Finally the harvesting was all done. The rice had been parched. Ziibi helped her mother, Wabisi, Miinan and the nokos scoop the rice into bags woven of cedar and basswood. Ziibi preferred rice from basswood bags because she did not like the slight tang the cedar bags left on the rice. When all the rice was bagged up there was much to rejoice over. Barring a destructive winter storm, surviving another winter looked possible.
That night they built a fire. They sang and told stories. Miinan’s baby freed from her cradle board toddled around. She was very fascinated with Ajijaak’s baby. He held out her hands to her. A shadow passed in Ziibi’s mind. A vision wavered in her mind. Ajijaak’s son would love Miinan’s daughter. It was a long time from now, but it must not be so. Ziibi tried to dislodge the premonition but it would not go. Was it for good or bad? At least it meant these two children would grow old enough to test their hearts. For now Ziibi decided, it was for good.
When there was a lull in the music, Mikinak said, “I have dream a dream of Ajijaak’s son. In four days I will present his name.”
“Oh, thank you!” Cried Wabisi.
“Thank the Great Spirit for the dream he has given me.” By her father’s smile, Ziibi knew it had been a good dream. Joy filled her. Perhaps the darkness, Ajijaak had been forced to grow up in would not darken the path of his son.
Four days later, Wabisi had cleaned prepared her house for the naming ceremony. The house was fragrant with fresh cedar boughs.A feast had been prepared, which Ziibi had not been allowed to help with. Instead she had been given charge of the baby.
How handsome he was, all clean and sweet resting in his cradle. The most important event of his life was about to take place. The giving of a name was more than just a title, it would link him to his tribe, it would bind him to the spirits of his ancestors, it would chart the course of his life. Ziibi could only guess what this baby’s name would be. She touched the softness of his cheek and said, “Little One before this night is through, you will no longer be baby, but a person with a name and a destiny.”
The baby smiled up at her as if he understood.
At sunset the people of the village began to arrive. Wabisi’s brothers and sisters came. Maang arrived with Miinan but his eyes did not trouble Ziibi. This evening was too sacred for mischief.
When all had gathered her father entered. How strong and handsome he looked. His dark skin glistened in the wavering firelight. He squatted down beside the baby. Zhede presented him with a pipe he had made in honor of this occasion. Her father smiled and thanked him. They all settle down for the story of the dream quest that lead to the dreaming of the name. This part took a long time, but Mikinak was not only an excellent Midewiwin, he was also a skilled story teller.
“I journeyed to the far ends of the sea. I met the old turtle who rests at the center of all creation. Upon his back grew many new living beings. Plants, animals and birds. I told him of my journey. He shook his back and all life upon it was cast into the sea. Cranes appeared and swooped down scooping up the drowning creatures. They carried them all to where, I do not know. I heard the ugly voice rise from the water and knew it was the Snake King. His face was badly mutilated and he had a long scar upon his breast. He hissed at me, “Your daughter has done this to me and you will pay.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The turtle flapped down his flipper and sent a roiling wave at the Snake King. The wave grew larger and larger until it overwhelmed him…”
Her father’s voice faded in Ziibi’s ears. She saw again the Snake King. She remembered how it had felt to thrust her awl into it. She remembered what it felt like to rescue Ajijaak only to lose him. Tears came to her eyes. She had lost the thread of her father’s story. He would only tell it once, and she had allowed herself to be distracted. She forced herself to pay attention, but it was too late. Her father had finished his story, and was saying, “It was a good dream.” He held up a small drum and attached it to the cradle board. It was the drum Ajijaak had made for his son. The one Ziibi had carried with her since Wiinizik had given it to her. She had told her father the story of it, and he had believed it was a fitting gift for the baby.
Her father turned to Wabisi and Zhede. “This is the dream for your grandson. Tell it to him often, so he always carries its power and good medicine with him.”
Wabisi and Zhede nodded.
Her father rocked back on his heels. “There was an island in the clouds. Upon it were the graves of a boy’s parents. A bear lived on the island and guarded it. One day he went out hunting and he caught him a man. The man was tired and sick. He was not a real man but man caught between life and death. He was trying to find his way back to life but all roads to life had been blocked. He was stuck. The bear fed him fire and his belly grew warm. Day after day the bear fed him fire. The fire began to revive him, but it did not bring him life or death, it only left him waiting. For what was he waiting? He did not know. The whooping cranes flew over one evening. A group of three rested on the water near the island. One called out to him. He went to the shore and the crane came to him and spoke to him of a woman who had cured him. The crane said, ‘If you find this woman she will cure you too.’ The man asked, “Where can I find her?’ The crane flew away without answering, but a red beaver swam to the shore of clouds. The beaver said, ‘Follow me.” The man did not wait, he dove into the clouds. The air was icy cold. He was plummeting fast. It was so cold he could feel his limbs freezing. The earth was coming toward him fast. Would he be shattered on the rocks below? Fearfully he spread his arms. Gray feathers shot out of them and he discovered he could fly. He was a crane too now. He had always been a crane but he had never understood he possessed the ability to fly. He flew over the earth a long time, and finally found the village where the woman lived…”
Ziibi heard the door flap open slightly. In the smoky room she could not clearly see. Outside the sun had set and the cold was beginning to creep into the fartherest edges of the house. The sound of her father’s voice droned on, but she did not hear a word he said. There was a presence among them. Her eyes scanned the group inside. In the back, by the door flap hidden in the shadows was a man.A startled gasp almost escaped her but she thrust it down. It was fitting that Ajijaak’s spirit should be present at the naming of his son. It had just been so long since she had seen the spirit of her wolf Mikwam, she thought she had lost the knack of seeing spirits. Ajijaak’s eyes were focused on his child. His face was lean, but calm. How handsome he was even in death. Ziibi’s heart ached inside of her. It took all her will power not to go to him, not to attract any attention to him. He might vanish, and he must witness the naming of his son.
Her father stopped speaking. The dream story was told, and Ziibi had not heard it. It did not matter, over the winter Wabisi and Ajijaak’s noko would repeat it. Though she feared turning her eyes away from Ajijaak’s spirit, she knew she must. It would be bad to dismiss the naming of a living child by being preoccupied with the dead.
Her father unbound the baby from his cradle board. Free from its confines his naked plump body wriggled in delight. Ziibi glanced back at Ajijaak’s spirit. He was smiling. Mikinak pressed the naked child against his own chest and closed his eyes. His soul and the soul of the child would be joined from this moment forward. Skin touching skin was how one soul communed with another. No words were spoken but all knew that Mikinak was giving of his own strength and wisdom to the child. When the transference of power was complete, Mikinak opened his eyes. He pulled the baby away from his chest. In a voice imbued with deep respect he said, “Mikwam-amik, this is your name.”
Never had Ziibi told anyone the name of Guardian. It was bad medicine to do so and yet, her father had dreamed of him, and named this child after him in part, the amik part paid homage to the baby’s grandfather Misko-amik. It was a strange name. Ziibi had been certain it would be a name of a bird, but as she looked at this child’s stout body she realized there was nothing about him that was bird like. He did look like a little solid beaver. The child chortled in delight.
Just beyond the baby, Ziibi saw Ajijaak’s noko take in a sniff of air. She sniffed again. Her face was transformed. She shoved and pushed her way around the circle. All eyes followed her. Ziibi knew where she was headed.