Other Worlds Were Possible, page 6
Hunter jolted forth, burying Sunny in a full-body embrace; hugging him so hard, his ribs creaked, and his lungs squeezed out of shape. Sunny was left with little choice but to endure several breathless moments. But still his optimism persisted. If Hunter was this happy to see him, then this rendezvous was sure to be a positive affair.
“I’ve got three animals for you!” he boasted, forgetting he was two animals short. “Come. Hope and I dragged them into a thicket, to protect them from the sun.”
Sunny could not discern a reaction. Hunter neither smiled nor grimaced. His eyes refused to betray his thoughts.
It was excruciating. Sunny had busied himself for days, to get meat for this man. He deserved a reaction, any reaction, good or bad. And yet there was nothing. Sunny might as well have been talking to a tree.
He allowed the moment to linger; gazing upon this statuesque man, who did not appear to breathe.
He waited a while, and then he waited a little longer.
Hunter sprang into life.
“Ah! Three animals? Now then, let’s see what we’ve got.”
Why did he not react like this before?
Sunny used his lips to point the way, but it was Hunter who marched ahead; adopting a pace which was far too quick for comfort, and a silence which was tinged with fury.
They reached their destination. Sunny pulled back the branches, held them aside, and beckoned Hunter to enter the grotto beyond; a leafy space, which glistened in various shades of green.
“Nice antelope, brother-o,” Hunter began, squatting down to pinch its skin. “Wow!”
It was a good start.
“But this boar is turning bad. And this bird is too small to count.”
It was not the response Sunny had desired.
Hunter tensed his cheek.
“You owe me four more animals.”
“Two.”
“Four… How many shots do you have?”
Sunny lowered his gaze.
“Do you have any?”
Sunny shook his head.
Hunter tutted:
“Oh brother. Tut-tut-o.”
“It means…” Sunny was a little nervous to even make the suggestion. “It means you must return, to collect the rest of the meat… We’re going to see each other again.”
Hunter guffawed:
“Ah! Brother! I’ll return for my four animals. This is a fact… Now, take these shots… These are for an additional five animals. Yes. I’ll return for my nine animals. And yes. We’ll be the best of friends.”
Sunny stalled. If he had already cleared his debt, he would have rejected the shots and powder which had been placed on his palm. He did not appreciate the pressure. But he was Hunter’s debtor. What choice did he have?
“So… So, you don’t mind that I was a little short this time?”
“Mind? You’re still learning-o. I’m sure you’ll do better, the next time around. So long as there’s a chance you might succeed, then everything will be just fine.”
Sunny nodded.
“And if you can’t get me any meat, you can always use something else to settle your debt. That girl, perhaps. Hope? Ah! Factually! Hope. Yes, my brother, she’d cover the debt.”
Sunny did not reply. The idea of using a person to settle a debt, seemed so preposterous, he could barely believe his ears. And so he did not believe his ears. He supposed he must have misheard, or misread, or misunderstood this stranger. He dismissed the comment and nodded again.
“I do need a small favour-o.”
Sunny nodded a third time.
“Tonight, I plan to address the clan. I suspect that a few people will greet me with open arms. But others might not be so kind. Some of my words will be welcomed, but others might cause offence. What I need is an ally, a brother; a big wise man, who’ll support me when the time is right… Sunny, I think you’re the man for the job.”
Sunny was still nodding. But a darkness had appeared in his eyes. Hunter had not threatened him. He had not uttered an aggressive word. Yet Sunny could not help feeling that he had been warned. There seemed to be a subtext to Hunter’s speech, in the comments which lingered, unspoken, in the gaps between sounds; inside every comma and full-stop. Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination. But Sunny was certain that Hunter was saying something he had not felt a need to voice: “Do as I say, or I’ll tell your clans-folk what you’ve done. And then I’ll take Hope away.”
***
Hunter was not a soothsayer, with the ability to see things before they happened. He had predicted that a meeting would take place, because all the clans held meetings, pretty much every single night.
