‘You Lynx spirits gave us this kill. If he’d been Animal the Auk People would have feasted in your name. We’d have raised his skull over our Camp to watch over us. But it wasn’t an Animal I killed today. It was a man – a Lynx man. He belongs to you while his name’s out of the world. We’re giving him back to you. We want you Lynx spirits on our side. We want all you Animals to give yourselves again. We’ve only taken his liver, even though we’ve been hunting all day and we’re very hungry. He was a man, not an Animal. Even his heart belongs to you. I’m talking to you, Lynx, listening up there in that cave: you can come out when we’ve gone and take whatever you want. This man is yours!’
Everyone stood in a circle round the platform where the dead man lay. We all faced Lynx Cave and raised our hands to the spirits. There was no movement from the cave. The spirits hung in the air above us. They leaned down so low they almost touched our stretching hands.
And that was how Basajaun died.
As for the Antlers: we found them the next day, wedged between two rocks in the rapids. Either he’d stuck them there on purpose so they wouldn’t get swept away, or the spirits of the water held them safely for us until we came to claim them.
Zeru and his brother splinted Oroitz’ leg and got him off the hill. They did my family a great service that day. If it wasn’t for their skill, my brother Oroitz might never have walked again. As it is, he hardly limps, although his leg sometimes troubles him in winter. But then, my brother Oroitz has seen quite a few more Years than I have: maybe he’s already getting old!
I don’t think I have anything more to give to the story. You all know how I took Haizea – or perhaps it was Haizea that took me – don’t snigger like that, you three! Wait until you find yourselves up at High Clearing! You won’t be children for ever, you know! Anyway – when everyone left Gathering Camp that Year, Haizea and I went away together. We made our Lovers’ Camp in the hills above the trees, facing the Evening Sun Sky. From our tent door each evening we watched the red Sun fill the sky with flames, until he dropped so low that the waves which break at the edge of the world seized him and doused his fire. No People have trodden those distant shores since the Beginning, but in the fall of that Year the far edges of the world seemed to draw nearer to me. Alone in that high place with Haizea, I was as close as ever I’ve come, in this life anyway, to the Beginning.
Deer Moon waxed and waned. Hail clattered on the tent, and covered the hides with rime as thick as my hand – this thick! Haizea and I scraped the snow off our hearth each morning and woke our sleeping fire. We trapped hare and ptarmigan and snow buntings, but the Animals were withdrawing into the cold, and didn’t want to give themselves. The Year was telling us to go back to our People. So I went with Haizea to River Mouth, and we joined her family. That was my first winter at River Mouth Camp.
I was happy. I’d made a great kill. I’d been treated with honour by the finest hunters of the Auk People. Now I was going to hunt with Amets all the Year round! And Kemen – I soon found out how much I could learn from Kemen. I missed my brothers, but all three of us were ready to find women of our own, and new families. Now I had Haizea for my woman! What man among us wouldn’t envy me that! Haizea and I now lived with her sister and Amets, and my sister Osané and Kemen – my sister who’d been out of my life for five Years. I had my sister back again, and I had a nephew to get to know too – yes, you, Bakar!
I was a happy man. That first winter I spent with Haizea will live in my heart for the rest of my life.
EIGHTH NIGHT: RIVER MOUTH CAMP
Haizea said:
Deer Moon had gone into the Dark when Itzal and I came back to River Mouth Camp. On our way we stopped at Zeru’s Camp on the Morning Sun shore of Long Strait. Zeru lent us his old boat because he was making himself a bigger one. Itzal said that if the sea wouldn’t let us cross Long Strait so late in the Year, we could go to Zigor’s Camp for the winter. I could tell Itzal liked that idea. Neither of us suggested going back to Itzal’s family. I didn’t want to stay at Zigor’s Camp one bit. After all that Itzal had been through at Gathering Camp, you’d think he’d be more scared of Zigor than I was. But it was quite the opposite: Itzal seemed to think now that Zigor was his greatest friend. Men are very strange!
