The Last Quarter of the Moon

by Chi Zijian

  ‘Unless the earth is submerged in a huge flood and the raging torrent carries me away and washes my brother and Tamara up onto an island together, I will never agree.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Grandfather. ‘I have prayed to the Spirits, and it is Their wish for you to speak with your arrows.’

  It was the rainy season when a white mushroom that we call ‘Monkey Head’ makes its appearance. It’s as big as a fist and soft and velvety. Stew pheasant with Monkey Head mushrooms, even the most finicky eater will praise your cooking. They grow on oak trees, but it’s an odd sort of fungus that generally occurs in pairs. If you discover one on a tree, another Monkey Head mushroom will often be facing it on a nearby oak.

  Grandfather found a pair of Monkey Head mushrooms growing opposite one another in the woods on the banks of the Yuksagan, and he instructed Linke and Nidu the Shaman to contest their archery skills there. He whose arrow pierced his Monkey Head mushroom would take Tamara’s hand in marriage. If the arrows of both parties struck their mushrooms in the first round, then another pair of Monkey Head mushrooms would be found to serve as targets until a victor emerged.

  The two oak trees were separated by a distance the length of a shirangju, said Yveline, so they looked like a pair of brothers. When Linke and Nidu the Shaman arrived before the trees with their bows and arrows, everyone from the two urireng came running to watch.

  Except for Tamara, that is. Dressed in her beautiful skirt, she was dancing by herself on the riverbank.

  The brothers were fine archers. That pair of Monkey Head mushrooms lit up under the sun like glittering, crystalline ear lobes protruding from the tree trunks. When the brothers released their arrows simultaneously upon Grandfather’s barked order, Yveline said she covered her eyes.

  All she heard was the shwa-shwa of two gusts of wind passing by. But that sound mutated in a split second. The shwa-shwa split into a chaa and a tuk, and then stopped abruptly. Everything was still.

  Yveline opened her eyes to discover Linke’s Monkey Head had been pierced by his arrow, while Nidu the Shaman’s arrow was stuck in the tree trunk wide of the mark, leaving his Monkey Head perfectly intact.

  And so it was that in full view of the two clans, Linke won Tamara’s hand. Once an exceptionally good marksman, from that time onwards, whether shooting an arrow or firing a rifle, Nidu the Shaman rarely hit his target.

  Yveline said she suspected that Nidu the Shaman intentionally yielded to his younger brother, because when Nidu the Shaman looked at that failed arrow, his gaze was very composed.

  But that’s not what I thought. He had told Grandfather that he wouldn’t give up Tamara, and agreed to a winner-takes-all duel, so Nidu the Shaman would surely have done his utmost. If he did change his mind, it could only have been at the last instant. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to see his younger brother’s disappointed gaze.

  When everyone brought the news that Linke had won Tamara, she was sitting on the riverbank teasing two black ants in her palm and watching them joust. When she learned that she was to be Linke’s bride, she stood up, tossed the ants away, smoothed out her skirt, and smiled. Her smile convinced everyone that, deep in her heart, she had preferred Linke.

  The following year when it came time to sever reindeer antlers, Linke married Tamara and brought her into our urireng. She came bearing live cinders and fifteen head of reindeer.

  The moment the couple wed, Nidu the Shaman cut his finger with a knife. You could see the blood flow drop by drop. But when Yveline went to get Deer Grass to staunch the bleeding, Nidu the Shaman stopped her. He simply held up his bleeding finger, blew on it, and miraculously the bleeding stopped.

  Once upon a time a hunter encountered a deer in the forest. He shot two arrows but neither struck a fatal blow. The wounded deer took flight. The hunter followed the trail of blood, reckoning that once it bled enough, it would naturally drop in its tracks. But as his pursuit lengthened, the hunter discovered that the traces of blood disappeared. The deer had made good its escape.

  It turned out that this was a Spirit Deer, and as it fled it used the grass on the forest floor to treat its wound. Ever since, hunters gather tufts of this herb we call ‘Deer Grass’, or hellebore, that can staunch bleeding. Yveline said when everyone noticed that Nidu the Shaman didn’t apply hellebore to his cut, and used his own breath to stop the bleeding instead, it was more terrifying than seeing the blood itself.

