Speaker 1: Kish, son of Kish, by Jack London. Thus will I
give six blankets, warm and double, six files large and hard,
six Hudson bay knives, keen edged and long. Two canoes,
the work of Mochum, the maker of things. Ten dogs,
heavy shouldered and strong in the harness. And three guns.
The trigger of one be broken, but it is a
good gun and can doubtless be mended. Kish paused and
swept his eyes over the circle of intent faces. It
was the time of the great fishing, and he was
bidding to nob for Sousu, his daughter. The place was
the Saint George mission by the Yukon, and the tribes
had gathered for many a hundred miles from north, south,
east and west. They had come even from Tozikakat and
far Tananah, and further o nab thou Art, chief of
the Tananah, and I Ki, the son of Kish and
chief of the Tlunget. Wherefore, when my seed springs from
the loins of thy daughter, there shall be a friendship
between the tribes, a great friendship, and Tanana and Thlung
it shall be brothers of the blood. In the time
to come. What I have said, I will do, that
will I do and how is it with you, o, Nob,
in this matter? Nob nodded his head gravely, his gnarled
and age twisted face inscrutably masking the soul that dwelt behind.
His narrow eyes burned like twin coals through their narrow
slits as he piped in a high cracked voice. But
that is not all? What more? Kish demanded? Have I
not offered full measure? Was there ever yet a Tananau
maiden who fetched so great a price? Then? Name her?
An open snicker passed around the circle, and Kish knew
that he stood in shame before these people. Nayn a
good Kish, thou dost not understand? Nob made a soft
stroking gesture. The price is fair. It is a good price.
Nor do I question the broken trigger. But that is
not all. What of the man? Aye? What of the man?
The circle snarled? It is said Nob's shrill voice pipe.
It is said that Kish does not walk in the
way of his father's. It is said that he has
wandered into the dark after strange gods, and that he
has become afraid. The face of Kish went dark. It
is a lie, he thundered. Kish is afraid of no man.
It is said old nob piped On, that he has
hearkened to the speech of the white man up at
the big House, and that he bends head to the
white man's God, and moreover, that blood is displeasing to
the white man's god. Keish dropped his eyes and his
hands clenched passionately. The savvage circle laughed derisively, and in
the ear of nob whispered mad Wan, the Shammin, high
priest of the tribe and maker of medicine. The Shumon
poked among the shadows on the rim of the firelight
and roused up a slender young boy, whom he brought
face to face with Kish, And in the hand of
Keish he thrust a knife. Nob leaned forward, Kish, O Keish,
darest thou to kill a man. Behold, this is kittsnu
a slave. Strike o' keish, strike with the strength of
thy arm. The boy trembled and waited the stroke. Kish
looked at him, and thoughts of mister Browne's higher morality
floated through his mind, and strong upon him was a
vision of the leaping flames of mister Brown's particular brand
of hell fire. The knife fell to the ground, and
the boy sighed and went out beyond the firelight with
shaking knees. At the feet of Nob sprawled a wolf dog,
which bared its gleaming teeth, then prepared to spring after
the boy. But the shamin ground his foot into the
brute's body, and so doing gave Nob an idea. And then,
O kesh, what wouldst thou do should a man do
this thing to you? As he spoke, Nob held a
ribbon of salmon to white Fang, and when the animal
attempted to take it, smote him sharply on the nose
with a stick. And afterward, o'keesh wouldst thou do? Thus
White Fang was cringing back on his belly and fawning
to the hand of Nob. Listen, leaning on the arm
of Madua, Nob had risen to his feet. I am
very old, and because I am very old, I will
tell thee things. Thy father Keish was a mighty man,
and he did love the song of the bowstring and battle.
And these eyes have beheld him cast a spear till
the head stood out beyond a man's body. But thou
art unlike, since thou left the raven to worship the wolf.
Thou art become afraid of blood, and thou makest thy
people afraid. This is not good. For Behold, when I
was a boy, even as kits knew here, there was
no white man in all the land. But they came
one by one, these white men, till now they are many,
and they are a restless breed, never content to rest
by the fire with a full belly and let the
morrow bring its own meat. A curse was laid upon them,
it would seem, and they must work it out in
toil and hardship. Kisha startled a recollection of a hazy
story told by mister Brown of one adam of old
time came to him, and it seemed that mister Brown
had spoken true. So they laid hands upon all. They
behold these white men, and they go everywhere and behold
all things, and ever do more follow in their footsteps,
so that if nothing can be done, they will come
to possess all the land, and there will be no
room for the tribes of the raven. Wherefore it is
meet that we fight with them till none are left.
