Other Worlds Were Possible, page 25
That night, they held a meeting.
Dawn said they should leave, because it was the right thing to do. Dusk disagreed. He said they should leave to pre-empt the Dog Clan, who were about to chase them away. The clans-folk looked to Dawn, to Dusk, and back to Dawn; awaiting a debate that never came.
The vote was unanimous.
They re-gifted their hosts the spear they still owed, following their exchange at the Big Camp. They gave them a set of arrows, as compensation for the dead birds. And the Dog Clan gifted them a pot, to re-establish a debt.
They rubbed noses, nuzzled cheeks, went to sleep, awoke, and departed before the onset of dawn.
HELL’S BELLS
The clans-folk cruised the scrublands alone, drifting towards their former home, without ever discussing the matter.
Starvation snuck up on them again. Long gone were the times when a youngster might recoil at the idea of eating a snake. They would have devoured that delicacy twice, if only they were given the chance; consuming it with their eyes, before consuming it with their teeth.
But such meat proved elusive. The clans-folk had little choice but to eat insects; their only source of protein.
This did not require a large adjustment. The members of their clan had always eaten caterpillars and crickets. They had conversed with different clans, who ate an array of creepy crawlies. So they possessed the knowledge they needed to adapt to their new situation.
Termite mounds were a treat. A couple of infants always ran towards those earthy pyramids, whenever they came into view. They need not have rushed. Those mounds, which could be taller than an adult, took quite some time to harvest. The clans-folk had to fashion pipes from clayish mud, attach one end of those pipes to each of the mound’s entrances, and place the other end in their pot. They sang, with improvised lyrics, to maintain their spirits. And they drummed out a beat with a chooketty-hooketty rhythm; hitting the mound with their spears, at breathtaking speed, to mimic the sound of rain. This encouraged the termites to wake up, exit their home, proceed through the pipes, and fall into the pot.
They were happy to eat those insects whilst they were still alive; opening their mouths and dropping them into the chasm. Sometimes they cooked them in hot ashes. Sometimes they turned them into a stew.
The children ate first, then the elders, and then the other adults.
They did not only eat termites…
They harvested locusts almost every night; shaking them from the trees in which they slept, before collecting them off the ground. Lots of clans ate locusts, dubbing them the “Prawns of the sky”, because they contained so many nutrients.
On a couple of occasions, they came across hives filled with stingless bees. A few adventurous souls removed them from their trees, or dug them up from beneath the earth. They returned the brood to its rightful place, but retained the small brown spheres which contained the actual honey. Everyone ate that nectar together; squeezing it from those pods, before savouring its tangy flavour.
The members of the clan still gathered whatever plants they could find. They consumed a great array of moringa, ferns and nettles. It was never enough to sate their hunger, but it was enough to keep them alive, day after day, until they reached their former home…
***
They had never intended to return. But, now that they were here, they did not intend to leave. This was their land; their soil, their air, their birthright. Its lure was overwhelming.
Even if they had wished to leave, they were in no fit state to do so, because of a couple of events which occurred soon after their arrival: Hope had given birth. And then Sparrow had died.
The post-mortem was most peculiar. The clans-folk could not find any reason for Sparrow to have stepped into the ancestral realm. He was old, this much was true. But he was healthy. He had not been sick, or displayed any symptoms, since recovering from the shock which had floored him in the desert.
Sunny’s mother gave voice to the unthinkable:
“Could he… No… Could he… Could he have died of hunger?”
The clans-folk had never known anything of the sort. People had been born dead. They had been killed in wars and raids. They had died of diseases. They had been eaten by evil spirits, crocodilians and snakes. Sparrow’s niece had died after eating poisonous berries. One of their aunts had fallen off a cliff and tumbled to her death. But starvation? It was a ridiculous notion. And yet no-one could think of a better explanation.
Confused and perturbed, the clans-folk kept their distance. They refused to touch Sparrow’s body, or move it from the place he had died. Its muscles went hard. Its skin went stiff, then loose; squeezing his skull, and giving the impression that Sparrow was in the grip of terror.
