by Anissa Gray
That’d be the day, Father actually wishing Mebbekew something he wanted!
“You don’t waste pulsefire on nothing shots,” said Nafai. “Elemak said so—they don’t last forever. And we don’t eat baboon. Elemak said that, too.”
“Elemak can fart into a flute and play it as a tune, it doesn’t mean I have to do it his way.” I have the pulse in my hand. Already sort of half-aimed at Nafai. I can show how I turned around, startled, and the pulse sort of fired and blew out Nafai’s chest. At this range, it might blow him up entirely, spattering little Nafai bits all over. I’ll come home with blood on my clothes no matter what.
Then he felt a pulse pressed against his head. “Hand me your pulse,” said Elemak.
“Why!” demanded Meb. “I wasn’t going to do it!”
Nafai piped up. “You already fired at the baboon once. If you were a better shot it would already be done.” So Nafai, of course, misunderstood completely what Meb had meant that he wasn’t going to do. But Elemak understood.
“I said give me your pulse, handle first.”
Meb sighed dramatically and handed the pulse to Elemak. “Let’s make a big deal about it, shall we? I’m forbidden to shoot at a baboon, but you can point your pulse at the head of whichever brother you feel like pointing at, and it’s all right when you do it.”
Elemak clearly didn’t appreciate Meb’s reminder about the supposed execution of Nafai for mutiny in the desert. But Elemak merely left his pulse pressed to Meb’s temple as he spoke to Nafai. “Never let me see you aim your pulse at another human again,” said Elemak.
“I wasn’t aiming at him. I was aiming at the plant above his head and I hit it.”
“Yes, you’re a wonderful shot. But what if you sneeze? What if you stumble? It’s quite possible for you to take your own brother’s head off with one little slip. So you never aim at another person or anywhere near, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” said Nafai.
Oh, yes, yes, Big Brother Elemak, I’ll suck up to you just the way I’ve always sucked up to Papa. It made Meb want to puke.
“It was a good shot, though,” said Elemak.
“Thanks.”
“And Meb is lucky it was you who saw him, and not me, because I might have aimed for his foot and left him with a stump to help him remember that you don’t shoot baboons.”
This wasn’t right, Elemak attacking him like this in front of Nafai of all people. Oh, and of course, here come Vas and Obring, they have to be here to see Elemak showing him such disdain as to rag him in front of Nafai. “So suddenly baboons are the sacred animal?” asked Meb.
“You don’t kill them, you don’t eat them,” said Elemak.
“Why not?”
“Because they do no harm, and eating them would be like cannibalism.”
“I get it,” said Meb. “You’re one of those people who believe that boons are magical. They’ve got a pot of gold hidden away somewhere, every tribe of them, and if you’re really nice and feed them, then, after they’ve stripped your land bare of every edible thing and torn apart your house looking for more, they’ll rush off to their hiding place and bring the pot of gold to you.”
“More than one lost wanderer on the desert has been led to safety by baboons.”
“Right,” said Meb. “So that means we should let them all live forever? Let me tell you a secret, Elya. They’ll all die eventually, so why not now, for target practice? I’m not saying we have to eat it or anything.”
“And I’m saying you’re through hunting. Give me your pulse.”
“Oh, swell,” said Meb. “I’m supposed to be the only man without a pulse?”
“The pulses are for hunting. Nafai’s going to be a good hunter, and you’re not.”
“How do you know? It’s only the first day of serious work on it.”
“You’re not because you’re never going to have a pulse in your hands again as long as I live.”
It stung Mebbekew to the heart. Elemak was stripping away all his dignity, and for what? Because of a stupid baboon. How could Elya do this to him? And in front of Nafai, no less. “Oh, I get it,” said Meb. “This is how you show your worship for King Nafai.”
There was a moment’s pause in which Meb wondered if he might have goaded Elya just a speck too far and maybe this was the time Elemak was going to kill him or beat him to a pulp. Then Elemak spoke. “Head back to camp with the hare, Nafai,” he said. “Zdorab will want to get it into the coldbox until he starts the stew in the morning.”
