“Shall we dig up the roots?”
“No,” said Muta, “the moon will not rise tonight. We will come back.”
Apprehension leaped into the girls’ faces.
“Don’t be afraid. This is a holy happening.”
As they turned to leave the clearing, Muta caught sight of her husband Rami squatting beneath a tree perhaps twenty paces up the trail. She was not surprised. After thirty years or more of marriage, a marriage that had grown in love and intimacy through the decades, they knew each other well. He would have slept until the time when she normally returned from her night-time gatherings. Then he would have awakened and listened intently for the sounds of her return. When he knew she was not on the way, he would have silently arisen, picked up his spear and cutting stone, and melted into the forest to find her.
He would not have walked her path but rather picked his way through the trees and shrubs in a roughly parallel course lest whatever had delayed her crouched over her body on the trail. When he came to the clearing, he would have understood the scene and, rather than disturb her reverie or communion, would have taken a place where he could watch over her and drink in the spectacle of the star himself.
And there he was. With his graying hair and beard and still lithe and muscular body, he was the very image of First Man, the wise hunter of tribal mytho-history who was ancestor to them all. Along with First Mother of course. Rami was the chief hunter of the tribe, and the sight of him never failed to bring a sense of security to Muta. The girls were startled by his appearance before them but also relieved. The two adults, so in tune with one another, exchanged smiles and body gestures and set off down the path. There was much in the night’s experiences for them to share, but the time for sharing was later. Muta felt filled with an awakening desire or need, and wanted to let it flower before speaking of it and perhaps losing its meaning.
Rami, for his part, recognized the signs in her of inward communion and knew it was best to wait. Besides, he, too, had been deeply affected by the appearance of the nova. Through his vigil he had adopted the hunter’s mindset, and uncritically observed the phenomenon, waiting for it to reveal its nature. So far he had only faint intimations of meaning. Too faint to act upon. Too tenuous to grasp. Fit only for patience at the moment.
Watchfully as ever, in single file with Rami in the lead, they made their way back to the tribal encampment.
CHAPTER II
The camp was set along the banks of a small spring fed river just a half mile above its entry to the sea. It was one of several camps within the area that the tribe used as the seasons changed. In the summer months the cool, riverine micro-climate, its crystal water, and abundant fish made this spot a favorite. Periodically, forays to the beach would yield clams, lobsters, larger fish, and turtles. Food was abundant.
The tribe’s huts ranged in an arc along the river, set back from it perhaps a hundred yards. A long communal fire pit was constructed in the center and a bed of coals built up over the weeks.
The central hut and one on each side of it was home to the tribe’s First Mother and her family. Traditionally the next two huts, one on each side, would house the Gatherer and her family and the Hunter and his. Since Muta and Rami held those posts and lived together, they had two huts on one side. They lived in one, and Rami’s apprentice hunters lived in the other. Muta’s girls still lived in their parents’ huts.
At either end of the arc of huts were the men’s space and the women’s space. There the sexes gathered for social interactions and group work projects.
By the time Muta and Rami and the girls reached camp the entire tribe was up and bustling. The nova’s appearance had been seen by some, the absence of the girls had been noted by their families, and the excitement of the novelty of a new star and the fear of its meaning had electrified the encampment.
When Muta and Rami and the girls appeared at the forests’ edge a murmur swept through the group, part excited anticipation, part relief and the easing of fear. For years Muta had been the intercessor with the spirits of the natural world and in the minds of the tribe her person embodied the meaning of things.
The questions swept across the space that separated the tribe from the approaching group and filled the air with expectancy. Muta began gesturing with her hands, and used her posture, her gait and her expression to calm the crowd and transform their emotional response from fear to hope, if not gladness.
As soon as she was near enough to be heard without shouting, she began to repeat, “It is a holy sign. It is a message. It is a good omen, a beacon to light the way.”
Her repeated assurances and her calm demeanor began to lower the tension that had built in the tribe. She and Rami maintained their deliberate pace, with the group forming around them, until they came to a stop before the First Mother’s hut. There they squatted respectfully, encircled by the tribe, and waited for the old woman to emerge.
In a moment First Mother appeared, aided by a great-granddaughter. First Mother sat heavily upon her “throne,” a hassock of deer skin stuffed with moss and straw that waited for her on the swept bare earth of her yard. She nodded at Muta to speak.
Muta began by repeating the mantra she had given the tribe, “It is a holy sign. It is a message. It is a good omen, a beacon to light the way.”
First Mother nodded again, understanding fully that Muta was still calming the crowd, and waited expectantly for her to continue.
“I was praying to the Earth Spirit, ready to gather the root of little pain, when the light burst forth. At first I was frightened. I thought perhaps the spirits did not want me to dig at this place anymore but soon I realized that the light meant no harm, that it carried a message for the People, a good message. And so I opened my mind and my heart and let the light flood into me.”