It was a distressing spectacle for everyone. But it was particularly distressing for Sunny, who had always looked upon Sparrow as an uncle.
Sunny succumbed to an idiosyncratic illness. His innards danced a jig, as though they were attempting to escape from his body, because they could not cope with all the sadness which was lingering inside. Their motion made Sunny feel sick and queasy.
To overcome his grief, and find a modicum of comfort, Sunny turned his attention to Hope’s baby…
He had seen plenty of babies in his short time on earth, and none had ever piqued his interest. But this was an unusual child. A gift. He could not help but lose himself in her eyes, which Hope said were identical to his own. His mother went as far as to say that the girl was, “The living image of you, lovely, back when you were born.” Sunny found this a little far-fetched. He could not imagine a time when he was so small, sweet and vulnerable. Still, who was he to argue with his mother? And even he had to admit that the girl had that same domineering nose, and that same broken chin, that he himself possessed.
He gave himself to philosophical wonderment: Wasn’t it amazing that a new life could take seed in a woman’s womb, grow, and burst into the world? Puff! Where there was nothing, now there existed this inhaling, exhaling, noise-making, liquid-squirting creature. And she would grow up to possess a character all of her own! Wasn’t her mouth, a comical imitation of her mother’s, such a curiosity and a treat? And these legs! Why were they so incredibly short? Was this the way they were supposed to feel? And these eyes! These eyes which Hope said looked the same as his own. Weren’t these a sign from the ancestors, that he should keep his eyes on the child, so to speak; caring for her, as if he were the child’s mother?
“Aha!” he announced, speaking for the first time since anyone could remember. “We should name her Homecoming, for one day she’ll lead us home.”
No-one agreed. But, then again, no-one disagreed. The choice would be Hope’s, and she did not seem that enamoured. But she did not have the heart to challenge Sunny, right then, when he had found the kind of happiness which had eluded him for several lunar-cycles.
She indulged Sunny for five days. She allowed him to wash the baby; a task which he took to with an almost painful form of enthusiasm. She allowed him to hold the baby to her breast. And she allowed him to take the baby to the toilet.
The members of their clan did not use swaddles or diapers. They practised a technique known as elimination communication; picking up on a baby’s cries, squirms and expressions; taking them to an appropriate place, holding them in a squat position, and producing a vocal cue, which encouraged them to defecate. This helped mothers to control the process. They could hold their babies next to their skin, throughout the day, without a fear of getting soiled.
Sunny did not tire, even when his behaviour began to grate upon his peers. It was more of a relief for them, therefore, when he stumbled upon a revelation:
“For the baby! I tell you this: I must do it for her!”
Everyone turned to Sunny in search of an explanation. What was it, exactly, that he had to do for the baby?
But Sunny did not answer this unasked question. For him, it was too obvious for words.
“Yes, for her! I’ll set off tomorrow, and complete this important mission.”
No-one challenged Sunny, because no-one knew what it was they were supposed to be challenging. But Sunny still felt that his motion was being critiqued. Motions were almost always contested. Why would this one be any different? And why should Sunny wait? This was an important issue. The objections had to be rebuffed, before they had a chance to be aired:
“We’re hungry. We need to eat. And there are copious amounts of food, lying about in some giant huts, just half a day’s walk away. And… you know… I’m telling you: It’s our food, for it was grown on our land. We have a right to share it. Nay. We have a duty to share it. How dare you suggest otherwise? Why? Would you wish for another aunt or uncle to succumb to the same fate as befell our beloved Uncle Sparrow?
“It’s a risk, you say? It’s a risk for me. But it’s a risk I feel duty-bound to take. For Homecoming’s future! It’d be an honour. Open our hearts and hope to live!
