by Brian Nelson
Eric lay in the grass for a moment, feeling a little silly, but trying to imagine how the animals must move and think. He noticed their musty smell. It was more acute in some of the beds than the others.
“The males smell the strongest,” Khamko said, “The smell that is a bit more acrid, that is the female. The young have almost no smell, their only defense against predators. I once saw a cheetah walk right by a young gemsbok in the tall grass and not even notice it.”
They searched the area thoroughly, looking for more clues about their prey. Then Khamko called Eric to him once more. “The ground is moist here.” At his feet Eric saw the spoor of six or seven of the gemsbok, perfectly imprinted in the dark earth. It looked like a fossil, a petrified remnant from a thousand years distant.
“Here is where we begin!” he said excitedly. “At your feet is a clue. That clue is the reason you exist as you do—the reason you stand upright, the reason you now hold a weapon in your hand, and the reason your brain is so unusually big.
“This is the mystery your brain was made for. Just think of it: Your mind has evolved for hundreds of millions of years—in that time there have been billions of minute changes to your DNA, changes spanning countless generations—all so that you could do what you are about to do now, better. At your feet is a clue; if you are clever and read the clues correctly, you live. If you don’t, you die.
“If you are standing here now”—Khamko flashed his infectious smile—“and I know you are, it means every one of your ancestors had it—he or she was a hunter—and they passed it down to you. This”—he motioned again to the tracks—“is the only mystery that matters, the only riddle in life that truly counts. You already know the feeling of such mysteries. I’m sure it is the reason you enjoy science. And the reason for a thousand of man’s other pointless pursuits. It is in the pull of every mystery novel you’ve ever read, every TV show you have ever seen, every campfire story that kept you entranced. But these are false mysteries and false pursuits; they are things that have merely hijacked the Hunter inside of you, toying with your ancient code, playing upon your desire to find the next clue. But this . . . this is the original mystery. This is what you were designed to do. There is no gemsbok at the end of this trail. No! At the end of this trail is life. At the end of this trail is the survival of your race.”
Khamko stood and a big smile stretched across his face, a smile that only hinted at the fountain of mirth within the old man. “Are you ready?”
“Oh yeah.”
There was a twinkle in his eye. “Let’s go.”
They moved off with new urgency. The time for talking was over. Now they spoke only with their hands. And they did it as they ran, overlapping, working as an experienced team. One would stop to examine the earth or a bent twig, while the other would dart ahead, drawn by a different sign. They were not three Sān hunters, they were one entity. One mind. Transferring all knowledge to each other. They were discerning which were strong, which were weak, which were old, and which were young. At last they seemed to make a communal decision. Khamko made a flick of his wrist over one spoor, which Karuma followed for a time, then he made the same motion with the wrist. Finally, Naru did the same. Among the twelve sets of tracks, they had chosen the one they wanted.
Eric felt a great sense of fortune just to be with them. Much like he’d felt at the watering hole—he knew he was one of a very few people in the world to be blessed with an experience like this—to be part of a hunt led by those who had been doing it for hundreds of thousands of years.
They had covered another two miles when Naru stopped them with a signal. They all crouched down and slowly crept forward.
Here the vegetation was mostly green, with golden grass that came up to their waists, spread between occasional shepherd and blackthorn trees.
The herd of gemsbok was 120 yards away. They were obscured up to their haunches in the tall grass and appeared to be adrift in the ocean of green and gold—the young ones almost completely submerged. All of them had long graceful horns, twice and a half the length of their heads. Their faces were white and painted with two black lines that ran down their cheeks, over their chests and down their lower flanks to the tail. The color of their bodies was hypnotic, changing from golden tan to light gray depending on the light.
Khamko eased the bow from his back and began to move off to the right, downwind from the herd. Just as the grass helped conceal the smaller gemsbok, now it hid the old Sān. Eric had examined the bows and knew they were not particularly powerful. The Sān relied on the poison, not the power of the bow, so Khamko would have to get very close for a good shot.
Naru made a motion to her mouth then tightened her fist. Eric translated this as, “Keep quiet and don’t move.”
They had been waiting perhaps five minutes when the big bull suddenly raised his head high and pricked his ears. The others instantly stopped grazing and looked around.
Eric held his breath. Khamko had frozen, too. Eric marveled at the bull’s horns, which were at least four feet long. If their purpose was to intimidate, he thought, they fulfilled their purpose well.
After a very tense minute, the bull returned to grazing. They waited in silence. Another five minutes passed. Eric thought about what Khamko had told him: he had to understand each animal. He saw the bull, intimidating and proud. He saw two of the younger bulls, doing their best to mimic their father. Of the females, one seemed to be more watchful than the others. She raised her head to look around much more—a cautious mother, he thought.
Eric had now lost sight of Khamko. He shifted in his crouch to get a better view, and his foot pressed down on a stick. It snapped with a loud pop.
Instantly the gemsbok were up and alert; looking straight at him.
Naru’s glare made him feel as if he’d shrunk to half his size. “I should have killed you,” she mouthed silently.
