Other Worlds Were Possible, page 5
Sunny could barely whisper a response:
“It’s a buffalo… A different animal… You gave us… You gave us an ox.”
“Do you take me for an unhatched egg? The bird who fell off the branch? The fish who was scared of water?... I can see it’s a different beast. Similar, but different.”
“I’m trying to clear our debt.”
“Upon the fluffiest cloud! Why would you dream of doing such a thing?”
“Because I owed you…”
“How dare you? How very dare you? What kind of cold, heartless exchange did you think this was? Do I look like a whore? Did you think you could just re-gift me, and then dump me, without so much as a second though? Two eggs for two eggs? A chicken for a chicken? And then puff! Our relationship is dead before it was even born?... Who, what and why??? Who do you think you are? What did we do to insult you? Why are you acting like such a boulder?”
“I… I… I had a debt. I felt a duty to re-gift you… Dearest auntie: One must re-gift one’s debts.”
“One… One must… I’ve never heard such chicken poop, in all our starlit days. If you hate someone, then you re-gift them. You wouldn’t wish to be in your enemy’s debt… If you never plan to see a person again, if you trade with a stranger or someone you don’t trust; then you clear your debt. But your own kith and kin? You maintain debts with the people you love.”
Sunny frowned.
But Songbird was not done:
“Does a person re-gift their mother for the milk she gifted them in infancy? For the space they were gifted in the maternal hut? For the loincloths they were given as children? For all the affection they’ve ever received?... Do friends keep tallies? If someone cooks for you on ten occasions, do you insist on cooking for them exactly ten times? Not nine or eleven? Do you count every little item you take from the communal barbeque, and make a mental note to re-gift every rib and fillet; not a morsel more, and not a morsel less?”
Sunny shook his head:
“No… But…”
“But what? Are we not friends, tribes-folk, kith and kin?”
Sunny was unable to form a reply.
“Well then. We don’t clear our debts. We stay indebted forever. And we allow our debts to bond us.”
Sunny nodded.
“We can under-gift or over-gift, give more or less than we received. So long as one of us remains in the other’s debt, we must maintain our relationship. But we shouldn’t ever settle our debts, unless we wish to sever our relations.”
Sunny frowned.
Songbird continued:
“Here. Come with me.”
She led Sunny to a patch of dusty earth, which had been enclosed by a fence made from sticks. Then she lunged at a gaggle of chickens, who ducked, dived, and ran back through her legs. Songbird’s head followed the chickens, forcing her buttocks into the air. But she had the last laugh, when she grabbed a cockerel, held it up by its shanks, and passed it over to Sunny.
“Take this… Good… So now you owe us a chicken.”
“Oh… And I’ll have to return, to give you something smaller than a chicken. Or… You know… To give you something bigger?”
“Exactly!”
Sunny still looked confused.
“But why are you so keen for me to return? I mean… You barely even know me.”
Songbird grimaced; insulted not just by the question, but by every syllable which had emerged from Sunny’s mouth. Her cheeks withdrew into her face. She grunted, took Sunny’s hand, and pulled him into a tent.
Unlike the Eagle Clan, who lived in huts made from leaves, wood and bamboo; Songbird’s nomadic clan lived in tents, which were easy to disassemble and move. Their tents also contained a bark-less central pole, and an earthen floor. They were also empty inside. They did not contain any possessions, furniture or decorations. But they were teepee-shaped, with walls made from hides. And they were small. Whilst up to ten people could sleep in the Eagle Clan’s huts, it was rare to find more than five people in one of these tents.
As soon as they were inside, Songbird whipped Sunny’s loincloth away, fell to her knees, and took his penis in her mouth.
It was like nothing Sunny had experienced before. His member stood to attention without a moment’s delay. He felt his ejaculate coming fast and strong; sending fireworks up his urethra, before exploding into Songbird’s mouth. He had never cum so quickly. He had never felt so aroused.
But Songbird refused to allow him to bask in this post-coital glow.
“Understand?” She asked.
Sunny nodded with a tad too much glee. He reckoned he must have looked like an overstimulated puppy.
“Impressive!” Songbird continued. “Now you do me.”
She got to her feet, wrapped her arms around Sunny’s chest, and fell backwards; forcing Sunny to fall on top of her ample frame. Then she thrust his head between her legs, where he repaid the favour, but not the debt.
***
His conversation with Songbird helped Sunny to see things in a whole new way…
Yes, he was supposed to provide Hunter, the stranger, with five large animals. And yes, it was unlikely he would settle this debt. But none of this mattered. Hunter would remain a creditor. He would have to reappear, from time to time, to ask for a little more meat. These liaisons would form the basis of a new friendship. Hunter might even bring Sunny another gift; something as mysterious as the gun. Sunny might discover the truth behind the man: Where had he come from? Why were they both so similar, and yet so different? How had he discovered the gun? And why did he hold himself so erect?
Such thoughts added a skip to Sunny’s step. He had eaten a big dinner the previous evening, to recover his strength, before spending the night with Songbird; falling asleep long after the sun had set, and experiencing a dreamy sleep. This was the norm. Fewer than one-in-fifty members of their tribe ever suffered from broken-sleep. They rarely took naps. They enjoyed a small amount of high-quality rest; sleeping on the hard-packed earth, or mattresses made from straw. They remained wide awake the rest of the time.
