17 Stones

by Paul Telegdi

  For a while both watched the sparks fly from the fire and wink out in the darkness. Finally Baer roused himself and said wearily, “It has been a long day. This morning I was concerned to win a few battles but not the entire thing. I go to sleep tonight taking the burden of all the clans with me. I lost a little more time from myself and my family.”

  “Hhmmm,” Chaiko murmured sympathetically as he watched his brother retreat to his place. He looked around at the darkness of the landscape, the moon sailing in and out of the clouds, casting an uncertain light over the land. The water was smooth, reflecting the sky coldly. There was no wind to disturb the surface or sway the reed beds and the foliage on shore.

  It had been indeed a long day, even for the shaman, but he was reluctant to settle down to sleep. He was reminded of the nights he stayed awake on watch, guarding his clan. He had been an undervalued cripple then; today he was a shaman, the youngest in clan memory, brother to the Chief of all the clans.

  He wondered if this obligated him in some way to aim toward the position of the Head-Shaman. He knew only that he and the present Head-Shaman were on a certain collision course. “Know your friends, but never take your eyes off your enemies,” an Ekulan saying went, which seemed appropriate to this occasion. He closed his eyes as a shadow passed across the moon and when the moon re-emerged, the shaman of the Standing-Rock Clan was asleep.

  Chapter 21

  The sun rose behind a spread of clouds that obscured the eastern half of the sky. The colors were especially vibrant, gold melting into orange and underlined with a crimson background glow. In rare spots the light spilled through a hole in the cloud cover and shafts of sunlight penetrated the layers of vapors and gloom that swirled over the waters and the more distant cane fields. Birds greeted the sun with an enthusiastic chorus, the sky everywhere alive with their flights.

  The Standing-Rock Clan woke to the new reality that the Chief of all the clans was one of their own. This was a great honor for the clan, and if someone did not know before about one of the smallest of the clans, now he had to. Cosh called a cheerful greeting to Tusk, conscious of a new pride. Tanya woke, stretched and hurriedly got up, wondering what was expected of her. She was the mother of Standing-Rock, but surely, not of all the clans? She didn’t know who to ask.

  By midmorning it was all over camp that Corrigan was white with fury over the election results. The new Chief owed him nothing, no obligation and in fact had been elected over the Head-Shaman’s most active opposition. And that upstart Chaiko was shaman and brother to him! A hapless servant made the mistake of trying to console his master with the ill-chosen words, “We should have...” At that point Corrigan kicked him through the reed wall of the hut, yelling apoplectically after him, “I should have done that years ago!!!”

  Corrigan had cause then to remember that years before, he had visited Standing-Rock and had dealt with this Chaiko and was able to extract from him only minor concessions after the most arduous effort. He recalled remarking to himself that the young man would become a problem for a Head-Shaman, but he had expected that to be for a successor, not himself. Who would have thought that he could accumulate such a formidable reputation in so short a time? Who were these brothers and what should he do about them?

  It was widely reported that, subsequently, he kicked over the entire hut and left it in shambles. Chaiko hummed and hawed at the news. “This does not bode well for us,” he confided to Ushi.

  “No indeed. We can expect some underhanded reprisal from him, but what? It would be most useful to know.” Ushi looked searchingly at Chaiko and continued cautiously, “I do not suppose that you would consider sending spies into his camp?”

  “No,” said Chaiko cheerfully but definitely. “You see, I try to be an honest man, an upright man as much as I can. All in the open.”

  “I was afraid of that. How do you expect to win against him? For you can bet he will be devious as can be.”

  “I am betting on it,” Chaiko said in an unfalteringly cheerful tone. Ushi gave him an uncomprehending look and Chaiko let him see a glimpse into his thoughts. “Now who in our clan do you suppose would make the best spy to report on our intent to the Head-Shaman?”

  “A spy for Corrigan? You mean one of us??!” Ushi asked, horrified. Chaiko affirmed it and Ushi jumped in vehemently, “No one! No Standing-Rock man, woman or child would betray our plans and secrets! And especially not to Corrigan!”

