Ajijaak had climbed an oak tree to watch. He was waiting for one person, the person who would take Miinan. He did not know he had missed him already. Every young man he saw caused a stab of jealousy to pierce through him. He had told his mother he was going to hunt, and hunting he was. He was hunting for the one who would claim what belonged to him. He had no clear plan as to how to keep what would happen from happening, but he knew he must try. Something. His prayers had not been answered; the spirits and his ancestors had not appreciated his gifts. He blamed his father. It was his father who had offended the unseen forces? How could he break through and prove that he was not who his father had been?
A small voice below said, “He has already come, so you might as well get down.”
Ziibi stood below. Her face turned up, her eyes slits of concern.
Embarrassment coursed through him. His face flushed hot. He thought he had hid himself so well. How had he missed the coming of that boy? Acting as if, he had not been doing what he had in fact been doing, he climbed down slowly so his face would cool and Ziibi would not see his embarrassment. He swung from a low branch and landed at Ziibi’s small feet.
She looked up at him and said, “He is Maang.”
Not Maang! Maang had always been good to him. He had always been his friend when the villages gathered. Never had Maang made fun of him or excluded him like other boys had. Many times they had raced each other and played.Physically their strengths were matched. The only thing that Ajijaak did better than Maang was dance, and the only thing that Maang could do that he could not was talk. He had been waiting to see his friend, waiting to spend time with him. Maang always understood even his most subtle signs. How had his friend so quickly become his enemy? As his mind raced he forgot all about Ziibi. He had not idea she was reading his changing eyes as his mind traveled from one thought to another.
In a soft voice the little girl whispered, “Only you have the power to make him your enemy. He does not have to be.”
Angrily he glanced down at the child. What did she know? She was just a little girl. He strutted away from her, his mind racing down paths of conquest. He would show Miinan, he would show the entire gathering that no one was superior to Ajijaak in physical skill. Though he boasted inside himself, he could not hush the voice inside of him that said, you cannot win this. His heart pushed the thought away. He did not even hear the last word of the phrase. It said, you cannot win in this. It did not say, he could not win in something else, something more appropriate for him and his station in life. He still had the arrogance and the tenacity to cling to his own dream.
*
They were in the meadow. The summer flowers lifted their faces to the sun. All around the course the people stood, waiting, watching to see who would be the swiftest.The earth beneath Ajijaak’s feet was still soft from the recent rain. He would have to be vigilant. Last night he had carefully gone over the ground checking it for rabbit holes, or jutting rocks. He knew where the dangers were and he would avoid them. He looked ahead to the poles the runners would race toward. On either side of him, were his neighbors and cousins. The only one he was aware of was Maang. He kept him just within the field of his vision. Had Maang gotten faster since last year or slower? Long legs did not guarantee speed, but they could.
His uncle Ogaa shouted and the line of young men lurched forward. Ajijaak thrust himself forward, in that single second his body became fluid.It moved like rushing floodwater in the river. It took him a few moments to gain momentum and then pass the other men, but they were close and he could sense the nearness of Maang, but he dare not look back, lest he loose his advantage. The pole was in sight, he raced passed it, but just barely ahead of Maang. As the two panted for breath at the end, Maang said, “I will get you next time.” Ajijaak looked up at him, but he did not smile. Maang would not get him, not this year. Maang’s smile left his face, momentarily, and then it suddenly brightened as he stood. Ajijaak looked in the direction of his gaze and he saw Miinan, smiling and waving at Maang. Bitter envy surged through Ajijaak. Jealousy was dark enough, but envy wanted to hurt. Miinan did not even see him, did not even care that he had won. Angrily he turned away. Perhaps the next contest would gain her attention. Perhaps.
