Other Worlds Were Possible, page 12
That sound, created by blowing through a ram’s horn, was the signal for the tribes-folk to advance. Everyone reacted, almost instinctively; perhaps because they had done this so many times before, or perhaps because they had become a machine; a singular entity, propelled by its own momentum.
They jogged in a slow and steady fashion.
It took quite some time before Sunny saw the herd. And even then, he did not make a sound. His peers were still silent. Who was he to act alone?
The antelope were clearly aware of the humans who had surrounded them. The tribes-folk were an obvious presence; holding their weapons in their right hands, whilst using their left hands to grip their neighbour. But those animals did not seem overly concerned. The hunters were a good distance away. They had slowed to a walking pace. The antelope maintained their distance, meandering towards the cliffs, without feeling a need to panic.
A young antelope bolted, and the others gave chase.
The tribes-folk responded; pursuing their prey, whilst attempting to maintain the cordon. They might have gone faster, but their pace was set by the tribe’s slowest members; a few of the older adults, a man with dwarfism, and a woman who had Down syndrome.
The buff antelope ran beyond the limits of the cordon.
The fastest sprinters, positioned at either end of the line, sprinted free of their peers. They were not as quick as their targets, but they held out their spears and maintained a steady formation, whilst the antelope veered from left to right; zig following zag following zig.
The antelope screeched to a halt, as soon as they reached the clifftop. Their hooves clung to the ground, causing their torsos to overshoot their legs. The momentum almost carried them over.
The tribes-folk closed in, encroaching a single step at a time. Now they had reassembled. Now they had closed the gaps. Now they had squeezed in so tight, half the hunters were forced to move back.
A single voice called out to the valley:
“Are you in position?”
“Yes!”
“Yes!”
“Almost… Wait for it… Yes!”
The first voice counted down:
“Three… Two… One…”
On what would have been the count of “Zero”, the hunters burst into motion; dashing towards their prey, waving their weapons, and screaming at the top of their lungs.
It was electrifying. Sunny was both petrified and invigorated. Scared of the sound, which was primaeval, hellish, infernal and raw. And buoyed by the adrenaline of the chase; that fight-or-flight impulse, which accompanied every hunt, and which would surely secure them the food they needed to survive.
Sunny hurried ahead at a pace which put undue pressure on his gangly frame. His lanky legs struggled to find the space they required, pinned in too closely beneath his smallish stomach. He almost stumbled each time his feet made contact with the ground. His chest overshot his hips, or lurched backwards, or swayed from side to side.
He froze, stopping dead in his tracks, as everyone else rushed by.
Sunny had been paralysed by a sudden bolt of empathy. He was making eye contact with a lone animal; a creature who, like himself, was neither a child nor an adult, but somewhere in between. He felt that antelope’s fear; surrounded by an onrushing army, with nowhere left to run; aware that its final moments were upon it, that there would be no escape, no hope, just the deep dark call of the abyss.
As that creature turned from the spear which was darting towards its head, Sunny felt an urge to turn. As that creature tumbled over the ledge, Sunny tumbled to the ground. And as he heard the hunters below, stabbing the animal through, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest.
***
The camp fizzed with tension.
The previous night, they had shared what little food the elders and adolescents had found: A few fish, a decent amount of fruit, and a small number of leafy vegetables. Some of the clans had eaten the food which remained from their journeys. But the others had called on the Dog Clan to sacrifice their goats.
Each time such a proposal was made, the Dog Clan protested; casting the single vote required for the motion to fall. They were offered the first share of the tribe’s hunt, extra meat, and all the hides they could carry. But still they voted “No”. They said they might reconsider the request after a few more days, but they did not wish to be rushed.
Most of the tribes-folk accepted their decision. The Dog Clan had caught, domesticated, bred, fed and transported those goats. They retained the right to decide their fate.
But a few individuals were so hungry, their stomachs had overpowered their sense of duty to the tribe. They had stolen a goat, led it beyond the pyramids, killed it, and roasted it at what they supposed was a safe distance.
They would have gone unnoticed, had the wind not changed direction. But the wind did change direction. The smoke wafted back towards the camp, and the Shark Clan was sent to investigate. They found the perpetrators, returned them to the Sacred Circle, bound them to the wooden posts, and beat them with a branch. When they were done, they rounded up the other members of their clans, and caned them as well. They were considered responsible, because they had failed to control their peers.
By the time the Shark Clan had finished, their victims’ backs were drizzled with blood. The mood was sombre. There was a collective acceptance that their behaviour had been wrong, and that a protection had to be performed. But the spectacle had left a bitter taste. The tribes-folk were unused to rough justice, even here in the Big Camp. So they remained a little shaken, even though they knew there would be no repeat of the previous night’s events. The tribes-folk had killed three-hundred antelope, enough to feed them for twenty or thirty days.
Sunny washed his hands in a pile of intestines, and sat down to eat some food. He stared into the fire, whilst thinking about that caning, and about that poor creature, who had looked at him with such fear; as if to say, “Spare me, I’m just like you.”
