The four of us sat in the sezel behind Grandfather’s lodge house. Just behind our sezel ran the C’ena’ Taw-we-de--the source of our fresh water. The sweathouse had a depression in the center where hot coals over the sezel ts’ese’ had done their work. Michael reached into the naz’aay and dipped out some of the cold creek water. Next he adjusted the hot lava stones with the sezel cene’. The iron tongs, like the water bucket and all of the other metal implements in the old camp came up the river from Alaganik many years ago when Grandfather was still young. The days of a single arduous trek in March when the river was finally icy and snow-covered were over. Everything now came from nearby trading posts which brought their goods up the Richardson Trail from Valdez. Michael was the oldest son of the oldest son of Nicolai. He was the one who came to later be known as Captain, or Cap. He had the place of honor next to the shee-ya--our grandfather. Michael was my skeel’eh, while Charles was my nilth skell’eh. As the oldest of the three, I was the soon-ga. Michael was much more than just my cousin. He was my sla’cheen. No English word exists which fits this type of Native relationship. White cousins rarely live in the same proximity as is customary in our clan society. We usually just referred to Nicolai as grandfather among ourselves, but in his presence we called him Schee’ya as a sign of respect and deference. It was dark in the sweathouse except for the illumination coming from the red-hot coals in the windowless sezel. The opening was covered with taw-zess. The canvas was one from a pile which Nicolai obtained in a trade with the Eyak down river years before. It held in the steam heat much more efficiently than animal hides. The sezel was a sacred ceremony permitted only among the males of the clan. The presence of any females within the sezel would be en-gii, which is taboo. Nicolai was a believer in en-gii. His entire life revolved around the spiritual world. Besides, we were c’edeh’aede , or naked in the sezel, which is only practical in the in a steam bath. Out of a sense of modesty alone, the females were not present.
Charles was eight, while we two older boys were eleven. Schee’ya invited us to Taghaelden to listen to his Raven Story of Creation. Our overnight visit at Taral was Nicolai’s way of introducing us into the Native spiritual world in which Schee’ya lived. We needed to prepare ourselves. That was one of the purposes of the sezel. He told the three of us k’enaey to prepare the sezel so we could begin the spiritual process. The sezel was a cleansing ritual which also served to provide a close sense of kinship. In some sezels it was customary to talk. When just three of us were together, we always had much to discuss. As young Indian boys we found the world to be a marvelous place full of many curious things. But in the presence of Nicolai, we had been warned by Michael’s father, my oldest uncle and the man who would come to be known as Chief Goodlataw, not to speak at all unless asked a question by Nicolai. Grandfather did not appreciate frivolous conversation, especially in the sezel. He considered it aimless chatter, or woman-talk. Nicolai lived in a largely silent world of the spirits. It was the realm of Yaabel the devil, and the c’eyuuni (we called it kay-yew-nee) and of the c’eyuuni lede’, which had something to do with the spirit which resided at Uk’eledi, the one with the smoke on it. He was a solitary figure, even though he once lived with two or three women and he had many children. Tonight we would hear him speak more than any of us could have ever imagined. Many Ahtna stories explain our world, they are crude and simple compared to Nicolai’s Raven Story of Creation. Every one of us had learned to fear Nicolai’s temper, which would appear like an ocean squall--without warning and with animal-like ferocity. Everyone in the family from the oldest male member down to the youngest child feared the awesome temper of Nicolai. He had been known to banish family members, including one of his own brothers, out of Taral for life. Nicolai remained the undisputed chief over all of us in the area around T’sedi-na--even though he had long since given up the title. It did not matter who was in charge. When Nicolai spoke, no one ever dared challenge him. Even after he died people feared him and his words. His power was considered that great. Much of the time Nicolai remained isolated at Taral, alone now that Udzisyu had died. He claimed that he needed to consult with the spirits. On rare occasion Doc Billum would boat Nicolai across the river to Chittyna. Even then he stayed largely out of public view, usually with his son Chief Goodlataw and later in the home which we skeel-eh rebuilt for him and ourselves. The three of us skeel-eh sat in nearly complete darkness, building up a heavy sweat from the hot steaming coals. Across from us Nicolai appeared to be in a state of trance. Charles started to speak up. I moved to quickly to shut him up, slapping my hand over his open mouth, fearing an angry reaction from Schee’ya. I just caught a movement from Nicolai’s very deep, dark eyes, but he relaxed, returning back into his previous state. Both Michael and I looked at each other in relief. Charles looked up at me with what appeared to be a plea of forgiveness for his unthinking transgression. I reached over and squeezed his shoulder, and he settled back, satisfied that nothing bad would happen. Michael continued to tend the coals and lava stones with my help. Nicolai never said anything. Our time in the sezel remained silent. When it was finally time to leave the sezel, Schee’ya reached over and quietly picked up his sde’ sed ah, wrapped himself in it and stood up to leave. I reached over to alert Charles. The three of us each took up our own tanned-hide robes and followed Nicolai out to the creek where we would immerse ourselves in the cold water to complete the sweathouse ceremony. Then we returned to the front of the main lodge still wrapped only in our sde’ to tend to the fire.
