Storytelling Week 9: Gaho

Gaho

(Addie Billie wearing traditional Seminole beads and patch work from Web Source.)

The old woman was crinkled and impossibly fragile. Her skin loose and folds so deep and pronounced the old man had a hard time imagining what she looked like as a young woman. The fire, spitting and crackling, deepened the shadows on her face and cast an eerie orange and gold hue to the woman.

Old Mother, she was called by his people. Gaho. But she birthed no sons or daughters.

Her presence preoccupied the mountain cave above his village for many moons – too many moons to count. If there had been stories of her youth and beauty, then those stories died with his ancestors.

Although, there are stories of her kindness as well as her wrath - he depended on those stories depicting her kindness for he had grown old with no wife, no children, no wealth, no peace, and a wasted youth.

The fire illuminated only the spinster and the old man. He waited impatiently for her to speak for if you spoke before her, she would disappear into the smoke - or that is what the story told him.

Her eyelids were heavy with age and they dropped so low he could not tell if her eyes were open or not, but her bony hand gripped a stick to prod the fire to life. Sparks of embers shot up into the night air and he watched them float. When he looked back at the woman, her blind eyes were staring right at him.

His breath rattled in his old lungs, his tired heart stumbled, and he thought he would die if her milky eyes continued to burn his soul.

She finally ceased staring at him when she murmured with a cracked voice, “You come to ask for five wishes.”

“Yes, Gaho. Please grant me such wishes. For I was not born in wealth, and so, I wasted my youth in war as a general. I did not take a wife for none wanted me and I was never blessed with children of my blood.”

Her white eyes did not stray back to his form, but she huffed. The sound of old bones rattling as she breathed and moved.

“Rules must be followed. Five wishes deserve five dances and songs must be performed every moon month until you are ready to pass over.”

His heart wanted to beat out of his chest as he imagined himself living a life he would not waste.

Suddenly, a bony hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the fire. He could smell his skin burn and blister. He opened his mouth to scream at the old woman and watched as her milky eyes brightened and then darkened again. Trapped in her gaze, he did not realize when the wrinkles melted away into firm and strong skin, when skimpy muscle turned big and brawny, his gray hair shed to reveal thick, black hair or his threadbare clothes to tighten and become strong leather.

He wept with appreciation and hope.

He left her mountain and went over the dances and songs in his mind until he returned to his village.

Peace came immediately to the village. He danced and sang for his five wishes when the moon month passed.

Wealth came in the form of crops and a leadership role a month. He danced and sang for his five wishes when the moon month passed.

His wife came into his life five days later. He danced and sang for his five wishes when the moon month passed.

Finally, his first child arrived after many moons of dancing and singing, and many more children arrived later.

He danced and sang every moon month.

His youthful appearance was later realized to be everlasting as his wife grew old and he did not, and his frustration and sorrow grew as his wife died and his first child soon after her.

He took many wives and had more children. The same ending happened. They grew old and died while he remained young.

It was not long before his frustration turned to action and he looked to war as his answer.

He danced and sang every moon month.

He won many battles and lost many men, but he continued to go to war. He found a certain comfort in its familiarity: the way the sword easily slipped into a man’s flimsy skin, the crush of the hard bone against his mallet and the spray of burning blood across his face.

He danced and sang every moon month.

Years passed until there were no more wives to tend to him and no more children carried his bloodline.

He danced and sang every moon month.

Until he was the old man again in everything but appearance.

He walked up the mountain and into Gaho’s home. He looked up with a tired body and mind and watched as the old woman stood from behind her fire - more fluidly than a woman of her age should, and walked toward him.

He was surprised yet not when her age slipped from her with every step she took.

When she came to stand in front of him, she watched him with clear brown eyes with thick, black hair nearly to her knees. Her regalia new and beautiful.

“Are you ready to pass?” She whispered quietly, her voice soft and gentle.

Listening to her voice made him compliant, lulling him to relax. He welcomed it and nodded his head once.

She nodded her head in answer and took his young, firm hands in her own.

The young man before her slowly morphed into the old man who came into this cave long ago.

He smiled at her and he finally closed his eyes to pass over.

Author's Note: I read the Pacific Northwest Native American unit this week. My story is a combination of theme's of the stories I read this week: How Silver-Fox Created the World, How the Beaver Stole Fire, How Dog Stole Fire and The Story of Ashish. I took many themes from the stories except for the inclusion of animals. The number five was a repetitive number in all the stories whether they were five trees or five roasts on the fire. I decided to take the use of the number five and include it in my story. There are five wishes in the story and I think they are realistic wishes for nearly any culture: youth, wealth, peace, wife and children. Fire is also a theme in the stories, so I used fire to transform the man into his younger version. In the stories, fire did not really behave like fire should. Animals touched fire without being burned. I thought my twist on the fire was interesting and I like how it transformed him as well.

Gaho means mother in Hopi, and I wanted to include the name simply because I like how it sounds. This also creates the assumption that Gaho has been around for a long time and is also the only name I provided. Even though the man is the protagonist in the story, he is only a blink of time in Gaho’s lifetime. The implication that this scenario has happened before is there, and if it is not obvious enough I will try and figure out how I can make that easier to read.

 Myths and Legends of the Pacific Northwest by Katharine Berry Judson (1910).