“Yes,” said Nafai. Immediately he scampered down the hill to the valley floor.
“You can follow him,” Elemak said to Vas and Obring, who had just clattered down the slope, both of them landing on their butts.
Vas arose and dusted himself off. “Don’t do anything stupid, Elya,” said Vas. Then he turned and started down the nontrail that Nafai had used.
Since Meb figured these words from Vas were all the support he was going to get, he decided to make the most of it. “When you get back to camp, tell my father that the reason I’m dead is because Elya’s little accident with his pulse wasn’t an accident at all.”
“Yes, tell Father that,” said Elemak. “It’ll prove to him what he’s long suspected, that Meb is out of his dear little mind.”
“I’ll tell him nothing at all, for now—unless you two don’t get back to camp right away,” said Vas. “Come on, Obring.”
“I’m not your puppy,” said Obring.
“All right then, stay,” said Vas.
“Stay and do what?” asked Obring.
“If you have to ask, you’d better come with me,” said Vas. “We don’t want to interfere in this little family quarrel.”
Meb didn’t want them to go. He wanted witnesses to whatever it was Elya was planning to do. “Elemak’s just superstitious!” he called after them. “He believes those old stories about how if you kill a baboon, his whole troop comes and carries off your babies! Eiadh must be pregnant, that’s all! Come on back, we can all walk to camp together!”
But they didn’t come back.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” said Meb. “You don’t need to make such a fuss about it. It’s not as if I hit the boon or anything.”
Elemak leaned in close to him. “You’ll never take a pulse in your hands again.”
“Nafai was the one who shot at me,” said Meb. “You’ll take away my pulse for shooting at a boon, and Nafai shoots at me and he gets to keep his?”
“You don’t kill animals you don’t plan to eat. That’s a law of the desert, too. But you know why I’m taking your pulse, and it isn’t the baboon.”
“What, then?”
“Your fingers were itching,” said Elemak. “To kill Nafai.”
“Oh, you can read my mind now, is that it?”
“I can read your body, and Nafai’s no fool, either, he knows what you were planning. Don’t you realize that the second you started to move your pulse he would have blown your head off?”
“He doesn’t have the spine for it.”
“Maybe not,” said Elemak. “And maybe neither do you. But you aren’t going to get the chance.”
This was the stupidest thing Meb had ever heard. “A couple of days ago on the desert you tried to tie him up and leave him for the animals!”
“A couple of days ago I thought I could get us back to civilization,” said Elemak. “But that isn’t going to happen now. We’re stuck out here, together whether we like it or not, and if Eiadh isn’t pregnant yet she will be soon.”
“If you can just figure out how it’s done.”
He had pushed a bit too far, he discovered, for Elemak swung his left arm around and smacked him square on the nose with his palm.
“Gaah! Aah!” Mebbekew grabbed at his nose, and sure enough his hands came away bloody. “You peedar! Hooy sauce!”
“Yeah, right,” said Elemak. “I love how pain makes you eloquent.”
“Now I’ve got blood all over my clothes.�
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“It’ll only help you bring off the illusion of being manly,” said Elemak. “Now listen to me, and listen close, because I mean this. I will break your nose next time, and I’ll go on breaking it every day if I see you plotting anything against anybody. I tried one time to break free of this whole sickening thing, but I couldn’t do it, and you know why.”
“Yeah, the Oversoul is better with ropes than I am,” said Meb.
“So we’re stuck with it, and our wives are going to have babies, and they’re going to grow up to be our children. Do you understand that? This company, these sixteen people we’ve got here, that’s going to be the whole world that our children grow up in. And it’s not going to be a world where a little ossly-ope like you goes around murdering people because they didn’t let him shoot a baboon. Do you understand me?”
“Sure,” said Meb. “It’ll be a world where big tough hemen like you get their jollies by smacking people around.”
“You won’t get smacked again if you behave,” said Elemak. “There’ll be no killing, period. Because no matter how smart you think you are, I’ll be there before you, waiting for you, and I’ll tear you apart. Do you understand me, my little actor friend?”
“I understand that you’re sucking up to Nafai for all you’re worth,” said Mebbekew. He half expected Elemak to hit him again. Instead Elya chuckled.
