Chapter 7

Hairy

Sleep wouldn’t come ... there was the little problem with anatomy, I was rock hard ... and bigger than life ... my last life. The girls noticed.

“Oh ... he’s awake,” said the younger sister.

“Of course, I’m awake,” I said.

“Well, you’ve been ... reluctant. And mean about it,” said first wife.

“We’ve been wondering...” said the younger. She was tentative in sliding lower. I liked the direction she was taking. Promising.

“Spring? Look what I found,” she said to her sister.

“Be careful,” Spring said,” You know how sore it’s been.”

“Sore? As in painful? I’ve been ignoring you both?”

“Well, yes,” said the younger, she found her target, “Spring Meadow ... he didn’t slap me ... come down here.”

Spring burrowed under the robe. A second set of fingers found...

The buffalo robe suddenly heaved up and two heads appeared at the edge.

“You grew!” they said like sisters. “Is that why it’s been sore?”

The robe was jerked away. The evidence was plainly seen.

“Ooh,” the second wife asked, “Can I try it? I promise to stop if it’s painful.”

Reading about the fur trade era had me convinced that two wives were expensive ... but if a warrior did have two ... it was best if they were sisters; the elder was boss and that settled any wifely arguments.

Since I had two wives and a large lodge I had to have some kind of status. I must be a very good hunter ... two wives eat a lot and they’re always wanting things ... new skins, cowrie shells, elk teeth ... status symbols.

Two obvious beauties meant the males probably resented me. So ... I must be somebody; head hunter? War chief? I was absolutely too young to be the headman.

My reading had obvious benefits ... ask the wives ... after they wake up. In the morning the neighbors were up and about. When I tossed back the door flap ... I wouldn’t call it applause ... they didn’t do that ... but, approbation was absolutely present. And I did get a few speculative looks from the recent crop of new women. Women tend to gang up on a good thing and I had done a good thing.

From the men ... it was a mixed bag. A few looked pissed, but those were the few who had unhappy wives. Since I was new in this body I had no idea what was normal in their relationships ... but I knew one thing for sure ... if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

A group of younger married males surrounded me.

The obvious spokesman said, “What did You do?”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, Enquiring minds want to know ... and since my wife can’t or won’t ask you, I got the job.”

Every man in the group nodded, “Yes ... what did you do?” “You woke the village.” And several other requests delving into the in’s and out’s of last night during the storm.

“Umh, ask the girls.”

“We can’t do that. So we’re asking you.”

The door flapped back and two Very Happy girls emerged, elbowed their way through us lowly males and waddled over to the fire where the women were group cooking breakfast.

The waddle was a dead give-away.

Pretty soon, all the women at the cookout turned and looked in our direction. Except ... the married women weren’t looking at their husbands ... they were looking at me. My wives began talking again and were the center of attention. They said something and then nodded. I got the group look again. Eye contact, even.

There was a little puff of smoke and the smell of burnt meat drew their attention. One by one the women left the cooking fire and made some shy or blatant move which had the result of our group of men decreasing by one with each signal.

The wife made sure her husband noticed and then sauntered to their lodge.

“See you later ... the wife...” and assorted variations on the theme drew off the excuser.

Soon ... my girls were doing all the cooking for the whole tribe ... I noticed a lot of moving pots and stones away from the main fire and the ground grain with berries were cooked a lot longer than usual. The rest of the day there seemed to be fewer men talking ... but it was never the same men. And there was a lot of coyotes howling ... and during the day, no less.