A Woman’s Story
I can’t believe it. The fearsome Sir Whisperblade, fully tattooed, is now a shadow in the deep forest. “Why?”
Aurora points to her nose ring. “Grace, I have made my decision, as have you. I am now called by my given name, Aurora.”
I give her a quick, sweaty hug. “We are truly sisters.”
The other hunters gather supplies and start the long hike into Kaniwa territory. We don’t get any more than a few hundred meters before we hear automatic gunfire.
“Regular army,” warns Aurora. “We can’t fight them directly; it would be disastrous. They’re trying to make us show ourselves in open combat. We did that once; four men and women died.”
“The army extended the landing strip awhile ago to accommodate military aircraft. They expected a military plane to land, so they weren’t alarmed by our arrival in the C130. Not until they figured out that we aren’t army,” I say.
“They won’t try to advance deep into Kaniwa territory. They’re afraid of poison darts after dark. I see a dark future for the Kanawa if we remain in this forest.”
“But, they are on our trail now. We’ve got to lead them astray or stop them, right?”
“Yes, we must.”
The four of us veer off the trail while the other hunters proceed with their loads and the horses. Staying well hidden about twenty meters off the path, I use a calm voice to keep Lady Gray quiet.
Aurora carefully instructs Upatu on the plan and passes him a small bamboo tube of poison darts. My favorite hunter fades into the greenery. Soon we hear the sound of men roughly marching through the path as they approach their position.
Without standing for a better view, Aurora lets loose an arrow that penetrates the greenery until it buries itself into a tree across the path, in front of the lead soldier. The response is instant. He lets out a burst from his assault rifle. But Aurora is already gone, hiding behind a massive tree. Automatic fire erupts throughout the forest as the other soldiers fire over us. They don’t seem to notice small pricks on their calves and thighs as Upatu’s darts deliver their potent toxin.
An order is shouted, and the soldiers cease fire until another arrow whizzes in, striking the officer on his bullet-proof vest. He yells and lets out a burst of fire, a hail of retaliatory bullets. It doesn’t last long as their ammo clips run empty, and the forest grows quiet.
The lieutenant first looks right and left, then down at his men on the ground, some asleep and some sluggishly struggling.
The officer’s gun is empty, and he has no more ammo clips, so he bends down to grab one from the nearest soldier. As he places his hand on the man’s ammo belt, an arrow point digs into the underside of his chin. He freezes and looks up at a stocky native woman with a bow at full draw, stepping back out of reach. He slowly raises his hands ‘
“Doce mãe de misericórdia,” he says. Sweet mother of mercy.
“Eu não sou sua mãe. De bruços no chão,” snarls Aurora. I’m not your mother. Face down on the ground.
The lieutenant complies, and I tie his wrists together. I also tie a blindfold around his eyes, stand him up to a tree, and bind him to it. Aurora efficiently disables the firing mechanism of every weapon. Once she is finished, I cut the rope tying our captive to the tree trunk. Before he can jerk his blindfold off, we are gone.
Our defeated foe lets out a string of vile curses against the natives; his worst venom spouted at Aurora and me.
I hear no more from him.
~
As we are at the border of the Kaniwa’s homeland, Upatu and I shed our clothing down to our loincloths. Having been warned of the hot, muggy weather, Wana dresses down to a modest black one-piece school swimsuit. She points at my chest tattoos and asks, “Aren’t these supposed to be secret to all but our family?
“The Kaniwa are also my family; there is no shame among men or women here. Upatu understands the need for secrecy among the Mojave, and no word will ever return to them. Also, be gentle if a man asks you to be his second wife and turn him away kindly; it is their way, but it is not ours. Upatu also understands this,” I answer.
“Will you marry Upatu?”
I stare at Wana for a long minute but turn away without answering.
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The long hike brings us to Oure’s longhouse, the planning center for the upcoming expedition. Aurora follows embracing him with a long, lingering kiss, and the elder walks her to the back of the house. Cunno, Oure’s first wife, warmly greets us and offers us iguana stew to warm our stomachs. She fingers the fabric of Wana’s swimsuit, apparently marveling at its body fitting ability. After depositing our weapons, we settle down by the smoldering fire pit to enjoy our bowls of stew.
Eventually, Oure and Aurora reappear from the back of the longhouse. Their smiling faces turn serious, and the questions begin. Having been served a meal in his home, Oure asks Wana to tell a little about herself while Aurora translates.
“I would have had to marry a man with a black heart, but before I would do that, I would throw myself into the sky. Wachinga took my place and fought the man for my freedom and then hers. She freed me to become a warrior. She took on the mark of a Mojave woman that I might be free. It is a debt I must someday repay.”
“You have grown up as a comely girl, yet you would be a fierce warrior, as is my Aurora?”
Wana continues, “I have always wanted to be courageous and fierce. When I accepted my mark, I had a strong, impenetrable mark put onto me. When Broken Knife, our chief, saw it, he declared that I would marry a man strong enough to keep me at home.” Wana spits on the hearth. “It did not matter that Broken Knife was my father because my mother had kicked him out of her bed, and he no longer claims me as his daughter. To help support my mother, I learned to make the marks on the girls as they became women. I am not allowed to make the secret marks of motherhood which Wachinga now bears.”