“Maybe so,” said Elemak. “Maybe I am, for the moment. But then, Nafai is also sucking up to me, too, in case you didn’t notice. Maybe we’ll even make peace. What do you think of that?”
I think you’ve got camel kidneys where your brains should be, which is why your talk is nothing but hot piss in the dirt. “Peace sounds just wonderful, my dear kind gentle older brother,” said Meb.
“Just remember that,” said Elemak, “and I’ll try to make your loving words come true.”
Rasa saw them come straggling home—Nafai first, with a hare in his poke, full of the triumph of making a kill, though of course, being Nafai, he tried vainly to conceal his pride; then Obring and Vas, looking tired and bored and sweaty and discouraged; and finally Elemak and Mebbekew, smug and jocular, as if they were the ones who had taken the hare, as if they were co-conspirators in the conquest of the universe. I’ll never understand them, thought Rasa. No two men could be more different—Elemak so strong and competent and ambitious and brutal, Mebbekew so weak and flimsy and lustful and sly—and yet they always seemed to be in on the same jokes, sneering at everyone else from the same lofty pinnacle of private wisdom. Rasa could see how Nafai might annoy others, with his inability to conceal his own delight in his accomplishments, but at least he didn’t make other people feel dirty and low just by being near them, the way Mebbekew and Elemak did.
No, I’m being unfair, Rasa told herself. I’m remembering that dawn on the desert. I’m remembering the pulse pointed at Nafai’s head. I’ll never forgive Elemak for that. I’ll have to watch him every day of the journey, to make sure of the safety of my youngest son. That’s one good thing about Mebbekew—he’s cowardly enough that you don’t really have to fear anything from him.
“I know you’re hungry,” said Volemak. “But it’s early yet for supper, and the time will be well spent. Let me tell you the dream that came to me last night.”
They had already gathered, of course, and now they sat on the flat stones that Zdorab and Volya had dragged into place days ago for just this purpose, so all would have a place to sit off the ground, for meals, for meetings.
“I don’t know what it means,” said Volemak, “and I don’t know what it’s for, but I know that it matters.”
“If it matters so much,” said Obring, “why doesn’t the Oversoul just tell you what it means and have done?”
“Because, son-in-law of my wife,” said Volemak, “the dream didn’t come from the Oversoul, and he is just as puzzled by it as I am.”
Rasa noted with interest that Volya still spoke of the Oversoul as he; so Nafai’s and Issib’s custom of calling her it had not yet overtaken him. She liked that. Perhaps it was just because he was getting old and unimaginative, but she liked it that Volemak still thought of the Oversoul in the old manly way, instead of thinking and speaking of her as a mere computer—even one with fractal-like memory that could hold the life of every human who ever lived and still have room for more.
“So I’ll begin, and tell the dream straight through,” said Volemak. “And I’ll warn you now, that because the dream didn’t come from the Oversoul, it gives me more reason to rejoice—for Nafai and Issib, anyway—and yet also more reason to fear for my first sons, Elemak and Mebbekew, for you see, I thought I saw in my dream a dark and dreary wilderness.”
“You can see that wide awake,” murmured Mebbekew. Rasa could see that Meb’s jest was nothing but a thin mask for anger—he didn’t like having been singled out like that before the dream began. Elemak didn’t like it either, of course—but Elemak knew how to hold his tongue.
Volemak gazed at Mebbekew placidly for a moment or two, to silence him, to let him know that he would brook no more interruption. Then he began again.
FOUR
THE TREE OF LIFE
“I thought I saw in my dream a dark and dreary wilderness,” said Volemak, but he knew as he said it that they would not understand what his words meant to him. Not the hot desert that they knew so well by now, dreary as that wilderness was. Where he walked in his dream was dank, chill and dirty, with little light, barely enough to see each step he took. There might have been trees not far off, or he might have been underground for all he knew. He walked on and on, with no hope and yet unable to stop hoping that by moving, he would eventually escape this desolate place.