“It’s a risk for you? ‘Reprisals’, you say? Dearest aunties and beloved uncles, sisters and brothers: If I succeed, I’ll return with enough food to last us twenty days. If I’m captured, I’ll say I acted without your consent. If the Wogies find you, tell them I’m an impulsive youth, disown me, and ally yourselves with them.
“You’d never do such a thing? But you must! Lie. Cheat. Protect yourselves. Then flee.
“If you cannot find food, and if you cannot find clans to host you, then split up. Go to different clans, and stay with them. Do whatever you must to survive.
“Well then, it’s settled. I must forage in the Wogies’ stores, and gather up our food. Unless, that is, you have any more objections?”
Sunny looked out at his gobsmacked peers, who had never witnessed such a performance. Not only had Sunny been ranting like a madman, responding to challenges which had never been made; he had been stepping from side to side, as though conducting a debate between two halves of his psyche, neither of which was real.
It was freakish, and it was also a little scary. Sunny’s torso had expanded to nearly twice its previous size. Perhaps he had inhaled, filling it with an incredible quantity of air. Perhaps it had grown by an imperceptible amount each day, over the course of several seasons. Or perhaps he had accrued the extra muscle, whilst carrying the clan’s possessions. Whatever the cause, the effect was striking. Sunny was no longer a gangly adolescent, mismatched, with an image akin to a dog on stilts. He was almost butch. He commanded the space around him. And so, when he had stomped about, the effect had been alarming.
Still the silence lingered.
Only when the baby cooed, “Aah-ooh, aah-ooh”, did Serenity lift his hand in a somewhat tentative fashion; raising it a little, pausing, allowing it to descend, raising it a little more, before extending it above his head. Sunny supposed he had something to say. But Serenity remained silent, setting an example for the others to follow.
Aura lifted her hand. Pilgrim lifted hers. Harmony and Buffalo went next.
Hands rose, like bubbles in a brook. Yet no-one felt a need to speak; not to ask a question, propose a vote, or declare its result.
Sunny was dumbfounded:
“Dawn: If Dusk agrees, then surely you must object?”
Dawn shook his head.
“Okay… Very well… Dusk: Dawn here supports this motion. So you must wish to oppose it?”
Dusk did not.
It was all too much to bear.
“Sacred loincloths!”
Still that silence lingered; not so much wafting, as undulating; up and down, quiet and quieter still.
Only when the baby cooed, rumbling the hush, did Dawn decide to respond; speaking to Dusk, rather than to Sunny; uttering a single sentence, which was even more mysterious than the silence:
“Brother: I’m sorry for leaving you to fend off that buffalo alone.”
And now Dusk replied:
“Brother: I’m grateful to you, for defending me from that creature.”
Sunny was so bewildered, he thought he could have screamed. But when he opened his mouth to protest, he discovered that his ability to produce noise had been stolen by an irresistible force, which he could not identify, no matter how hard he tried.
***
Sunny would have left before daybreak, had it not been for this extraordinary exchange. But it had bugged him so much, he felt compelled to get to the bottom of matters, before he embarked on the mission.
At least, this is what he told himself. And, in part, it was true. But he also had another, rather less worthy motivation: Sunny was a bundle of nerves; fearful of the dangers which might lie in wait, and grateful for the excuse to delay his departure.
He had barely slept, tossing himself awake at regular intervals throughout the night, asking himself: “Is it worth the risk? If I’m caught, I’ll suffer a punishment, like Songbird’s daughter. I might be murdered. And for what? A little food? We’ve survived this long already. Surely, we can survive a little longer.”
The plan had made sense the day before. But Sunny had made a rudimentary error: He had allowed his words to escape through his mouth, before they had the opportunity to reach his brain. A sensible person would have pondered their plan, considering the pros and cons. They would have only proposed it to their peers once they were fully committed. But Sunny had done no such thing. He had been rash. And now he was dithering; delaying his departure for as long as he could.
He went in search of Dusk. Then he spoke with Dawn.
He pieced their stories together...
