Other Worlds Were Possible, page 3
Acts like these helped the clans-folk to maintain a rich balance of bacteria, which protected them from disease. No member of the Eagle Clan had ever suffered from allergies, diabetes or cancer. They had never even heard of “Obesity” or “Autoimmunity”.
When it was ready, the group removed the roasted meat, laid it out on top of some banana leaves, and squatted down to dine; forming circles, helping themselves to a few shreds of fatty meat, chewing them slowly, before returning for another portion.
Sunny waited for the others to dig in. He took a little for himself. And then it struck him: No matter how hard he tried to deny the facts, he could not ignore the quality of this food; the meat’s marbled flesh, the layers of fat, and the crispy skin, which had crackled and fizzed upon the fire. He had been right all along. This was a splendid animal.
Sunny took a great deal of pleasure from observing his kinfolk, as they devoured the meal, with inflated cheeks and dizzy eyes. Their happiness made the hairs on his arms stand on end. But the feeling was bittersweet. Sunny had not forgotten the reception he received when he returned with this ox. A kernel of anger still nestled in his stomach. And now it was germinating; transforming into a seed of irritation, a shoot of vexation, a growth of fury; bursting forth, compelling Sunny to speak in a manner he had not intended, and which he would later come to regret:
“Beloved Uncle Sparrow! Didn’t you say that this animal was a ‘Worthless bag of bones, possessing nothing but a few measly crumbs of meat’? And now you chew down upon the largest of mouthfuls, before helping yourself to a second serving, and then a third!
“And you, dear Auntie Kitten: Didn’t you say it was a ‘Sack of guts, barely sufficient to feed the members of a single hut’? Can’t you see how many people are eating right now?
“And you, dear Auntie Aura: Why on earth and the ancestral realm, are you eating an ‘Old bucket of bones’? Have you pooped out all your pride?”
Sunny silenced himself before he could challenge his mother. But it was far too little, and far too late. Wishing to avoid a confrontation, his peers had stood up and walked away. Sunny had been abandoned; left here alone, insulting the breeze. A swarm of flies could be seen feasting on what remained of the roasted meat. And the fire was collapsing into ash.
***
Sunset had come and gone by the time anyone talked to Sunny.
He was approached by Serenity; an elder who possessed an irrepressibly melodic pair of eyes. They were not hypnotic. You did not lose yourself in their gaze. But they were metamorphic; so placid, they inspired you to relax in their presence. Serenity was almost always the first person to attend the scene of a fracas. His mild persona served as a natural tonic; soothing his companion’s annoyance, and dulling their grief.
But Serenity knew all too well that his ears held a greater power than his eyes; that the grieved must be heard, before they can begin to heal. And so he looked into Sunny’s eyes, raised his eyebrows, and waited for the youngster to speak.
Sunny did not produce a sound. His mouth had landed him in enough trouble already. But when Serenity placed a hand upon his shoulder, and performed an empathetic nod, he supposed it would have been rude to prolong the silence:
“Beloved Uncle: It’s just… Well, it’s just that I feel… I feel that too many people take. Not enough people give… And… I mean… It’s the takers who’re accepted… Uncle Serenity: The givers are insulted…”
Serenity looked almost sorrowful, as though he was attempting to suck the pain out of Sunny’s eyes.
He waited for Sunny to continue:
“Take Sparrow… Didn’t you see how he tore into the meat?... You know, I don’t wish to say rancid things about a beloved uncle. But… Well, I’ve watched on as he’s gorged himself on the fruit my mama spent a whole day collecting. And yet I’ve never seen him gather any fruit himself. I’ve never seen him hunt… It wouldn’t be so bad if he made an effort. If he tried and failed. I’d understand that… But he just takes and takes. He never gives thanks. And it’s just… Well, he’s always the first to criticise. He did call the ox a ‘Bag of bones’. I didn’t make that up. And… Well, he wasn’t eating bones tonight!”
Serenity took a deep breath, inhaling Sunny’s angst.