The clans-folk gathered around the fire, soon after the sun went down. They barbequed meat and chatted amongst themselves. Sometimes a person might stand to address the group; telling a tale, or spreading the news which had reached them from another clan. They might play music, sing, dance, or perform a show.
When the circumstances dictated, these meetings could evolve into parliaments. One person might suggest an idea. A second person might suggest another. The group would throw these ideas around, discussing their pros and cons, before voting to make a decision.
They could also evolve into trials…
The Eagle Clan had no chief, police, judiciary or prisons. If someone was suspected of committing a dangerous act, it was up to their victims to raise the matter. The accused would mount a defence. Then their peers would conduct a vote, to decide if their behaviour had posed a threat. If the vote was unanimous, a second vote would be held to decide the culprit’s fate.
The clans-folk did not impose punishments, in a vindictive fashion. They suggested “Protections”, to safeguard the group’s wellbeing. If the defendant did not believe a protection was just, they were invited to propose an alternative. Their suggestion would be put to the vote. This process was repeated, until an agreement was finally reached.
If there was one thing that defined these parliaments, it was the courtesy which was granted to the speakers. There were no interruptions; no heckles, jeers, cheers, tuts, claps, moans or groans. The silence continued even after a person had sat down, when they were given a few moments to compose their thoughts, lest they should think of something to add.
So, when Hunter reappeared that night, riding on horseback, there was a clan meeting, and he was allowed to speak.
His arrival inspired an eerie silence to descend. This could not be fully explained by the fact that it was the first time anyone had seen a horse. The clans-folk had seen more majestic animals. But no-one had ever seen a human sitting atop such a creature. What was more, the horse appeared to be content with this state of affairs; trotting wherever Hunter dictated, and stopping on Hunter’s command. A second horse seemed happy to carry some sacks.
Kitten’s jaw fell open. It swayed a little, as though it had become disconnected from the rest of her skull.
Sparrow’s eyebrows rose so far up his forehead, it was a wonder they did not merge with the rest of his hair.
Between them, the bonfire blazed gold and bronze; stabbing flames out into the ether, spitting sparks in every direction. The elders sat on the logs which surrounded that fire. The other adults squatted, or sat cross-legged on the ashy ground.
Hunter dismounted the horse, stepped forward, and addressed the clans-folk:
“My family-o! How good it feels to be back among the ones I love.”
It was not entirely clear if his approach was welcome. Hunter had taken the group’s silence as an invitation to speak. And, now that he had begun, no-one dared to interrupt.
“How I’ve missed this sweet aroma; the burnt meat that smells of honey, the crispness of the night sky, the flavour of steamy breath. I’ve travelled far and wide. I’ve missed many, many moons. And I’ve discovered an indisputable fact: Nothing is so sweet as home.”
Hunter looked at each person in turn; staring into their eyes, smiling, and revealing that shiny tooth.
“But we cannot survive on sweetness alone. Honey doesn’t bring back the dead. The syrup of human kindness won’t moisten droughts or conquer disease… My brethren: We can be so much more. Yes, it’s a fact. In the Faraway Lands, the people live forever! I’ve gone there and seen it myself.”
Hunter performed a sanguine nod, brought his finger to his lip, and turned to face Kitten.
“Imagine that! Imagine a world in which mothers didn’t die in childbirth. Wow! A world in which babies weren’t taken from their clans. Auntie: I know your pain. I feel it as though it were my own. But this is a fact: Another world is possible. In the Faraway Lands, they have medicine that can cure any disease. Take this medicine from me. Give it to your children. They’ll never die in your arms again.”
Hunter closed his eyes, allowing a Buddha-like serenity to wash across his face. He took a deep breath, gazed upon the scene afresh, and turned to Sparrow’s sister.
“Medicine-o. But powerful. Stronger than all the herbs in the forest. This is a fact. If you had the medicine I’m offering now, your daughter wouldn’t have succumbed to those berries.”
He nodded, in a contemplative fashion; attempting to display his sorrow, but failing to disguise his smugness, which revealed itself in the upturned corners of his mouth, and in the grungy hollows of his eyes.
