Ferns grow there in that place as if it is the first moment of their universe. His bones are an eye through which the spirit is looking.

The people are waiting, their faces like open questions. No, Thomas thinks, they are answers to questions not yet even asked.

They bring him inside into the old warmth and he sees the stones carved with spirals. A fire burns. He sees animals in the flames, as if he has walked into another world. He watches the fire. Sea animals. A red otter, an orange seal. Land animals, the forest deer coming from the woods where they hide. A candle burns.

Old as some of them are, the people are still alive in the body, laughing, talking, sweating. They are people who lived through the starving times, the treaty-making times. And then they watched the last humiliating kill of the whale.

And then they were completely silent, even the man with the hurt foot.

They live near the wall. A stone wall. It has a whale carved into it and the whale is giving birth to a human. It is their ancestor. There are no names of humans on the wall. Few people know it is there. Even fewer are allowed to go there. When Thomas was a boy the old ones took Ruth and him to that stone wall and told them about the mother of life and all that followed. After the whale, the octopus in all its intelligence was next in the line of creation, then the salmon, Ruth’s clan; a spiral, and then the other constellations.

They have already made a place for him as if they knew he’d arrive. But first they set down a cup of coffee. He sits on a stone which is warm from the fire. “Starbucks,” the old woman says.

He smiles at her. “Thank you.” He thinks it’s funny and he sips the coffee, trying not to laugh.

“They tell me you put up a wall,” she says.

“I have taken it down and burned the wood.”

“Good. You have gained some weight since your return. That’s good. I knew your grandfather. I was younger than he was, of course. You are like him. He was always so quiet.”

Thomas only nods. Inside himself the voices have stopped. He feels clear. It is right that he is there.

As if responding to his thoughts, she says, “We called you here. This is your home. You were born here. Did you know that? It was the time of the octopus. Then your mother went back across to be with her mother and she showed you to that octopus. It’s your clan, you know. There are not many left. But we delivered you. And boy, what a head of hair you had, and we all said, ‘He’s so big!’ We love you, son. This is your home. You came back like the salmon come back. We wanted you. We sang for you. We called for you. That is why you came.”