Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

Clear Water - Janice Osborne

January 2014

The dome shaped wigwams of the Ojibwe Nation Fox tribe of North America were dotted along the shoreline of the clear water creek. Smoke was curling skyward from the myriad cooking fires of the womenfolk.

Children ran around the tents and in and out of the forest clearing whooping and shrieking as they stalked mock deer and fought mock battles. The men folk were out hunting real deer and would soon be back with, hopefully, a kill that would sustain the whole tribe for a few days. Their brave, handsome young leader Bemidii had insisted on leading the hunt even though his youngest daughter Aysha, the little one, was lying in the medicine tent close to death. His beautiful wife Akeen, meaning mother that stays at home, had bravely fought back her fears and with her tears held at bay had encouraged him to hunt. She knew all too well how heavy the burden of leadership was that lay on her beloved husband's shoulders. He alone was responsible for the survival of the tribe and personal worries and sorrows had to be pushed to the back of his mind. The fate of their daughter lay in the hands of the Gods and the tribal shaman, Locar.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon the hunting party entered the clearing triumphantly hauling a large deer carcass. At the same time Akeen noticed the lone figure of the shaman stumble out of the medicine tent set on the fringe of the encampment next to his own isolated wigwam. She saw him set off towards the river in a rolling, stumbling gait, his hands tearing at his matted hair dislodging all manner of detritus that once made up the elaborate headdress which was his badge of office.

Fearing the worst, Mother stay at home, let out a high keening wail and ran for the medicine tent. Inside she found, amidst the acrid smoke, herbs and healing totems, the ominously still body of Aysha laid upon a bed of deerskin. Her once beautiful, olive skin was turning ash grey and now felt cold to the touch where a few hours earlier it had been burning hot. Akeen, cradling the now limp and lifeless form of her little one, let out a heartrending wail that broadcast the terrible news to all the tribe and sent her husband racing toward the medicine tent.

Locar collapsed to his knees on the riverbank, sobbing uncontrollably, tears rolling down his clay and paint smeared face leaving skin coloured rivulets in their wake. He had lost all that had made his life bearable. His beloved chief's daughter was now with her ancestors. He had not been able to save her even with his strongest magic and the real love of his life, the handsome father and tribal chief Bemidii, would not now even be able to look at him except with loathing and even drive him from the camp to live his life in lonely exile.

Even as a child Locar knew that he was different from other males and felt sexual desires forbidden to men. As an adolescent and with hormones rising he could no longer disguise his sexual leanings and the whole tribe with the exception of Bemidii began to shun him. The final crushing blow came when his mother, speaking no word, had led him to the old shaman's wigwam on the edge of the tribal village and on payment of some sacred family objects and food left him to the not so tender ministrations of the old medicine man .She was never to speak to him again. The shaman taught Locar the art of healing and in due time he took his place as the tribal shaman. Bemedii never turned his back on him and when he was made chief had always ensured he had enough food and a strong shelter.

When no more tears would come Locar roughly dragged dirty hands across both eyes to clear his vision. Soon Bemedii would come to meet out tribal justice. He knew Bemedii was a just and compassionate man and with the love for this man beating so strongly in his breast knew he had to spare him this last painful duty. Locar dug out of his shaman's medicine pouch a folded leaf containing a loathsome smelling pellet and taking a deep breath placed it in his mouth and slowly began to chew. The concoction began its deadly work as soon as he swallowed. Painfully and now sliding in and out of full consciousness he struggled drunkenly to his feet and with head bowed began to wade out until chest deep in the river. Lifting his head to the full moon above he bade farewell to his love and slowly sank beneath the surface of the cool clear water.