  “Ah, then you underestimate Corrigan,” Chaiko said mysteriously. “He is firmly convinced he can talk just about anyone into one of his schemes. Well why don’t we make it a little easier for him, and give him one of us and then feed Corrigan information that we would like him to believe?”

  “But who?” Ushi asked wondering, then he broke into a pleased smile. “That is perfectly devious,” he said approvingly. “But I thought you wanted to play by some noble rules...”

  “Oh but I do, and will. However I would not want to deprive him of his favorite devices.”

  “Who do you have in mind then?” Ushi asked again.

  “I thought of Rea. He already has the reputation of being disaffected.”

  “Excellent choice!” Ushi applauded.

  “Good! Go and convince him then. The details I leave in your capable hands.” Chaiko smiled at his henchman who jumped eagerly to do his errand. “Send me Makar.”

  Makar presented himself shortly to the shaman. “You sent for me?”

  “Yes, I did.” Chaiko gestured for him to sit. “How is your poem on Corrigan?”

  “But we have won?!? Surely we do not need it now?” Makar asked, puzzled.

  “We need it more than ever. In fact we have hardly begun to fight. But remember, he has to be recognizable.”

  “Yes, yes” muttered the poet as he hurried away. It was too bad that people did not understand his art, how arduous it was, or appreciate his efforts to produce it.

  Cora still seemed despondent. Concerned, Tara interrogated her. “All this moping about for an echo?” the big sister asked, disbelieving, callously sweeping away any girlish sensibilities. Tara left shaking her head and muttering. Cora hung her head, tears filling her eyes.

  Why did not people understand? There was something beyond words, a host of feelings made up of pure intuition that defied all reasoning. Cora knew, as her whole soul knew, that the sound hiding in the echo was caring, understanding, tenderness itself... without shadows, without prejudices. It was all those things, held together by hope. There was no face, no other personality associated with the pureness of the tone, nothing to distract or overlay the essence of it. Cora herself had questioned if sound alone could convey all that? Perhaps not to any ordinary person, but to Cora who resonated to those qualities, it was as clear as the moon reflected on the night waters. Whenever her mind reasoned and found doubt, something in her soul returned to her conviction that the sound was indeed all she thought it was. If she had to trust in something, why not in that? Let a hunter trust in his spear, a baby in her mother’s love, Cora would trust that there was love awaiting her somewhere behind those echoes.

  Later, Lana came, and, thinking to cheer Cora up, asked if she wanted to visit Singing-Rock again. Sadly, Cora shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  In her despondent mood Cora felt intruded upon by the gaiety of the crowd that overflowed the camp. The happier people appeared around her, the sadder she felt. She could not control her mood. Even if it was only a trick of Singing-Rock, the feelings evoked were very real for her as she vibrated in response. She tried to remember every nuance, every expression. Was there not also a smell associated with it? she asked with a sudden beat of her heart. She tried hard to remember exactly, but her memory of smells was less discriminating than that of sounds and eluded her. Everyday trivialities were already nibbling at the memory as she tried to safeguard it. In her present mood the crowds displeased her, their revelries assailed her, and their insensitivity appalled her. She flew from camp, taking long strides, running
past the lake, past boys fishing, past waving fields of cane, just running to escape the brash loudness of people who could not understand a yearning heart.

  Eventually Cora grew tired, her heart beating furiously in her chest. She stopped beside a small clear pond and rested on the lush grass. She turned over on her back and watched the restless motion of clouds streaming to the east. The quiet, natural sounds felt so good to her ears. She did not always have to hide from them, protecting her oversensitive ears. That was another thing people did not understand about her, how sounds bothered her. Just as some beautiful sound could melt her instantly, other sounds made her furious in an explosion of temper. It had been worst among the Tolmecs, and half her childhood was spent hiding from ugly noises. It was much better among the clan, but sometimes Sosa with his impulsivity would startle her into a rage and she would be beating up on the surprised boy before she was even fully aware of it. “Sorry, sorry,” she would have to mumble to him, “but don’t be so loud!”