“Did you make Wachinga’s mark?”
“No, Broken Knife had a man do that, so she would be ugly. I later helped make it better. It is not what I would call beautiful.”
~
I watch as Oure takes my sister, Wana’s hand, and leads her into the forest. She doesn’t reappear for two days, and then she is almost unrecognizable. She has been tattooed in the Kaniwa tradition: a gold ring in her nose and she now wears only a loincloth.
I grab Wana’s hand, drag her to the far side of the longhouse, and demand answers.
~
Wana tells me, “Wachinga, Oure asked me to talk in private.
He switched to English and said, “We have several girls who have recently become women. Perhaps you can give them their chin mark.”
“I do not know Kaniwa marks,” I answered.
Oure pointed to my chin. “I believe they will be honored to be marked by you, for here the marks are different for each woman, but for men, it is a family obligation.”
“I would be honored to assist the ceremony.”
The shaman glanced down for a minute before looking into my eyes. “Any man would be honored to have you as his wife. I understand it is not your way to have two wives, but if a man will accept you as his only wife and you accept him as a husband, I will bless the marriage. I see trouble because you wish to become a warrior, and you will not stay here among us. Any man who will accept you as a wife must be willing to leave the Kaniwa; this I know. Perhaps none is brave enough to ask you. It is their loss.”
I felt like screaming, Oure is polite, but he is still trying to trap me into a marriage with a tribesman.
“Honored Elder, I am too young and must not marry, as I will be a beginner for many moons yet to come.”
“This man you were to marry, was he bad to you?”
“I saw the bruises he left on his sisters.”
“Did he bruise you?”
I took a deep breath before answering, “It is a harsh memory. “Yes, he grabbed my arm tight to bruise me, and he shouted at me. He said he would make me obey him like a Mojave wife should. Only in front of the chief was he gentle with me, and as a woman, I could say nothing. Men believe what they want to believe. Before I throw myself into the sky, I would have made him peaceful, as we make our stallions peaceful, so that no other young woman will suffer.” I made a sign of two fingers like scissors between Oure’s legs.
“Wachinga came and offered to take my place. I think she believed she could live better with my intended husband than I could. She was willing to give her life, to save mine, for even if she lived, it would have been misery for her. While I was happy to be free, I was scared to leave my mother and my people and terrified of what would happen to Wachinga. She survived her challenge, but to receive the mark of a Mojave woman has been hard for her.”
The shaman smiled. “You are very strong; you will make a good warrior. Among the Kaniwa, women carry great wisdom and must be obeyed. Let us talk to the elders and see if you may be allowed to give the mark to our new women. They have heard the story of Wachinga’s mark; it will be good to hear your story.”
We walked to another family’s longhouse holding hands, and he continued. “A person without a tribe is lost and unhappy. Men are trapped in the tribe they are born in. Women are free; Aurora has chosen the Kaniwa over the white man’s tribe, and Wachinga has chosen the Mojave tribe over the white men. You are still free to choose a tribe, and perhaps someday you will find your tribe.” Oure waved his arm about. “The Forest is without end with many strange tribes, I hear of other lands, many lands, many tribes; I believe you will be happy soon.”
Last night as Oure slept with Aurora, I woke up Cunno and led her outside so I could make myself understood by pantomime. The woman now wears my swimsuit and I think she wears it well.
~
In the early morning, as the first girl to be initiated into womanhood received her lecture, I watched, and Aurora translated. When the lecture ended, the girl was given her permanent nose ring, after which she was made to lie down on the stone platform. With a long thorn bound to a stick, a tapping hammer, and a small cup of black ink, I used a small brush and ink to drew the design on the girl’s chin: two thin lines down from each corner of the mouth with curls and dots swooping between them to a point at the center of her lower lip. The girl’s mother hugged me in approval.
Using a soothing voice to encourage the girl, I tapped quickly, following the lines, driving the ink into the skin. I wiped the blood away with dried moss. She did not complain, but her eyes watered. When I finished, she hugged me, and the old crones took over, to give the girl the rest of her tattoos.
Another new girl was introduced and lectured. Once she had her nose ring, I gave her a unique mark as I did with the two other girls. When all marks were finished, and the four girls had their bodies marked with their first tattoos of womanhood, they stood in a row to receive their final lecture.
But I stopped them. The crones glowered at me as I nervously pointed to my nose and whispered to Aurora, “Will they give me a ring?”
“The ring can never be removed,” Aurora warned me.
“I know very well, for I have roomed with Pell. I will accept this part of the Kaniwa, as I have accepted a part of the Mojave.”
Aurora translated. She is Oure’s wife and her word carries weight. The women smiled and a ring was prepared. I sat to listen to the traditional lecture. Then I asked for the rest of the tattoos. Why? I don’t know, but it felt right.”