Fall 1961 • Vol. XXIII No. 4 FictionOctober 1, 1961 |

Hanging Hair

The old woman lived in a crumpled shack on the high cliffdown past the river where the wind came in strong from the end of the ocean and bent the green ocean bush back from the cliff so that the leaves hung in loose shreds over the land. She was a very gentle old woman and the Indians called her Hanging Hair. Even before father had moved to Teahwit and set up a store for the Indians, we had heard of her. The Indians who occasionally came to New Royal, the white town about twenty miles inland where father had another store before he went broke, would talk about her. They thought she was a spirit. "Bosh!" my mother would say. "There ain't no spirits 'cept one." My mother didn't like the Indians. She thought they stole tobacco and things like that from the store, and so, when father said we were going to move down to an Indian village on the coast, mother was very mad and at night I could hear her shouting at father and much later crying herself to sleep. After we came to Teahw

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