“And then I saw a man, dressed in a white gown.” Like a priest of Seggidugu, only those are ordinary men, sweating as they perform their rites. This man seemed so at ease with himself that I thought at once that he must be dead. I was in a place where dead men waited, and I thought perhaps that I was dead. “He up came to me, and stood there in front of me, and then he spoke to me. Told me to follow him.”
Volemak could tell that the others were getting bored—or at least the most childish of them. It was so frustrating, to have only words to tell them what the dream was like. If they could know how that voice sounded when the man spoke, how warm and kind he seemed, as if the very sound of him was the first light in this dark place, then they’d know why I followed him, and why it mattered that I followed him. Instead, to them, it’s only a dream, and this is clearly the dull part. Yet to me it was not dull.
“I followed him for many hours in the darkness,” said Volemak. “I spoke to him but he didn’t answer. So, since by now I was convinced that this man was sent by the Oversoul, I began to speak to the Oversoul in my mind. I asked him how long this had to go on, and where I was going, and what it was all about. I got no answer. So I became impatient, and told him that if this was a dream it was time for me to wake up, and if there was going to be some point to this, maybe he should get to it before dawn. And there was no answer. So I began to think that maybe it was real, that it would go on forever, that this is what happens to us after death, we go to a dreary wasteland and walk forever behind some man who won’t tell us anything that’s going on.”
“Sounds like life, lately,” murmured Mebbekew.
Volemak paused, not looking at Meb, waiting for the others to glare him into silence. Then he went on. “Thinking it might be real, I began to plead with the Oversoul or whoever was in charge of this place to have a little mercy and tell me something or let me see something, let me understand what was happening. It was only then, after I began to plead for relief, that the place lightened—not like sunrise or coming near a campfire, I couldn’t see any source of the light, I could simply see, like bright daylight, and I came out of the stony place to a vast field of tall grass and flowers, bending slightly in the breeze. It was such a relief—to see life—that I can’t describe it to you. And a little way off—perhaps three hundred me
ters or so—there was a tree. Even at that distance I could see that amid the bright green of the leaves there were spots of white—fruit, I knew at once. And suddenly I could smell the fruit, and I knew that whatever it was, it was delicious, the most perfect food that ever existed, and if I could only taste that fruit, I’d never be hungry again.”
He paused for just a moment, waiting for Mebbekew’s obligatory smart remark about how hungry they all were right now, waiting for this dream to end. But Meb had apparently been chastened, because he was silent.
“I walked—I ran to the tree—and the fruit was small and sweet. Yes, I tasted it, and I can tell you that no food I’ve ever had in life was as good.”
“Yeah, like sex in dreams,” said Obring, who apparently thought that he could fill in for Meb. Volemak bowed his head for a moment. He could hear a movement—yes, Elemak rising to his feet. Volemak knew the scene without looking, for Elemak had learned this technique from him. Elemak was standing, looking at Obring, saying nothing at all, until Obring withered before him. And yes, there it was, Obring’s mumbled apology, “Sorry, go on, go on.” Volemak waited a moment more, and there was the sound of Elemak sitting back down. Now he could go on, perhaps without another interruption.
But it had been spoiled. He had thought he might be on the verge of finding exactly the right words to explain how the taste of the fruit had been in his mouth, how it made him feel alive for the first time. “It was life, that fruit,” he said, but now the words sounded empty and inadequate, and he knew the moment of lucidity had passed, and they would never understand. “The joy I felt when I tasted it—was so perfect—I wanted my family to have it. I couldn’t bear the thought that I had this perfect fruit, this taste of life in my mouth, and my family didn’t know about it, wasn’t sharing it. So I turned to look for you, to see where I might find you. You weren’t back in the direction I had come from, and as I turned around I saw that a river ran near the tree, and when I looked upriver, I saw Rasa and our two sons, Issib and Nafai, and they were looking around as if they didn’t know where they were supposed to go. So I called to them, and waved, and finally they saw me and came to me, and I gave them the fruit and they ate it and felt what I had felt and I could see it in them, too, that when they ate the fruit it was as if life came into them for the first time. They had been alive all along, of course, but now they knew why they were alive, they were glad to be alive.”
