LITMIR.BIZ

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didn’t see Ellen sneak through the door and walk to the back of the small hut. She had brought in a stick and batted at the strips hanging above her head. Fish oil sprayed in tiny droplets around them as the strips swung violently from the poles.

      “Oh, the girl has ears but can’t hear,” Anne Girl said when she saw Ellen in the corner. “You know what happens to girls who don’t hear?”

      Ellen stopped and looked at her mother, her mouth open, her eyes wide. “What?” she demanded. “I got all the wood. Go see.”

      Anne Girl resumed her work. She gathered the dry leaves and the small twigs and placed them carefully in the fire pit as if every twig had its rightful place to burn. She looked up and saw that Ellen had dropped the stick and was crouched across from her, waiting impatiently for the story.

      “Little girls who have ears but don’t listen lose their ears. I remember when this old man and woman had two little girls in that village over that way.” Anne pointed toward the rising hills across the bay. “The woman was once young and beautiful with long black hair that she braided just like yours. But she was old and slow when she had these girls. They wore qaspeqs, pretty ones that their Mama made for them. Their qaspeqs were bright red and orange, made from fabric from up town. Their Mama told them not to play in the mud flats, because she saw how the tide changes its mind quickly. How the current becomes strong on its own. She told them that if they were good, she would make each girl another qaspeq. But the girls didn’t listen.” Anne Girl paused and then continued, speaking low and adding her own thoughts to the story that her mother had once told her. She added the part about the qaspeqs, because she knew Ellen loved playing in her qaspeq and wanted another one. “They come home and their qaspeqs were full of shit mud. All the people in that village knew they played in the mud flats and were surprised to see them come walking back with mud in their ears and around their hair. Their Mama told them again not to play in the mud flats. Their Papa too. But when the tide rolled out, the girls walked out in the mud flats, and threw mud balls at each other. They even went mud slicking, just how you like to do. And then the tide changed and water took them under. The village knew what happened. And so did their old parents. But they found their ears floating nearby. And a seagull swooped down and ate them.”

      Anne Girl lit the fire and motioned for Ellen to follow her out. “The strips will be done in a week or so, just in time for the potlatch.”

      “The seagull didn’t eat the eyes first? Don’t they like eyeballs?”

      “Not this time. This time, they liked ears. See what happens when you don’t use your ears. Come, we got to get water. Your Papa’s going to be flying in soon. I feel it in my gut.” Anne Girl grabbed Ellen’s hand.

      They began walking toward their house, and the outline of the cannery and the stilt-legged homes, bony and sharp, came into view. Anne Girl could see the cannery men milling around the buildings like ants, getting ready for the fishing season. She was pleased that she had put up most of the fish for the winter already. Next they would go duck hunting. She figured that if the season was good, they would make a little extra so John wouldn’t have to fly so much in the winter. She worried that one of these days he would try flying with ice on his wings. Anne Girl and Ellen hiked up the beach as a single-engine plane curved right and landed bumpily on the dirt road near the cannery. Anne Girl knew instantly it was John and that he had once again missed the runway.

      The Nelson family arrived at the potlatch with a bag of strips and a jar of seal oil just as the elders were beginning to make their way to the long table of food. The hall, a circular room with benches along the walls, buzzed with conversation. There was a pregnant hum in the air, the anticipation that something good was about to happen. People were standing and sitting, talking about fishing and about the weather, wondering if anyone had spotted the herd of caribou way past the bluff. This wasn’t the potlatch of the old days. Nearly everyone in the village was there, including the Killweathers and some of the cannery men as well as the cannery superintendent. People from the surrounding villages of Igushik and Ekuk also arrived with their children in tow. Although everyone from all over the bay was busy putting up fish for the winter, they didn’t mind taking a little time to eat and share while food was plenty.

      From across the room, Alicia waved frantically toward Anne Girl and pointed to an empty space next to her. Anne Girl turned to John and said, “You watch Ellen. I’ll be over there. Let’s stay long this time.”

      “We can stay as long as you like,” John said. “As long as you like.”

      Alicia moved over to make room on the narrow bench for Anne Girl. “Sit your butt down right here. Lots a good food, huh?”

      “Yeah.”

      “There’s going to be dancing once this meeting gets over with. Unless they start drumming. We should go up to my place after, huh? Amos needs a good drink before he stores himself in that boat. You know what this meeting is all about?”

      Anne Girl frowned. “You forget, I don’t hear nothing over that way but the cannery talking, so don’t ask me.”

      “Yeah, we never see you this way anymore. I’ve missed you. You need to come more and maqi with me sometime. We’ll have good hot ones.”

      “I’ll bring the girl too.” Anne Girl nodded and looked at Ellen playing across the room as if she was seeing daughter for the first time after a long separation. Sometimes Ellen was an afterthought, something she had to remind herself to check as if she was checking on the smokehouse. But the girl was always there, under her feet, never allowing Anne Girl to forget.

      Alicia pointed to Frederik and John talking on the other side of the room. “How are your neighbors? Still noisy? Too bad Nora never had any more kids,” Alicia said and laughed. She leaned forward and peered at Frederik. “Is that a Bible he’s giving John? Probably one of them Yup’ik ones. Nancy loves them, even though she can’t read any of them words. She thinks she can read.”

      Ann Girl scoffed. She didn’t have much to say about the Killweathers and their Bibles. Although Anne Girl had managed this far without saying more than a few words to either Nora or Frederik, it seemed as if they took up residence in her kitchen. Nearly every time John returned from up town or from flying, he talked about the bits of news that he thought Frederik would like to hear. And sometimes he stopped at Frederik’s first. That burned Anne Girl more than anything, because she knew they both had their ears to Frederik’s radio. If she saw his plane tied down near the runway without any sight of him, she refused to cook and sometimes dumped out all the drinking water before he arrived home. For all she cared, he could talk about all the news he wanted on his way to the well.

      Once, shortly after she heard his plane land, she looked out of the window to see it sitting empty on the edge of the runway. There was no sign of John walking in his buttoned-up jacket toward her. She had sniffed the air and tried to find a hint of his sweat and raw engine smell. Nothing. Something then inside of her shattered, like dry wood popping in a fire, and she had marched out to his plane, loosened the rocks holding the wheels in place and climbed into the cockpit. She started pressing buttons, shifting rudders, anything to get the motor started. She was going to drive that piece of metal into the drink. From the corner of her vision, she saw John running toward her, pulling at his unbuttoned pants. He opened the cockpit door and slammed it against the wing frame. The entire plane shook with his anger.

      “The hell you doing!” He was shaking all over, gripping the door until the tendons in his forearm looked as if they would snap. “Don’t mess with anything. I’m already low on oil. You could break something. Jesus!”

      “Going for ride, you want to come?” She smiled at him.

      John’s jaw was tight, and he bit his lower lip as he had tried to calm himself. “No, no. You said you don’t ever want to get near this thing. Get out.”

      She looked at his pants and realized her mistake, but it pleased her to see him get riled. She didn’t want to stop now. How far could she push him? How far would he let her? “Were you in the outhouse? Let’s go for a ride now. You know how

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