He turned to face Sparrow.
“Ah, Sparrow! Uncle! Oh, how I’ve missed you. And oh, uncle, how I’ve agonized over your loss. Your own nephew! Your sweet boy, snatched away at such a tender age. What a tragedy! What misfortune!... Surely, you’d like to take precautions, to prevent such a disaster from reoccurring?... Yes, uncle, it’s a fact. Another world is possible. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, in the Faraway Lands, where no-one is eaten by snakes. In the Faraway Lands, they have ‘Guns’. Deadly weapons-o. Fantastical machines, which can kill a snake from a thousand paces. Wow! My uncle: Allow me to give you such a weapon. Allow me to help you to save your other nephews.”
Hunter surveyed the people who had assembled before him. Everyone was so silent, so serene, he supposed they must have been hanging on his every word.
He was sorely mistaken. The clans-folk had only remained silent, because this was their custom. The silence continued a little longer, to give Hunter an opportunity to add to his previous remarks. It was only when he gestured with open palms, that the clans-folk dared to rustle a little; repositioning themselves, looking from side to side, and waiting for someone to speak.
Sparrow went first:
“I’ve got no desire to possess one of these crazy weapons. I’m happy with the spears and bows we’ve always used; weapons which have served us for millions of lunar-cycles... It’s sad when a nephew is taken. But this is the law of the prairie. We humans take far more lives than are taken from us. And I’ve little doubt that our nephew is in a better place, over there in the ancestral forest.”
Members of their tribe believed that people’s spirits lived on after death; returning to their clan’s ancestral forest, from where they kept a watchful eye on their descendants; protecting them from harm, and exposing their misdemeanours.
The group fell silent, to allow Sparrow to speak a little more. When it was clear he had nothing to add, Kitten stood up, cleared her throat, and turned to address Hunter:
“Tut, tutty-tut-tut, tutty-tut… What? Didn’t you know that I have three beautiful children? I’m blessed! How dare you pity me, Hunter Boy? Do you really think I wanted twenty boys and girls? Where would I put them? Haven’t you seen the size of our huts? Huh? Aren’t you aware that if weakling children survived, our population would grow too large? It’d be unsustainable. Diseases would ravage the group. We’d kill too many animals, destroying the very ecosystem which sustains us… No, your hocus-pocus concoctions aren’t any use to us.”
There was a certain logic to Kitten’s response. Hunter’s plea had reminded her of the Fable of Old Auntie Rabbit. That legendary ancestor had raised no fewer than twenty-five children. The exact number varied, depending upon who was telling the tale. But whatever the number, the storytellers all agreed on one thing: Auntie Rabbit’s offspring were a burden upon the clan. Almost every adult had to carry one of her infants, whenever they moved between camps. And when they grew into adults, they came to dominate the clan; voting as a bloc, and almost always getting their way. Their peers waited for things to improve. But their patience wore thin, and they eventually took their revenge. They castrated Auntie Rabbit’s sons, and they gifted her daughters to rival tribes.
Ever since those days, the members of their clan had taken precautions to prevent the emergence of another Auntie Rabbit. Mothers breastfed their children until they were eight solstices old, to reduce the chance of another pregnancy. They performed abortions; consuming a mixture of poisonous leaves and herbs. They had even been known to practice infanticide; abandoning their babies in the clan’s ancestral forest. This was a solemn act, accompanied by chants and meditations. But the clans-folk did not believe it was a permanent act. They believed that they were only destroying the baby’s mortal body; that its spirits would live on forever. They might even return to the world of the living, encased within another baby.
Kitten had something to add:
“And as for your pride, Hunter Boy! ‘Wow’ indeed. Boy: You’re in love with the smell of your farts. Your evil wolf must have killed and eaten your good wolf.”
Sparrow’s sister agreed with a nod. She did not trust Hunter, and supposed his medicine was actually a type of poison.
