Duck Feathers
Solstice passed in a shroud of darkness and rain. Despite this sudden cold snap, winter has been warmer than usual, The Old Woman notes as she sweeps the ash and grit across the cave floor and out the opening. One by one, she stirs her steaming cauldrons with their herbs, bones, and dyes. The Old Woman stands still for a moment and breathes in the cold winter air. The wind has shifted from the north and blown away the clouds so that the sky is high and blue. The Seagulls are dancing together in the air currents. The Old Woman decides to climb up onto the island, to stretch her gaze far beyond the dark confines of her cave.
Wrapped in every layer of clothing she has, The Old Woman steps gingerly on the icy path. Above the cave, the ice crystals grow like fish teeth from the tired, old grass stalks. A Dipper bobs up and down at the edge of the stream, then flies off at the sound of The Old Woman’s crunching footsteps. She watches as the hand-sized bird splashes into the water farther upstream.
Higher up on the island, a dusting of snow has fallen. Raven slides down a short embankment, while Spirit, the white Raven, joins him like a ghost: visible only by shadows cast. The Old Woman watches their play with a smile, then turns her attention back to the stream.
Spotting something tasty to eat, the Dipper dives into the clear water and hop-walks across the pebbly stream bed, popping up to the surface with a beakful of food. The Old Woman marvels at how smoothly the water rolls off the Dipper’s feathers, leaving the bird dry. Like a Duck, The Old Woman thinks to herself.
She glances back up at the Raven sledding hill, but the birds have vanished. The Old Woman sighs. Most likely, they have returned to the cave and are up to some mischief there. Crunching her way across the frozen ground, The Old Woman descends once more to the cave.
Sure enough, the Ravens have already made a mess. The Old Woman finds Spirit flapping and twisting in a tangle of colored yarn.
“How and why did you get into such a snarl?” The Old Woman asks.
“Sometimes, I get lost in all the white,” the bird explains. “I needed a little color to find myself again.”
“Hm,” muses The Old Woman, “Well, it looks like Raven is going to have to find food for you, like he did for Little Snake last winter, until my hands can warm up enough to untangle you.”
“I’m not getting food for Spirit!” exclaims Raven, lifting his head from preening himself above the hearth.
“What a pity Raven’s beak is so old, I don’t know if he can get you out of this mess,” the Old Woman tells Spirit, shaking her head.
“My beak isn’t old!” croaks Raven from his perch.
“It’s as old as my fingers,” reasons The Old Woman, “and they are feeling pretty cold and stiff these frosty winter days.”
Raven puffs out his neck feathers indignantly. “My beak is in finer shape than your fingers,” he retorts.
“I don’t believe it,” she states.
“I’ll prove it to you!”
“How?”
“I’ll — I’ll — I’ll peck Spirit free of all that yarn!” Raven declares.
“I’d like to see you try,” laughs The Old Woman. “I don’t think you’ve ever un-made a mess, old fellow.”
“Naark! Yes I have!” Raven croaks. “What about when I brought the Sun and the Moon back to this side of the sky?” He flaps down in a huff and begins tugging at the web of yarns trapping Spirit.
The Old Woman eases down into her chair and begins to wind up the ends of yarn that Raven pecks loose.
“Would you like to hear a story while we work to free Spirit?” asks The Old Woman.
Raven eyes her suspiciously, wondering if she has just gotten the better of him. The Old Woman starts in on her tale before clever Raven can think too much.
“There once grew a meadow whose grasses ended at the edge of a gravel road. Down that road lived a seamstress who had inherited the livelihood, curly black hair, and her name, Fiorentina, from her grandmother. Every day, when Fiorentina picked up her needle, thread, and scissors, she spoke to her grandmother as if the old woman were still alive and sitting beside her. But aside from these conversations, Fiorentina felt very lonely, for she had no one to share her life with.
“To ease the loneliness, Fiorentina would walk down the gravel road to the meadow and wander along the banks of the shallow stream that wound through the tall Sedges, Marsh Marigolds, and gnarled old Willows. In spring, she went to the meadow to watch for the Varied Thrushes and Robins returning from their southern homes. In summer, she would watch the Salmon splashing upstream and gather Nagoonberries nestled low in the grasses. In autumn, she would harvest S’ikshaldeen1 and Bog Cranberries there. In winter, she would collect sap oozing from the Spruces growing here and there and nibble on the High Bush Cranberries hanging like jewels above the snow.
