The Days of the Deer

by Liliana Bodoc

  I crossed over to the far bank

  And the river took care of me

  So I was not afraid.

  I asked the tree if I could

  Climb to its highest branch;

  I saw things far in the distance

  But I am a man

  And so I climbed down

  And walked on the ground again.

  Just as he was finishing his song, Kuy-Kuyen and Wilkilén also completed their task. They both stared at the Zitzahay.

  ‘Your hands!’ their grandmother reminded them. They took a handful of ashes out of a pot by the fire and rubbed their forearms to remove all the grease. Then they went out to rinse their arms, and finally spread some oil on them.

  ‘Hmm... that smells good even from here,’ said Cucub, trying to engage them in conversation. His previous attempts that afternoon had proved fruitless. This time was different, however. Kuy-Kuyen and Wilkilén came over and sat on either side of him.

  ‘Who taught you that song you were singing?’ Kuy-Kuyen asked.

  ‘No one,’ replied Cucub. ‘It’s my song, I made it up. Up there in the Remote Realm everyone has their own song. We invent them the day we become adults, and then they go with us for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Sing it again,’ Kuy-Kuyen begged him.

  The Zitzahay did not hesitate. He cleared his throat and began:

  I crossed the other river

  And the tree took care of me

  So I was not afraid.

  I asked the man if I could

  And climbed to the top,

  I saw things in the distance.

  But I am a river bank

  So I began again to walk

  On the ground.

  ‘That’s not the same song!’ Kuy-Kuyen protested. ‘It’s not the same as the one you just sang!’

  ‘Yes and no. That’s how our songs are. The words don’t change, but their order does. We like it that way, because it means they can accompany us when we are sad, but also when we are happy. On days without sun and moonlit nights, when we return and when we leave.’

  Cucub had recovered his spirits. After all, all he had to do was wait: he had no doubt Kupuka would be more reasonable than Dulkancellin. And besides, the two girls were keeping him company, and he could smell a good meal being prepared on Kush’s fire.

  All of a sudden, the eight people in the hut raised their heads. The noise was followed by a movement ... a dull, harsh sound. The roof beams shook, the oil lamps swayed, the earth seemed to change shape beneath their feet. The ground moved at the Ends of the Earth so that no one would forget it was a living creature. When the shaking finally finished, all their hearts had turned pale.

  Dulkancellin wrapped himself in his cloak to leave the hut, just as all the other heads of family were doing. The Husihuilke men listened through the wind and rain to discover whether the voice of a drum could be heard from any village calling for help. They listened intently for a long while, but no request came.

  ‘Nothing serious has happened,’ said the warrior, coming back inside.

  Kuy-Kuyen and Wilkilén were still clinging to Kush.

  ‘It’s not good to stay still like that,’ the old woman told them. ‘It’s better to be doing something to recover your calm. Come on, girls, give me a hand! There are many things we need to put back where they belong.’

  ‘Look!’ shouted Thungür. The urgency of his voice was mirrored by the way he was jabbing his arm towards the ceiling.

  Several baskets piled on some bundles of reeds, together with some rolled-up hides, had come crashing down, revealing the green tip of a bird’s feather.

  ‘How is it possible?’ said Cucub, in a delayed reaction to what he could see. ‘That’s the sign! Warrior, there’s the sign you were demanding! Please get it!’

  Dulkancellin did as he was asked. He carefully removed the feather from in among the baskets and held it up for them all to see. It was shiny, and about two handspans long. Its green colour was completely unlike any of the greens that the Husihuilkes had ever seen.

  Dulkancellin quickly forgot what the feather looked like to ask himself – as the Zitzahay was also doing – how it could have got where it did. Someone must have hidden it there on purpose. But ... who? And why? The only possible answer was no consolation: it must have been one of the family. One of them, or Kupuka.

  The warrior untied the Zitzahay’s hands. Then he spoke for all of them:

  ‘Gather round. We need to know what happened.’

  Dulkancellin sat on the floor. One by one, the others did the same.

  ‘We all saw the same thing, and at the same time,’ said the warrior. ‘The earth uncovered the Kukul feather. It also uncovered someone’s evil intention. This feather is the sign of the messenger, the proof of his loyalty, the difference between his life and his death. Somebody wanted to hide it ... Does anyone here know something they wish to tell us?’

  Several of them shook their heads.

  ‘Confusion added to confusion,’ Dulkancellin growled. ‘I am reluctant to ask myself, as I must, who among us is not telling the whole truth. I don’t want to think it was Kupuka, because—’

  ‘I have a question to ask,’ Cucub butted in. ‘Listen to me, Kume. When your father and I were about to go to the forest, you were going to say something .. . Kush interrupted you, so you kept silent. What were you going to say but didn’t? Perhaps you would like to tell us now.’

  Kume turned scarlet.

  ‘Speak, my son!’ Dulkancellin could sense the note of desperation in his own voice.

  Visibly uncomfortable, Kume could not find any words.