Then will we hold the passes and the land, and
perhaps our children and our children's children shall flourish and
grow fat. There is a great struggle to come when
wolf and ravens shall grapple. But Kish will not fight,
nor will he let his people fight. So it is
not well that he should take to him my daughter.
Thus have I spoken, I Nab, chief of the Tananah.
But the white men are good and great. Kish made answer.
The white men have taught us many things. The white
men have given us blankets and knives and guns such
as we have never made and never could make. I
remember in what manner we lived before they came. I
was unborn then, but I have it from my father.
When we went on the hunt, we must creep so
close to the moose that a spear cast would cover
the distance. To day we used the white man's rifle,
and farther away than can a child's cry be heard.
We ate fish and meat and berries. There was nothing
else to eat, and we ate without salt. How many
may there be among you who care to go back
to the fish and meat without salt? It would have
sunk home. Had not mad one leaped to his feet,
ere silence could come, and first a question to thee Kish.
The white man up at the big house tells you
that it is wrong to kill. Yet do we not
know that the white men kill? Have we forgotten the
great fight on the Koyukuk or the great fight at
Neklukyeto where three white men killed twenty of the Toza Kakats.
Do you think we no longer remember the three men
of the Tannanaw that the white man Mackelrath killed. Tell me,
o Keish, why does the Shamin Brown teach you that
it is wrong to fight when all his brothers fight. Nay, nay,
there is no need to answer, Nob piped while Kish
struggled with the paradox. It is very simple. The good
man Brown would hold the raven tight whilst his brothers
plucked the feathers. He raised his voice. But so long
as there is one tannaaw to strike a blow, or
one maiden to bear a manchild, the raven shall not
be plucked. Nob turned to a husky young man across
the fire, and what sayest thou. Makamuk, who art brother
to Sousu Makamuk, came to his feet. A long faced
scar lifted his upper lip into a perpetual grin, which
belied the glowing ferocity of his eyes. This day he
began with cunning irrelevance. I came by the trader maclrath's cabin,
and in the door I saw a child laughing at
the sun. And the child looked at me with the
trader Maclrath's eyes, and it was frightened. The mother ran
to it and quieted it. The mother was Ziska, the
clung a woman. A snarl of rage rose up and
drowned his voice, which he instilled by turning dramatically upon
Kish with outstretched arm and accusing finger. So you give
your women away, you flung it, and come to the
tananav for more. But we have need of our women, Kish,
for we must breed men, many men against the day
when the raven grapples with the wolf. Through the storm
of applause, Nob's voice shrilled clear, and Tha Maasabuk, who
art her favorite brother. The young man was slender and graceful,
with the strong akoline nose and high brows of his type,
but from some nervous affliction, the lid of one eye
drooped at odd times in a suggestive wink. Even as
he arose, it drooped and rested a moment against his cheek.
But it was not greeted with the accustomed laughter. Every
face was grave. I too, passed by the trader macaelraths cabin.
He rippled in soft girlish tones, And I saw Indians
with the sweat running into their eyes and their knees
shaking with weariness. I say, I saw Indians groaning under
the logs from the store which the trader Mackelrath is
to build. And with my eyes I saw them chopping
wood to keep the shamin browns big as warm through
the frost of the long nights. This be squaw work.
Never shall the Tana now do that like we shall
be blood brothers to men, not squaws, and the plunget
be squaws. A deep silence fell, and all eyes centered
on Keish. He looked about him, carefully, deliberately, full into
the face of each grown man. So he said, passion lesslie,
and so he repeated, then turned on his heel without
further word, and passed out into the darkness, waiting among
sprawling babies and bristling wolf dogs. He threaded the great camp,
and on its outskirts came upon a woman at work
by the light of a fire, with strings of bark
stripped from the long roots of creeping vines. She was
braiding rope for the fishing. For some time, without speech,
he watched her deft hands bringing law and order out
of the unruly mass of curling fibers. She was good
to look upon, swaying there to her task, strong limbed,
deep chested, and with hips made for motherhood. And the
bronze of her face was golden in the flickering light,
her hair blue black, her eyes jet O susu, He spoke, finally,
thou hast looked upon me kindly in the days that
have gone, and in the days yet young, I looked
kindly upon thee, for that thou wert chief of the plunget,
she answered quickly, And because thou wert big and strong. Aye.
But that was in the old days of the fishing,
she hastened to add. Before this Shamann Brown came and
taught these ill things, and led thy feet on strange trails.