  Birds wheeled in the sky, their calls coming from a great height and distance. Something warbled nearby from the bushes and she turned her head to see, but could not penetrate the dense foliage. A crane suddenly took to the air with wide spread wings beating loudly at the air. She turned, wondering what had startled the bird.

  Slowly her breathing quieted and her heart stopped racing. The sweat had cooled on her skin, leaving it uncomfortably itchy. She rose and waded into the pond, splashing the refreshing liquid over herself. She thought of undressing but she felt exposed in the open, with too many places for prying eyes to hide in the surrounding bushes. She stood waist-deep in the water, the bottom silken smooth with sand. She dipped herself under, wrap and all. The water was pleasantly soothing and comforting, and she felt the current of her own motion tugging at her gently. She rose, the water running off her, then dripping from her hair. She dipped herself again. With the water embracing her, soothing her, for the first time in days she started to feel good. She burst out in a trill, surprising several water birds into flight and she laughed. Yes, they were sensitive to sound too. She aimed a cascade of notes at the line of trees on the far side and listened for a faint echo that came back. Reminded of Singing Rock, she felt instantly mournful. She sent a low moan racing across the water and listened for its return, even more doleful but faint. Again she sang and listened, singing a sad duet with herself. As always, the singing captured all her attention and she grew oblivious to her surroundings, the sound growing in her consciousness. She sang again and again. The tones raced out over the water like waves and rebounded from opposite shore lined with trees.

  Then abruptly, she was shocked into silence, for suddenly there was a low note, barely audible, coming back at her! As she listened, at the threshold of hearing, the sound quickly faded. As she sang and again, the echo returned with a low note hiding on the bottom. How was this possible? Confusion flooded her: her heart raced and her breathing became very shallow. A feathery feeling grew in her stomach. Get a hold of yourself! But she sang and listened. Her fine ears filtered out each sound, locating it with a slight turn of her head. Her heart thumped and she had to force it to quiet so that she could hear better. She cocked her head again, sang, then dissected the echo. There was no question about it, the sound came from behind her, from behind a line of bushes. She turned, faced them and sent a focused sound into the dense green. An echo returned, the bottom a little off because it was not synchronized with her position. She advanced slowly toward it, sending out a new sound, honing in on the echo. She was a step or two from shore when the bottom remained silent. The next echo also returned empty, but Cora had a pretty good idea of its location.

  She fixed her eyes on the likely spot and commanded, “You might as well show yourself, I know you are there.” Silence greeted her words. “Do you want me to come in there to find you and uncover you myself? Are you not ashamed of spying on me?”

  The bush shook, but nobody was visible, “I was not...” answered an indistinct mumble.

  “Show yourself!” Cora ordered, her voice cutting like her sister’s.

  The shrub moved and a figure emerged from behind it.

  “It is you!” she said, somehow not really surprised.

  “Yes,” Ruba said, hanging his head.

  “It was you all along!” she accused him. “At Singing-Rock, too?”

  “Y-yes...” Ruba admitted, his face pale.

  “Why are you spying on me?” she snapped, her voice dangerously calm.

  “I was not spying on you... I was afraid because you were out alone,” he replied, excruciatingly uncomfortable under her intense gaze.

  “If you were only protecting me, why did you not show yourself?”

  “I was... afraid,” he said reluctantly.

  “Afraid?” she was genuinely astonished. Then her eyes narrowed. “Were you afraid of Moro?”

  “No!”

  “But you were afraid of little me?” There was mocking edge in her voice. “Why??!”

  “I do not know.” Her eyes bore into his and he dared not look away. Perhaps if he had tried to justify himself some way, any way, she would have dismissed him instantly. But he had said simply “I do not know,” and not knowing she understood only too well. Her face relaxed into kinder lines. The two regarded each other, testing the tension between them.

  “You have a beautiful voice,” she said finally, her looks relenting, her voice softening.