  From then on Nidu the Shaman’s behaviour became ever more strange, said Yveline. He would go for several days and nights without food or water, and then walked energetically for an entire day. He could pass through a patch of thistles barefoot, his feet unscathed.

  One day he stumbled on a rock by the riverside. He was so angry that he gave it a kick, and – who’d have imagined? – the huge rock took to the air like a bird in flight, made straight for the river, and tung! sank to the bottom. From his extraordinary strength, everyone knew that he was destined to be a Shaman.

  Three years had passed since the death of our clan’s Shaman but a new one had not yet been born. Generally speaking, the new Shaman comes into being three years after the death of the old one, but it is uncertain into which urireng he will be born.

  Yveline said that when the newly prepared Spirit Robe, Spirit Hat, Spirit Drum, Spirit Skirt and other ritual items used in the Spirit Dance were presented to Egdi’ama, he cried for one day and one night. He wept so bitterly that all the birds around the campsite flew away.

  Afterwards, a Shaman from another clan came to our urireng to preside over the Initiation Ritual for Nidu the Shaman, and they performed a three-day Spirit Dance. My grandfather passed away during that Spirit Dance.

  My son Viktor was born and a new image of Nidu the Shaman was also born in my heart. I began to sympathise with him and Tamara. It seemed that fate had returned to him his own arrow that had gone awry in the duel for Tamara, and he had every right to transform it into an arrow of happiness.

  I no longer resented Tamara’s spreading out her bird-feather skirt, or the way Nidu the Shaman rode behind Mother when we moved camp. But that view of her backside was all he ever got.

  If lightning transformed itself into a sharp arrow and spirited away Linke, then the arrow that Nidu the Shaman received was already spotted with rust, because it came bound together with our clan’s antiquated customs. Confronted with this arrow, the withering and lunacy of Tamara and Nidu the Shaman were only natural.

  ***

  It was in the fifth year of the reign of Manchukuo Emperor Kangde, that Luni took Nihau as his wife. And next to the spent grey ashes of the wedding bonfire, just as the day dawned, Tamara left us for eternity. She died dancing in the bird-feather skirt stitched for her by Nidu the Shaman.

  It was because of Ivan’s iron-forging skills that Luni met Nihau.

  Nadezhda’s departure turned Ivan into a taciturn man, and in just a few years he went bald. Yveline busied herself finding another wife for him. Once she commissioned a matchmaker but when Ivan learned of it, he lashed out at her.

  ‘I’ve just one woman in my life, Nadezhda, and just one pair of children, Jilande and Nora,’ said Ivan. ‘No one can change that.’ Yveline was forever reducing others to tears, but this time Ivan made her cry.

  Ivan was our urireng’s blacksmith. In the springtime, he often lit a fire in the camp and crafted tools for everyone. Forging iron usually took four or five days, and under no circumstances could the fire be extinguished.

  Whenever Ivan did his forging, Jilande, Nora, Luni and I loved to run over and watch. One time, naughty Luni peed on the roe-deerskin bellows. For Ivan, this was utterly taboo.

  ‘The tools forged with this bellows are cursed for sure. They won’t be any good.’

  Indeed, that batch of tools was all flawed: the machete handle snapped when hammered; the tip of the fish spear was blunt, and the point of the hunting spear was curved like the head of a white crane. From then on, we were not allowed to watch, and even less were we permitted
to touch the hammer, bellows, tongs, sizing block or the furnace.

  It was not only we children who weren’t allowed to approach the furnace during forging, it was even more strictly forbidden for women to do so. Women are made of water, and if they stand too close, they will put the fire out.

  People in other urireng knew that Ivan was a skilled blacksmith, and in the spring they often followed the tree markers to our camp and asked Ivan to forge for them. They brought liquor or meat as a reward, and Ivan never disappointed. Those hands of his that could crush a stone seemed to have been made for shaping metal. So the visitors always left fully satisfied, new tools in hand.

  After Nadezhda’s departure, Ivan changed the time for forging to the autumn. The falling leaves danced like yellow butterflies in the forest, falling on the bellows and on Ivan too. His smithery was still so sonorous and forceful, and each item that he hammered into shape was so fine that his services remained much sought after.