“One day, as she spied a wild Duck and her Ducklings quacking and splashing in the stream, she whispered, ‘Holy Mother, even if you helped me have a Duck for a daughter, I would be happy.’
“Well, that wild Duck was none other than the Bird Goddess herself, and she heard the woman’s whispered prayer. A few months later, Fiorentina birthed an egg.”
Raven drops the turquoise yarn in his beak and cries, “Rhaak! Rhaak! I had a Human mother birth me like that!”2
“Yes, that you did,” agrees The Old Woman.
“You had a Human mother?” Spirit asks in surprise.
“Kah!” cries Raven. “Yes! That was ages ago. I made her a Duck suit so she could just shake off the water when the waves crashed over her, and keep floating.”
“I’m confused,” says Spirit. “A Human gave birth to a Raven, then the Raven turned the Human into a Duck?”
“You’re not confused,” Raven states simply.
“I think you’re going to like this story, Raven,” smiles The Old Woman and continues her tale. “From Fiorentina’s egg hatched a baby Duckling with two brown stripes that trailed from her downy yellow head along her back. The seamstress was overjoyed and loved her Duckling daughter with all of her heart, and named her Anatra, which simply meant “Duck” in the language of her grandmother.
“Fiorentina brought her Duckling everywhere, and made her a nest in a basket so she could nap while Fiorentina worked. Every day, the seamstress made sure to walk her little web-footed daughter to the meadow to splash around in the stream. Over time, Anatra grew into a beautiful wild Duck, but Fiorentina still kept her daughter close. Anatra had a taste for fine clothes and Fiorentina would often have to shoo her webbed feet off of wedding dresses and evening gowns. However, the seamstress had enough work to do — mostly mending and altering — that Anatra found moments to sneak away.
“Early one morning, a wealthy young man, gun in hand, trudged through the mist hovering over the meadow. With careful, quiet footsteps, he came to the copse of Spruce where he had built a perch to keep a hunter’s eye on the meadow. He had only just settled himself there when the thin strands of dawn shone down on a Duck, flapping wildly and dragging a dress right into the copse below him. The whole affair seemed so bizarre that the hunter forgot all about his gun as he watched the Duck shake the feathers off of herself until she stood, bare to the world, and slid on the dress she had brought with her. Then, oblivious of her audience, the Duck maiden began to dance to the music in her heart that only she seemed to hear.
“The young man sat still as the hunter he was, just watching, and presently, the Duck maiden’s silent song ended. She undressed, squatted over the pile of her feathers, and shook them back into place until she became a Duck once more. She left the Spruce copse and the meadow the same way she had come, flapping wildly and dragging the dress from her bill. Stealthily, the young man climbed down from his perch and followed the Duck maiden at a distance. He took careful note of the humble house she entered.
“He returned later that day and asked the seamstress if he could buy her Duck.
“‘Oh, no,’ said Fiorentina. ‘My Anatra is not for sale. She is much too dear to my heart.’
“The young man offered her more money, but still she refused, and the more he offered, the more Fiorentina tried to usher him out of her door. However, this young man had grown up in a house where he learned early on that the one with the power in the relationship always got his way. He might try asking nicely, but if that did not get his desired result, then he would have no other choice than to use force. ‘No’ was never a valid answer.
“Therefore, the young man turned to threats, which frightened the steadfast seamstress. He did not get what he wanted, however, until the Duck in question waddled into the room. The young man shoved Fiorentina out of his way and snatched Anatra, quacking and flapping, from her home.
“Upon returning to his own, much larger and finer house, the young man, who was called Theseus, had a bed made up for Anatra the Duck on the floor beside his own. Then he set about purchasing all the fine clothes, jewelry, and makeup a woman could want.
“After arranging them all on a table in the room, Theseus announced that he was going to a fancy party that evening and he left the address on the table beside the dresses. As soon as he was gone, Anatra shook out of her feathers and began trying on each of the dresses in turn, along with the dazzling jewelry. Eventually, she settled on her favorite combination and applied the make up as best she could.