“And what is the message?” asked First Mother.
Muta crouched in thoughtful silence.
“It has not told me all yet.” she said. “Last night it prepared my mind to hear. Tonight I shall return and listen again. But this I know, it means the People no harm. It brings us a gift. I must be prepared to receive it.”
First Mother held her hand out to Muta who rose and took it in her own.
“You have always known the good omens from the bad,” said the old woman, pitching her voice for the back of the crowd. “This sign is good.”
She paused to let her words of reassurance settle into everyone’s mind.
“You must rest today and prepare yourself to hear the message clearly and interpret it for us.”
“I shall, First Mother.”
Muta held the old woman’s hand to her cheek for a moment and then turned to her hut. She and Rami entered while the tribe excitedly gathered around the two girls and pelted them with questions.
First Mother allowed the girls a little time as centers of attention but then said, “You too must rest and prepare. The Gatherer will need you again tonight.”
With that the girls went off to their parents’ huts and the tribe slowly resumed its usual rhythm. The topic of the star and its message dominated and enlivened the day’s chores and the approach of evening was met with heightened feelings of expectancy.
Inside their hut Muta and Rami carried out their usual night-time ritual, though with a feeling of strangeness because of the sunlight shining through the doorway and holes in the thatched roof. They smoothed the deer-skin covers over the pile of straw that was their mattress. Rami carefully placed his spear and cutting stone with his other tools and weapons, close to hand but safely pointed away from their bed.
Muta, first into bed, lay on her back, hands folded across her abdomen, eyes looking upward but focused inward. Rami stretched out beside her and waited to see if she would speak. She touched his thigh with hers to let him know that all things were well between them but kept her gaze fixed on the spiritual movements within her.
In time her breathing deepened and became regular in the rhythms of sleep. Rami carefully turned onto his
side, his back to her, facing the hut’s doorway with his weapons ready to hand. Comfortable in his usual position, schooled in patience with his wife as with the natural world, he, too, fell asleep.
TO CONTINUE READING CLICK HERE.
THE GAIA TRILOGY 3
GLORY
Morton Chalfy
STRANGE PARTICLE PRESS
Copyright 2016 Morton Chalfy
CHAPTER 1
Harrison checked the time. They were due to leave in half an hour and would miss their connections if they were late. Their luggage was packed and waiting but Helene was still at her desk dictating instructions and directing operations.
Since becoming the executive head of the Gaian Foundation she had become subsumed by the work of realizing its vision. Under her leadership the number of members had grown exponentially, the wealth of the emergent religion had piled up despite its rapid re-investment and the efficiency of her organization inspired nothing short of awe from her colleagues and workers.
These accomplishments came at a price though, a price discernible in her frequent fatigue, her rapidly graying hair, the hollows under her eyes and the difficulty she had with movement. Harrison had watched the changes taking place day by day in mute despair. He wanted her to be vibrantly alive as usual but her devotion to her tasks made it impractical to advise her to slow down, let alone stop.
"If saving the world isn't worth some hard work, what is?" had been her invariable reply.
Until now. This trip they were about to take had been her idea though it was one brought to her by the President of Brasil. Rejuvenation City had gradually grown on the outskirts of Brasilia until it was the global destination of thousands of the world's elites. Brasil had invested heavily in bio-engineering techniques, DNA restructuring and stem cell therapy until it was the global leader.
The original basis of Rejuvenao as it was called was plastic surgery and body reshaping but it had grown into the most sophisticated system of methods for extending life and restoring vitality. In a private meeting the President had said, "It will extend your working life for twenty or more years - isn't that worth a month's investment of time?"
Helene had quietly agreed once she discovered that recuperation would take place in a hotel suite, and that she could take along a small group of assistants and world wide communications would be at her fingers. Harrison thought that quiet bed rest might be a better prescription but kept his opinion to himself.
At last Helene appeared in the doorway trailed by the two assistants who would be traveling with them and nodded at Harrison, "Time to go, sweetie."
They were flown in a robo-copter to the airport where a private plane was waiting. Their party joined a group of several others in a luxurious cabin and as soon as they were seated the plane took off. The jet was a private shuttle owned by Brasil that was solely for bringing clients to the hospital complex.
Helene sat with her two assistants and continued dictating a stream of orders which they dutifully noted and relayed while Harrison gazed out at the tops of the clouds and thought about their destination. One hundred and fifty years before their trip Brasil had faced a huge crisis over the Amazon basin. Illegal logging and the clear cutting of the forest to plant sugar cane had reached the point of nearly no return when Brasil's first indigenous President had been elected. Her first act had been to declare that all the laws governing protection of the Amazon forest would be fully enforced.
Enforcement had always been the sticking point. So much money and political power was arrayed on the side of the loggers and corporate farmers that the laws were disregarded with impunity. "La senhora de estillo" reversed that course through a series of draconian measures which began with arming indigenous militias and empowering them to put an end to the logging, a task they were eager to undertake. After a massacre of over a hundred illegal loggers it became more difficult for the brokers to hire replacements.