  ‘Reply to the Zitzahay’s question!’ his father managed to add, before the desperation reached his soul.

  ‘I don’t remember very well ...’ the boy began.

  Dulkancellin stood up, and so did Kume. Father and son confronted each other in a ring of astonished faces.

  ‘I did it.’ Kume’s voice was a faint whisper. ‘I hid the feather.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Dulkancellin.

  ‘I took advantage . . . I did it when you were all looking at Kupuka’s shadow.’

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘I was not going to let you ... to let him die. But Kush got in before me, and invoked the right of rain. So the Zitzahay’s life was saved.’

  ‘Only just in time.’

  ‘I didn’t want to ...’

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘I was only waiting for the right moment to slip the feather back into his bag. I was going to make sure you found it before you set out.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ his father insisted.

  ‘I didn’t ... I don’t trust the Zitzahay, even if he did bring the Kukul feather with him. That’s why I thought of hiding it. If he could not find the sign... I was wrong. I thought you would ask him to leave, that’s all. And that you would stay with us.’

  ‘You have no further explanation?’

  ‘No.’

  The warrior waited for the blood to settle in his throat. He knew that his words would be hard to speak.

  ‘I do not know you,’ he said.

  Kume was in disgrace. If he did not live long enough to wipe out the stain of his dishonour, he would die without a name. Old Mother Kush could not hold back a sob. The father was disowning the son. And although none of them realized it, that increased the power of their enemy even before he had set sail.

  9

  FROM MINSTREL TO MESSENGER

  A long while later, the Husihuilke family and Cucub were sitting in a semicircle on rugs, eating red prickly pears. Kume was not with them: he could no longer share the warmth of the fire. How different this was from previous nights they had spent together! Evenings of friendship, perfumed with laurel, when Kush told stories or played her pan-pipes late into the night. Would they ever return?

  Cucub would have gladly interceded on Kume’s behalf, and yet he refrained from doing so. He had learnt enough about the Husihuilkes to kn
ow his defence would be in vain. The Zitzahay wondered how he could ease the sadness of these good people, and decided the best thing would be to talk about other things.

  ‘It may be that you all would like to hear certain details,’ he said. ‘I would be happy to tell you about how I went from being a minstrel to becoming a messenger. And if there is time, I can tell you about the most exciting parts of my journey here.’

  None of them was sleepy, and the Zitzahay deserved some reward for the unjust way he had been treated.

  ‘Tell us about them, if you so wish,’ Dulkancellin agreed.

  So Cucub began his story, which no one interrupted.

  ‘I was in a town we call Centipede Yellow when I received the order to go to the House of the Stars. Since that is in Beleram, two suns away from where I was, I set off at once. I was very sorry to leave the wedding at Centipede Yellow where my flute and I were the guests of honour. Oh well, I told myself, you have no choice! Someone else can provide the music for the celebrations. Walking day and night, I reached Beleram sooner than I expected. Would you believe me if I tell you I did not even stop at the river? I crossed two villages near the city, then the orange groves that surround it. I walked down the street to the market, then across the games court, and the main square. I paused for breath outside the House of the Stars. I was glad I did, because I still had to climb the flights of stairs leading to its entrance. You will soon see it, Dulkancellin! There are thirteen times twenty steps, built into the side of a hill. To climb them I had to rest more often than I had done in my whole journey there, but eventually I reached the top and called my name. You all should see that place! It is partly excavated from the rock, and partly a stone wall. The main entrance to the House of the Stars opens onto an enormous empty chamber, with no more decoration than the shafts of light that pour in through the narrow windows and glint off the stones. As I was waiting for the guard who had taken my name to reappear, several young apprentices went by. They were all in a great hurry: they went down one staircase and up another one on the other side, came out through one interior door and disappeared through another. And to tell the truth, none of them was the slightest bit interested in me. The guard finally returned. “Follow me, Zabralkán is expecting you,” I remember he told me.

  ‘We went up one of the lateral staircases. We climbed and climbed. Every so often, the guard stopped to allow me to rest. From the way he kept glancing back at me, he must have thought I did not have the strength to get to the top. He let me get my breath back, then on we went. How much further? How could I convince my knees to support me a little longer? At the top of every set of steps there was a room. As I paused, I managed to see inside some of them, but most had their doors shut. I do not know if it was because I felt so exhausted or because of the twists and turns of our climb, but I could not understand how the House of the Stars was built, especially since it grew narrower and darker with every step. Were we penetrating inside the hill? If that was the case, how was it that I could see the sky through narrow slits in the walls? After a while I ceased to care. The guard and I continued our climb. There were no more resting places or rooms; the walls closed in on the stairs, which grew steeper and steeper. And poor Cucub here was longing for the open air. “We’ve arrived,” was the last thing I heard. I was exhausted after several days’ walking and the endless stairway: I collapsed.