But I would tell thee. She held up one hand
in a gesture which reminded him of her father. Nay,
I know already the speech that stirs in thy throat,
O kish, and I make answer now. It so happeneth
that the fish of the water, and the beasts of
the forest bring forth after their kind, And this is good.
Likewise it happeneth to women. It is for them to
bring forth their kind. And even the maiden, while she
is yet a maiden, feels the pang of the birth,
and the pain of the breast, and the small hands
at the neck. And when such feeling is strong, then
does each maiden look about her with secret eyes for
the man, for the man who shall be fit to
father her kind. So have I felt, So did I
feel when I looked upon thee and found thee big
and strong, a hunter and fighter of beasts and men, well,
able to win meat when I should eat for two,
well able to keep danger afar off when my helplessness
drew nigh. But that was before the day the shaman
Braun came into the land and taught thee. But it
is not right, su su I have it on good work.
It is not right to kill. I know what thou
wouldst say. Then breed thou after thy kind, the kind
that does not kill. But come not on such quest
among the tananah. For it is said in the time
to come that the raven shall grapple with the wolf
I do not know, for this be the affair of men.
But I do know that it is for me to
bring forth men against that time su su kish broken.
Thou must hear me. A man would beat me with
a stick and make me here, she sneered, But thou here,
She thrust a bunch of bark into his head. I
cannot give thee myself, but this, yes, it looks fittest
in thy hands. It is squaw work so bright. Away
he flung it from him, the angry blood pounding a
muddy path under his bronze. One more thing, she went on.
There be an old custom which thy father and mine
were not strangers to. When a man falls in battle,
his scalp is to be carried away in token. Very good.
But thou, who have forsworn the raven, must do more.
Thou must bring me not scalps, but heads, two heads.
And then will I give thee not bark, but a
brave beaded belt and sheath and long Russian knife. Then
while I look kindly upon thee once again, and all
will be well, so the man pondered. So then he
turned and passed out through the night. Nay o kish,
she called after him, not two heads, but three at least.
But Kish remained true to his conversion, lived uprightly, and
made his tribes people obey the gospels propounded by Reverend
Jackson Brown. Through all the time of the fishing, he
gave no heed to the Tananah, nor took notice of
the sly things which were said, nor of the laughter
of the women of the many tribes. After the fishing,
nob and his people, with great store of salmon, sun
dried and smoke cured, departed for the hunting on the
head reaches of the Tananah. Kish watched them go, but
did not fail in his attendance at mission service, where
he prayed regularly and led the singing with his deep
bass voice. The Reverend Jackson Brown delighted in that deep
bass voice, and because of his sterling qualities, deemed him
the most promising convert. Mackelrath doubted this. He did not
believe in the efficacy of the conversion of the heathen,
and he was not slow in speaking his mind. But
mister Brown was a large man in his way, and
he argued it out with such convincingness all of one
long all night, that the trader driven from position after
position finally announced in desperation, knock out my brains with apples, Brown,
if I don't become a convert myself. If Keish holds
fast true blue for two years, mister Brown never lost
an opportunity, so he clinched the matter on the spot
with a virile hand grip, and thenceforth the conduct of
Keish was to determine the ultimate abiding place of Mackelrath's soul.
But there came news one day after the winter rhyme
had settled down over the la land sufficiently for travel.
A Tananau man arrived at the Saint George Mission in
quest of ammunition and bringing information that Susu had set
eyes on Nikou, a nervy young hunter who had bid
brilliantly for her by old nobs fire. It was at
about this time that the Reverend Jackson Brown came upon
Kish by the wood trail which leads down to the river.
