Chapter 9, Pt 1 of 5: Nicolai's Raven Story of Creation |
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The dominant structure at Taral was a long low log cabin which was partly sunken into the ground. It contained a central fire pit and resembled the more sophisticate Tlingit community houses. The primitive, canvas-covered building had long served as a clan gathering place. It occupied the same spot where similar structures had stood since well before the earliest Russian incursions. Several lesser primitive structures faced the larger one from across the firepit without obstructing Nicolai’s commanding view of the river. These were small log houses, canvass-covered pole structures, sezels, pole caches, and smokehouses. Except for some of the log cabins, many of these were temporary summer homes that had already begun to fall down. Even the log cabins were leaning toward the central gathering area. One of them no longer had a roof. Others had sod roofs or the remnants of canvas covering. Nicolai was the only one living at Taral in the last few years. The effect of all these empty buildings as it turned dark was very ghostly. It looked like a place of the dead--a true spirit camp. Weeds, tall grass, and scrub brush had moved up to the edges of these lodgings. Wild rose was everywhere, as were birch sapling, alders and willows. Beyond the open grassy area the dark spruce defined the safe limits of the old village. The ancient leaning structures lined one end of the open grassy area without surrounding it. These were the homes where our people lived when the Americans took over Russia’s interest in Alaska. The fire roared upward, illuminated the clearing. The predators of the night, if they were watching us, loomed in the dark line of trees just beyond the farthest pole structures, just beyond the reach of the protective flames of our fire. The predators feared not only the fire but the deadly powers of the great chief himself, who resided comfortably in this wild environment. On this night in September of 1910 the ground had already started to turn frosty. The air was clear and cold and the stars were just beginning to appear. The skies were hinting of an early showing of the Northern Lights--theyaa-kaas. To the south of us, the moon illuminated the white-capped Spirit Mountain in a ghastly light, though the moon itself could not yet been seen. Taral took on a supernatural aura which would have been frightening were it not for the reassuring presence of Nicolai. The three of us boys were completely entranced by Shee-ya and the magic he wove. The aura only enhanced the effect of his story.
We wore the robes which we had taken from the sezel. Michael and I, like Nicolai, were only draped from our sez--rawhide belt--around our waists on down, though I made sure that the much younger Charles was covered since I did not want to have to answer later to Mom if the kid caught a cold because of us. Michael and I were both determined not to cover ourselves above our waists until Nicolai had done so. He was small, wiry and well-built with a thick chest and muscles built up from many seasons of hard work from years of hunting, fishing, and wood gathering. He was just plain tough. No younger man had ever beaten Nicolai with fists, and none ever would, though a few foolish ones had tried. Michael was determined to be just as tough and capable of winning against all the odds as was Nicolai. Michael admired the shee-ya to the point of hero-worship. Michael as Cap would go on to do just that. Cap carried to his own death the true spirit of Nicolai. But it was getting cold out and we were both beginning to wonder just how tough we would have to be just to sit with this man. As it turned out, he had been sitting in front of the flames in a trance. When he finally looked up, he pulled his robe around himself. The two of us were relieved to be able to quickly follow in covering our upper bodies. The frost advanced toward us and the fire, and we were getting cold. Nicolai smiled at us when he realized what he had inadvertently done. We could relax. He was finally ready to speak. “Johnny and Michael, you came here as boys, but you will leave as young men. It is good that you brought young Charlie. You must learn early that it is better to work together. The three of you are special--more than you know. It is time for you to understand the way of your people. When we elders are gone, you must take our places. The old ways of our ancestors will soon be gone forever. You must know this and accept it, for I cannot change what has happened, nor can you--no matter how much we may all wish this.” Although Nicolai’s observations about the great change were undoubtedly long-held conclusions, it was only now that he was finally saying the words. I suspect that whenever he got together with the other elders, such as old man Eskilida and Doc Billum, that this was probably the topic which dominated their conversations. These elders had all come to realize that they must find some new direction for their people, but first the elders had to agree among themselves how they would do this. It was left to them as to determine which path our people who lived along the lower Copper River would follow. Whatever their final decision would be, this would be in turn followed by the elders on up the river all the way to Batzulnetas and Mentasta.
We needed the wisdom of the elders if we were to survive in the new world which was arriving as the railroad approached Chitina. Because Nicolai was the traditional chief of the lower-river Ahtna, the other elders relied on him to begin this process Nicolai wanted the elders to retain their esteemed, if unofficial positions, as heads of their respective families and clans, because respect for the elders was a key to our survival as Ahtnas. They were needed more than ever as each one held gatherings so all could discuss how to live within the new world which had arrived at our doorstep uninvited as though we did not even exist. Nicolai had only a few grandsons. I was the oldest, followed by Michael by only a few months. I was half-white, whereas Michael was of full-blood. Sometimes I suspect that Nicolai viewed me as a kind of bridge for our people into the new world. He would always make time for me, though he never had as much to say as he did on this particular night, I know that he wanted very much for all of us to continue what Native traditions we could into the new world. As a half-white I had spent much of my youth fighting both whites and Indians. Sometimes I thought I was accepted more by the whites than by some of my own fellow Ahtna people. It wounded me greatly, but my heart and my ultimate loyalty has always without question been with my Indian family and my clan. It was a conflict I have had to deal with all my life--a problem and a hurt which would never be resolved. Nicolai was particularly pleased that Michael and I were so close. From age six when I was moved back to Chittyna village to live in the Goodlataw household, we found that we had much in common, most especially our ability to fight well together. No one but a fool would take us both on. We learned to enjoy a good fight--even with the odds stacked against us because we became such skilled fighters. Later on, because of his unique fighting skills, Michael as Cap nearly joined the Golden Gloves competition. But we were not bullies. We protected the weak from those who truly were the bullies. We even found ourselves protecting a hapless white kid from being pummeled to death by some of our own. We only defended the honor of our ancestry that we knew was rightfully ours. Shee’ya saw beyond our sometimes foolish pugilism to the need we would both have to survive in this tough world with the help of the strong lifelong friendship which existed between us. This was the meaning of sla’cheen. He was fond of pointing us out to others as the best example of how much stronger we as a people could be if we only stuck together. He was right. Michael and I would prove that many times over the years. |
Continue with
Nicolai's Raven Story of
Creation, page 2
Nicolai's Raven Story of
Creation, page 2
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