It had the desired effect, up until the point at which Serenity closed his eyes. Breaking off eye-contact, left Sunny feeling exposed; helpless, alone, and riddled with fear.
What on Mother Nature’s green earth had he done? Would his kinfolk ever forgive him? Or would he be exiled, like Uncle Crow?
Serenity did not answer these unasked questions. He simply sat there in silent contemplation, for an uncountable number of moments; only revealing his eyes once he sensed that Sunny was ready.
A smile wafted across his face.
“Sunshine: Sparrow wasn’t always like this.”
Sunny waited for more.
“He used to hunt as much as could be expected. He wasn’t particularly proficient. He could go for months without downing a target. But he tried his best, and he kept us entertained; providing companionship; telling stories and jokes. Whenever another hunter was successful, Sparrow would rush to their side, congratulate them, and help to carry their meat.”
“Oh.”
“Sparrow’s sister’s son was his greatest happiness and joy. And, unlike Sparrow, that boy was a talented marksman.
“Sparrow accompanied his nephew whenever he went to hunt. You should’ve seen the size of Sparrow’s smirk, whenever the lad hit his mark! It didn’t matter if that kill was small or scrawny. Sparrow was like the parrot who wore the rainbow!”
Sunny waited for more.
“Child: Sparrow’s nephew was killed by a snake, right there, in front of his eyes. Sparrow tried to protect the boy. But by the time he got close enough to strike, it was already too late. It wasn’t Sparrow’s fault. There was nothing he could’ve done. But he blamed himself nonetheless.”
Sunny bowed his head.
“After that, Sparrow never went hunting again.”
Serenity allowed his story to linger, gazed into Sunny’s eyes, and waited to see if it had the desired effect.
But Sunny did not sound entirely convinced:
“Oh… Yeah… I suppose that explains it… Well, it explains why he doesn’t hunt.”
Serenity closed and reopened his eyes.
“But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t gather?”
Sunny nodded.
“Okay. Allow me to explain… Now, Sparrow’s lover had a daughter; a girl with a butterfly heart. You know the type? The sort of person who likes to flutter away on their own, even when they’re young, and not yet educated in the ways of the world… Once upon a time, when that girl was still younger than you are today, she went off to collect berries… Sunshine: You know what berry collectors are like? They feel a need to check every berry they find, to be sure they’re the sweet ones… And this is what came to pass: That young girl tasted a berry she had never seen before. It was poisonous, but she didn’t feel any ill effects. And so she ate a second berry, a third and a fourth. She ate almost as many as she collected.
“Only when she had filled the basket, and begun her journey home, did she start to feel a little queasy. But she persevered without complaint. She didn’t collapse until she had reached the edge of our camp.
“Sparrow came running, looked at the girl and gasped. For it was at that very moment, that the girl took her final breath. Sparrow was helpless. He couldn’t do anything but watch, as her spirits escaped from her body, and floated back to our ancestral forest.”
Serenity shook his head in solemn contemplation.
“Child: Every life that’s lived is a story. Some people like to tell theirs. Others prefer to keep theirs to themselves. But behind every action, there’s another action. Behind every character, there’s a lifetime of tales; tragedies and comedies alike.”
“I… I…”
It did not feel right to push for more. Sunny had been insensitive enough already. And Sparrow did help a little, in his own individual way. When the clans in their tribe gathered to form their Big Camp, in the rainy season, Sparrow helped in the fields; growing tobacco and harvesting coffee. He also grew cassava, on the fringes of this camp, albeit with limited success. Farming was inefficient. It required a great amount of clearing, weeding, fertilizing, watering and picking. It was nowhere near as productive as hunting or gathering. And so Sparrow only ever produced a small crop; a fact which gave Sunny the false impression that he barely contributed at all. But Sparrow did what he could, given his circumstances. And the cassava he grew did provide a degree of insurance; something which clan-members could eat on the days when they were unable to secure any other food, and something they could trade with the neighbouring clans.
Sunny would have been happy to bring this conversation to an end. But Serenity could sense that he needed to unburden himself a little more.