Simultaneously, one of the gemsbok bolted to their right, and the others quickly followed. Khamko rose from his hiding place, the bowstring pulled back to his cheek. Eric had startled them right toward him.
The five-hundred-pound animals bore down on the small man, and Eric feared he would surely be trampled. It looked impossible that he wouldn’t be. Yet Khamko stood confident and proud, shoulders and shock of white hair above the grass, the bow drawn back. At the last moment the herd scattered—some veered to the side, while others panicked and tried to turn back. Eric saw Khamko tracking a calf with the tip of his arrow. But then one of the older females hesitated and stumbled. She was on her feet almost instantly, but in a flash Khamko pivoted and shot her.
Naru leapt over the tall grass to give chase, Eric close behind. Khamko stood smiling.
Stung by the arrow, the gemsbok bounded away from the others. Eric saw the arrow bouncing against her side two or three times, then the long piece fell out. But he knew the arrow tip was still in her and that the poison was already beginning its work.
Naru sprinted past her father. “Go, my beautiful runner,” he said to her. “Be swift.”
Balancing the two spears, one in each hand, Naru raced after the gemsbok. For Eric, it seemed an impossible race to win. The gemsbok was making huge leaping bounds over the high grass and getting further away every moment. Eric followed Naru all the same. He spotted on her and kept running as fast as he could.
The poison would take hours to kill such a big animal, but it would die. They couldn’t lose her. If she got too far ahead, another predator might take her. If they lost her completely, she would be food for the hyenas and vultures.
Naru raced through the grass with unbelievable grace and speed. Eric was not nearly as fast as her, but he could still follow. Within a quarter mile, his lungs were on fire, but his legs still felt strong.
To keep his mind off the pain, he tried to remember Khamko’s words.
You must become the creature you hunt. Your heart must beat with he
r heart, your lungs must breathe with her lungs, and your mind must think like her mind.
It reminded Eric of mirror neurons, specialized neurons that scientists believed allowed humans to empathize with each other. A trait, they said, that was crucial for social bonding. If you saw a child being bullied in the street, for example, it was the mirror neurons in your head that would make you feel his fear. When the bully struck him, it was the mirror neurons that let you imagine the sting of the blow on your own cheek.
But as he ran, and as he felt his body being pushed to the peak of its ability, and as he felt all his doubts and inhibition melting away, it seemed to him that perhaps the neurologists had it all wrong. Clearly mirror neurons had evolved for this—the hunt. To help understand not the mind of your fellow man, but the mind of an animal. Such an adaptation would have meant all the difference for our ancestors trying to survive in an environment like this. The ability to feel what your prey feels, to empathize with it . . . and through that empathy, to predict how it would behave. That would have made the difference between survival and extinction. Perhaps it was the very reason why Homo sapiens had evolved into such social animals, an off-label use of their hunting abilities.
They had now covered at least two miles since Khamko had shot the gemsbok. While Eric was falling farther and farther behind, Naru was now matching the speed of their prey.
Then the gemsbok stopped and looked back. Its eyes fell on Naru but it didn’t immediately run. It waited a moment, thinking, before dashing off. Tongue out. Panting.
What was it thinking? Eric tried to concentrate, but it was not an easy thing to do as he bounded through the high grass, avoiding rocks and bushes, trying to ignore the burning in his lungs. Yet despite all that, he found that he could.
He realized that the wounded gemsbok was the same female he had noticed in the herd, the cautious mother.
She must be feeling the poison by now. That would bring a sense of fear . . . of uncertainty.
And what would lessen her fear?
Returning to the herd. Yes, that was why she had stopped. She wanted to return to the security of the herd.
In the distance Eric could see her. She had changed course slightly and was heading for a thick stand of acacia and blackthorn trees. She was looking for cover . . . to hide herself.
Naru reached the point where the gemsbok had paused. She knelt briefly. When she stood she glanced back and saw him for the first time. A look of annoyance flared across her face, then she sprinted on.
A few moments later, Eric reached the same spot. Here the gemsbok had defecated. He remembered how Khamko had said you could judge how far the poison had traveled through the prey’s system by the smell of the scat, but this was information Eric couldn’t parse, so he pressed on.
The thick copse of trees was half a mile off and the gemsbok raced for it with renewed strength. But Naru seemed to be moving faster than ever, covering ground with preternatural speed. For the first time, she was gaining.
Eric raced on as best he could, the heat and the sun sapping his strength; his legs were starting to feel unsteady. Remember you’re not the only one, he thought.
The sun is our friend. It will make the animal’s blood boil.
Eric knew there was science behind Khamko’s words. Humans were unique among mammals because they could let off heat through their skins, something the gemsbok and other mammals could not. While a few mammals do have a type of sweat, their primary means of cooling was through panting. Encased in thick fur, the gemsbok had to give off heat through her tongue. And to do that best she had to slow down or stop. The hotter she got, the more often she’d need to rest.
Naru had closed the gap to about sixty yards, but the gemsbok had almost reached the thicket of trees. Naru lifted one of her spears to her shoulder. With a loud grunt and a lunge, she cast. Eric watched in amazement as the spear arced high into the air. It seemed to be perfectly timed to intersect the fleeing gemsbok, like a guided missile zeroing in.