Nicolai sat in his place in front the lodge entrance, his back against the lodge wall as he faced the large outdoor fire-pit. The lodge was on a rise which overlooked the great river. Nicolai ensured he would have that view when he built his home many years before. He could face the fire and the magnificent Copper River at the same time. Michael, Charles and I each tightened up our sez, which is the belt that secures the sde’ around our middle, and set about the process of building up the fire. Everything was already in place, just as it had been in the sezel. We needed only to take some of the coals from the sezel with the sezel cene’ and transfer them to the pile of wood which was waiting to be lit. Michael returned to the sezel, emerging with a load hot coals. He carefully placed them under the tsets , and the pile quickly ignited. We tightened and adjusted the woodpile and then sat down facing Nicolai. Michael was on this right, I on the left, with Charles sitting next to me. Because grandfather had not yet spoken, we built the fire in complete silence. Around us the darkness was creeping in. The sky was clear, but the moon was not yet visible. Soon we would only be able to see by the light provided by the fire. Chief Nicolai stared through the fire we had been stoking up. The last of the sun rays were departing over the tall mountains along the west bank across the Copper River. Those fleeting rays briefly illuminated Shee’ya’s face. Then the they passed on, overtaken by the long, dark shadows. We could see the wooded hills above us to the east still bathed in those last bright rays, but it was already dark and chilly on the ground. The slowly increasing mass of flames was fueled by fresh spruce bows and dried, newly split firewood from the huge stock which had been built up at the old encampment over the last several seasons. A slow roar began as the arms of the fire worked toward the top of the high stacked pile.
My younger brother Charlie and I, the sons of the Polish-American railroad surveyor who had first entered our country by way of the Klutina Glacier in 1898, were the only half-white grandsons of the great sleep-doctor. Our mother stayed in Klaw-tee-kaw in those days when so many of those early prospectors died making their way into the Copper River country by a route that had been abandoned years before by our own Ahtna people because it was so treacherous. Our father, who showed up on the railroad company payrolls as Emil Gadanski, was one tough, determined man. He was from among a handful of survivors who completed the trek of 1898 to the trading post at Copper Center. The very next year Captain Abercrombie cut the Richardson Trail from Valdez, eliminating one of the toughest routes over the Chugach coastal range ever conceived. Dad came for the opportunities he saw in the Klondike gold rush. Like so many, he never made it past the Copper River valley. He had found his home. It may have been his rendezvous with Mom at Klaw-tee-kaa that decided it for him. She was not inclined to venture far from the only land she had ever known, the land of our ancestors at the base of the Wrangell Range, though she was well-known to be a wandering soul within the Copper River area from Eyak to Mentasta. Both of our parents were possessed of independent spirits. It was probably fatal to their relationship. At a deep level, they held an unusual loyalty to each other long after Mom abandoned Dad while he worked his mining claims at Dan Creek in 1906. Mom was one of a large number of daughters of the great chief. He had several sons, but few survived long enough for me to ever meet them, except for Michael’s father Goodlataw. Maybe this was why Nicolai treasured us grandsons so much. The three of us boys were honored to be alone with him on the grounds where our ancestors had spent countless summers netting thloo-ka at the place where the two great rivers meet. |
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