“Go on,” he said. “Let it out.”
“Okay… But only if you insist.”
Serenity nodded.
“It’s just… Well, you’ve explained why Sparrow doesn’t hunt or gather. Thank-you, uncle. But… But none of this explains why he insults the people who do.”
Serenity chortled so loudly, the noise jolted hundreds of birds from their branches; creating a cloud of feathers and beaks:
Aah-ooh. Ah-ah-ah. Chuck-a-chuck ooh!
“What’s so funny?”
“Our sweet, sacred, ancestral mothers! Ho ho ho. Sunny: How long have you lived with us?”
“Since I entered the mortal realm.”
“Since you entered the mortal realm? And you still don’t know our ways?”
Sunny frowned.
“Haven’t you heard us call the greatest animals the worst names? If someone were to slay a giant buffalo, single-handedly, and drag it back here alone; we’d call that thing a ‘Rat’. The hunter would probably call it a ‘Mouse’, just to pre-empt his sistren’s sneers… The person who kills a falcon, might complain of its feathery, good-for-nothing wings. ‘So much to pluck! So little meat!’… The person who hunts a boar, might criticise its unappetizing smell, inedible tusks, and the hairs which get stuck in your teeth; anything to divert our attention from the quality of its meat.
“If we miss a target, our friends might laugh at us for the rest of the day. But if we kill an animal, things are sure to be even worse.
“When we ask for help, carrying a creature we’ve killed, our friends will come to collect it. And as soon as they see the animal, they’ll say: ‘What? You dragged us all the way here for that? If we’d known it was so skinny, we’d have stayed at home.’
“Child: When this happens, you just have to nod, agree and apologize. Then you must watch on, as everyone takes their share. And still, they complain! It’s ‘Too gaunt’, ‘Too old’, ‘Too small’, ‘Too thin’.
“The insults are compliments, when you come to think of it. The more someone insults your meat, the better it must be. The ancestors know it to be true: Up is down, and left is right… If someone returns to camp and says, ‘I’ve killed an animal, but it’s so small, I don’t know if we should even bother to fetch it’; then you know that a mighty fine feast awaits.”
Sunny could not deny it. He had seen this several times before. Yet somehow it felt different when other people were involved. That was fun and games. When he was the butt of the joke, it was another matter entirely. Sunny had spent four days in the wilderness, alone, without food; risking attack, sunstroke and dehydration. The insults had dented his pride.
“But why?”
“‘Why’? Why! Sunshine: Surely you must know?”
Sunny shook his head. No-one had ever told him, and he had never asked. He had learnt almost everything he knew through a mixture of observation and imitation; watching his peers and copying their behaviour. As a technique, it was pretty efficient. It had taught him how to perform an abundance of different activities. But it had not always taught him why things were done the way they were.
“By the good earth, that explains it!... Sunshine: We’re an egalitarian bunch, wouldn’t you say? No-one really bosses anyone else around.”
Sunny nodded.
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because we don’t allow them?”
“Because we don’t give them the means!... Imagine there’s one hunter who’s better than the rest. It’s not hard to do. Uncle Crow may be the stuff of legends, but there’s usually an individual, each generation, who returns with enough meat to feed half the clan… Child: Let’s say we dollop sunshine upon their head. We inflate their ego. What do you think will happen?... They’ll stomp about like an elephant. They’ll tell us to ‘Do this’ and ‘Do that’. And if we refuse, they’ll withhold our meat, and we’ll starve… Before you know it, that person will have bribed a bunch of their friends with the prime cuts. Then they’ll start making demands; saying ‘Do this’ and ‘Do that’, on behalf of the Uncle Crow… Whoosh! Mother Nature’s lightning! A whole hierarchy will have emerged.”
Sunny tensed his cheeks.
“Sunshine: There are two wolves who live within us. One is good. It’s joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, generosity, truth and compassion. The other wolf is evil. It’s anger, envy, greed, self-pity, resentment, lies, pride, ego and arrogance.
