The Days of the Deer

by Liliana Bodoc

  Dulkancellin realized it was an order he must obey, and began to accept his fate.

  ‘I will do as you ask, since it has been so decided.’ The warrior thought this was the right moment to make a demand of his own: ‘I will go to the Remote Realm, but without any companion. I will not need the Zitzahay on my journey.’

  ‘“I will not need the Zitzahay on my journey,”’ Cucub mocked him. ‘What do you think of that, Kupuka? The warrior does not need me!’

  ‘You will need him,’ said the Earth Wizard. ‘The journey to Beleram is long and complicated. Without his help you would find it hard to reach the House of the Stars in time. Above all, we must make sure you take part in the Great Council. If you went alone you would be exposed to too many dangers. With two of you, you can watch over each other’s sleep, cure the other’s wounds, and if necessary one of you can sacrifice himself so that the other can continue.’

  Cucub yawned and concentrated on rubbing his arms and legs. His gesture showed both his weariness and his satisfaction at the reply Dulkancellin had received.

  ‘Everything has been said,’ Kupuka concluded. ‘I am going to leave now. I also have difficult days ahead of me. You two have only a few days to prepare for your journey. Don’t let the seventh sunrise still find you here!’

  ‘The rain will be a wall against us,’ said Dulkancellin.

  ‘Of course, but you will have to overcome it. You know the forest better than anyone.’ With this, Kupuka got to his feet and asked Dulkancellin to bring Kush and the children back in.

  By the time Kush and her five grandchildren had entered the room, the Earth Wizard was already standing by the door loaded with all his belongings, his cloak wrapped round his shoulders. They went over to him. Kupuka placed his palm on the forehead of each in a sign of farewell and protection. Then he turned to the men.

  ‘Two of you rather than one are setting out, in order to defend each other and protect the outcome of your mission. Two of you rather than an army, so that your movements will go unnoticed, and the secret be kept as has been ordained.’

  ‘Are we to see you again?’ asked Dulkancellin.

  ‘Yes. I will appear at some point on your path, before you finally leave the Ends of the Earth. Oh, I was forgetting!’ the Earth Wizard smote himself on the forehead. ‘You must ask Cucub for the sign that shows he is the true messenger sent by the Astronomers. It is one of Kukul’s feathers. He is sure to have it.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a feather from that bird,’ Dulkancellin objected.

  ‘That is why you will instantly recognize it.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we have done this as soon as the Zitzahay arrived?’ the warrior said in surprise.

  ‘As I told you, I forgot. I must be older than any of you imagine.’

  Dulkancellin was not convinced by Kupuka’s excuse.

  ‘Wait. We’ll ask him for it right now,’ he insisted.

  ‘That’s impossible. Cucub will take ages rummaging in his belongings, and I cannot wait.’

  Kupuka said farewell and went out into the rainstorm. They closed the door behind him. Wind, rain and cold were left outside once more.

  ‘Look! Look!’ shouted Thungür, pointing to one of the walls.

  Kupuka’s shadow was still there, with his pack, his staff, and his cloak. It slowly faded away, with all of them watching until it had completely disappeared.

  7

  ‘I CAN STILL HEAR THE RAIN BEFORE YOU!’

  ‘It’s true Kupuka must be very old,’ said Wilkilén. ‘He forgot his shadow as well!’

  ‘I think he left so quickly it could not keep up with him,’ Kuy-Kuyen argued.

  ‘That can’t be right,’ said Piukemán, who did not agree with her. ‘Arrows fly more quickly, and yet they take their shadows with them.’

  ‘Kupuka does not do things without a reason,’ said Thungür.

  ‘I know the reason,’ said Kume with a nervous grin. ‘It’s because he enjoys scaring people now and again.’

  This children’s chatter helped the family recover from their unease at the sight of the shadow. Dulkancellin remembered his duties, and spoke to the messenger, who at that moment was gazing round the room, taking in every last detail.