While we waited for a kind wind I called on the spirits as often as I dared – I didn’t want them to get fed up with me – begging them to let us cross. I wanted to take Itzal home. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. The spirits teased me for four days. Then early one morning, just as the tide was slackening, the wind dropped and the swell went down. We crossed Long Strait as fast as we could paddle, between one gale and the next. Oh, but I was happy to set foot on Mother Mountain Island! I’d never been away from it so long. We left Zeru’s boat at Sheltering Island Bay – it was far too late in the Year to paddle under the wild cliffs of the Sunless shore to River Mouth Camp. We walked over the hill to River Mouth Camp, hand in hand wherever the path would let us walk side by side. I showed Itzal where Mother Mountain rose beyond the River Mouth hills, far away under the High Sun Sky.
At last we stood looking down, over the heads of the tossing birches, to my beloved River. Yellow leaves swirled upwards as gusts of wind swept over Mother Mountain Island from under the Evening Sun Sky. Lichen-covered trees glowed pale green through the dusk. Flocks of geese, and swans like scattered flakes of snow, grazed on the red salt flats of River Mouth. Far beyond the islands, the Sun was dropping into the sea in a blaze of pink and orange. Twilight crept across the windswept lands below us, and mixed with it . . .
‘Itzal, see the smoke? Down there, look! That’s River Mouth Camp. Look, look! We’re nearly home! See the smoke?’
Itzal spat out the husk of a lily-seed. ‘Uh-huh.’
I glanced at him. I was getting to know him better every day. It dawned on me that he wasn’t surly because he was angry, but because he was scared. His family had hardly been the best of friends with my family. Before I could tell him there was nothing to be frightened of, a picture of my sister Alaia flashed into my mind. Alaia would never tell Amets not to be frightened. I watched Itzal, and bit my lip. He was scowling into the wind, his wolf-fur hat pulled down tight over his ears. What would Alaia do now, if she were me?
‘They’ll have been expecting us days ago,’ I said, as if I’d not noticed anything. ‘Especially Osané. Osané’ll be looking out for us most of all. And maybe—’ I stopped short. If Osané’s child was still waiting to be born, no bad spirit was going to hear about it from me.
Itzal made a face that might have been a smile. ‘Maybe.’
‘Come on! This way!’
Turfs were built up over the outside fire when we got to River Mouth Camp, but smoke streamed from the roof of our winter house. The walls had been patched with fresh turf. Even as the wind whisked the smoke away I caught the whiff of oak logs. I pulled the hide from the door.
‘Alaia! Osané! Esti! Is that you, my Bakar? Mother! I didn’t know you were here!’
I hugged each one as I spoke their names. Osané’s belly was bigger than ever. Amets and Kemen watched us with big grins on their faces. When I grabbed Itzal’s hand and pulled him into the winter house after me, Amets jumped up. He took my man’s hands and shook them hard. He thwacked Itzal on the shoulder. ‘Welcome to River Mouth Camp, Itzal! Welcome to this family!’
Kemen hung back for a heartbeat, then he stood up and took Itzal’s hand in his. ‘Welcome to our family, Itzal,’ he said quietly.
I knew it was hard for Kemen to say that to Itzal. But now Osané was hugging her brother, the children were clinging to my legs, shrieking in delight, and Alaia was saying to the baby, ‘Here’s your aunty Haizea, Alazne. Give a kiss to your aunty Haizea! Here’s Haizea!’
Over the noise Amets was shouting, ‘You can see what our women are like, Itzal! We can’t keep them quiet! I don’t know what we’ve done wrong, but they never take any notice of us at all! I hope you’ll show us how to manage them better!’
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nbsp; They’d all been eating shellfish while they waited for the ducks and eel meat that were roasting in the ashes. The ducks smelt very good after our long journey. As soon as Alaia and Nekané had pulled them apart and laid the meat on the hearthstones, everyone leaned in and took their share. I saw Kemen choose one of the duck legs and toss it over to Osané. I couldn’t help wondering if Itzal would ever be doing that for me. Would I ever be pregnant? It seemed impossible – back then!
