firmly grasping the boy’s hand, Marimi lifted her right foot and set it resolutely upon the forbidden soil.
Payat began to cry. He tugged Marimi’s hand and pointed back to where they had come from, crying for his mother.
But Marimi took him by the shoulders and, looking deeply into his young eyes, said, “We cannot go back, little one. We can never go back. I am your mother now. I am your mother.”
Sniffing back his tears, Payat delivered his small hand into Marimi’s, and said, “Where are we going?”
And she pointed toward the sun, a giant red ball in the
* * *
Finally came a dawn when the blinding sunlight pierced Marimi’s eyes like a knife, sharp and swift. She lay immobilized, enveloped in agony, but through the pain came a vision— her spirit guide, the raven, sitting on a branch, blinking his cunning black eye at her. And this time she heard him whisper, “Follow me.”
Marimi gathered up the herbs and plants she had collected during her sojourn in the land of the dead, and the rabbit skin pouches she had made and filled with seeds and leaves and roots. She took Payat’s hand, and said, “We are leaving this place.” Filled with a strange new resolve and no longer afraid of the tribe’s laws and taboos, she went to her family shelter, where everyone was still asleep, and helped herself to her possessions, which her mother had not yet buried. Marimi squatted next to her sleeping mother and, alarmed at how old and wasted she had become from her long period of mourning, bent close and whispered, “Mourn for me no longer. I am going to follow my raven. My destiny lies no more with this family. I can never come back, Mother, but I will carry you in my heart. And whenever you see a raven, stop and listen to what he says, for he might be the one carrying a message from me. The message will be this: I am safe. I am content. I have found my destiny.”
She left, wearing her best clothes: a long buckskin skirt and a rabbit skin cape around her shoulders, grass sandals on her feet. Rolled on her back was her sleeping mat which she had woven herself from cattails, a rabbit skin blanket, and the cradle board she had woven for the child to be born in the spring. She carried a basket for gathering seeds, a spear and a spear thrower, fire-starting tools, and pouches containing medicinal herbs. In this way did she come to understand why the raven had instructed her to follow Opaka and learn the medicine woman’s teachings. It had been to prepare Marimi for her great journey.
The Topaa might wander far and wide in their eternal search for food, but there were limits and all were taught at an early age that “the land over there” belonged to the ancestors of another tribe and so it was forbidden for Topaa to walk there. But Marimi sensed, as she and Payat followed the raven who flew before them, that they were going to be led, for the first time in the history of her people, into forbidden territory.
They walked all day, and when they reached the westernmost boundary of Topaa territory, Marimi approached the escarpment with fear and caution because this was a new land, where no Topaa had ever walked, with unfamiliar rocks and plants and, therefore, unfamiliar spirits. She looked out at the desert valley stretching away to the horizon. She didn’t know the rules here, the taboos. She knew that she must be cautious with every step for she might accidentally offend one of the spirits. As she was about to take the first step on the incline down the escarpment, she said, “Spirits of this place, we mean you no harm, we mean you no disrespect. We come with peace in our hearts.” Firmly grasping the boy’s hand, Marimi lifted her right foot and set it resolutely upon the forbidden soil.
Payat began to cry. He tugged Marimi’s hand and pointed back to where they had come from, crying for his mother.
But Marimi took him by the shoulders and, looking deeply into his young eyes, said, “We cannot go back, little one. We can never go back. I am your mother now. I am your mother.”
Sniffing back his tears, Payat delivered his small hand into Marimi’s, and said, “Where are we going?”
And she pointed toward the sun, a giant red ball in the
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