  ‘Show us the sign so we may know you are who you say you are,’ he asked, then added: ‘Show us the feather which for some reason or other you failed to produce of your own accord.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t show it!’ Cucub protested. ‘I had orders not to do so until I was asked. You must understand that we too need proof that you are who you say you are. What if I took an impostor with me right to the House of the Stars! But since Kupuka has already demonstrated that he knew of the sign, and that it is a feather from Kukul, I must now let you see it as evidence of my faithfulness to the Astronomers and their commands.’

  Cucub dragged his bag close to the oil lamp, and knelt down to rummage in it. The Husihuilkes took advantage of this to get a good look at him. They found it hard to understand how he could move easily beneath all he was wearing. Kuy-Kuyen stared at the green stones set in his earrings, his arm-band and the seven loops of his necklace. There are no stones like that in the forest. And the people who come down from Wilú-Wilú never bring them either, she thought. Thungür’s attention was drawn to a slender rod hanging from the Zitzahay’s belt, which flexed without snapping as he knelt. For her part, Old Mother Kush preferred to look at the string of seeds that kept appearing and disappearing among the folds of his clothes. ‘Those seeds he has strung on a thread must be from the cacao tree,’ she said to herself. Wilkilén was amused by Cucub’s short, wiry hair. Dulkancellin noticed the blowpipe he was carrying. However hard he tried, though, he could not make out where the darts and poison were concealed. The Zitzahay’s astonishing appearance meant that all the Husihuilkes forgot their good manners as hosts, and stared at him openly.

  Cucub meanwhile had removed almost everything from the bag. Things were not going well for him; they grew worse when Dulkancellin returned to the charge.

  ‘What’s wrong? You should have no doubt where you put the feather.’

  Despite the abruptness of his question, Dulkancellin was sure Cucub was going to find the proof at any moment. But this certainty evaporated when the Zitzahay looked up, his face pale. Glancing across at the warrior, he began to speak hesitantly:

  ‘It was here ... I know it was ... here somewhere. I put it away carefully, but ... now I can’t find it.’

  ‘You say you can’t find it?’ Dulkancellin said. ‘You’re telling me you have lost the proof that you are the true messenger, that the feather was there, and now it isn’t? And you expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, no,’ stammered Cucub. ‘I don’t expect you to. You’re right, quite right. I understand it must be hard to believe me. But let me look again. That Kukul feather has to be somewhere.’

  The Zitzahay started going through his things all over again. He looked in every cranny, turned the bag over, shook it hard. No use. ‘It has to be here ... it has to be here,’ he kept repeating. He wiped his brow, patted his clothes despairingly, then began the search again. Finally, after admitting to himself it was impossible, Cucub gave up: the Kukul feather had vanished, and he could give no valid reason for it. There was no excuse for losing the token the Astronomers had given him to prove he was the true messenger. Cucub knew that not being able to produce it put him in a dreadful position, and put his future in doubt. He peered round, hoping against hope he might spot the special green colour of a Kukul feather in some corner of the room. No luck there either. Straightening up and seeing the Husihuilkes looking gravely at him, he attempted to smile.

  ‘Listen, Dulkancellin,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how this has happened. I don’t know if an ill wind blew it away, or if an enemy has turned it into grains of dust. Whatever it was, it must have been close to here, because just before I arrived I made sure I still had the feather. I saw it with my own eyes! Believe me, warrior, I am the messen
ger Kupuka and you were expecting.’

  ‘I will not believe you,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘It’s impossible for me to believe you. The Earth Wizard was clear. You were supposed to show us a Kukul feather to prove that your words and your intentions are one and the same. You have been unable to do that, and anything you say from now on will only confirm you as a traitor.’

  ‘We ought to wait for Kupuka,’ said Cucub, trying to postpone the decision Dulkancellin had already taken.

  ‘You know Kupuka will not be coming back here. You and I both heard that he will meet us on our path,’ the warrior sighed. He knew what he had to do, and also knew that putting it off would only make it more cruel for Cucub. ‘I was ordered to take this mission, and I will. They want me to think and act in the name of the Husihuilke people. That means I must think and act as they would. Since my own judgement has to take the place of the council of elders and warriors, I will not declare anything they would not have said. I sentence you in the same way we have always sentenced traitors since the sun saw us awaken at the Ends of the Earth. Death is justice for you, Zitzahay. And it will take no more time than it takes us to walk into the forest.’