  In autumn of that year, a hunter named Alek rode a reindeer to our campsite with his daughter and asked Ivan to make two machetes for him. Alek’s daughter looked to be just thirteen or fourteen, and although she had inherited the flat face of our people, her chin was a bit pointed and this gave her a sweet and mischievous air. Two curly locks covered her high cheekbones, and her slender eyes were radiant and jet-black. She had fixed purple chrysanthemums in her sole plait, and she smiled very sweetly. This was Nihau.

  Yveline took a liking to the girl. She said one day she must bring Nihau into our urireng as a bride for her son Jindele.

  But Luni had just reached marriageable age and, like Yveline, he took a fancy to Nihau at first sight. Originally he had intended to ask Yveline to serve as his matchmaker, but when he heard that Yveline wanted to marry Nihau to Jindele, Luni seized the initiative. Just as Nihau was about to leave with her father, Luni proposed to her in front of everyone in the urireng.

  ‘I adore your smile,’ he said to Nihau. ‘I’ll put you inside my heart and protect you as I would my own. Marry me!’

  Alek hadn’t imagined that in requesting Ivan to forge a pair of machetes, he’d get a son-in-law in the deal!

  He had known Linke and could see Linke’s good looks and courage in Luni, so naturally he was willing to give Nihau to him. ‘But Nihau is still too young, so you’ll have to wait another two years to marry,’ Alek said.

  Jindele had also taken a fancy to Nihau, so Luni’s public marriage proposal brought tears of hopelessness to his eyes.

  Yveline, however, remained unruffled. ‘Indeed, Nihau is still too young and shouldn’t marry so soon,’ she announced. ‘Even if she is to be engaged, the matter should be formally agreed through a matchmaker. For such a fine maiden, marriage arrangements shouldn’t be made hastily.’

  The night Nihau left our camp, Yveline bound Jindele to a tree and lashed him with a branch. She detested his spinelessness. How could he cry in front of others? Wasn’t that tantamount to admitting defeat at Luni’s hands? What future is there for a man who sheds tears over a woman?

  Jindele was truly spineless. Each time Yveline struck him, he moaned, ‘Aiyo! Aiyo!’ This ignited her rage, and she lashed him even more harshly. She cursed Jindele for taking after his father Kunde. Worthless, gutless creatures, no wonder they were trampled upon by women.

  She didn’t stop lashing him until the branch snapped. The sound of Yveline beating Jindele echoed throughout the camp, but no one interfered. Everyone knew Yveline’s temper, and trying to dissuade her would only have resulted in heavier punishment for Jindele.

  Yveline’s behaviour made Luni feel that the wolf pursuing him had already chased him to the edge of a precipice. So he took an even bolder action. The next day Luni left camp, explaining he was going hunting and would return in three days.

  Three days later Luni did indeed return, but his catch was Nihau herself. Her father Alek led the entourage to see the bride off, and it was a merry party that arrived in our urireng.

  Just how Luni convinced Alek to marry his daughter to him – when she was not yet fully grown – we never learned. But what we saw was a young Nihau, attired like a gorgeous flower swaying in the wind, with an enchantingly shy and joyful smile. She was doubtless exceedingly happy to be with Luni.

  Nidu the Shaman presided over the marriage ceremony. After a glance at Tamara, who was shivering despite her seat by the fire, he stated eloquently to Luni: ‘Henceforth, Nihau shall be your wife. A man’s love is a flame. You must ensure that your woman never knows the cold and lives happily in your warm embrace!’

  Then he turned to Nihau, and said to her: ‘Henceforth, Luni shall be your husband. Love him well, for your love endows him with eternal strength. The Spirits shall bestow upon you the finest sons and daughters on the earth!’

  Nidu the Shaman’s words transformed the expressions of several women. Nihau smiled. Yveline pursed her lips. Maria nodded her head in affirmation. Tamara ceased shivering. Her moist eyes focused on Nidu the Shaman, and her face seemed to reflect the sunset, displaying a tenderness long absent.

  The sun descended into the mountains, hand held hand, and while dancing began about the bonfire, Tamara appeared with Ilan. Our hound was listless, but to our surprise Tamara was in high spirits.

  I’ll never forget Mother’s attire that day. She wore a short, beige blouse, and the bird-feather skirt crafted for her by Nidu the Shaman. On her feet were knee-high deerskin boots. She pulled her grey fringe and the hair on her temples into a chignon, giving her an exceptionally neat and serene look.

