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Updated: June 7, 2025
"It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come to consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a clumsy man. He will never know how." "It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son?" she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." "And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided softly.
"Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and watched through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is Nam-Bok. Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come back. It cannot be that the dead come back." "Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole village was startled and looked at her. She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand.
And thereupon Nam-Bok held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. Koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him from the first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his liberality. Opee-Kwan rose to his feet "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen."
Opee-Kwan borrowed Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the younger women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. "There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. "The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. "But the wind-drift is slow." "The schooner had wings thus."
Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but he shut his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. "This sch sch schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was made of a big tree?" "It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big."
Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon it. "But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on the morning of the fourth day when the sch sch schooner came after thee?" "I had little strength left in me and could not run away.
It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives away the night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." "What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, have looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out of the sky."
But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. "It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to nip old bones." "The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows cannot keep thee warm." Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother that bore me!" he called.
And thereupon Nam-Bok held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. Koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him from the first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his liberality. Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen."
"I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, as they wavered, "And presents likewise." He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvellous of texture and color, and flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective sigh of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and patted it and crooned in childish joy.
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