  In Dulkancellin’s voice, the death sentence sounded dispassionate. There was no trace of hatred, but nor was there any weakness. It was clear that nothing Cucub could do or say would change anything. Staring helplessly at Kush’s warm presence, the Zitzahay slid slowly down, until he was slumped on the floor like another of the jumble of objects he had scattered around.

  Dulkancellin walked away from him without another word. As Cucub saw the warrior leave the room, he suddenly began to think of how he could escape. His hands and feet were not tied ... perhaps he could slip away and run towards the trees. Then he remembered the heavy bar across the door. That, and the fact that Thungür and Kume would be bound to try to stop him, made him change his mind. He would wait for Dulkancellin to return. He could do nothing by force, but he could by stealth. If he could load the blowpipe before the warrior reappeared .. . A well-aimed dart would paralyse him. The rest would be easy. Cucub remained very still. Nothing about him revealed how his mind was spinning as his thoughts collided with each other. The final decision, though, was surprisingly simple: he had nothing to lose. The Zitzahay bent over so that Kush and the children could not see what he was up to. He felt for the poisoned darts, and took one from the stiff plant sheath they were kept in. His hand moved imperceptibly towards the blowpipe. Yet before he could touch it, a long time before, before he had decided there was nothing to lose, even before he had left Beleram to travel to the Ends of the Earth, his time was up. Dulkancellin was standing beside him, gripping his arm.

  Cucub felt despair take hold of him. It weighed so heavily on his chest, pressing all the air out of him, that the little man had to take in great gulps so as not to pass out.

  ‘Stand up and walk by yourself,’ Dulkancellin ordered him. Allowing Cucub to reach his place of execution without being bound was a mark of respect the Zitzahay could not appreciate.

  ‘Take everything you brought with you,’ added the warrior, ‘it will keep you company.’

  Trembling, Cucub stuffed all his things back in the bag and slowly stood up.

  ‘Allow me to get the rest,’ he said, pointing to the cape and staff Kush and Kuy-Kuyen had earlier put aside.

  Cucub’s state of mind must have changed as he walked over to pick up his other belongings, because when he turned back to the Husihuilke family he was no longer trembling. He held his head high, and his face had become almost noble-looking. They all understood that he had accepted he was going to die.

  ‘We can go now,’ was all he said as he stood next to Dulkancellin.

  His spirit did not even seem to waver when he noticed the axe that the warrior was carrying beneath his cape.

  ‘You will not suffer,’ said Dulkancellin, whose eyes had followed Cucub’s gaze. ‘And then time will not be able to harm you. I will look for a tree with branches that can support your body, and I will cover it with my cape so that no scavengers can get at it.’

  The two men made to leave. But just then, Kume stepped forward.

  ‘Father, stop!’ he said.

  At this, Old Mother Kush stretched out the palm of her hand to tell the boy not to go on. Instead, she was the one who spoke:

  ‘Dulkancellin, don’t take the Zitzahay to the forest. Let him live, and go with him on your journey to the north. You will meet Kupuka before you have left the paths you know. Let Kupuka decide the fate of this person who says he is called Cucub!’

  ‘You know I cannot do that,’ replied Dulkancellin, failing to realize his mother was not begging a favour from him.

  ‘I am exercising my right,’ the old woman said gently. ‘I still hear the rain coming before you do. And I say, regretfully, that the moment has come for me to go against your decision.’

  ‘You are going against our laws,’ murmured her son.

  ‘But it is our laws which also give me the power I am calling upon. I was the first person in this house to hear the rain on the leaves.’

  Every season since Dulkancellin could remember, Old Mother Kush had won this right. Yet never before had she used it. The warrior was confused. Why did his mother want to get mixed up in such serious matters?

  ‘Old woman, you are also going against justice.’

  ‘Has this old woman said you should not make sure justice is done?’ Kush responded sharply. ‘I did not say that, simply that you should wait until Kupuka learns what has happened and approves the sentence. Our justice is not in the hands of any one person. And the person who has decreed Cucub’s death is not the Council, although he has acted as if he were.’

  ‘I can think of no better way to act,’ said Dulkancellin.

