Human

by Hayley Camille

  As Ivy slipped backward, someone brushed by.

  “Emiri!” Ivy whispered as loud as she dared. The woman didn't respond. Instead she stood staring at the karathah, her body barely concealed by the undergrowth. Emiri's pupils were dilated and her irises glassy, she cocked her head to the side. A faint smile haunted her lips. Ivy stretched toward her as far as she dared. Her fingers grazed the woman’s wrist. Emiri kept walking, directly toward the riverbank.

  “Please, no! Come back.” Ivy begged in a whisper. “Emiri!” Ivy couldn’t follow her. Where the hobbit was small and naturally concealed by dark skin and soft movements, Ivy was too big, too white and too clumsy. When her second whispered plea was ignored, Ivy followed the woman's line of sight. Instantly, her gut twisted in fear and a fresh break of sweat drenched her face cold. No please! No, no, no!

  A Homo sapien baby was asleep at the forest edge in a basket made of woven grass. It looked no more than six months old and was curled peacefully in the shade while its mother was busy netting fish with the other women. No one was paying it any attention, having no reason to fear for it with the hunters nearby.

  Emiri stepped clear out of the forest cover. Her face was radiant, lit up like a candle from inside. Pure maternal love poured from her into the sleeping form as she picked it up. The child was markedly different to the tiny woman holding it. It had a stub of a chin and a wide forehead and was almost as big as three-year-old Turi. But Emiri clearly saw no difference that mattered. She turned away, oblivious to the danger the baby held as Ivy watched, petrified. Emiri walked slowly back to the trees, singing softly as she cradled it in her arms. For the briefest of moments, the broken woman was whole.

  As Ivy stepped toward her, she caught a glimpse of one of the karathah women turning around. A scream shattered the afternoon. Ivy knew instinctively that it was not fear of herself this time, but fear for the stolen child. Emiri looked up and met Ivy's eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. But there was no fear within her. Instead, Emiri looked down at her own arms with wide eyes, pulled the baby tightly to her chest and, with a glint of resolve, began to run.

  Ivy raced through the trees as the shouts rose behind them. She threw a look over her shoulder as she stumbled and saw the red beaded hunter gaining ground, with the two fishermen and two women at his heels. The baby's mother was pleading through tears as she tore ahead, with a desperate surge of adrenaline. Jostled from its slumber, the baby woke and began to cry. Emiri looked to Ivy. She slowed. The unseeing glaze began to shadow her eyes once more. She turned away, letting the weight of grief fall back over her. She knew.

  Emiri collapsed to the ground, curling over the baby's wailing body protectively. With eyes for no one but the child, Emiri stayed there, waiting for her pursuers to catch up. It wasn’t hers.

  “No!” Ivy spun back. A strong arm grabbed her wrist, then another and she was pulled away by Rinap and Xiou. They led her like an arrow through the grass, until Xiou pushed her hard and yelled an instruction to Rinap who took over the lead. Xiou disappeared into the shadows back toward the karathah. Ivy tried to tear her arm free but Rinap was relentless, towing Ivy in her wake and not stopping until the cave was in sight.

  Ivy shuddered and felt Kyah’s warm hand close over her shoulder. No one spoke. The fire light flickered across the open pages of her journal. Ivy delivered those memories to the paper that she wished she could expunge from her mind. The page was wet with tears and the graphite smudged under her fist as around her, her family grieved once more.

  The karathah couldn’t see it. Emiri's pain, her loss, her desperation. They didn't see a woman, much less a mother. In their fear and anger, all they saw was an animal stealing their baby. So they killed her, like an animal.

  “What will you do with her?” Ivy asked.

  Gihn looked up, his frown deepening. “What do you mean? There is nothing we can do.”

  They crouched over Emiri's ruined body, laid out under the stars at the entrance to the cave. The woman's long hair had been cruelly hacked off by her murderers, although to what end, Ivy couldn't fathom. When Xiou had returned to help her, the best he could do, was carry Emiri's body home in his arms. It was a pitiful sight and Ivy's tears had fallen as thick and fast as anyone else's.