The faces of my family shone in the firelight. Light flickered across the hides hanging behind them– soft wolf-fur, russet otter pelt, pale brown deer, mottled sealskin – winter furs to warm us through till spring. The hides swayed in the draughts that eddied between the doorway and the smoke hole. Oak-smoke swirled above our heads and pierced my heart with its smell of older winters. Faces that I’d never see around this hearth again swam inside my eyes. They filled my heart with tears. For a heartbeat Bakar was once again the brother I’d lost; I saw my little nephew Bakar through a watery blur as if he were far away. Much closer, I saw my father as he was when he lived among us. I saw how my niece Alazne lay curled inside her father’s arm, half asleep, and for a little space I was Alazne, but also myself – Haizea – as I’d once been.
The Year before last, when we were at Salmon Camp, Alaia and I had climbed up to my father’s Death Place. All that was left of his platform were sapling stems rotting into the ground, half hidden by long grass, and a greener patch of ground starred with eyebright and tormentil. When we felt amongst the flowers we found shards of long bones, cracked open long ago and stripped of marrow. Broken bits of skull, green and rotting, were matted over with new grass. The Birds and Animals had come so many Moons ago that all trace of their work had vanished. We combed the soft grass with our fingers, scratching at the soil underneath. We found four knuckle bones still lying together, and a scattering of finger bones. We stretched up our arms to the spirits who watched over my father’s Death Place and told them what we wanted to do. We gathered up the small bones, and wrapped them in a little bag of woven grasses.
We left two of those bones under the hearth at Salmon Camp, my father’s Birth Place, and six more we carried with us to River Mouth Camp. Two of those bones are at White Beach Camp now – it was I who wanted that. Now, sitting by the hearth at River Mouth Camp with Itzal beside me, my heart went out to my father’s bones where they lay under the hearthstone. I looked up at the wolfskin swaying against the wall. For a heartbeat my father’s face hovered between pale fur and pink firelight. Before I knew what I was seeing, my father had gone.
Osané leaned into my line of sight to lay another oak log on the fire. She moved awkwardly with her great belly. A wild hope filled my heart: the presence of my father was so strong tonight. I thought the spirits were telling me . . . they were telling me . . . I’m not Go-Between: the spirits didn’t tell me wrong, but the way I read them was wrong. Part of this story is still waiting to happen. It won’t be told here and now – maybe it won’t be told for a long while. The older I get, the less I worry about it. Everything that needs to happen will happen. My father always said that.
We all sat staring into the fire for a long while. No one spoke. We were happy to be together again. The fire licked at the oak logs. Little blue flames mingled with long orange ones that flowed over the wood like water over a fall. A sliver of bark caught and crackled, then flared upwards like a sudden burst of summer.
Amets stirred, and laid Alazne down on the bearskin behind him. He shook his arm: it had gone to sleep with holding her for so long. He looked across the hearth at my man, and said, ‘Kemen and I are going to Seal Bay tomorrow, Itzal. We’ve taken plenty of pups already, but these women say they want more seal fat. They’ve been telling us the children need it now that the cold days are coming. They keep telling us all this deer meat’s no use – they must have fat! I think these women of ours plan to eat the best fat themselves until they’re round and plump, so we’ll want to have more sex with them! One way or another, they’ll wear us out long before Limpet Moon! You’ll come to Seal Bay, Itzal? Good. And you can bring your woman too, if you like. The more People the better.’
Men are always glad to have our help with the sealing. I suppose they think it’s not as clever as real hunting – or maybe it’s because they’ve done so much hunting all through Deer Moon they’re feeling too weak and tired to manage without us. I wanted to go to Seal Camp. I also wanted to be at River Mouth Camp when Osané gave birth. For all I knew, the baby would wait until we got back from Seal Camp anyway. I said aloud, ‘Itzal, you can tell your friend that your woman will be glad to come along and show you men how to catch a seal or two.’
Our Seal Camp is less than half a day’s walk from River Mouth Camp. It’s a long sandy bay facing the Evening Sun Sky. When we came over the hill the sea roared in our ears. We looked down on strings of white water curling across the bay. Great waves chased each other onward, then broke like thunder on the white sand. There was no wind now: those waves were remembering some storm far out in the Open Sea, further out than People could ever take a boat in winter. Waves like these would be crashing against White Beach Island, sending clouds of spray right over the island. I thought of White Beach Island – my Birth Place – hidden out there in the Open Sea, empty of Auks and of People. No one could reach it now. Only the spirits could be quite sure it was still there. That was a strange thought: I found myself wondering about it, so I didn’t listen to what the men were saying.
