Hidden Passages: Tales to Honor the Crones

Nanus Story

What are you doing, Child?

I stood frozen in the chill of my grandmothers voice, paralyzed with shame before the fire that had been my robe. It was not my nakedness that shamed me. In warm weather children played in the nude back then, just as they do now until their apprenticeship at puberty. But it was the time of the crimson leaves; the morning had been too cool to go without clothing. And, in an act of hubris, I had rejected the rough dress that little girls customarily wore for play and had put on my finest garment. It was new, as white as temple stone and trimmed with silver stars. Nanu had spent weeks making it, and Id wanted to show it off.

Im embarrassed now to think of how I strutted in front of the other girls, so full of myself, so arrogant, so pleased with their envy and admiration until Shasti pushed me into the brambles.

Id felt the first tear the moment Id hit the thicket, and I knew I was in terrible trouble. And, because of my attitude, all the children had run away, leaving me to thrash alone.

Id wrestled for what felt like a very long time to free myself without doing more damage to my robe, but by the time Id broken loose the entire garment was in tatters and was stained top to bottom with my blood. And so Id rumpled it up and set it on fire.

I knew if a shredded garment would earn Nanus rage a robe fire would too, but Id thought I might get away with the burning. I had been wrong. She took a step toward me. I backed away.

Always erect to compensate for her small stature, Nanu planted her fists firmly on her hips and drew herself up to her full size. She looked enormous to me. Though no taller than I, she was imposing in her anger and regal in her purple priestess robe.

Her skirt was embroidered with a large silver web, a bright blue spider stitched just below the waist so that it rested over her belly. When I was small I had laid my head so often against that spider, had patted it so many times with a toddlers rough affection. Gently, gently, Nanu would remind, holding my hand so that we stroked it as one. Spiders are sacred, Kondwi. Always treat them with respect.
The fringe of her purple shawl fluttered in the chilly breeze.

Sunlight glinted off the miniature turquoise spindle that hung on a black cord around her neck. White wisps of hair had escaped from the slender braid that she wore as a crown. They flitted at her cheeks. She ignored them, waiting. I knew I was supposed to say something, but I could not. And so I stared at the smoldering ash that had been my festival robe.

Though she had never touched me in anger, I cringed when she reached for me. Her eyes were narrow, hard, and black. Her jaw was clenched. Fury glowed from her every pore. I was stunned, therefore, when, instead of slapping me, she held me close, just as she had when I had stumbled as a small child.

I felt awkward in her embrace, gawky and oversized. Though only ten summers old, I was bulkier than she, much larger boned, my fathers daughter. Everyone had always joked that if I ever grew into my hands and feet Id end up as tall as the oaks in the grove and as broad-bodied as an ox. I didnt know where to put my arms once Id wrapped them around her and had so much of them left over. She held me for a long moment, filling me with the scent of temple incense that clung to her like an aura. By the time she stepped back and looked me full in the face her dark eyes had softened and she had lost her worried lines. It even seemed that her hair was more gold than white, though that might have been a trick of Mother Sun. She wrapped her shawl around me.

Come, she smiled and sat in the lap of an elm. She gathered me to her so that my head rested on her little bird breast. I could feel all her bones, and I was afraid. Always small, she had shrunk with age, had sunken into herself and grown frail. In a short time, I knew, our roles would be reversed, and I would have to look after her. I hoped Id be up to the job. Let me tell you a story, Kondwi. She rearranged her legs to minimize her discomfort and invited me to lay my head in her lap. She rested one hand on her knee and the other across my chest. I watched the clouds make temples and beasts. Long ago in the land of On-Ne, she began.

Thats where you were born, Nanu! I snapped my neck turning to face her. Normally Nanu would shoot me a withering look when I interrupted my elders, but she smiled at the horizon instead and absently petted my hair.

Yes, Dear, where I was born. But this part happened long before my birth. For a moment that was just a little too long she silently studied the distant hills. She rubbed her eye with her index finger then wiped the other with her thumb. Lady Suns brightness had recently begun to bother her, and sometimes her eyes would tear. I held up my hand to shield her from the glare, but she lowered it and placed my arm over my waist. She tucked the shawl cozily around me, and rested her arm over mine. No need. Her smile was like a sun shower, combining joy and regret. She rested her head against the tree and closed her eyes. In a faraway voice, she began again.
Long ago, in the land of On-Ne lived a woman named Tichu, which means dry snow.

Life was difficult for the people of On-Ne and had been for as long as they could remember. The land was cold and the days were short. People died young and cruelly, usually of cold or of hunger, and, to keep the tribe going, it was vital for the women to bear as many babes as they could. But Tichu could not bear.

No matter what she did each time she was with child the cramping and bleeding would wash away the babe. Time after time it was the same. Tichu would discover that her moon blood was late, shed feel the morning sickness, and shed scratch out bits of frozen herbs from beneath the snow in the hope that they would help her carry to term. Shed pray. Shed offer sacrifices. Shed even steal meat, when she could find it. But nothing she did made any difference. She always lost the babe.

Year after year she attended her sisters as they birthed one lusty child after another. But Tichus womb remained empty. To the tribe she pretended that she didnt feel cursed, that her heart didnt ache each time her moon blood came. She walked with the poise of a Chosen One, her head held high, her hips seductively swaying. But in the privacy of her dreams her arms ached for a child and her tears would not be dried.

And so she was surprised at the joy she felt one dawn as Mother Sun climbed up the Sacred Mound. Shed awakened with the memory of a wonderful dream, one that had felt like a promise. In it Lady Moon stood full and bright directly over the Mound. She elongated slowly into a full-bodied woman. Gleaming and white from head to toe, She stood ice still, Her arms outstretched. Tichu could not see her face, so luminous was She. She was dressed in white pelts but Tichu could see a spinning green ball glowing inside Her belly. Using both Her hands the Lady plucked it out, wrapped it in a cloud and handed it to Tichu.

Tichu held the bundle as if it were a babe, for she knew in her heart it was. But, when she lifted a corner of the cloud, the sphere stretched to a tree, its limbs bowed low with a wealth of scarlet orbs. And then she awoke, her arms still warm.

Day became night and then day again, and the tribe subsisted on what the hunters could provide. But game was scarce. Food and pelts were rationed. ...