Sunny did not eat breakfast when he awoke, about an hour before sunrise; the coldest part of the day. Sunny never ate breakfast. Their tribe did not even have a word for that meal. Sometimes, they ate a handful of berries, midway through the morning. But, more often than not, they were happy to subsist on one or two meals a day.
He splashed water on his face, freshened his breath by chewing a scented twig, and brushed his teeth using a second twig, which he had frayed apart at one end. It might not have been the most effective method, but it was all that was required. Sunny’s tribes-folk did not consume many carbohydrates or sugars. The tobacco they smoked at the Big Camp could turn their teeth a little brown. But their mouths contained very few bad bacteria. So there was little need for them to brush with a high intensity. Less than one percent of their teeth showed signs of decay. And such damage was usually so minor, it could be filled with a dab of beeswax.
After cleaning his teeth, Sunny caught the chicken, which he had dropped whilst being pleasured. He collected the clan’s arrows, which had been removed from the buffalo’s side. He said “Goodbye”, and headed home; collecting the gun on his way, and allowing his mind to wander.
The landscape here was also dominated by scrubland and grassland, which rippled out towards the horizon; interspersed with the occasional huddle of trees, some rocky outcrops, and a couple of greyish cliffs.
It felt particularly hot and dry today. The effect was all the more intense, because Songbird’s clan had set fire to vast swathes of this savannah. There was method to the madness: Burning the old growth killed off invasive plants, and gave new shoots the room they needed to grow. It would not be long before these ashen fields were filled with splashy flowers, which would sustain the region’s pollinators. Luscious grasses would also appear, enticing animals for the clans-folk to hunt.
The clan’s fires served another purpose: They removed the dead leaves, which allowed sunlight to permeate the soil and heat the earth. This encouraged microbial activity, producing the nutrients which fed the new plants. And, because those fires removed this foliage in a controlled manner, they reduced the chance of wildfires, ignited by lightning, which could have been catastrophic.
Sunny was familiar with this practice, because the Eagle Clan burned the greenish expanse which stretched out from the north end of their camp, surrounded their watering hole, and reached the nearest hills. He was familiar with this route, because he had passed this way three times since the last full moon. But he was still caught off guard by an unfamiliar sight: A man. And not just any man. A man who was completely covered in cloths!
Sunny had to blink himself back to sanity, before he was willing to accept the evidence his eyes were supplying. Despite the heat, this individual was wearing not one, but two different cloths upon his torso: A white cloth, which featured a vertical line of beads. And a beige cloth, which had tubes for each of his arms. In place of a loincloth, the man was wearing leg-cloths, with tubes which reached his ankles. Atop his head, was what appeared to be a straw basket. And on his feet, were what looked like the remains of an animal’s hide, which had been cut into strips, and rebuilt in the shape of his feet.
Why had he wrapped himself up in so many cloths? Sunny could only think of a single explanation: This man must have possessed an abnormally large penis. He had no choice but to wrap it around his body, using these cloths to hold it in place.
And why did this man smell so bad; of cloves, musk and mould?
Only once Sunny had considered each of these things in turn, did he notice something more peculiar than the stranger’s attire: His skin. This man was an albino! Every atom of colour had been washed from his face, and he did not appear to have a single tattoo, even though he had clearly come of age.
If he was not an albino, he was almost certainly a spirit; a lost ancestor, who had been trapped in the mortal realm.
Sunny’s interest got the better of him; compelling him to tiptoe forwards, silently, and take up a position within the man’s shadow. From here, he observed the valley in the same way as the man, mimicking each of his motions.
Only when the man turned, did Sunny turn. And only when he lifted a stick, did Sunny notice the contraption by his side. That three-legged frame was supporting a white cloth.
Sunny watched on as the man took a stick, and ran it along that cloth. His eyes filled with wonder, as a grey line appeared behind the stick.
Sunny continued to stare.
The stranger gazed through a golden tube and consulted a golden disk, paying close attention to every river and mound. Then he took two more sticks, which he used to draw lines in different colours.
Sunny was struck by something magnificent: The lines on the cloth matched the vista before him! A blue line followed the course of each stream. A series of concentric lines replicated the lay of each hill. Sunny was able to follow the route he was taking, from Songbird’s camp to his own, both of which were marked with an X.
“Criss-cross,” he whispered. “Home.”
The man squealed like a startled pig. He jumped far higher than Sunny had supposed was possible. For a moment, he thought the man might have actually jumped out of his skin.
Upon landing, the man grabbed hold of himself, checked that he was still inside his body, and made sure that his organs had landed in the correct positions. He checked that his legs were still attached to his feet, that his feet were still supported by the ground, and that the ground was where he had left it.
He took a breath. Then he pivoted, turning his torso towards Sunny, whilst keeping his feet in the same position.
“Blah! Blah-di-blah, blah blah. Blah-blah-blah.”