In Deer Moon some of the seals move inland over the dunes when the beach gets too crowded. Kemen knew the seals here better than any of us, even though he’d only been in our family for five Years, because every Deer Moon when the rest of us had been at Gathering Camp, Kemen and Osané had come to Seal Camp. Each Year, when the rest of us arrived at River Mouth Camp, we’d found plenty of seal meat hanging in the shelters, and seal hides already stretched to dry. This Year, of course, it hadn’t been like that.
Kemen and Osané had made themselves a winter house at Seal Camp, high above the breeding grounds so as not to disturb the seals, but close enough to keep a watch on them. There was barely room for four of us to lie down in their turf house. Wood was already piled by the hearth. I lit the fire from my embers. We ate and dozed until low tide, just before dusk. We’d hunt in the last of the daylight; there’d be no Moon tonight.
When the Sun dipped towards the sea we set out, carrying barbed spears and knives. We didn’t take dogs. A bitter wind came from between the Evening and the High Sun Skies, so we took the ridge on the Sunless side of the bay, keeping on the far side of the skyline, out of sight of the seals. We crept down the gully next to the stream and came out on the beach. We chose big stones and shoved them in our belts. The curve of wet sand gleamed like a fallen Moon in the last of the light. Far down – the tide was at its lowest – the waves shone through the dusk like white flames as they curled and broke. The wind carried the chill of night between its teeth. The sand was covered with seals. From here they looked like shining rocks.
Itzal and I watched Kemen and Amets creep down to the sand. They were hidden from the land by the dunes. They ran along the high tide mark where the sand was firm. The seals on the sand stirred and grunted. They humped towards the waves. Soon they were all swimming. Their dark heads came up through the waves, watching the men run over the seal-scuffed sands.
Kemen was ahead. Neither Amets nor Kemen could run as fast as Itzal and I would have done! But Itzal was a stranger, and I was a woman. We did as we were told! Amets and Kemen ran ten man-lengths twice, and stopped. Any further, and the wind would have told the seals inland beyond the dunes, that there were men between them and the safety of the sea.
Itzal and I sped three man-lengths across the sand. We crept up through the dunes, crouching low. I led the way: I was a woman, but Itzal hadn’t hunted here before. There were marks all through the dunes where many seals had pulled themselves up from the beach. A big male otter had crossed their tracks since,
heading towards the Sunless Sky. Wind had carved the soft sand into ridges like mountains, with sharp edges. Sea had swept through the sand-valleys and left wet ripples. Little islands of couch grass clung together by thin ridges between the channels. There were circles written in the sand where the wind had made the grasses dance. Itzal and I crawled up the last dune-island, and lay flat on our stomachs, our faces hidden by the spiky grass.
Dusk was falling fast. The green land was much darker than the white sand. I gazed until I could see. Seals were spread across the muddy grass, thicker than stars in the sky. So many seals! But soon at least two of those seals would give themselves, if our family was any good at all.
The seals had been out of the water for a while. Their fur was dry so they were all different colours: grey and black and brown and mottled. I recognised a few from last Year. I didn’t know every one of them the way Kemen did. They snorted and snuffled among themselves. Half-grown pups lay close to their mothers. Young bulls shoved each other around. A few got too close to the cows where they clustered round a big brown bull. The bull bared his teeth in warning.
Itzal nudged me. He barely moved his hand, but I followed his pointing finger. Then he wrote the outline of a big humped seal in the sand under his hand, and marked the ones round it, so I knew which one he meant. It was the big brown seal lying next to his cows. I swallowed. That seal would be strong! You can die from a seal bite – it’s the most dangerous bite there is. That’s the spirits making sure it’s not too easy for us to hunt seals on land, even though the seals’ own hunting grounds are in the sea.
I knew why Itzal had chosen that seal. This was his first hunt with my family. He had to show what he could do. I had to do my best to help him. I’d have preferred him to pick an Animal that was more my size, but I didn’t say anything.
It was growing darker. Itzal and I crouched, spears ready.
The Gathering Night Page 33