But the spear glanced off the long horns with a clatter and skipped harmlessly away.
Startled, the gemsbok veered to the right and disappeared into the wood. Naru soon plunged in after her, picking up the spear without breaking stride. Eric was amazed anew by her strength and ferocity.
The gemsbok was going to double back, Eric was sure of it. The old mother wanted to get back to the herd . . . her family. Naru must have known it, too, but she still had to track her to figure out which way. But Eric had a wide vista of the whole copse and would surely see her when she emerged.
If he could pick the correct side, and if Naru flushed her toward him, he might have a chance of finishing this quickly.
But which side would she take? He checked the sun and tried to orient himself. He had last seen the herd heading west, so he found a cluster of acacia trees that lay between the copse and where he guessed the herd might be now. He climbed up one tree and stood on a high branch. He was thankful to be in the shade; it felt fifteen degrees cooler here. He wiped the sweat from his brow. In the buckskin pouch Khamko had given him, he removed the ostrich egg filled with water and greedily gulped some down. He wanted to drink it all, but he made himself stop.
He scanned the copse, waiting. One minute. Two. He wondered if the gemsbok was trying to lose Naru in the underbrush, perhaps doubling back multiple times to confuse her. It was something Eric would do if he were her.
Suddenly she bounded out of the trees, light and graceful and without a sound then she sprinted like a thoroughbred toward him. Yes, it was better than he had hoped. Not only had he picked the correct side of the wood, but she was making for the very cluster of trees he was in, looking for more cover.
He balanced himself on a branch with one hand then lifted the spear to his shoulder with his free hand. He was already imagining the look of amazement on Khamko’s face when he discovered that it was Eric who had killed the gemsbok. It would be almost as priceless as the scowl on Naru’s face.
The old mother was weary and frightened. She could no longer run as she once had. She had raised six fawns and seen many rains. Now her heart felt ready to explode.
She reached the shade of the acacia trees, gasping and painting. She looked over her shoulder at the far copse. The wicked huntress had still not yet emerged. Had she really escaped? For a moment she felt her panic subside, yet something was still not right. Something about the air here was wrong.
She turned her head toward home, toward her family. If she could get there, she’d be safe. Her instincts told her, keep running. But a strange weariness was on her. The white-headed hunter had pricked her. And it had not hurt her much at first, but now she feared that she was injured more than she thought. She knew she needed to keep going, but she wished she could just lie down and sleep.
Eric stood on the branch above her, poised and ready. The gemsbok was no more than fifteen feet away. It was the perfect opportunity. Yet he hesitated.
He could see her beautiful fur. The broken shaft of the arrow. The blood seeping from the wound and dripping onto the sandy soil.
And he felt her terror. It felt like a third presence there in the shade. He heard her panting, saw her wet nostrils flaring as she sucked in air, and he watched her sides expand and contract as she tried to catch her breath. And for the briefest of moments he imagined he heard her heart beating.
Thadup, thadup, thadup.
The spear was held at his shoulder, and his whole body tensed as he prepared to spear her.
But he didn’t.
His mirror neurons, the ones that allowed him to understand the mind of his prey, also made it much, much harder for him to hurt a thing that he was beginning to understand was very . . . human.
As he tried to steel himself to what had to be done—you must do this for the tribe—one of her ears suddenly pivoted toward him. Their eyes locked. One second. Two seconds. They stared at
each other, and it seemed to Eric that she knew that her life was in his hands.
Thadup, thadup, thadup.
Then she bolted out of the shade and back onto the scorching plain.
Eric threw the spear into the dirt, disgusted at himself for not having the gumption to act.
Then he swung down from the branch, picked up the spear, and ran after her.
Passing out of the shade felt like stepping into an oven. The heat and the intensity of the sun instantly began to drain his stores of energy. His legs resented being asked to run again, and he started off stiffly. But he urged himself on. You must see this through. After only a hundred yards he fell back into his stride. He tried to match the gemsbok’s speed and found that he could. He was moving at a steady run. The sun weighed on him, but he knew the sun and the poison were weighing on her, too. He tried to think on her again. To feel her heart.
He sensed her anxiety growing as she realized she wasn’t getting away. A sense of hopelessness was building in her. Oddly, Eric began to feel stronger, is if he was pulling her energy into his body.
He guessed they had run at least three miles from where she had left the herd to the copse. Now they were running back, more or less, at the angle she hoped would intersect the herd.
Eric was pushing his body to the limit. Indeed, past what he thought was the limit. He had never run this far, this fast, in his life. And he had never felt so in tune with his body, which meant, by extension, he had never felt so in touch with the world. Perhaps it was due to the return of his sight, or perhaps the way his other senses had become superacute during his blindness. But now, today, everything was glorious. From the crickets that flew up in front of him as he ran through the grass, to the wind-swept shapes of the acacia trees, as they were pulled this way and that like umbrellas in an abstract painting. Everything was moving, in motion, alive, talking to him, teaching him.