Kish had his best dogs in the harness, and shoved
under the sled lashings was his largest and finest pair
of snow shoes. Where goest thou o' keish hunting? Mister
Brown asked, Falling into the Indian manner, Kish looked him
steadily in the eyes for a full minute, then started
up his dogs. Then again turning his deliberate gaze upon
the missionary, he answered, no, I go to hell. In
an open space, striving to burrow into the snow, as
though for shelter from the appalling desolateness, huddled, three dreary
lodges ringed all About a dozen paces away was the
somber forest. Overhead. There was no keen blue sky of
naked space, but a vague, misty curtain pregnant with snow,
which had drawn between. There was no wind, no sound,
nothing but the snow and silence. Nor was there even
the gentle stir of life about the camp. For the
hunting party had run upon the flank of the caribou herd,
and the kill had been large. Thus, after the period
of fasting had come the plenitude of feasting. And thus
in broad daylight they slept heavily under their roofs of
moose hide by a fire. Before one of the lodges,
five pairs of snow shoes stood on end in their element,
and by the fire set sousu. The hood of her
squirrel skin parka was about her hair and well drawn
up around her neck, but her hands were unmittened and
nimbly at work with needle and sinew, completing the last
fantastic design on a belt of leather faced with bright
scarlet cloth. A dog somewhere at the rear of one
of the lodges raised a short, sharp bark, then ceased
as abruptly as it had begun. Once. Her father, in
the lodge at her back gurgled and grunted in his
sleep bad dream, She smiled to herself, he grows old,
and that last joint was too much. She placed the
last bead, nodded the sinew, and replenished the fire. Then,
after gazing long into the flames, she lifted her head
to the harsh crunch crunch of a moccasined foot against
the flinty snow granules. Kish was at her side, bending
slightly forward to a load which he bore upon his back.
This was wrapped loosely in a soft tanned moose hide,
and he dropped it carelessly into the snow and sat down.
They looked at each other long and without speech. It
it is a far fetch, o keish, she said, at last,
A far fetch from Saint Jeorde mission by the yukon
I he made answer absently, his eyes fixed keenly upon
the belt and taking note of its girth. But where's
the knife, he demanded. Here she drew it from inside
her parka and flashed its naked lengths in the firelight.
It is a good knife. Give it me, he commanded.
Nay o keish, she laughed. It may be that thou
wast not born to wear it. Give it to me,
he reiterated, without change of tone, I was so born.
But her eyes glancing coquettishly, pasted him to the moose hide,
saw the snow about it, slowly reddening. It is blood, kish,
she asked, Ay, it is blood, But give me the
belt and the long Russian knife. She felt suddenly afrayed,
but thrilled when he took the belt roughly from her.
Thrilled to the roughness, she looked at him softly, and
aware of a pain at the breast and of small
hands clutching her throat. It was made for a smaller man,
he remarked, grimly, drawing in his abdomen and clasping the
buckle at the first hole. Sousu smiled, and her eyes
were yet softer Again, she felt the soft hands at
her throat. He was good to look upon, and the
belt was indeed small, made for a smaller man. But
what did it matter? She could make many belts. But
the blood, she asked, urged on by a hope new
born and growing the blood? Kish is it? Are they heads? I?
They must be very fresh? Else would the blood be frozen? I?
It is not cold, and they be fresh, quite fresh. Oh, keees.
Her face was warm and bright, and for me, I
for thee. He took hold of a corner of the height,
flirted it open, and rolled the heads out before her. Three,
he whispered, savagely, nay four at least, but she sat transfixed.
There they lay the soft featured Nikou, the gnarled old
face of Noob mocka muck, grinning at her with his
lifted upper lip. And lastly Nossabach, his eyelid up to
its old trick, drooped on his girlish cheek in a
suggestive wink. There they lay the firelight flashing upon and
playing over them, and from each of them a widening
circle dyed the snow to scarlet. God by the fire,
the white crust gave way beneath the head of nob,
which rolled over like a thing alive, spun around and
came to rest at her feet, but she did not move. Kish, too,
sat motionless, his eyes unblinking, centered steadfastly upon her. Once
in the forest, an overburdened pine dropped its load of snow,
and the echoes reverberated hollowly down the gorge, but neither stirred.
The short day had been waning fast, and darkness was
wrapping round the camp when White Fang trotted up toward
the fire. He paused to reconnoiter, but not being driven back,
came closer. His nose shot swiftly to the side, nostrils
a tremble, and bristles rising along the spine, and straight
and true, he followed the sudden scent to his master's head.
He sniffed it gingerly at first, and licked the forehead
with his red, lolling tongue. Then he sat abruptly down,
pointed his nose up at the first faint star, and
raised the long wolf howl. This brought Sousu to herself.
She glanced across at Kish, who had unsheathed the Russian
knife and was watching her intently. His face was firm
and set, and in it she read the law. Slipping
back the hood of her parka, she buried her neck
and rose to her feet. There she paused and took
a long look about her, at the rimming forest, at
the faint stars in the sky, at the camp, at
the snow shoes in the snow, A last, long comprehensive
look at life. A light breeze stirred her hair from
the side, and for the space of one deep breath,
she turned her head and followed it around until she
met it full faced. Then she thought of her children
ever to be unborn, and she walked over to Keish
and said, I am ready Keish, son of Keish by
Jack London