To the Bright Edge of the World

by Eowyn Ivey

A miracle, it seems to me, that a man scarred by the cruelest of battlefields could harbor such compassion for my small loss.

We must get rid of the light. Every last bit of it.

?

The string & hands formed the shape of a bird. Working together, two of the children were able to make the wings flap.

The other was a more gruesome tale from what I could tell, of a woman who betrays her husband by secretly taking a wild beast for a lover. When the husband discovers the treachery, he slays the lover, cooks him in a pot for supper, then sends his bones washing down the Wolverine River.

It is possible he comprehends my request but is either unable or unwilling to aid us.

There, on the inside of her wrist, a patch of gray, downy feathers grew along her pale skin. It is time for us to leave this place.

I refuse to assume a long, dreary life. I would prefer to spend every last penny, if need be, and visit every druggist from here to San Francisco; I would place all my faith in something mysterious and joyful and surprising, even if it fails me in the end.

nothing is impossible. Take one step, and then another, and see where the path leads. Don’t think of the obstacles, only the way around them.

As I made my way back toward home, it was as if I had sprouted wings on my feet. It was a wondrous sensation, making my way down the hill, a breeze in my face, Mount Hood revealed in all its snowy glory, the Columbia River Valley spread before me in greens and blues, and I felt as if I could bound across the world in weightless leaps. For the first time since I lost our baby, I felt wholly alive.

Charlotte’s disposition is much changed now, and she chatters along merrily, with little time for a breath. I have learned much about her family—that she has all brothers, several older and several younger, that her family is Irish but her mother named her Charlotte because “it doesn’t do anybody any good to be Irish in this country.”

A few short weeks ago I would not have imagined the need, but now and then I must gently ask Charlotte for quiet, so that I might hear the bird calls.

Surely a baby’s spirit is a slight thing, with little consciousness or will, yet I sometimes feel its presence. It is not so morbid as it sounds, nothing like a phantom or ghastly haunting, but rather like an unexpected dappling of light.

:(

When they set up the Trail River in search of us, they followed our same mistaken route. How had they then found their way to us? —Lucky for us, you left a marker. Boyd untied his pack, took out the bundle of Pruitt’s books. The revelation brought new life to Pruitt. I thought for a moment he would be brought to tears, but instead he shook Boyd’s hand, thanked him repeatedly. —We were glad to see it in the tree, Boyd said.—From there we spied your tracks up the dirt slope. Once we got up on top of that ridge, we could make out the village.

—Does he know a way through the mountains? We want to travel up the Wolverine River, over into the Tanana drainage. —Yes. Yes. You have told him that many times since you first came. He says he is not an old man who can’t hear. He knows where you want to go. You haven’t told him why.

—How can this be your home, if you and your family and tyones live someplace else? —This isn’t our home. We own the land.

—He says you’ll run into trouble in the mountains. [I don’t know the word, Colonel. Think it’s something like a ghost or spirit of some kind.]

—The Man Who Flies said we must kill him or the Russians would keep coming. It would be the end of the people. The shaman was right. The Russians did not come back after that. We were left alone for many seasons. Most of us have never seen Red Beards before. Until you came. —The Man Who Flies? What can you tell us about him? —He is an old man. He wears a black hat. When he flies, he has black wings.

Since we came to the Wolverine River, we have seen women who behave like geese. There is the baby we found in the woods. Can he explain these occurrences? —He doesn’t understand. You saw them, not him. How can he tell you again what your eyes already told you?

The Indians’ skin boats are but crude structures—odd-shaped moose hides stitched with sinew, stretched taut over a flimsy pole frame. They are impressive in dimension, each of the three boats being more than 25 feet long, five feet wide, two deep. Every part of the frame, from keel to gunwale to ribs, was carved with knife & ax, then assembled with rawhide & willow sprout. These Indians accomplish a great deal with the little they can scrape from this country.

The baidarras will be filled with the heaviest supplies, & only the men will board! The women will go by foot with loads upon their backs, leading the pack dogs.

A dispute then arose when Nat’aaggi indicated she would join us in the boats. The tyone spoke sharply to her, but she held firm. —He says our slave woman must walk with the others, Samuelson translated. She does not belong to us, I said. She travels with us. If we are to ride, she does too. The tyone at last agreed. Several village women observed the disagreement with much interest.

The light, bendable nature of the boats also showed its worth. I have no doubt that any Army row boat would have been sunk at the first run of boulders.

see now how much I have come to appreciate Charlotte’s friendship. I believe she shares my sentiments. “I like your house,” she said, “cause it’s mostly quiet and we talk about interesting things.”

Mrs Forrester has been about with her camera a great deal. It cannot leave her much time to tend the household, such as it is.”

I declared that if I were to find my wife with another man, I feared what I might do to the both of them. —It’s true that many a man has turned murderous under such circumstances, but seems to me that would put a halt to any good times for those involved, he said. I cannot comprehend his tolerance.

is a sad fact, but given too much rein, men will often degenerate into animals. It does not require tremendous skill to halt such behavior—a bit of intelligence, a clear sense of morality, a strong hand. Unfortunately, many leaders possess not even one of those traits.