The government used a combination of satellites and drones to pinpoint clandestine logging camps and directed the militias to them, sometimes airlifting the Indians to the sites. The very fact that the government had finally turned against the trade had been enough to close it down almost completely within a year.
Intelligently the President made the militias permanent and put them on the government payroll. The death of the internal combustion engine gradually wiped out the sugar cane - ethanol business and the jungle did the rest on its own.
It was in pursuit of foreign exchange to replace the money made by logging and farming that Rejuvenation City was conceived. From its slender footprint as a plastic surgery center it had grown into a powerful and lucrative enterprise which included half a dozen hospitals, labs, treatment centers and a university which served the world's wealthiest. The prices charged were enormous but as they were being paid by people whose fortunes were even larger the system worked. Its consequences were still to be fully understood but the support of the status quo was an immediate one.
Because of Rejuvenation City the executive suites of the world were occupied by the same people for forty or fifty years now. Heads of states ruled for decades upon decades and some families were frozen in time and place by the fact that the ancestors never moved on but only refreshed themselves.
Harrison was bemused by the developments but conceded he was willing to have them applied to Helene and, if he was being honest, to himself.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Helene's voice came in his ear. They were flying over the forest now, dipping below the clouds on a long approach to their destination.
"Yes, it is," he replied. "Amazing how it's all grown back. Forest cover is twice what it was last century."
She had slipped her hand through his arm and was leaning across him to peer out the window.
"You know that part of this process involves hormone therapy, don't you?" she asked.
He smiled at her. "Yes, I know that. I'm counting on that to give us the first big payoff for going through this."
She grinned at him. "You mean having sex is the main thing you want from this?"
"Well, yes. Sex with you, that is."
"How wonderfully shallow," she said gaily. "That's why I love you."
CHAPTER 2
A year earlier representatives from the hospital had visited Harrison and Helene and had gathered a number of biological samples from them. The material had been used to grow new organs, in Helene's case a kidney and in Harrison's a liver, and to produce a colony of stem cells.
Their operations were scheduled over a period of two weeks and began with injections of stem cells into all their joints, cells which would grow into healthy cartilage and repair the grinding effects of a lifetime of wear. They also began a course of hormone therapy designed to re-energize their libidos.
Both operations included a small amount of plastic surgery, small by Brasilian standards, which restored a certain youthfulness to their faces and in Helene's case, to her breasts. After the organ replacements they recuperated in their shared suite attended to by the hospital staff. Facilities were comparable to the most luxurious resorts and after a week both patients were clearly recovering well. So well that Helene insisted on resuming her duties, at least for part of the day, and her assistants took to arriving mid-morning and working with her through lunchtime.
Harrison spent his recuperative time on a lounge on their balcony, reading mostly, but intermittently working on "The History of The Gaian Movement" which he hoped never to complete.
Two weeks after the operations the residual puffiness had faded from their faces and stiffness in their limbs and joints had loosened considerably. They had taken to showering together to inspect each other's bodies and were beginning to eye each other speculatively and lasciviously. The doctors had warned against vigorous exercise before all the healing was done and put a big NO next to sexual congress until at least six weeks had gone by. Both Helene and Harrison secretly thought a month would be enough.
After the third week they were prepare
d by the hospital staff to receive a visitor, the President. To receive him they were dressed in formal work attire and met with him in the sitting room of their suite. To their surprise he shooed everyone else out of the room in order to speak with them privately.
"How do you feel?" he asked pleasantly.
"Getting better," said Helene. Harrison grunted.
The President made small talk for a bit, clearly assessing the pace of their recoveries and then said, "I have a request to make of you which requires the utmost secrecy."
He looked at them expectantly waiting for assent but instead was met with two suspicious faces. He sighed and continued, "Let me say I would very much appreciate if you keep what I am about to tell you in confidence."
Helene smoothly said, "We'll do all we can to respect your wish."
"I'm sure you will," he said resignedly, "but great harm could come if this comes out prematurely."
He had both of their undivided attentions now.
"Perhaps you know that my brother is the head of this complex, of Rejuvenao?"
Harrison nodded, "And an eminent biologist in his own right. The author of Directing Human Evolution."
The President looked pleased, "So he is. And he requests a visit from you."
He was looking at Harrison.
"Why me?"
"Ah yes, why you. First, as a representative of the Gaians. He wants to become part of the secure network we've heard about..."
He paused while both Helene and Harrison carefully closed their faces. The network was a secret to most and they didn't want to betray acknowledgment.
"... and second," he continued, "to show you what he is working on so that it might be possible to enlist the aid of the Gaians." The President paused before adding, "of course, if you keep our secrets, we'll keep yours."
Growth (GAIA Trilogy Book 2) Page 21