  “I do not!” he recoiled, shocked in his turn.

  “You do, even if you do not know it,” she said kindly enough, at the same time pityingly. “It wants to sing and... you will have to let it.” Ruba looked at her, his mouth agape. He had not expected this. Almost anything else but not this! She continued, “You know you can tell a lot from a singing voice. We can teach our speaking voices to lie and to deceive, but most people do not think to hide deceit in their singing voice.”

  “And what did my singing voice... tell you?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Humm,” she temporized mysteriously, swaying her body from side to side, in the very grown up gesture of a woman who knew she was in total control of the situation. “Your voice told me a lot... but most importantly it said that... you are really a good person.” She smiled at his amazed reaction. “Not always nice... but always good.”

  She stepped out of the water and walked slowly up to him, her face suddenly smiling brightly, like a flower opening up to the touch of the sun, exposing all its vulnerability. At the sight of her, so close to him, happiness flooded Ruba. She laid a gentle arm on him. “Let us go home,” she said gently.

  People were astonished to see them arrive back together, looking so comfortable with each other. Cora’s dislike of Ruba was common knowledge, so this sudden togetherness was a giant surprise. Lana was dying of curiosity to find out how this rapprochement had taken place. Cora smiled and gave only a cryptic statement, “He is my echo and I will be his shadow.”

  Ruba was in a dream, desperate not to awaken. Please let it be real. He had to do something to hold onto it. From under his bedding he drew forth a bone plate and handed it to her. It was a depiction of a thrush in full flight upward, the wings spread, every feather incised in great detail. Cora couldn’t believe how real the bird looked.

  “You did this?” she asked in astonishment. When she tilted the bone, the bird seemed to move too.

  “Yes… for you,” he said, hardly daring to breathe.

  “It’s beautiful… and so real.”

  He gave her another plate, showing a deer grazing in a meadow, again very real and detailed. Then one more, of a fish swimming against the current. “All for you…”

  Cora was overwhelmed. She didn’t know how long it had taken to do each one, but knew it had to be long. And it was all for her. She looked into his anxious eyes and smiled sweetly at him. She knew without a doubt that he would give her the whole world… everything he could. “Thank you Ruba,” she said, then her voice deserted her, not knowing how to put into
words what she felt. But her eyes told him, and the dream deepened for him.

  Later in the afternoon, a fresh surprise startled the entire camp. With the speed of a grassfire driven by the wind the news swept the camp that quietly and without any fanfare, the women had elected their Council of Women. Keila, Lulu and Tanya. Could this be right or appropriate? Tanya was already the mate of the Chief. She did not need any additional prestige or position. Could she fulfill both her roles? Tanya was much taken aback and was inclined to refuse the honor, but a delegation of women convinced her it was her duty to accept and that she should think how much she could accomplish for the women of the clans. Lana was the most enthusiastic in support of this petition. With a great deal of reluctance, Tanya finally accepted.

  The women celebrated quietly throughout the camp in a markedly dignified fashion, proud that they had thus installed their council quietly and efficiently without making a great commotion as the men had done. You see, they pointed out unnecessarily, there was the men’s way of doing things and then there was the women’s.

  There was much wagging of heads again and plenty of “what is this world coming to?” Generally it was expected that Corrigan would have another fit at this news but he surprised everyone by sending the Council of Women a personal emissary to congratulate them for their well organized election, unlike the men’s, which he claimed was marred by many irregularities. The women felt flattered by this recognition.

  At about the same time, criticism began to circulate that the women, by so closely following upon the men’s election, were trying to make a mockery of the men’s results. Suddenly the women’s actions were seen as some intended insult. See how much better we can manage our affairs? Indignation soon turned to resentment.

  Chaiko observed to Ushi, “I suspect the Head-Shaman’s touch in this. He is playing both sides against the middle. How did you do with Rea?”

  “Famously. It took a little while to make him understand what was wanted of him, but once he understood, he was eager to get started. He is going to make himself available... that is, approachable.”