  ‘Do as you say: observe the laws,’ his mother replied. ‘For once, I am imposing my will on yours. I have this right. Do you understand how rarely we Husihuilkes use it? Do you understand that I have never done so? Yet I am doing so now, because that is what the voice inside me is telling me.’

  Dulkancellin still hesitated between his own sense of right and his mother’s.

  ‘Be careful, my son. It is not good that a man and his laws are at odds with each other.’

  ‘I will respect your right,’ said the warrior.

  All this time the Zitzahay had been standing with his eyes closed, and seemed to have distanced himself from the discussion. So much so that Dulkancellin now shook him roughly.

  ‘Listen to me! I don’t know what charms you used to cloud this woman’s understanding. But neither they nor any others will succeed in fooling Kupuka. You will leave here as my prisoner.’

  Dulkancellin took some of the clothes Cucub was wearing from him, as well as most of his possessions.

  ‘Sit over there!’ he ordered. ‘We will leave when the sun has risen three times. And remember, you may still be alive, but you are not free.’

  The Zitzahay’s expression at his reprieve was far from joyful. He walked slowly over to the corner where Dulkancellin had pointed, and slumped down.

  ‘Come on, daughters!’ said Old Mother Kush. ‘We have a journey to prepare for.’

  The old woman was beginning to feel the pangs of doubt. She realized her decision had changed the course of great events, and was afraid she might be wrong. For his part, Dulkancellin hardly dared ask himself whether the need he felt to take a deep breath of the damp night into his lungs was due to a sense of relief.

  8

  THE PRISONER’S SONG

  The following day was spent in preparations for their imminent departure. The whole family took part, so that by nightfall nearly everything was complete. Dulkancellin and the three boys were polishing the last arrow-heads. Old Mother Kush, Kuy-Kuyen and Wilkilén were smearing grease onto all the leather gear. The quiver, cape and boots had all to be carefully polished so that they would not let in water or split.

  ‘Tomorrow the Zitzahay can gather together his things,’ said Dulkancel
lin to no one in particular.

  Still sitting there, hands tied, Cucub watched them hard at work. The previous night he had been given a good meal and a bed close to where Dulkancellin slept. The Husihuilke warrior trusted in the sharpness of his hearing. The Zitzahay was no longer thinking of trying to escape. Yet both of them spent the entire night awake, until at last dawn came. The sky at the Ends of the Earth barely grew light, changing from black to dark grey. The household was up very early: they had much to do, and very little time. Dulkancellin realized he could not keep a proper watch on the Zitzahay, and so had decided to tie him more securely. Taking a leather thong, he had skilfully wrapped it round his hands several times until he could not move them. He was about to do the same with his feet, but thought it over for a moment and decided not to. It was not necessary.

  Cucub had spent most of the day tied up like this, thinking it would have been good to be able to play his pan-pipes. The rain came lashing down all the time. The morning went by. Midday arrived, but brought with it no more than a faint glow in the sky. Then the afternoon slowly dragged by: so slowly for the Zitzahay! No one had spoken to him the whole day: they had scarcely exchanged a few words with each other. If only the beautiful one with long tresses would speak to him!

  By now evening was drawing in. Cucub was beginning to feel tired. He tried to rouse himself by watching what the Husihuilke family was doing, but achieved only the opposite: the repeated polishing of the arrow-heads and the leather acted on him like a sleeping potion. The more he watched, the heavier his head felt, the more his eyes smarted. Why not sleep? thought Cucub, close to dozing off. If he fell asleep, he might dream of Mother Neén and his distant jungle. Slumped over, in his dreams the prisoner saw himself back in his own hammock. It was so good to be there! Lying in it, rocked by the fragrant night breeze, Cucub was folding tobacco leaves as he watched the moon glide through the palm trees. He was out in the jungle once more, thinking that at first light he would go to the market to eat some spicy fish. But this happy sensation soon deserted him when his uncomfortable position woke him with a start. He slowly stretched his aching neck. He could not stay awake without wanting to cry. Everything he could see made him sad: the walls, the oil lamps, and these people he could have been friends with. Cucub decided it was better not to fall asleep again. I’ll sing instead, he thought.