Chapter 5
When we reached the kitchen, Mrs. Birchtree's sons and daughters were called in. They took their seats at the long table while the younger folk pulled up stools or stood. "Turns," Sam whispered. There were two empty seats saved for us on the men's side. We took them and waited while Sam's grandmother measured a small amount of blood into the cups set before her. From the smell, they already contained vinegar. She spooned the warmed up blood into them from the pot, using a soup ladle. I watched in fascination as the cups were stirred, then passed down the table to the waiting recipients.
She took a separate cup from a cabinet and, as Sam requested, did not dilute it with vinegar for me. Grateful for this special consideration, in spite of my hesitation, I would do my best not to shame my hosts. In this gathering, I had to guard my thoughts. Eyes half closed, I concentrated on building myself a mind barrier to cage in stray thoughts that might give me away. I projected that I was a musician from Los Angeles, afraid of embarrassment at my inexperience with native customs, and hesitant about this ordeal. My projection was pretty well the truth, if not all of it.
Sam said, "Mick's never sampled deer blood, but he says he'll do his best to keep up with us." The combined smells of simmering deer meat, vinegar and warm blood filled the air. I tried not to gag.
When each had their cup, the oldest man present, Sam's father, Mr. Birchtree, said, "In honor of my son's visit, we are dipping into an old tradition. In generations gone but not forgotten, our warriors and matrons drank the blood and ate the flesh of our enemies. Because of this we were given the name Mohawk, eaters of men. It was not what we called ourselves, but it struck terror into the hearts of our enemies and helped us win battles. We retain that name today to outsiders, but we know who we really are, the Haudenosaunee Nation of Ganeogaono." The people nodded, having heard this many times before. It was for my benefit that they recounted it. I saw sidelong glances to see how I was taking this information. I kept my expression curious, but stoic.
"Although those days are gone, we still value the gift of life. Tonight we honor and thank the spirit of this deer whose flesh and blood will strengthen us. We drink to give thanks to our ancestors as well, for their examples in times of adversity. We also drink to honor my son Sam and Mick, his friend who has joined us at this table. Let our lives be lived as the Creator directs, in accordance with his rules. May we all merit his protection and inspiration. Drink."
The family lifted their cups and swallowed the contents, but many eyes continued to stray to me, the foreigner, the White in their midst. When I sniffed at the deer blood, the children smiled, knowing this was new to me. They were ready to laugh if I begged off, but doing so would have been impolite. I can do this, I told myself. I first dipped my finger into the cup and licked away the drop of blood that clung to it. A small child tittered. "You can do better than that," Sam said with a chuckle. "If I can drink this, you can. Go ahead. Blood will make you strong."
Good grief! I thought. Shame me into it. I had been wondering what my human English ancestors would think of this form of taking bread with the Natives. Then I pictured Josef laughing at me. What was the big deal, after all?
I lifted my cup to Mrs. Birchtree and to all of them, then opened my lips to tip the cup back. When I set it down, it was empty. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and licked the remainder off my knuckles. It was hard for me to keep from laughing myself. The children broke into a pumping of their fists in the air. By their grins, I took it for a sign of approval. Some of them applauded. I had passed their test.
"Well?" asked Sam's father. "What do you think?"
"That was different," I admitted. It was actually more palatable than I imagined it would be. Shield held firmly in place, I hoped, I compared it to human blood. Stronger, more gamey, tasting from its diet I suppose. I got a fleeting memory of it being recently separated from its companions, a swift sensation of something sharp, then darkness. There was something to be said for kosher slaughtering. I didn't sense pain from the animal whose blood I drank. I went back to my analysis. No free radicals from exposure to food additives, no caffeine or drugs. Organic blood.
"Definitely different." My statement generated smiles and nods from the adults and peals of laughter from the children. The tension of the moment had finally dissipated because I did what should have come naturally. Sam asked if I wanted seconds.
"Tomorrow," I said, "if there's any left."
"I'll make sure to save you some," said Sam's grandmother. "Now, it's time for children to be put to bed. The adults have things to talk about." The children lined up for a good night hug from their grandmothers and great grandmother before their mothers took them to their rooms. I saw now that this was not the home of them all, but rather, where they met for special events.