As Sunny had long since supposed, those two men were not jilted lovers, who had come to blows over a woman. They were prolific hunters who had bitten off more than they could chew.
One day, when they were even younger than Sunny, they had spotted a buffalo within striking distance of their camp. Intoxicated by adrenaline, and by the heady whiff of glory; they convinced themselves that they had to act, to protect their home, lest it be attacked by that fearsome creature.
The two youngsters snuck up on the buffalo, intending to launch offensives from either side. But Dawn panicked. He caught sight of the buffalo’s eye, which seemed to be dripping with blood. He hesitated, for the briefest of moments, leaving Dusk to attack alone. The buffalo struck back; turning, lunging, sinking its horn into Dusk’s thigh; inflicting a wound which could be seen to this day.
Here their stories diverged…
Dawn believed he had responded, albeit a little late; attacking the buffalo, and forcing it to flee before it could land a fatal blow. He apologised for the delay. But he believed his bravery had more than compensated for his hesitation. He had saved Dusk’s life. His friend should have been grateful.
Dusk recalled a different story. In his mind, the buffalo had only fled because he had stood back up, and speared that animal himself; cutting its ear, causing it to wince, and convincing it to bolt. He had survived that attack without any help from Dawn.
The truth was impossible to know. Both men were committed to their own version of events, and nobody could persuade them to tolerate the alternative point of view.
Whenever Dawn claimed that he had come to Dusk’s rescue, it made matters even worse. It was bad enough that Dusk had been abandoned. But his erstwhile friend would not even admit to his misdemeanour. He had made up a story to protect his pride! The man was taking him for a fool.
And whenever Dusk claimed that he had defended himself, it offended Dawn. Dusk should have had the decency to acknowledge his bravery, even if it was a little delayed. He had saved the man’s life! He deserved a simple “Thank-you”.
They never reached an accord.
In the end, they stopped discussing the matter. It was less painful to ignore the dispute, than to pick at a festering wound.
The older generations made their pilgrimages to the ancestral forest, taking their memories with them. And Sunny’s contemporaries were forced to use their imaginations to fill the gaps; telling each other that Dusk and Dawn had come to blows whilst competing for the attention of a beautiful woman.
This story was clearly a sham, but it was all they had.
Only now, Sunny knew better.
And only now, could Sunny understand their previous comments.
Dawn had said: “Brother: I’m sorry for leaving you to fend off that buffalo alone.”
And Dusk had replied: “Brother: I’m grateful to you, for defending me from that creature.”
Neither man had sounded particularly convincing. Dawn must have still believed that he had saved Dusk, who must have still believed that Dawn had left him to die. But they had been pushed to the brink of starvation. Sparrow, a man like them, had only just died of hunger! If they did not put their differences aside, a similar fate was sure to befall them all.
And so they had swallowed their pride, and said the things that they had been waiting a lifetime to hear; even though they did not believe a syllable they were saying, let alone an entire word; and even though it caused them a great deal of discomfort.
Their statements had the desired effect. They united the clan. They helped to quell Sunny’s doubts. And they gave him the conviction he needed to proceed.
If Dusk and Dawn could make up, after all these seasons; if they could agree to the mission which Sunny had proposed, without the hint of a disagreement; then it must have been essential. These men never agreed on anything.
This was Sunny’s time.
He was the buffalo hunter now.
***
The air was light and heavy. It pressed down upon Sunny’s shoulders, and prevented his feet from touching the ground.
He had arrived on the fringes of the Wogies’ camp, with two companions by his side: Buffalo and a girl named Butterfly; an adolescent who went to great lengths to mute the compassion which lurked within her eyes, coating them in ashes and condescension.
Sunny had insisted on performing the raid alone; a request which was met with vociferous opposition. They were a collective, so his peers declared; they were duty-bound to stick together. But Sunny had been persistent, saying this idea was “Suicidal”; that it was not worth endangering the entire group, when a lone individual could shoulder the risk, and the benefits would remain the same. He refused to back down. And, in the end, he got his way.