Hunter seemed slightly ruffled. He still stood perfectly erect, with raised shoulders and an inflated chest. But his arrogant sheen had begun to fade. His pupils seemed a little less sharp. He still spoke with a bombastic voice, but his speech sounded a little forced:
“My brethren, this is a fact: The things I’ve said are just the tip of the buffalo’s tusk. Wow! Uncles and aunties. Wow! The things I’ve seen in the Faraway Lands!... I’ve seen buildings the size of a thousand huts. And sturdy too. Powerful enough to withstand a million storms… I’ve seen stories written down in code, passed from one person to the next, and performed on gigantic stages… I’ve seen ways of travelling-o. My brethren: I’ve travelled myself. I’ve sat in these things they call ‘Trains’; giant tubes which whoosh you across the land at the speed of gazelles. I’ve sat in their ‘Ships’; floating camps, which can cross the widest of waters… Wow! These are the undisputed facts. And you can have this for yourselves. Just say the word. Accept my cargo, and your lives will be transformed forever. Yes, my uncles and aunts. You just have to believe in the future. It’s going to be so much better than the past.”
The group fell silent.
Hunter took this as an invitation to continue:
“Perhaps you’re unconvinced. Perhaps you’re not ready for homes that can withstand typhoons. Perhaps you’re not ready to travel the world. This is fine, my brethren. As fine as a colourful bird… But please just take one gift. Take these blankets. They’ll keep you warm when the winds blow cold and the rains fall heavy on your head. Or take this gun. Use it to protect yourself from snakes. Or use it to hunt. You’ll kill more creatures than you’ve ever killed before.”
A silence ensued, which was eventually broken by Serenity:
“By the good earth, we don’t wish to ‘Kill more animals than we’ve ever killed’. We aren’t Uncle Crows, with bottomless bellies that can never be filled. The ancestors know that our stomachs are already full. We have all the things we need.”
Serenity did not continue. It was not in his nature to say ten words, when five would suffice.
Hunter looked around in search of support; attempting to look friendly, but failing; appearing more desperate than he had intended, with bulging eyes and sallow cheeks. He only changed his appearance, for the briefest of moments, when he panned around to Sunny; shooting the youngster a glare which was so sharp, so piercing, that it lifted Sunny to his feet.
“Err…” he stammered. Sunny was not a confident speaker. He had attended thousands of meetings, and taken part in hundreds of votes. But he had never addressed the group himself. “I… Umm… I think we should… Err… Accept the… You know… The potions. I mean… Well, yeah… The potions.”
No-one said a word. But Sunny could feel the onslaught of his kinfolk’s soundless protests. Buttocks were repositioned and fingers were rubbed against thumbs. Sunny was certain that his mother had made a tutting motion, without making the sound of an actual tut.
“I… Umm… It’s just… Well, let’s say Hope was gifted a child… Well… Umm… I’d like it if that child got to live... Like, in the mortal realm… Like, with us… Umm… Yeah.”
The air seemed to soften. A few members of the clan must have empathised with Sunny’s point of view.
But one of the elders, a man who everyone called Dusk, was not among their number. Dusk was a peculiar-looking chap. It had been said that Mother Nature used up so much skin and muscle, whilst making his oversized head, that she had run short of materials whilst she was making the rest of his body. Dusk’s torso could barely support his head, and his legs could barely support his torso. Although no-one ever mentioned these things out loud. Dusk was an elder, and so was treated with respect.
“If the ancestors deem it right, they’ll allow the child to live,” Dusk responded, after the customary pause. “And if they deem the child unworthy, they’ll call it back to the ancestral forest. This is the natural order. It’d be foolish to challenge Mother Nature.”
There was a brief moment of silence. But the clans-folk knew it would not last for long.
As if compelled by a collective instinct, they turned to face Dusk’s rival, a man known simply as Dawn. They were expecting him to disagree. And with good reason: Dawn almost always disagreed with Dusk. Their squabbles were so routine, it would have felt strange had one of them not challenged the other. Even their bodies disagreed. Dawn went to considerable lengths to buff up his chest, which had the effect of making his head look too small for his body.