That isn’t the only reason I am writing, though. It’s been a while since I heard from you, Walt. I don’t want to be a pest, but I’ve missed your letters and wanted to make sure you are well.

Gay?!

Good grief, it ages me all the more to know you weren’t born until 1983. Are you even old enough to buy yourself a beer?

Ok ew?

—He says the only living souls in this land belong to the Wolverine People, Samuelson translated. I asked if this is the tribe’s name. —Not that simple, Colonel. They mean what they say. These are wolverines that take human form. No nastier blend of character, man & wolverine. Ruthless enough to steal your last meal out from under your nose & smart enough to do it. Fables do not concern me. We will make our way.

The day after Father went into a neighbor’s home and was nearly shot as a thief, a doctor came to our house to say that he should be committed to an asylum, as he was becoming dangerous and his demented brain was beyond healing. I wanted to shout at the doctor that Father wasn’t mad. Anyone could see if they only looked—he was turning into his bear.

On a separate note, you asked about Isaac. He has as little to do with the museum as he can manage. He’s a graphic designer and illustrator (but I still haven’t been able to talk him into doing the museum’s website pro bono). And he’s my life partner. I met him while I was going to graduate school in Seattle, and then I talked him into moving back to Alaska with me. Even though he never stops complaining about the dark and cold every winter, I think we’re here for a while.

Gay representation! What would those mountain men think??

We stay to the riverbed, where the sand & wind drive back the insects. When we must cross into wooded areas, however, we are besieged. I chose a poor route today so that we found ourselves in the middle of wet land. A dark cloud of mosquitoes surrounded us, attacked any exposed skin & swarmed our eyes, mouths & ears. All the while a sandpiper of some type swept down on us & screeched without stop. It was a maddening, unpleasant scene, one that I thought would break Pruitt entirely. At night we sleep with our heads pulled all the way into our sleeping bags. Nat’aaggi burns a smudge fire of green leaves. Boyo snaps at the air.

(And her sling-shot is always at her side. I must remember to tell Allen when he returns how devoted she was to her promise to protect me.)

—That’s one hell of a rodent,

show the jaw to be nearly three feet wide. The teeth seem to have been comparatively small, concentrated at the back of the jaw, & notably sharp.

of. I was married once years ago, but we never had children. It was probably for the best. I don’t think we ever much liked each other.

I’ll tell you one thing about history—we leave a lot of carnage in our wake. The only way we know, it seems, no matter how many times we see it done.

What I wouldn’t give to be there in her place.

He is very near to the camera, his head is cocked at a strange angle, and he peers directly into the lens. I have never met this Indian or seen his countenance before, yet I sensed a familiarity in his appearance that took me some time to pinpoint, and then it occurred to me. His shadowy form, with lame leg and odd tilt of the head, recall the raven that plagued me in the spring.

said yes, we would travel that way once Sgt. Tillman has healed. —He goes there, too, Nat’aaggi said.—You will see him, but you will not know him. I asked what he meant by that. She shook her head & said no more, then returned to Tillman’s hut.

It’s interesting because I remember my mom telling me that when she was a little girl, all the kids believed a monster lived in its deepest water.

But until 1924, the only way Alaska Natives could earn citizenship and the right to vote was to “sever all tribal relationships” and “adopt the habits of civilized life.”

I’ve thought a lot about those diaries. As I told you, I liked to read them when I was a boy for the sheer excitement of it. Years later, after the wife and I went our separate ways and I found myself fumbling around in life, I took them up again. I don’t know exactly what I was looking for, except maybe I liked the idea that we don’t have it all figured out and buttoned up just yet, that maybe there’s something out there that can still rattle us.

Nat’aaggi snared several chipmunk-like animals. Pruitt says he is unable to stomach the meat. His lack of appetite is concerning.

brought Charlotte’s lemon meringues, which everyone enjoyed.

Shes like 12

Charlotte whispered to me, “I saw you all coming down the lane. Did my best to tidy.” “Bless you,” I whispered in return.

Father always said an artist must be at least half in love with his subject.

My dearest Sophie. I pray you will read this. You are first & last to me. I do not know if we will survive this night. They are all around us. They scream & cry so that it is hard to think to put these words on the page. You must know that I love you. I am not afraid of death but instead of the passage from here to oblivion, of being aware of its coming. I would rather have been run through with a spear than to face this long dread.

Confusion swept through us. We were all out of our sleeping bags. Boyo barked madly in all directions as if birds threatened him from above. Nat’aaggi drew her bow, then knelt & wept. Tillman called for his mother. I heard Pruitt scream from far away.

Even with Pruitt’s pathetic state, I am proud of these men. There were many who thought this expedition impossible, to travel up the Wolverine River, to cross this divide into the heart of Alaska. Yet here we stand. We made the long, steady march up from the coast 500 miles. Ahead of us is yet 1,000 miles to the sea, but we will travel through land charted by white men. We will float at ease down rivers, rather than drag sledges & skin boats up them. There will be trading posts to restock our provisions.