Silver Totem of Shame by R. J. Harlick

Author:R. J. Harlick [Harlick, R. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459721692
Amazon: 1459721691
Barnesnoble: 1459721691
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2014-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Four

The Fateful Voyage

His fingers were itching to cut into the wood, to feel the adze slice through the red cedar like a knife through the buttery flesh of a fat Coho, to carve the first curve of the story. But it had to wait. He had to be patient. One quick slice without thinking and the carving would be wrecked.

Some carvers could carry an image of the complete carving in their heads. They didn’t need to draw it first along the length of the pole. He wasn’t that skillful. He had to sketch the entire story to make sure the different figures flowed one into another with balance and harmony, the Haida way.

Besides, he hadn’t figured out how to depict certain parts of the story, like this next bit. He’d wanted to ignore it, pretend it never happened, but he couldn’t. It was too important. It was the beginning of the end.

Nanaay had told him the clan’s troubles began when members of the Blue Shell Ravens came to Llnagaay in their big cedar canoes to attend a potlatch. They had just returned from a sea voyage of many days far to the south, to the mainland across from the Big Island. They were bragging about the strange yellow metal they’d seen. They said it glowed in the night and that the Iron Men considered it so valuable they would kill for it. They spoke of paddling to the mouth of a big river, to where many Iron Men were preparing to walk far into the mountains to find this glowing metal.

When Chief Blue Shell held a tiny pebble of the yellow metal up to the sun, everyone gasped at the sight of its brightness. After the Blue Shell Ravens left, Old Chief told the Greenstones that they would make the journey to this big river far to the south to get some of this yellow metal. They piled their massive dugout canoes high with otter skins to be used in trade. Old Chief knew the Iron Men valued these pelts almost as much as they valued the yellow metal.

Throughout the night, the carver tossed and turned trying to come up with a traditional Haida figure to depict this fateful voyage. Frustrated, he threw off his sleeping bag and walked in the waning moonlight along the beach beside the lapping waves, until the grey light of dawn spread across the sky. He was hoping the rhythms of nature would open his mind, but they didn’t.

If Scav had been at his house in the neighbouring bay, he would’ve paddled over in the kayak. Scav was always full of good ideas. But Scav wasn’t there. He’d gone north to Queen Charlotte a couple of days ago and was still there. He’d probably stuck around for the pole raising.

Even though there was no way he could witness the raising, he was sure curious to know how this false chief would behave. Would the Geek act with the dignity befitting Old Chief’s title or would he grovel and squirm like the little man he was, the way his ancestor had grovelled and squirmed.

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