The man had spoken total gibberish. The noises he made did not even come close to forming real words. Yet each noise was different. Each sound flowed into the next, with the rhythm of an actual sentence.
The man rubbed the sweat from his palms, looked Sunny up and down, softened a little, calmed a little, pointed at the valley, and then pointed back at the cloth.
But something was awfully peculiar. The man was pointing with his finger!
To Sunny, this gesture seemed utterly insane. His people only ever used their fingers to point when they were referring to the time. They might point upwards, to speak of noon. Or they might point at a segment of the sky, to signify the portion of time when the sun could be found in that space; arcing eastwards, to refer to a section of the morning; or swooping westwards, to refer to the afternoon. They never pointed their fingers across the land. When they wished to draw someone’s attention to another location, they puckered their lips, and shunted them in the appropriate direction.
Sunny showed the man how it was done; scrunching his lips towards the valley, before shunting them back at the picture.
The man nodded.
Now this was a gesture Sunny could understand. Members of their tribe also nodded to say “Yes”. They shook their heads to say “No”. Sunny figured these things were probably universal. They were learnt in infancy, when babies turned their heads to one side, away from their mothers’ breast, as if to say “No” to the milk they were being offered. Children exaggerated this gesture as they grew; moving their heads to both sides, over and over again. They moved their heads the opposite way, up and down, to signify the opposite thing: A “Yes”.
Sunny nodded.
The man nodded back. He exhaled, allowed his arms to hang loose, and spoke in a calmer tone; accentuating his gobbledygook:
“Blah, blah-di-blah. Survey, blah-di-blah.”
Sunny tapped his lip. He had picked up a single word: “Survey”. It was not a real word. It was the kind of thing an infant might say, when experimenting with speech; combining random sounds, in the hope they might form a word. Could this man be an oversized infant? Surely not! Infants did not wear so many cloths. They did not draw with magical sticks.
“Survey,” Sunny repeated.
“Survey!” The man exclaimed. “Blah, survey, blah.”
Sunny took one step back, and then another.
The stranger turned around, but Sunny had faded from view.
***
It had not been his intention, but it was not in his nature to say “No” to a gift from Mother Nature…
A short distance from home, Sunny came across a stag. Under normal circumstances, he might have let it be. He was alone. Killing such a creature usually required a team effort. And the stag was too far away to shoot with a bow and arrow.
But Sunny had a gun. And he needed to get five animals for Hunter. He supposed he should kill the stag, if only to reduce that debt.
He removed the bowstring, bound it around the chicken’s legs, and used an arrow to pin it to the ground. He hid in the long grass, steadied his breathing, steadied his pulse, took aim and shot.
Bang!
For a brief moment, he thought he had missed. Again. But the stag did not bolt. It remained rooted to the spot, frozen in space and time; refusing to be rushed, only deigning to fall when it was ready. And even then, it did so at an unfeasibly slow rate; tipping onto its side with a motion which was so surreal, it rendered Sunny incapable of joy. He could not quite believe his success. It took him several moments to accept the situation, and several more to approach the stag.
As soon as he reached that animal, he sensed that someone was drawing near.
Moving as quickly as he could, he stuck his fingers in the bloody wound, removed the shot, and stuck an arrow in the hole.
He stabbed a few more arrows into the animal’s body.
“Nice archery.”
“Thanks, auntie.”
It was Kitten who had appeared.
“It had to be, mind. The thing is so small, it’d have been easy to miss.”
“Yes. I’ve seen rabbits who were bigger than this.”
“Rabbits? Most rats have more meat.”
“Most beetles too.”
Kitten blushed pink with pride:
“Come, Sunny Boy… We can’t carry this thing on our own. Let’s go for help.”
Sunny nodded. He forced a smile. But this was far from the result he had desired. If his kinfolk ate this animal, he would not be able to gift it to Hunter. He would still owe that man five animals. And there were only five shots left to fire.
THE PRODIGAL SON
Sunny had used their remaining shots...
Having learnt his lesson, he had ventured further from their camp. He had achieved a modicum of success, downing an antelope and a boar. But his other three shots had missed their target. Sunny had killed a large flightless bird, using one of their spears. But he still needed another two animals, in order to settle his debt.
Unsure what to do, he went to the toilet among a patch of trees; pondering his options as he pooped. When he was done, he washed his behind; pouring water from an old coconut shell, which he held in his right hand, whilst using his left hand to direct the flow.
He re-emerged onto the path, feeling refreshed, only to find himself standing in front of another image of Uncle Crow. Only this Uncle Crow looked less like Sunny, and more like Hunter.
“Hello, brother-o.”
It even sounded like Hunter. Sunny had to stop, and rub the confusion from his eyes, before he resumed his journey home.
He walked straight into that Uncle Crow.
“Brother! Be calm. Be steady-o.”
“Oh… It’s… It’s really you?”
“It’s really me. Aren’t you happy to see your brother?”
“Oh… Of course, err… ‘Brother’.”
The optimist in Sunny was genuinely happy to see Hunter. He supposed the stranger might have been content with the three animals he had killed. He hoped that Hunter might have brought another gift; something just as wondrous as the gun.