Did the meat he was eating come from that same creature? It seemed unlikely, but it remained a possibility. What right did they have to take that animal’s life?
Sensing Sunny’s pain, Hope squatted down by his side. It was the first time she had approached him in days.
She did not speak. Perhaps she could not find the right words. Or perhaps she had understood that no words were needed.
She took Sunny’s hand; an act which inspired his legs to spasm. He dropped a chunk of meat, threw his arms around his lover, and held her tight; whilst their clans-folk finished their meals, and whilst several returned for another serving.
Sunny felt the warmth of Hope’s love. Her embrace heated him from within. But he also felt vulnerable. This woman retained the power to lift him up, and the power to dump him down. She had avoided him for days. She might do so again.
He came to a sharp realisation: It was not good for him to be so emotionally dependent on a single individual. Hope had other men to whom she could turn, whenever it took her fancy. Sunny required a similar society of lovers.
The following day, he searched for the person he still called “The lad”; finally finding him in an abandoned cave, at the far end of the cliff. That young man was dancing with his kinfolk, performing a ritual to honour their ancestors.
The lad introduced himself, saying he was called Beetle, before explaining his clan’s traditions: The Eel Clan honoured their ancestors, just like everyone else in the tribe. They lay their dead to rest in a tomb; a tradition which was practised by a few other clans. What marked them apart, was the way in which they decorated those corpses with bracelets and headbands.
Anyone who died during a full moon, was given the special treatment. Their bodies were adorned with headdresses encrusted with teeth, and topped off with a pair of antlers. The members of the Eel Clan danced for these lucky totems, each time the Big Camp convened. They gifted them with flowers, and asked for their protection.
Usually, the Eel Clan only performed these ceremonies a few times a season. But they had been visiting their tomb once a day, ever since Serenity had made his speech; chanting affirmations, and striking yoga-like poses; imploring their ancestors to protect them from the Wogies.
Beetle took Sunny by the hand, and led him to a newer, more secluded cave. The cavern they had used before, had been filled with antelope. Their carcasses were being stored in that cool dark place, to stave off decay.
Beetle and Sunny repeated their previous encounter.
Sunny still struggled to explain the sensation. It was nice to be held; to share an intimate embrace with another person. The moment of release felt pretty divine. But he could not form a full erection, no matter how hard he tried. His stomach did not react to Beetle in the way it reacted to Hope. It did not spin, or whizz, or whirl. The whole experience was fairly nice, and that was good enough. But it was not spectacular. It was not life-affirming. It was not divine.
***
Beetle and Sunny met up in that cave, every day or two, for almost an entire lunar-cycle. They appreciated each other’s company. They enjoyed each other’s touch. And they both felt a need to escape from the throng of the camp.
That cave was their sanctuary; a place where they could be alone. Until one afternoon, when their solitude was interrupted…
Three condescending tuts reverberated around the cave:
Tut. Long pause. Tut. Longer pause. Tut.
Those tuts turned into echoes, which transformed into a series of disembodied words:
“You shall not lie with a male as with a female.… Leviticus Eighteen… If a man lies with a man as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death… Leviticus Twenty.”
Sunny had recognised all the words apart from “Leviticus”. But the speech seemed laboured, as though the speaker was taking special care to select each individual word, before considering the next. And there was something else: The tone. It was drenched in condescension. Whoever was speaking, was standing in an elevated position, raining down words from above, drenching his speech in spittle and scorn:
“The unrighteous will not inherit the Kingdom of God. Don’t be deceived! Neither the sexually immoral, the idolaters, the adulterers, the homosexuals, the thieves, the gluttons, the drunkards, the foul-mouthed, nor the swindlers, will inherit the Kingdom of God. Flee from sexual immorality! Every other sin a person commits is outside the body. But the homosexual sins against his own body!
“Don’t you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, gifted to you by God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body… Corinthians Six.”
That voice! It was making his head pulsate.
In the first place, he did not appreciate the interruption. Sex was supposed to be a private affair. Who was this man to intercede? And, in the second place, why was it any of his business? Sunny had not done anything wrong.
Yet that voice had an effect which Sunny could not shrug. Sunny felt… He had to pause before he could define the emotion which was tickling the gaps between his fingers. He thought it might be regret. But why? He had not harmed another person… It could have been remorse. But he quickly dismissed the notion. Why should he feel remorse? He was the innocent victim of an unwanted intrusion… No. It was something else: Shame. Sunny felt ashamed of what he had done; not for any rational reason, but simply because this man had made him feel ashamed. And he felt hatred: Hatred for this man, with his patronising voice, which had generated this negative emotion.
Sunny leapt to his feet, still naked, and bounded towards the exit.
Now he was blinded by the whiteness of light. Now he saw the silhouette of a man. Now he formed a fist. Now he pulled his elbow behind his shoulder. And now he froze.
His soles pressed into the dust, and his muscles turned to stone.