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Though he did not look back as he walked from the meadow into the trees, he knew, Maang was headed for Miinan. He knew that before many more nights Miinan would be lost to him forever. Was there nothing he could do? Was there any magic that could win her heart? He thought of the two Midewiwin women who had arrived. It was rumored they sold love potions, could they make one for Miinan, one that was strong enough to make her disobey her parents decree? Would they dare to cross Mikinak? No. And how could he seek love potions when he had no voice to communicate what he wanted. Hot shame at his limitations burned inside him. The truth was that even if he won all the contests it would not change what he had seen on Miinan’s face. She delighted in Maang. She did not delight in him.
*
That evening Ajijaak did not dance. He kept to the outer edges of the people. From behind a birch tree he watched the others move in time to the sacred drum. Usually his entire body would be lured by the beat of the drum, but not this night. He felt nothing, the nothing of being empty, of being denied. The nothing was greater than any pain he had known. He saw his mother among those watching from the sideline. Beside her was Zhede. So, he had come again.Zhede wanted to mate with his mother. The past two gatherings he had come to woo her. So far it had not worked. In the past Ajijaak had been glad. Now, now he wished his mother would accept Zhede as her partner. If she would Ajijaak could leave this village. He could go and never have to see the life Maang would share with Miinan.
A withered hand touched him. It felt like his Noko’s. It was uncanny the way she so often sensed his moods. He looked down. The hand upon his arm was Ziibi’s. How did this child have the power of an old woman’s hand? Her dark eyes stared up at him. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. In a choked voice she asked, “Why are you not dancing?” A tear slipped from her lashes and slid down her face. It reached her chin and plopped onto her dress.
The tear angered him at the same time it caused compassion to flow through him, compassion that momentarily banished the vast nothingness inside. He ran his finger a long the wet trail her tear had made. He formed a single word with his mouth, aiiin, which means why. Why was she crying?
Her small brown hand obliterated the wet trail on her face. A tremor went through her body. “I cry for you.” More tears splashed down her face.
The multitude of tears unsettled Ajijaak. Neither his mother, nor his Noko were emotional. The little imp. He knew that she knew, and her knowing angered him. He turned abruptly away from her and headed deep into the darkness of the forest. She would not follow him, at least he hoped she would not. It was Miinan that he wanted to follow him but she never would. As he strode swiftly into the night, he listened for small steps behind him and was relieved when he heard nothing. For a long while he walked. Finally, he came to the Great Sea. Its dark liquid called to him. It whispered lies of escape. The voice of the destructive Snake King was in the waves. No, he would not listen. He turned away from the Great Sea and headed to his left back up among a grove of white cedars. The dead ones’ trunks looked like white wraiths holding out their arms to the night. The nothing inside of him did not grow but shrank as his heart began to hammer inside of him. Something evil was near, something that had once tempted his father and it wanted him. It wanted to steal from him all that it had stolen from his father. For the first time in his life he came in contact with the evil that tempts men to destruction. It was a lie, he knew it was a lie, but a part of him wanted so badly what he wanted he was almost ready to meet this unseen presence and let it take him where it would.
The twitch of a branch behind him startled him. He turned. In the starlight he saw the form of a great wolf. His eyes glowed with silver light and his hair stood on end tipped in silver. At first Ajiijaak thought this was the evil personified, but then the wolf tilted back his head and howled. The howl echoed inside of Ajijaak’s body. It called out the nothing and the fear and made way for the deep hurt of his disappointment to flow from him. Like Ziibi, tears spilled from his eyes. He crumbled to the ground and released a heart shuddering moan. Why was he not loved by who he loved? Why must he be denied this? Sobs shook his body. The wolf howled again. Somewhere near the Great Sea another wolf answered. And so the wolves began to howl their night song.
Though the drum had not been able to reach him, this haunting music began to throb in Ajijaak’s blood. It lifted him up. In slow circular motions he began to dance the song of the wolves, the song ached within him, it reached his greatest hurt. Though his eyes were blurred by tears, and it was dark, he did not stumble in this dance. It flowed out of him like a gift, a gift from the spirits.