“The young man’s hired driver was a busy man that night, for as soon as he delivered Master Theseus to his party, he was sent back to fetch a mysterious young woman. The driver had barely parked the car at the party when the young Master wanted a ride home and then back again to the party. The driver was able to sneak in a little nap as the party dragged on into the night, but he was woken up by the strange young woman who wanted a ride back to Master Theseus’ house. Then, of course, he had to go and fetch the young man himself. To be sure, the driver slept well that night, once he finally reached his own bed.
“Anatra had spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening wining, dining, and dancing with the young man who had stolen her from home. She had never spent so much time as a maiden in her life. Yawning but smiling, Anatra removed the dress and jewelry, and washed her face. But when she walked over to the basket where she had left her feathers, they were gone - every last one. She tore the man’s room apart looking for her lost feathers, but to no avail. At last, chilled from her heart to her bare skin, she sunk down by the embers in the hearth and wept. There, at last, she found a single feather, but the moment she touched it, it crumbled into ash.”
“No!” cries Spirit. “I don’t know what I would do if someone were to burn my feathers. I wouldn’t be myself anymore.”
Raven and The Old Woman exchange a glance, both recalling the same memory. “True,” says The Old Woman. “Raven was never quite the same after his long, white tail caught fire.”
Raven shudders. “I felt so exposed.”
“That’s how Anatra felt as well. She wasn’t just naked; she lost a vital part of herself.
“A little while later, Theseus returned with a grin on his face, fancying himself a hero who had rescued a beautiful maiden in distress. In his mind, he was the prince who found and freed the enchanted princess from the evil witch. So, he was surprised to find her weeping, naked, by the fire. Not knowing what else to do, he swept her up into his arms and into his bed. They were married soon thereafter.
“At first, Anatra, bereft of her feathers, embraced the distractions of her new life. She could no longer remember her life before Theseus. So, she dressed in fancy clothes, painted her face, and cavorted with her wealthy husband and his friends. For his part, Theseus affectionately shortened her name to ‘Ana,’ and he worked to dazzle his bride so that she would forget all about her feathers and his culpability in burning them.
“During those years, Fiorentina still walked to the meadow, but now she wept with worry and from the loneliness of having lost her beloved daughter. She wondered why Anatra never came home, and she feared for the Duck maiden’s safety. One day, she noticed the wild Duck with a new brood of ducklings splashing in the meadow stream.
“‘Holy Mother,’ Fiorentina whispered, ‘I fear the daughter you gifted me is in danger. Please help me to find her and free her from harm.’
“The wild Duck mother, who was still the Bird Goddess, led her brood into the shelter of the tall Grasses and Cow Parsnip on the far side of the stream, leaving something floating behind her. Fiorentina saw it and she trudged through the meadow to find out what it was. A single Duck feather floated on the surface and she pulled it out just as the water swirled it in her direction.
“The moment Fiorentina touched the feather, she saw a vision of what she must do to help her daughter.
“Back at Theseus’ house, Ana sat down to paint her face, but her hand faltered. She thought about all of the compliments people had paid her since she had arrived. Everyone said she was beautiful, but looking in her mirror, she wondered what they would say if they saw her just as she was, without adornment… She shook herself from her musings. She had a dinner to host, after all.
“However, that simple question opened a forgotten place inside her, a place that felt as hollow as a Duck’s bones. She played her part as hostess, but as the night wore on, she lost her taste for food, and even more so for the company. At last, she stole a moment away from the dinner party and slipped outside onto the patio. She hadn’t realized how stifled she felt until she took her first gulp of air, and then another, and another, trying to fill that hollow place inside her.
“Movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked down to see a Duck feather beside her foot. She bent down and the moment she picked it up, a memory rose to her mind like a champagne bubble. For the first time in years, she remembered her mother.
“‘Ana, what are you doing out here?’ her husband asked, joining her on the patio.
“Instinctively, Ana held the feather out of sight as she turned to face him. ‘I just needed a breath of fresh air.’
“‘Our guests are asking for you,’ he intoned in that silky way that always made her feel as if she had done something wrong. ‘You mustn’t keep them waiting.’
“Ana let her husband lead her back inside, but she tucked the feather into the bodice of her dress, right beside her skin.
“After the party, Ana hid the feather under her side of the mattress, and that night, she dreamt she was dancing, dressed in a gown covered in feathers. She swirled and twirled until she lifted up off of the floor, dancing on air. When she awoke the next morning, Ana knew what she needed to do.