When the room was cleared of children, only the first Mrs. Birchtree, her elder sons and daughters, Sam and I remained. "I'll tell you why I called you home now, Sam," his grandmother said. "As you know, it's past time I retired. The Turtle family has a son they want installed as head shaman of our community. They want to challenge Sam for the position."
When she paused, Sam jumped to his feet. It was the first time I saw him angry, "But Sam doesn't want the position. I just want to play my drums. You know that."
"Sit down and listen to your grandmother before you speak," said his mother.
Mrs. Birchtree waited until Sam sat down. "As I was about to say," she said, "Sam is not interested and we have other people in the Birchtree family with promise. In the meanwhile, I don't want anything happening to Matthew." Everyone looked at a boy sitting at the far end of the table. He seemed about 13 or 14, very serious, and a little frightened. 'I don't say the next head shaman of this community has to come from our family. There's plenty of accumulated good sense here and in other families. If anyone doesn't put the interests of all of us first, no one is forcing them to stay."
Without looking, I knew those words affected Sam. I felt his inner turmoil. Again, it was a feeling he communicated, not words. He was agitated and worried. He raised his hand, looking at his grandmother with respect and love. "Sam?" she asked, giving him permission to speak.
"Has anyone threatened Matthew?"
"Not out loud, but I've sensed things. There have been accidents that looked like accidents, but I don't think they were. I called you here to see if you could sense more than I can, and discover where the threat is coming from. I'm getting too old to do this any more. I'm teaching Matthew, but as you know, the training goes slowly."
She left it unsaid that Sam had not wanted shaman training and had been more resistant. Had his innate gift not been so strong, I guessed he would rather have been out playing with his cousins and friends when his grandmother called him aside. "Let there be another shaman from another family, if that person puts the interests of all of us first. I don't argue with that. We should have someone in our family here for us, to advise, to look into our hearts, interpret our dreams and help us reach our goals." There were nods around the table.
A few others added what they had seen or words they had overheard. No one spoke of negative intensions outside their immediate circle, but there had been hints of traps set too close to the roads and poisoned thorns. Matthew had come close to having a hand crushed, but his friend had pulled him loose before much harm could be done.
Sam again received permission to speak. "Let me think about this some more. I'll try to listen with my inner ear, but I don't know if it will do any good. Mick is sensitive. Because he's a stranger among us, he may see and hear things differently than I would. He might catch something I miss." A few people looked at me more intently. I lowered my head, hoping they weren't seeing anything I didn't want them to see.
The family was finding it hard to stifle yawns and there was little more that could be said tonight. It was near three in the morning. "We've had a long drive. If you don't mind, I think Mick and I would like to get to bed now."
"We'll speak of this again." Sam's grandmother wished everyone a good night and the family stood up to stretch and head back to their own rooms or homes to settle down for sleep once again.
When Sam and I were alone, he let part of his guard down. It was more of a relaxation of tension. "I guess I'm here to guard Matthew until the election."
"Election? How does that work?"
"General council meeting. Anyway, you did fairly well with your block. Are you really that squeamish?" I couldn't think how to answer, but I lowered my eyes. "I didn't expect that. You have to do better than you did with your mental shield. I could have sworn you thought drinking blood was weird."
"Drinking deer blood for me is weird," I said.
"Try the block again. Do it now."
I did as he said, picturing a brick wall around my brain. "Make it sound proof," Sam said, "Audio tiles on the inner walls – like in a sound studio." I did so. "Now. Think of the year you were born." I did. Sam shook his head. "Good. You made it work that time. I didn't get it."
"1922," I said, proud I had not projected. Sam exhaled sharply and shook his head. "What?" I asked him.
"You look about thirty. You and my grandmother were born the same year."
"I hadn't thought of that, but I should have. If I had lived and aged, if I was very lucky and took good care of myself, and if I watched my cholesterol, I would be getting ready to die pretty soon anyway." I rubbed my hands together. "Direct me to where the Turtle family lives. I'm going to take that walk I mentioned to you. Remember to leave your window unlocked." I went to open it.
"Don't you need your coat?"
"Not really. It's just for show. Remember? I sleep naked in a freezer. See you later." I rested on the sill for a moment, then dropped lightly into the yard. I heard Sam close the window behind me. When I looked back, he was staring into the dark, but already the shadows had swallowed me up. He couldn't see me looking back at him.