  ‘I came to in a large room, with protruding window openings. Once I had properly regained consciousness, I realized I was in an observatory. What I had taken for windows were in fact observation points. I would love to describe all the details of that magnificent place for you, but I can see that Wilkilén has already fallen asleep, and my experience as a story-teller suggests I need to be brief.

  ‘I told you I found myself in an observatory. I should add that the only person with me, watching me come round, was Zabralkán. He and I had never come face to face before. Let me explain that there was nothing unusual in this, because it is the custom in Beleram for musicians, jugglers and story-tellers to congregate on ceremonial days on the enormous platform that runs round the House of the Stars. These were splendid celebrations when Zabralkán, one of the greatest of the Supreme Astronomers, would honour me in particular among all the artists of the Remote Realm. How could I possibly forget those days? Hundreds of torches were lit along the main street to light the path of the night-time processions that wound their way down from the remote villages. Careful, Cucub! You’re falling into the temptation of trying to describe every detail again. If I do it once more, don’t hesitate to tell me so.

  ‘Did I mention that Zabralkán is the greatest of the Supreme Astronomers? What I am sure I have not told you is how embarrassed I felt comparing his proud bearing with my own ragged appearance after such a long journey. Yet I soon calmed down when I saw that Zabralkán was not interested in how I looked. Filling a bowl with sweetened pumpkin, the Astronomer offered it me. After the first few sips I felt restored. By the time the bowl was empty I felt capable of walking back to Centipede Yellow there and then. I told Zabralkán as much, and he smiled. But look at Kuy-Kuyen! She is smiling too ... she must be having a pleasant dream. Even so, as I can see that there are still more people awake than asleep, it is worth my while continuing.

  ‘The Supreme Astronomer was pacing round a big rectangular stone block in the centre of the observatory. The block stood let’s say a hand-span from the ground. It was three times longer than it was wide, and was covered in carvings. You can imagine how many of them there were if I tell you that I started at the drooping head of a snake at one end and, although I did my best to follow its body through images of birds and deer, stars and moons, as well as indecipherable signs and garlands of flowers, I soon lost track of it. Weary of watching my attempts, Zabralkán told me to desist. “You can look for the serpent’s tail later,” I remember he told me. “Now we must talk of important matters.” He began to explain what all of us here are well aware of: that there was important news to communicate, which was destined for only a chosen few to hear; that messengers were to be sent out ... that great events were imminent, and so on and so forth. That I should be back in time for the Great Council ... and that I had been appointed as a messenger!

  ‘Do you recall, Dulkancellin, that you asked Kupuka why you had been chosen to represent the Husihuilke people? Well, I asked the same question of Zabralkán: why choose me as a messenger? The only reply either of us received was an order. And after that, many more. First, that I was not to leave the House of the Stars until the day of my departure for the Ends of the Earth. It’s true that I was looked after most exquisitely. I slept in a soft bed and was well fed; but I was also given endless instructions. Hour after hour of explanations, details of my journey, warnings. Afterwards, poor me! They made me repeat everything to make sure I had properly understood. Then the next day, we started all over again. They often changed something from what they had told me the previous day, to be sure I was paying attention. They made false statements and asked trick questions; they presented complex problems and absurd solutions. On and on, until they finally accepted that Cucub was ready to face his demanding mission.

  ‘I learnt that in the same House of the Stars, perhaps close by me, other messengers were undergoing the same training, and yet I never saw any of them. I also learnt from Zabralkán that one of them was heading for the Land Without Shadow to look for the Pastors of the Desert. I thought that as we were travelling the same path, we could go together. I would have been pleased to have someone to share songs, bread and fear with along the way, but it was not to be. Did he leave before me? Or after me? I have no idea. All I can say with any certainty is that only my soul and I travelled from the staircase of the House of the Stars to this hut.

  ‘I left Beleram at first light one morning. I remember I saw several men raking the games court, and some stallholders just arriving at the market. I have to admit I paused at a food stall to buy a tortilla. That pause was not part of my itinerary, but how of
ten the smell of that tortilla gave me the strength to carry on!’

  Cucub’s story gradually filled the room with apparitions. When the Zitzahay mentioned the tortilla, they all licked their lips at the thought of the perfumed delicacy. When their mouths were dry again, their ears were deafened by the sound of thousands of birds from the most beautiful valley in the world which came to revive the flagging fire. When the Zitzahay spoke of the hair of the fish-women in the wind, the men conjured them up in their minds. When he recalled the sun in the desert, they all loosened their cloaks. The flock of llamels Cucub rounded up with his words took a long while to leave, crammed as they were into the small wooden house. In the end, an eagle came and perched on Kush’s pile of blankets, then vanished again. But the forest at the Ends of the Earth was still there, and seemed more familiar than ever thanks to the Zitzahay’s words.

  ‘The landscape guided me so well,’ Cucub went on, ‘that I started to sing as I walked, just like I used to do in my own land. Thanks to that, I was able to tell quite clearly at every moment how far the Husihuilke villages were from me. Although I never saw them, I could stretch my arm out and point to them: one here, another over there, calculating the distance they were from my song.