The man in question looked even more peculiar than he sounded. Sunny had been in little doubt before. The man had spoken the tribe’s language. He could have been an exile, like Hunter. He could have been a member of their own tribe. Or he could have been a multilingual member of a neighbouring tribe. But no! This man did not only sound different, he looked different too. He was dressed from head-to-toe in a strange black cloth. A cross-shaped piece of wood hung from a cord around his neck. And his skin was pinkish-red. It did not feature a single tattoo.
This man was not like them. He was not like Hunter. He did not even look like the explorers they had met in the desert. His tone was condescending, yet his appearance was comely. His posture was stiff, yet he had a kindly face. Sunny still wanted to thump the man, but he could not bring himself to do it. What threat did he pose? All he had was his words. And his words were a complete and utter shambles.
Sunny returned to get his loincloth, dressed, and tutted in the manner that this man had tutted at him.
He departed without a second glance.
***
Several days rolled by, before Sunny saw that man again.
In the meantime, he had sex with both Hope and Beetle. He took part in several hunts, two of which were successful. He helped to paint a mural, which depicted their encounter with the Wogies. He carved patterns into the posts which formed the Sacred Circle. And he transformed an antelope horn into beads.
Sunny was not an especially proficient artist. He spent more time chatting than doing anything productive. But he assisted the more talented artisans, whenever they asked for help; sharpening chisels, mixing paints, and heaving columns into position. It was a social affair. Sunny did his bit.
The next time he saw the stranger was only in passing. That man was using one of the tribe’s communal toilets; a deep pit, surrounded by a banana-leaf wall, and covered with two bamboo planks. Toilet-goers sat on those slats, and pooped through the gap in-between.
Sunny could not stop himself from staring. Nor could he stop himself from investigating that man’s stool. He had expected it to be pinkish white, to match the stranger’s skin. But he was surprised to discover that it was the same as his own; tubular, stinky and brown.
If Sunny had been unsure before, there could be denying it now. Despite this person’s appearance, he was not an ancestor. Ancestors did not poop. This man really was a human. He cleaned his anus with a cloth, instead of using water, which seemed rather unhygienic. But he had an anus, which meant he must have been real.
***
The third time he saw that stranger, a few days later, Sunny was back on the banks of the Grand Meeting Place. He was choking on the smoke; bored with the representatives, who were planning another hunt.
Sunny was keen for these formalities to evolve into storytelling, and then into a kind of party. Griots, such as Sparrow, were usually given the chance to tell a tale or two, once the discussions were done. It would not be long before they broke into song. Sunny had brought a flute, so he could play along. Members of the other clans had brought a variety of instruments, the likes of which Sunny only ever heard whilst he was here in this pop-up city. Together, they would form an orchestra, whose music was improving with each passing night. The people who did not play, might begin to dance. Others might mix things up; playing a little, singing a little, and dancing a little; changing tact whenever it took their fancy.
But such festivities would have to wait.
The tribe’s meal had been delayed by a rainstorm, this meeting had not begun until everyone had received some food, and it was already getting late. Five stars were twinkling, intermittently; as though competing for attention, or trying to convey a message. The sky was navy. The sky was mauve. The sky was black.
Bored of the representatives, Sunny had allowed his mind to wander; to distant places, and events in the distant past; when the arena fell into a static hush. That hush was so coercive, it clasped Sunny’s shoulders and shook him to attention.
That alien was here in the open, halfway around the Sacred Circle.
A few people gasped, presumably because they had never seen anything like it. Others tutted. Perhaps they had also been accosted, in much the same way as Sunny. Word had begun to spread of a series of similar encounters. Some people had rejected the talk of the “Red Man” in their midst. Others feared the bad omens he might bring. A few people were excited at the prospect of encountering such an exotic individual.
Now here he was, adorned in the same body-cloth, and wearing that same peculiar smile; that look which was almost smug, almost righteous, almost patronising; but not quite any of these things, or anything else which Sunny was able to describe. To Sunny, that man could only be defined by his otherness, which blurred his physical features. And anyway, there was really no need to describe his face. If you had called him the “Red Man”, everyone would have known who you meant. This person was one of a kind.
The silence rippled around the arena; rustling the leaves, which had not been heard since this meeting began, and crackling the fire, which simmered beneath the remains of a few antelope.
Bear opened her chest to the visitor:
“Ah, esteemed brother: We’ve been awaiting your appearance… Come, do tell. We’ve been told that your people believe this land is their land. That they intend to spray leaden fire, and send us back to our ancestral forests.”
The Red Man narrowed his eyes, crossed himself, and smiled; projecting his words without deigning to raise his voice:
“Firstly, allow me to thank you for your hospitality, and for this opportunity to speak. My name is Father Ralph. I’m a missionary from the Christian Church, here to spread the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ.
“I shall answer your first question with a single word: ‘Yes’. We’ve already claimed this land. But please don’t be offended. Whilst we’re small in number, we’ve conquered bigger territories than this. We’ve vanquished far larger tribes than your own. For we serve the one true God… Amen to that!… Our God is divine; all-powerful and all-knowing. With him on our side, your tribe never stood a chance.
“You ask if we wish to kill you?
