Authors: Caroline Starr Rose
There are so many words
I do not have for her:
Nothing
to speak of comfort
to speak of courage
to speak of hope.
What I have is so little
but I give it still:
“Alis,” I say.
Her eyes seek mine.
“Come home.”
These are words she does not know.
Still she follows.
We push forward
through the fast approaching darkness,
enter a clearing where
the moon hangs overhead.
And
then
they
come.
Hastily painted,
they storm
from the forest.
Bows,
quivers,
arrows,
they rush
to the English.
Alis cowers at my side.
We are surrounded!
Men painted in fearful patterns,
more threatening in these shadows,
arrows at the ready!
Is this how it
will end for me?
From the ring of men around us,
this time Wanchese
calls to me.
“Kimi?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
I tell my heart to steady.
Fear cannot rule me now.
“I have someone with me.”
I step aside
so that all might see
Alis.
“An English girl?” he says.
“Alis. My friend.”
She hears her name,
turns to me,
such trust in her eyes.
I will do everything
to keep her safe.
What strength it takes,
just being here.
Have I led her
just to bring her harm?
Wanchese
hates the English.
“Your friend.”
His face hardens.
The man who speaks with Kimi
approaches me,
his face,
his arms,
his chest
awash with color.
He wears skins about his waist,
a chain of shells and copper beads.
I cannot help
how my body shakes.
He lifts his hand.
I duck,
expecting him to strike.
It is the rope of pearls he touches,
speaking to Kimi with words
I don't yet understand.
“You gave this to her,”
Wanchese says.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“You offered her protection.”
He knows it to be true.
“What made you do this?”
What do I tell him?
Above,
two birds slip from a hollowed tree,
dance across the heavens.
Never have I seen iacháwanes
as the dark begins its path across the sky.
They've come to help me
make things plain.
Alis lifts her eyes to them.
A smile lights her face.
“Iacháwanes,” I say.
The word is not an answer,
but something changes in him
as he watches us together,
something
tells me he sees:
Alis
belongs
with me.
Iacháwanes.
How gracefully they wing above,
how joyfully they scold,
they flit,
they chase.
The man studies the birds.
His sounds
bend, change shape
to words I understand.
“Many times Manteo has come,
asked for patience with your people.
He's promised they would leave
in the spring."
I stare.
This man speaks English?
“Is this when the English will go?”
Manteo speaking with this man,
is this what George saw?
Manteo.
The Croatoan
so like the English.
Why does Uncle speak his name?
“They leave much sooner,” I tell him.
“Days from now.”
I focus on his eyes,
not on his fearsome paint.
“Most to Chesapeake.
Perhaps later,
some will go
to Croatoan with Manteo.”
If he is released,
if they let him leave the prison.
“This girl,” Uncle says.
“Alis,” I answer.
“Alis.”
She hears her name,
reaches for my hand.
I squeeze it.
So often I longed
to tell Wanchese of her.
Now the moment has come.
“She is dear to me.
Please let her stay.”
“You miss Alawa.”
“I miss her every day.”
“This girl,”
he pauses,
“Alis,
she's the one
who told you go.”
“Yes.”
The man turns to me again.
“Why should I trust
what you say about the English?”
“Because I've left them.”
Though my voice wavers,
I must finish what I have to say.
“But I cannot leave Kimi.”
These words finally make it true.
He looks to Kimi,
to me,
he speaks
to all the men.
They retreat.
These men
raced to destroy my village,
but Kimi
stopped them,
my words
turned them away.
“Take Alis to your mother,”
Wanchese says.
Kimi insists on washing my feet,
leads me through the palisade
into her village.
The women sit about a fire,
follow us with their eyes.
| Alis | KIMI |
A woman | |
holds her arms out, | |
pulls Kimi to her breast. | |
“Mother.” | |
I see how | |
she strokes Kimi's cheek, | |
as my mother | |
so oft touched mine. | |
“I didn't know where | |
you'd gone,” Mother says. | |
“And with Chogan dead . . .” | |
 | |
I lift my eyes to hers. | |
“I didn't mean to frighten you.” | |
 | |
I'm so grateful | |
I can offer comfort. | |
“I have brought you someone. | |
 | |
Your daughter,” I say. | |
 | |
“My daughter?” | |
Mother turns to Alis, | |
stares at this girl | |
with faded hair, | |
with water eyes. | |
I want Mother to see as I do. | |
 | |
“You were weaving. | |
You told me I was strong. | |
Do you remember this?” | |
 | |
“Yes,” Mother says. | |
 | |
“I did not lose my pearls. | |
I gave them away.” | |
 | |
“Why would you do | |
this?” Mother says. | |
 | |
“I chose to keep her safe. | |
Alis has left the English. | |
She has no one now.” | |
 | |
Mother looks again to Alis, | |
pulls me close once more. | |
“My daughter,” Mother whispers, | |
“you have made me proud.” | |
Now, | |
with Kimi, | |
I am also in the woman's arms. | |
Great sobs rise up within me. | |
I have forsaken | |
Mother, Father, Samuel. | |
But I've protected them this way. | |
She kisses my hair, | |
tucks me under her chin, | |
makes the gentle noises | |
all mothers use | |
to soothe | |
a child's pain. | |
Their tears run together. | |
I cling to her, | |
this woman, | |
as I would my mother. | |
I weep | |
for all I've lost, | |
all I've given away. |
They gather at the beach,
so ready for another place.
Have only two days passed?
Time is equal to forever
since I was last with them.
Father stands near the tree line
with Mother and Samuel.
One last time he calls to me,
though his face says
he expects no answer.
Mother wipes her eyes
on Samuel's swaddling bands.
Father pulls a knife from his waist,
uses it to mark the sand.
Mother lines the pattern with shells,
sobs as Father leads her
to the pinnace.
It is final,
my staying here.
The weight of my leaving
and all I have rejected,
this uncertainty
I will claim.
Kimi and I run to where they were,
examine what they together made.
A bird,
like Uncle's parting gift.
It is farewell and sorrow,
a final blessing,
hope and heartache.
A new beginning.
I belong
on Roanoke,
where Uncle lived
his final days.
The place
that brought me Kimi.
She clasps my hand.
I use the fist we've formed
to wipe my cheeks,
whisper my thanks
to her,
this girl who calls me sister.