Kris (17 page)

Frozen in front of the lead horse was a small native girl standing in the path of the wagon. She stared up at the horse in fearful fascination. The horse snorted, steam escaping his nostrils. The child screamed and bolted into action as she dashed back to watch me from the trees.

I winked at Sarah and Gabriella to suggest they stay quietly in place, and I gestured for the young girl to come closer. She stuck her head out and shook it in what must be the universal signal for NO, then yanked
her head back behind the tree, peeking with one eye to see what I would do next. It was all I could do not to laugh.

I handed the reins to Sarah and jumped off, cautiously venturing toward the small girl. As I slowly moved closer to her, I again tried to signal she should not be afraid, but she shrunk back into the deeper shadows.

I was certain she would still be watching me, and so I reached into my big coat pockets and pulled out a wooden toy duck. I held it out for her to see and tugged on a string suspended from the toy to make its feet paddle in the wind. In a moment the girl came forward with wide-eyed amazement as the small duck swam through the air. I set the duck down in the snow between us and slowly backed away.

She approached my offering cautiously and picked up the toy, holding it to her chest to claim it as her own. I nodded my approval and smiled at her. She shared an enormous grin in response.

Abruptly, a bearish voice bellowed from the trees. Behind the little girl a short, stocky native man marched toward me with authority. His legs were bowed as if he had ridden on the backs of large animals for many years. His older, muscular frame revealed his physical prowess, but he was slightly stooped in response to his advancing age. He was dressed in colorful attire with shiny metal clasps that began at the high collar of his coat and trailed down in a wide, decorative strip to mid-chest.

As he walked forward, he called again to the young girl, who ran to his side. He put an arm around her protectively and barked at me in a language I did not understand.

“I am sorry I don't understand what you are saying.”

Again he spat angry words at me, gesturing to the horses and wagon and the children that surrounded us.

“We meant no harm. We are just cold and in need of shelter.”

This time I understood his meaning and his forceful words, as he swept his hand away, ordering us to leave.

I was fraught and at the end of my patience. “I will not go! These hills and these trees are not yours!”

The man pulled the girl to him protectively, and his eyes grew fierce as he growled something undeniably menacing at me.

Then the young girl did the unexpected, she held up the toy duck for him to see. Curiously if firmly he took the toy from her hands and upon inspecting it pulled the string. The ensuing duck paddling brought him to uproarious laughter. The powerful little man continued his rich expression of amusement as he pulled the string again and again, causing it to swim freely in the air.

Just then, the clutch of children emerged from the trees. Sarah pulled upon the reins to hold the horses in place. The children were clothed in animal skins that had been tinted with colorful pigments and accented with bright strips of red cloth.

The man bent down to the little girl at his side, spoke gently, and handed the duck back to her. She quietly bowed her head and ran back to join the other children. Their animated voices greeted her with excitement as she held the duck with pride.

I could see more shadowy forms in the dark spaces between the trees, and some of the children at the edge of the shadows began to emerge to get a closer glimpse of the magical present the young girl had obtained through her courage in coming forward.

The stocky little man looked past me to the sleigh where Gabriella and Sarah huddled together freezing. He smiled at them and looked again to me, hitting his chest with the palm of his hand as he spoke.

“Pel,” he said. And he pointed to himself to make sure I understood this was his name. “Pel.”

Then he pointed at me.

“Kris,” I responded, gesturing in the same fashion to let him know my name.

Pel laughed and he repeated, “Kris,” and then he smiled.

He pointed to Sarah and Gabriella, and I gestured toward them with my arms.

“Family,” I said slowly. “My family.”

Pel said, “Good family, Kris.”

I laughed to discover he understood my language, if only slightly. And he laughed again too.

Pel looked to the trees and with a vast wave of his arms said, “My family. Sami people.”

From the trees, as if on command, many young children emerged with their older brothers and sisters and mothers, and they all moved closer to us and began to form a group around our wagon, to see just who the strangers were that had come to visit this day.

These were a people who had warm expressions of welcome, and their eyes lit up with excitement as they gathered nearer to us.

Pel let out another cry that startled us all. Sarah and Gabriella looked to me for reassurance as the sound of Pel's voice echoed long and deep through the woods, bouncing from tree to tree.

Almost magically, a slew of Sami hunters stepped from the woods and into the clearing. Some carried bows. Others held strong wooden staffs. At their sides, all wore large knives with ornately carved bone handles and elaborately decorated sheaths. Several of the men led huge, powerful reindeer into the clearing. It appeared as if these mighty creatures had
been harnessed as beasts of burden to assist the Sami men in hauling logs or carts loaded with other heavy goods.

Pel signaled to a few of the men, who approached me while the women made their way toward Sarah and Gabriella, and a young Sami woman took the horses' reins.

Pel spoke to them again in his native tongue, and many of the others laughed. He tugged at the sleeve of my big red coat and made another joke, and then he patted me heartily on the belly. I laughed at his antics. As I did so, Pel puffed out his own belly and patted it too, and all the people had a good laugh as he compared our girths.

The girl leading the horses smiled and said to me, “He tells the men, ‘at least you not starving.'” And with that, some of the Sami men also patted me on the belly and indicated with a smile that I should follow Pel and the others.

Pel led his people and my family along the trail that bordered the tree line. In little time we came upon what appeared to be a small Sami village in an area that was dotted with strange snowy hills of varying sizes. As I studied the curious shapes and placement of the hills, a woman emerged from one of them through a canvas piece that covered an opening leading into the mound. I realized then that these mounds were their homes.