  “In the time I've been with you, five people have died of the Swift Death and another at the hands of the karathah. Now Emiri as well. Where do you take them?” Ivy asked. She still clearly recalled the archaeological evidence presented by researchers fifty thousand years ahead of her. Liang Bua cave had offered no clear indication of deliberate burial of the hobbits fossilised within it, but that wasn't to say the concept was entirely out of the question.

  Ivy knew well that a minute percentage of bones ever survived the fossilisation process to become representatives of their species within the archaeological record. Bones were more likely to be scavenged by wild animals or washed away by rain. The conditions must be just so to allow fossilisation; early post mortem processes, such as mode of death, rapid burial, the depositional environment of sand, mud or water and its consequent attack of bioerosion all played a part. The chance of a particular skeleton undergoing the combination of factors to ensure survival over thousands, or perhaps millions, of years relatively unscathed, was minimal. The evidence for burial may simply have been destroyed over deep time.

  “I'll take her body to the forest or to the high caves, like the others.” Gihn sighed. “The animals will take her, the birds or shirakan. That way the land will be nourished by the life she lost. We are part of nature, it’s best if we return to it.”

  So, no burial then. “I'd like to help you,” Ivy said.

  There was no small degree of guilt behind her offer. Emiri had clearly been sick and for a split second, Ivy had been in a position to help her. Ivy's mind had been too slow to realise the grieving woman's intentions by the river, and her muscles too terrified by the inevitable consequence of acting once she knew. Ivy could have saved her, but she was too flawed. She was too human.

  The following morning at sunrise, Ivy helped Gihn wash Emiri's body by the river. With Shahn's assistance, Ivy had prepared the turmeric root they had collected, in the way she knew traditional Indonesian tribes had done for centuries. Homo sapien tribes of course, but for once Ivy had no remorse at stealing the custom. Sapiens had taken her life; they should give something back. It wasn't much to give. Ivy had ground the turmeric roots and soaked their course filaments in a bowl by the hearth. The burnt orange dye bled into the watery mix, which she collected in a Dalunut mould and set in the fire. After it was baked into a coloured cake, Ivy wrapped it in banana leaves to set and then grated it to a fine powder on a course rock. She rubbed the turmeric powder into Emiri's clean face, hands and the souls of her feet.

  “She looks beautiful,” Shahn said. The pregnant woman had barely spoken since it happened. Her usually tranquil smile had been replaced with deep creases of worry. Her mate was the fastest and best hunter but Shahn feared it was only time that kept him safe. When Xiou had finally returned with Emiri's body, Ivy saw the battle of devastation versus relief conflict Shahn’s features. The woman was exhausted and Ivy knew that could not bode well for the baby she carried.

  “Let's take her to high caves,” Ivy said. She lifted Emiri in her arms and began the familiar trek along the base of the valley to the place where they would begin to climb. As difficult as it was, Ivy pushed herself, grateful for the burning muscles, sweat and pain she was able to give. Xiou had offered to carry her of course, and Ivy knew he was far stronger despite his small size, but Ivy needed to do this. For her new family.

  At the top of the mountain, small caves dotted the terrain, worn by the travels of shifting water over millennia. Ivy placed Emiri's body in one such cave, no bigger than a bed. She hesitated, watching the birds overhead begin their downward spiral, then, with a swift decision, she reached into the shallow cave and ran her spear across the underside of its dirt ceiling. In a fine shower of earth, Emiri�
�s body was covered.

  “You be careful little ones, don’t get under Gihn’s feet today.” Shahn sat on the cave floor with a pile of shredded bamboo lengths across her legs. She carefully knotted and wove them into watertight bowls while she rested her aching back and cumbersome belly.

  “I’ll watch them.” Ivy reassured her with a smile. She followed Kyah, Trahg and Turi down the lip of the cave.

  “So what is this mystery you want to show me?” She caught up with Gihn, eyeing the hide bag he carried.