  When she made her appearance there were gasps of surprise. Those in the party that had come to send off the bride, and were thus unfamiliar with Tamara, exclaimed at her beauty, while the rest of us marvelled at a certain new aura about her.

  For so long, she had carried herself stooped, her neck bent like a criminal, and buried her head in her chest. But at that moment Tamara held her head high, back straight, and her eyes shone brightly, and we wondered if we weren’t looking at someone else. Rather than say she was wearing a bird-feather skirt, you might say her lower body was decorated in a swathe of autumn. Those dappled colours seemed to have undergone a baptism of frost.

  Tamara began to dance and she was as lithesome as ever. She laughed as she twirled and I’d never heard her laugh with such a light heart.

  Old Ilan lay next to the fire, his head at an angle, watching his mistress with utter devotion. Seeing Ilan so well behaved, naughty Viktor sat down on him like a pillow.

  As soon as he was seated, he yelled at Lajide: ‘Ama, Ama, this leather cushion is hot!’ Viktor picked up a straw and poked around Ilan’s eyes with it. ‘Tomorrow your eyes will shine,’ he said. ‘I’ll feed you meat and you’ll be able to see again!’

  One day not long before, Viktor had thrown a piece of meat to Ilan, but Ilan paid it no heed whatsoever, lowered his head and walked away. Little Viktor thought this meant that Ilan’s eyes weren’t working right. But I understood. He didn’t want to eat meat any more. He just wanted to deplete his reserves of energy more quickly.

  Nihau adored Tamara’s skirt, and like a butterfly flitting about a flower, she circled Tamara, admiring the skirt. Perhaps Luni thought that mother’s dancing in that bird-feather skirt was undignified, and he told me to urge her to leave.

  But I hadn’t the heart to do so. She looked so full of vitality, and I was unwilling to stifle it. Even more so, since everyone was happy about the marriage of Luni and Nihau, except for Yveline and Jindele. When you’re happy you can indulge yourself a bit.

  The bonfire gradually paled and the number of dancers dwindled. Members of the entourage from Nihau’s urireng went to rest at Ivan’s. Only Tamara remained, circling the fire. At the beginning I kept her company, but I grew so drowsy I couldn’t carry on and I retired for the night. When I left, only slumbering Ilan, a dismal bonfire and the waning moon remained to accompany Mother.

  I was a bit worried about Luni and Nihau. I feared he was rash and, because sh
e was so young, he’d hurt her. So I didn’t return directly to my shirangju. Instead, I headed to Luni’s to listen for anything amiss. But even before I got there Nihau came running out. She was crying, and she threw herself into my arms.

  ‘Luni’s a scoundrel,’ she said. ‘He has a spear attached to his body and he wants to pierce me with it!’ I couldn’t help laughing when I heard this.

  I consoled Nihau while I reproached Luni. ‘If he dares use that spear to harm you, I’ll punish him myself.’ Only then did Nihau go back inside their shirangju, mumbling, ‘Marrying a man is a load of trouble.’

  Outside, Luni looked at me sheepishly. ‘You were in a rush to wed her,’ I said, ‘and now she’s yours for real. But she’s so young! At first, you’ll have to look after her as she grows up, and after that you can be her husband.’

  Luni sighed and nodded. So during their first two years, even though Luni and Nihau lived in the same shirangju, their relations were as innocent as brother and sister.

  I returned to our shirangju thinking of mother dancing all alone, and my entire body felt cold. My teeth chattered, and in the darkness Lajide pulled me into his warm embrace. But I was still cold no matter how tightly he held me, and I kept trembling. I couldn’t get to sleep. Again and again images of Mother’s dancing silhouette flashed before my eyes.

  When the morning’s first light appeared in the sky, I arose, wrapped an upper garment around my shoulders and walked to where everyone had gathered in revelry last night. I saw three piles of ashes: a bonfire’s, for it had burned itself out; a hound’s, for Ilan was deathly still; and a woman’s, for Mother had fallen to the ground, her face to the sky. Her eyes were open, but they were already fixed in place. Only the bird-feather skirt and her white-speckled hair fluttered in the morning breeze. The sight of those piles of ashes is engraved on my heart for ever.

  Linke had died, and now Mother too. One parent departed in thunder, the other in dance.

  We buried Mother in the trees and selected birch for her wind-burial, not pine as we had for Father. Her bird-feather skirt served as her shroud.