More families and children came out from the mounds as we approached. And as Pel called out to his people, it seemed as if they all wanted to get a look at the weary travelers who were escorted into their village as friends.

The young Sami girl who had received my gift of the wooden duck ran up to Sarah as we walked among the earthen homes. She had the toy duck carefully tucked under one arm, and in her hands she held a small
doll made from cloth-bound straw that she proudly handed to Sarah. It was a simple but beautifully handcrafted toy which she took delight in sharing. Sarah thanked her with a smile, and the little girl laughed and danced where she stood, then ran to her friends who joined her in her excitement.

Pel indicated we should lead Gerda and the other horses and wagon to a quiet spot out of the way. He had his men unharness them and walk them into a giant mound, which served as a stable where they would be given food and shelter.

Pel soon brought us to another snowy mound, and we all laughed when, as we followed him inside, each of us had to duck our heads significantly to pass through the low entryway.

I was the last to enter Pel's hut, and before I did so, I turned to acknowledge and thank the other members of this gentle village that was to become our new home, though I didn't know it yet.

Once inside Pel's living quarters, I could better observe the manner in which the unusual Sami dwellings were constructed. They were framed by thick, curved tree branches, shaped to absorb the weight of the exterior walls and positioned in such a way to fashion a living space and entry large enough for a man Pel's size to walk into easily. Birch bark, sticks, and branches covered the sides of the hut in alternating patterns woven to form the curved walls, and deer pelts layered the entire structure, creating a base where heavy bits of snowy turf were fashioned into a thick final outside layer that was encased by the falling snow. It was an earth home. The living area was built around a large fire pit, and the floors were covered in furs and hides for comfort. An opening to the sky was left in the roof to allow smoke from the fire to escape and to provide some illumination during the daylight hours.

Pel and his Sami people were a friendly and hospitable group. On our first night they prepared a welcoming feast that Pel delighted in overseeing. We were served large portions of stew made from the strange deer that Pel called renkok, and a heavy, dark bread made from rye flour and deer blood, along with fresh cheeses, hearty broth, and big chunks of dried meat, which we washed down with milk of the deer mixed with a pulpy liquid made from boiled mountain sorrel, crushed cloudberries, and bilberries. The men handled the cooking of the deer stew and prepared various dishes as if they were tending to a sacred ceremony and its secret recipes.

As the ceremonial dinner concluded, Pel had some of the women lead us to an empty hut, which Pel offered to us as temporary living quarters. “Someday,” he said, “you make new home. We help.”

Pel was clearly the master of his world and the leader of this village. I found myself constantly entertained by the tall hat that he often wore. He would stuff it with hay or straw for insulation, which made it stand straight up and gave me the impression that he walked around wearing a steeple on his head. It also allowed me to identify him from great distances. Despite his often comical appearance, he commanded his people with a sense of leadership as pure as his strength. His every wish was met with an unspoken response and immediate action. The Sami people seemed to know their duties and carried them out faithfully. In such a harsh climate, cooperation such as this was no doubt necessary even for survival.

Pel became our guardian and provider. He opened his village with generosity and good will. He was forever fascinated with the toys I made and the tools I carried with us from Josef's carpentry. Again and again, he would study the mechanical toys in my satchel and pull on levers or
strings to make the toys dance and fly and paddle as they were designed to do. He asked me to show him the ways I had created these objects of his fascination. In return he would teach me about the land and deer that he called boazu, upon which their entire society and survival were based. We came to call them “reindeer” because the Sami people would halter them and attach them to small sledges like our own horses.

So many times we laughed as we spoke together. And though Pel did not always understand my efforts to communicate with him, he was adept in understanding our needs and helping to see they were realized. He loved to tease me about my size, using the word ruoidnadit, which suggested I shrink what I eat. He would often greet me with the playful question, “Is possible you are larger?”

And I would respond in kind, “Is it possible you have gotten shorter?”

I thought back on Josef and Noah and how they had bantered almost insultingly with each other. And I knew it was a statement of acceptance. We had become friends.

Over the lifetime to come, Pel would remain a loyal supporter and stalwart champion. His mysterious, almost magical, quality was born of his closeness to nature and the spirit of the world, for he was said to be a noiadi, wise man or shaman, by others in the village.

At times when we were alone Pel taught me and offered to confide great secrets, if I would only remain patient and dedicated enough to learn. He spoke constantly of the reindeer, as he instructed me, and told me they shared the earth together. Shared the sky. Shared the spirit of the world.

Every piece of the reindeer became a useful part of the life and spirit of the Sami people. Reindeer were important to their food supply, but they also were put to good use in hauling wood and building shelters, in
working as beasts of burden to transport other heavy loads, and in the creation of garments to protect the Sami in this harsh and sometimes unforgiving environment.

Pel showed me how the hides, hooves, bones, skulls, blood, and sinew of the reindeer served as sources for tools and utensils. These elements also were used in making drums and instruments that bridged the spaces between this world and the supernatural, through their ceremonial and mystical practices.

One day during his teachings when we were alone beside a raging fire, Pel said, “You see many Sami. We move across the land like reindeer. We are the reindeer.”

I remembered what I had said to him in anger on our first meeting, and I realized that I had been right; the hills and the trees did not belong to him. He belonged to them.