“To be the best people we can be… To be the best clan and the best tribe we can be… We must nurture the good wolf, and suppress the evil one.
“This is why we shame the meat. We say it’s worthless, in order to constrain the hunter’s evil wolf; to obliterate their pride, greed and arrogance; before these dangerous traits have the chance to ravage us all.
“This is how we keep would-be-bullies in their place, and remain an egalitarian sort of clan.”
Sunny nodded. It was all becoming clear:
“And this is why we share?”
“Exactly! Sparrow does his part. He’s the clan’s griot; the spreader of news, singer of songs, and teller of tales. He tries to grow vegetables too. Okay, he’s hardly proficient. But he always shares the cassava he grows.”
Sunny had one final question:
“Beloved uncle: Why hadn’t you told me any of this before?”
Serenity could barely repress a smile.
“Ho ho ho. Why, sunshine, because you never asked!”
SISTER-O, BROTHER-O
His conversation with Serenity should have soothed Sunny’s mind. Yet that image of Uncle Crow had appeared yet again. It was grate-crashing his thoughts, refusing to leave him in peace.
Sunny tried to keep himself busy. He collected some firewood, sharpened a spear, helped to repair a couple of huts, fashioned a flute from a length of bamboo, and played that instrument until his ears began to ring. Yet no matter what he did, he could not escape from that image of Uncle Crow.
Something was amiss. But it was not rational. Sunny knew why he had been mocked. He was comfortable with Serenity’s explanation. If anything, the insults were a compliment; confirming that he had returned with a splendid supply of meat.
It had to be something emotional. Perhaps it was remorse. Sunny had not caught the animal himself. He had borrowed it from another clan. He had hidden this information from the people he loved the most. Perhaps it was anxiety. He doubted his ability as a hunter. He worried that he might not be able to re-gift his debt. Or perhaps it was embarrassment. He had been a fool not to understand why the ox had been mocked.
Whatever the cause of his malaise, Sunny was pretty certain that he needed a physical fix. He needed sex. And he knew just who to ask.
Her name was Hope. Her face was so lithe, her eyes almost touched her ears, and her chin seemed to swallow her jaw. It had been tattooed during a coming-of-age feast. Two V-shaped lines dominated her forehead, one inside the other. Egg-shaped patterns decorated her cheeks, and a grid of blueish lines covered the region which began below her lower lip.
The elders had far more tattoos than Hope. The women who drew those images, tended to add a new design once every ten or twenty solstices; soaking a thin length of sinew in a mixture of lampblack, urine and graphite; attaching that thread to a needle made from bone, before drawing it through the skin, just beneath the epidermis.
Hope, who was still young, remained a relatively blank canvas. But there were dots on all her major joints; her shoulders, elbows, hips, wrists, knees, ankles and neck. These had been added during a second rite of passage, held to celebrate her first kill. Members of their tribe believed that spirits lived inside animals’ joints. When an animal was killed, these spirits were released. Tribes-folk drew dots on their own joints, to ward off these lost spirits; preventing them from entering their bodies, and controlling them.
Hope had taken Sunny’s virginity four seasons before; beckoning him with a curl of her finger, before leading him into one of the cabins which lay hidden beyond the periphery of their camp. Anyone could use those cabins, although they were mainly frequented by adolescents. Adults were more likely to have sex in one of the huts; hanging their loincloth on the door, to let others know that they did not wish to be disturbed.
Promiscuity was not frowned upon. If anything, it was encouraged. Tribes-folk shared their bodies, in much the same way they shared their spears, berries and meat. Had they regularly refused requests for sex, they might have been considered selfish, or even shameful.
The members of their tribe had no concept of marriage. They did not believe that a woman could belong to a man, or that a man could belong to a woman. Very few things belonged to anyone. Relationships did form, for love or pleasure. But they ended when the love ran dry. Lovers were not compelled to stay together for the sake of their offspring. Children were raised by their mothers, and by their mothers’ relatives, but not by their mothers’ lovers.