“She searched the house for scissors, needle, and thread, but aside from a pair of kitchen shears, she found nothing with which she could sew herself a dress. After discovering Ana’s memory had been damaged when he burned her feathers, Theseus had made sure to rid the house of anything that might trigger memories of her life before him. Sewing implements and anything feathered were the first items to go.
“In frustration, Ana flung open the doors to the patio where she had found the feather the previous night. Tucked at the edge of the grass, she found a simple box she had never seen before. Opening it, she caught a whiff of her forgotten mother and discovered a sewing kit inside.
“With the box in hand, Ana raced to her closet where, stashed in the back were her old dresses she had tired of or torn. From the discarded fabrics of her life she cut the pieces of a new dress. All too soon, Theseus returned home. Somehow, Ana felt that to share her project with him would be like popping a bubble, so she kept her silence and tucked her sewing kit and the feather into the back of her closet with the old dresses.
“After that first day, whenever her husband left the house on some business or other, Ana worked on sewing her patchwork dress together. With every stitch, another memory of life with her mother returned. Through the memories, Anatra’s mother called her name and taught her how to sew.
“Cutting the cloth of the old dresses and stitching them together into the shape of a new one was only the beginning of Anatra’s work, however. She had yet to find the feathers to stitch onto the dress. At first, she found Duck feathers stashed just outside her door. Each day, Anatra would find a feather a step farther from the house until eventually, she had to leave the property to find the feathers her mother left in secret.
“One evening, Theseus came home as Anatra was changing out of her rain-soaked clothes into dry ones.
“‘You know, Ana,’ he said as nonchalantly as he could, ‘We have a driver who can take you anywhere you want to go.’
“‘I know,’ Anatra replied. ‘I didn’t want to go anywhere in particular, just for a walk.’
“‘In the rain?’ he asked disdainfully, to mask the fear swelling in his chest.
“‘It was refreshing,’ Anatra explained, also trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. She sensed he would not approve of her feather searches.
“On his way home another day, Theseus found Anatra climbing out of the ditch beside the road that led to their house.
“‘Get in the car, Ana,’ he growled at her. Sensing the danger of his anger, she did as he said.
“After that, Theseus renewed his efforts to seduce and distract her. He scheduled parties and dinners for every evening. He bought her more dresses and jewelry. He brought her flowers and complimented her beauty. He did everything that had worked when he first brought her home, but nothing eased the feeling that she was slipping away from him.
“She barely spoke to him anymore, and turned away from him in bed. She wouldn’t wear the fine dresses he gave her, only plain, simple clothes, and no makeup or jewelry. She made excuses to avoid the parties, or to leave early. She was changing, and so their relationship was changing, and the power he had always held over her was dissipating like fog on a sunny day. No one had ever taught him how to navigate such shifting and so he fell back on what he had learned. He grasped his precious Ana ever tighter, for she belonged to him. He had saved her from that witch who kept her trapped as a Duck. He had set her free.
“Anatra felt her husband’s fist clench around her and she knew her time was short. Soon, he would find her feather dress and throw it in the fire like he had burned her original feathers. She began at the hems and stitched upward and inward, toward where the dress would hang over her heart. She stitched in the middle of the night while her husband slept, or when he was at work, or in the bathroom, or whenever she could slip away early from a party, feigning a headache. She sewed fervently until her fingertips ached and her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep.
“Everything came to a head one night. Anatra and her husband went to a party, but each slipped out separately. Her husband made it home before Anatra. She saw him tearing apart her closet, but all he found was the remains of the old dresses she had cut up. This time, she knew not to leave her feathers lying about where anyone could find them.
“Anatra raced out of the room, out of the house, tearing her clothes off as she ran. Hearing her footsteps, Theseus gave chase, calling, ‘Ana! Ana!’.
“‘My name is Anatra!’ she called back. Out on the lawn, she pulled her almost-finished dress over her head. In an instant, she was a wild Duck once more, but with one bare patch over her heart, where she had not yet sewn the last of the feathers. That patch of bare skin would forever remind her of what it had cost to lose herself, but for now, she needed to run and to flap her wings until she lifted up, up, up into the night. Theseus grabbed at her, but missed.”
Spirit lets out a strangled cry. “Raven! don’t pull so hard - you’re choking me!”
Raven lets go of the yarn he is tugging. “Sorry. The story got exciting.”
