Song of the River by Sue Harrison Read Free Book Online Page A

you who have honored us with your life.”
    He stepped forward, took from his sleeve a sacred jade knife and carefully slit the bear’s eyes. If by some oversight, one of the hunters broke a taboo as he butchered the carcass, it was better the bear did not see. Using his long-bladed hunting knife, Tsaani cut off the bear’s paws to hold its spirit within, then motioned for the other hunters to join him.
    When the butchering was done, they would eat the head meat and the tender, fat flesh around the first few ribs. The rest they would share with their families, but they would leave the hide here at the den, so no woman would be tempted to touch it and in that way destroy her husband’s hunting luck.
    Tsaani groaned in pleasure. What was better than a full belly and a good wife? He leaned against the backrest Blueberry had woven from split willow. It creaked as he settled his shoulder blades into its mesh. He closed his eyes and let himself remember the hunt. It had been a good day.
    Tsaani was an old man—so old he had lost track of the summers he had seen, fourteen handfuls at least. Since Stars-in-her-mouth had died during the winter, he was the oldest person in the village. His sister Ligige’ had three or four summers less than he did, though sometimes, when she was in a sour mood, she claimed to be the oldest.
    He heard the doorflap open, then his wife’s soft steps. He was particularly glad he was not a woman. A woman could not eat the bear’s head or rib meat, could not even call the bear by name. The animal was too sacred. At least there had been fat enough for each family to have a share, and the old women could eat the bitaala’, the long fatness that rests between a bear’s stomach and liver. That would quiet any old woman’s complaints.
    They were a problem, those old women. He remembered a time when they had kept their mouths shut except to tell stories or give advice, but the old women now! Of course, they were led by Ligige’, whose mouth had been noisy since she came from their mother’s womb.
    Tsaani opened his eyes to look at Blueberry. He had taken her soon after her first moon blood time, less than a year ago. She had not yet swelled with child, but Tsaani was in her blankets often, hoping to give himself a son in his old age. It was his only true sorrow, that his sons and all but one daughter had died in childhood.
    Blueberry smiled and raised her eyebrows at him. “Someone thought you were asleep,” she said, speaking with the politeness of wife for husband, the young for the old. “Sok is outside. He asks for you.”
    “Tell him to come inside,” Tsaani said. It would be a good way to end this day, a time to discuss the bear hunt, fixing it in his mind with words.
    Blueberry crouched to call out through the entrance tunnel. The People were still in their winter camp, in the stout winter lodges. Each was a circle dug into the earth, four, five handlengths deep, roofed with double layers of caribou hide sewn together in lapped seams, then greased to keep out water. The roof had an opening in the center, its flaps propped with sticks that could be moved to keep out rain or direct the hearth smoke.
    Tsaani allowed his eyes to linger on the curve of Blueberry’s back where it narrowed into her hips. He had been alone many years after his last wife’s death, relying on Ligige’ to take care of him. It was good to have his own wife again, to know joy in his sleeping robes. It was also good to be away from Ligige’’s sharp tongue. There had been times when Tsaani thought it might be easier to do the women’s work himself rather than live with his sister.
    Sok stepped into the lodge, his eyes respectfully averted from Blueberry and lowered in the presence of his grandfather, but Tsaani saw the smile that twitched at the corner of Sok’s face, and he felt the same smile in his own mouth. What man among the hunters today would not smile? A bear during the Moon of Empty Bellies. It was a