  “You’ll see,” he said. Gihn brushed his hand against hers affectionately and continued walking. He hummed under his breath as he went, looking a little smug.

  Half way up the barren ridge was a small limestone shelter surrounded by rosewood. This, apparently, was their morning destination. Kyah drew the symbol ‘chase’ onto the dirt floor as soon as Ivy looked settled and the boys and bonobo disappeared, giggling into the branches.

  The charred remains of a hearth sat under the overhanging rock and Gihn set about gathering kindling. He pulled a small marsupial skull from his waist pouch and dropped a glowing coal onto the dry grass, blowing it gently. Within minutes, small flames were licking at the larger wood he added on top. From his bag, Gihn retrieved a bladder of animal fat and let it melt on the coals.

  The old man smiled conspiratorially at Ivy as he lay a bone plate on the ground in front of him, then pulled a hide pouch from his bag. It was a roughly cut circle that had been drawn together by a drawstring of fibrous bamboo.

  “It was you who gave me the idea, Hiranah,” he said.

  Ivy felt a sickening lump form in her throat as he tipped the contents of the pouch onto the plate. Ochre. Damn it. Gihn had already crushed the rock into a fine golden-brown powder and now carefully poured a small amount of liquid fat into it.

  One by one, he pulled four more pouches from his bag onto plates, each a different shade of ochre, sienna or umber. Each crumbling stone had been washed, dried and burnt or heated to produce their vivid colours and now Gihn mixed fat into the side of each dish. Golden-yellow, reddish-brown, warm brown, dark brown and flame red.

  “When we rubbed the turmeric powder into Emiri’s feet and hands, it was beautiful. Everybody thought so,” Gihn said.

  Ivy knew Krue and his allies had not been remotely impressed, but decided to let Gihn’s compliment stand. Krue had caused her enough grief this week.

  “But once her body has been taken by animals, there is nothing left of her beauty. Nothing to say she was here. We have memories, of course, but I thought, if there was a picture, like the ones you use with Kyah, that reminds us of our loved ones, then after they are dead they could still remain.”

  Oh no. Ivy’s stomach felt like lead. Gihn’s words and actions were leading him to a revelation she had never meant to inspire. With each word, her guilt multiplied and the responsibility she carried needled at her conscience.

  Gihn raised an eyebrow at Ivy’s shift in mood, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. He had grown used to her secrets and Ivy knew his own conscience now kept him from invading her privacy any further than necessary. Gihn continued mixing the ochre and fat into a thin paint.

  “When we coloured Emiri’s hands with turmeric, it was as if she was part of the earth again,” he said. “So I wondered if we painted her hand onto the earth itself, then perhaps it would have stayed there and she could be remembered by it. So I’ve been trying, these past few days, to bind this coloured clay to the rock. I tried first with water, but it washed away in the rain. Then with animal blood, but it too washed away. But now this,” Gihn looked triumphant, splaying his hand against the bone plate and holding it up for Ivy to see, stained golden brown and dripping, “This fat keeps the colour in place. If we leave our picture with this, we will always be remembered when we die.” Ivy pulled the amulet away from him, breaking their connection.

  And there it was. Art. That incredible shift in culture, that brought symbolism and story together to leave a permanent mark on the world. His species would never be the same. With art came self-expression, imagination and the representation of abstract thoughts. Where their primitive tools were now utilitarian and entirely functional, they would gradually morph into objects of beauty and ornamentation as well. Function and form would be twisted in the endless dance of subjective expression.

  She wanted to save them, physically and literally, yes, but Ivy had never meant to influence their culture in such a profound way. She had led them in a direction that they neither needed nor had missed knowing. It was a golden rule of ethnography broken – Ivy had biased their behaviour with her own, and so much more than she had ever intended.

  But I was always going to change them. Just me being here has changed them already. Homo floresiensis are meant to become extinct and if the Swift Death was a contributing factor, then I’ve already changed the course of evolution. That last thought sent chills up her spine.