The Old Woman eases a finger under the yarn Raven has inadvertently tightened around Spirit’s neck and loosens it. She continues, “Theseus was not ready to give up just yet, though, and he drove back to the meadow where he had first seen Anatra, shedding her feathers and dancing under the Spruces.
“They all met in the gloaming just before dawn: Anatra, Theseus, Fiorentina, and the Bird Goddess tucked into the wild Duck.
“Theseus saw Anatra land in the stream. He knew he could never catch her out in the open meadow where she could see him coming and had all the sky to fly off into. So instead, he raced over and grabbed Anatra’s mother, holding her arms behind her back. In general, he did not like to use force, but when he could not get what he wanted by any smoother method, well then, it was the last tool left to him.
“As he had hoped, it got Anatra to shed her feathers. She stepped out of her dress and marched across the meadow, bare as the dawn.
“‘Leave my mother alone!’
“‘She’s not your mother. She’s a witch who trapped you as a Duck!’” Theseus declared triumphantly, as if revealing the culprit of a crime mystery.
“‘She is my mother,” Anatra insisted, “who birthed me as an egg in a women’s mystery you cannot dissect to understand.’
“‘But I saved you from her,’ Theseus persists, but doubt and confusion creep in at the edges of his mind.
“‘No. You stole me from my mother and from myself,” Anatra accused. “You numbed and distracted me so that I would not realize that you kept me locked in a gilded cage. I was born a wild creature and you stole that from me when you burned my feathers.’
“She steps toward him in all her naked strength and power. ‘Let my mother go. I left because you tried to own me, but no one can own another living being. Life isn’t meant to be a contest of power that pits one person against another. That hollowness you feel inside is like a Duck’s bone. No one else can fill it except the life force of your own blood. Money and parties and I cannot fill the emptiness you feel inside.’
“As Anatra spoke, her mother stood still in Theseus’ grasp. She felt when his attention left her for Anatra, and his hold loosened ever so slightly. The longer Anatra spoke, the more his hands relaxed until she could slip from him and walk to her daughter. Fiorentina wrapped her coat around the naked young woman beside her and turned to face the man with the lost, bereft look in his eyes.
“The wild Duck waddled forward, growing in size until she stood taller than any of the Humans. The power of her divinity humbled everyone who sensed her presence.
“‘You were born as wild as my Ducklings,’ the Bird Goddess told Theseus, ‘but the ones who raised you stole your wildness from you at birth. You can find yourself again, just as Anatra did, but you will have to let go of everything you think you know about yourself and the world. The answer lies at your feet.’
“Theseus looked down to see a single, glossy feather sticking up out of the grass.
“‘Cut up your old shirts and sew yourself a new one,’ the Bird Goddess explained. ‘After you have done that, walk in the wild places and seek the feathers to stitch onto your shirt, one by one. By the time you have found and sewn enough feathers to cover your whole shirt, then that hollow place inside you will be filled, and you will be made anew.’”
“‘I - I don’t know how to sew,” Theseus stammered, not knowing what else to say. He felt inane, minuscule, in the Bird Goddess’ presence, and yet, somehow, entirely loved.
“‘If you want, Mother and I can teach you,’ Anatra offered. ‘But you will come to our house, here by the meadow. And you must swear never to steal anything again.”
“Did he sew the shirt?” asks Spirit, flapping free of the the last of the colored yarns.
“That is yet to be seen,” The Old Woman answers as slowly as she winds the green ball of yarn in her hands. “The powerful chafe at humbling themselves, even when Life depends upon it, but we can always hope. Moreover, Anatra could remember living as her wild self, but Theseus had no such memories. Even though he had experienced being the powerless one in his parents’ house, his life had worked for him until Anatra recalled herself. He will have to trust that what the Bird Goddess promised is worth changing for.”
“He should leave the Duck feathers for the women,” comments Raven, “and look for Raven feathers for himself!”
The Old Woman chuckles. “Yes, your mother fared well as a Duck.”
“She stayed safe,” Raven agrees, “But being a Raven is much more fun!”
S’ikshaldeen (TSIK shal deen) is the Tlingit name of the plant known in English as Labrador Tea or Hudson Bay Tea.
This is in reference to a Tlingit story of Raven’s birth. I came across this tale just as I was finishing this story, and trying to get into the spirit of Raven to write his part.
While all of the stories told in this video are worthy, the specific story of Raven’s birth begins at 28:30.