  But were sapien hands the only ones to blame for their extinction? Ivy had her suspicions that the roots of the so-called ‘Slow Death’ ran far deeper than a poisoned waterhole. And if I do what they’re asking of me - if I help them to understand, adapt, survive - then painting and symbols are nothing in comparison. And deep down, Ivy knew she had already begun down that path.

  “It seems only fair,” Gihn rejoined their connection, oblivious to Ivy’s internal dilemma, “that your hand be the first to mark this wall, Hiranah. After all, you are part of our family now -”

  “No! I can’t do that-” Ivy pulled her hand away, heart suddenly hammering in her chest. It was one thing to change prehistory, but another thing entirely to leave the archaeological equivalent of a hallmark card on a rock saying ‘I was here!’ Ivy laughed nervously, shaking her head. “Not a good idea, Gihn.” The old man frowned.

  Ivy gently dropped his hand, stung by an errant thought. But then again… If I did it, that print would survive a lot longer than I ever will. It will remain to become a part of the world I lost. His world. Orrin’s. He might even find it. And date it…”

  Ivy held up her hand in the sunlight, wriggling her fingers and grinning. “No, you’re right, of course. It would be an honour to be first on your wall.” Gihn smiled victoriously and smeared a dollop of pigment across her open hand. Ushering her forward, he smoothed Ivy’s hand onto the stone, leaving a golden imprint. He then added his own hand print alongside.

  “I know it can not fill your loss Hiranah, but you and Kyah are both loved here. This is your home now,” he said, seriously, “and we are your family. Remember that, you must always stay here with us. You belong here now so you have to stay.”

  Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Where could I go anyway? I can’t go home.”

  “No you can’t,” he said again. “This is your home now.” Gihn lifted his chin and broke the connection, then turned away, busying himself with the paint. Ivy sat for a moment, her eyes narrowing. She cleared her throat, plastered a smile on her face and took his hand.

  “Gihn?” Ivy said, biting her lip. “What were the stars like the night I fell from the sky? Can you draw them for me, here on the wall?”

  “Why?” Gihn shuffled uncomfortably and looked past her to the children playing. Ivy was surprised. Although he often questioned her secrets, Gihn had never once questioned her motives.

  “I suppose I just want to remember it. That night changed my life.” Ivy gave her most disarming smile and took back her hand to curl her fringe behind her ear. It was a half truth.

  She couldn’t simply write a love letter on the wall. Twenty first century English script in a prehistoric Indonesian cave painting would spark scientific anarchy when it was discovered. Ivy bit back a laugh, imagining the fallout. No, if she was going to leave Orrin a message, it should be written in the stars.

  “Besides,” Ivy added, reconnecting with him, “that night is part of the story of the Life Stone too now. The story of your family. I mean our family.”

  Gihn nodded slowly, seemingly ap
peased by her response. “You are right; we should all remember it.” Appraising the wind-smoothed wall carefully, he dipped his finger into the paint and drew five dots on a clear wall.

  “Do you know these stars?” he asked.

  “Of course. That’s the Southern Cross,” said Ivy.

  “Perhaps, to your people. To us, these stars are shaped like the kites of the karathah fishing rafts. We call them karathin.” Again he dipped his fingers in the thick yellow dye. “Tonight the moon will be here,” he drew a waxing crescent moon near the constellation. “When the moon was full – here -”, he traced a perfect golden circle with his index finger, “this is when you fell from the sky.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ivy lied. Had it only been three weeks?

  Gihn completed the drawing, adding an arc of lunar positions around the constellation at seemingly random angles. “The stars shift with the moon. Every season is different, even every night they sit differently in the sky. Can you not see it?” He frowned, surveying his calendar.

  Perfect. “Oh yes, I see what you mean. Thank you Gihn,” Ivy smiled.

  For you, Orrin. The stars.

  They sat under the shade of the Rosewood trees nearby and talked. Gihn was infuriatingly naïve. He assumed the earth his species would survive into, would be as natural as the one he now occupied. Ivy knew better. Modern humans had all but lost their connection to land and those indigenous cultures that still honoured it were often bulldozed from their sacred sites and given shopping centres and bitumen in return.