by Nahum Megged
Yakura abruptly left me. I saw her going straight to a palm tree whose fruit cluster was about to drop. She climbed the tree and I waited for her, looking at the stone with the clasped hands. I suddenly noticed the journal, the same exact journal, sticking out from under the leaves. I picked it up and began to flip through the pages. I skipped the photographs, not wanting to discover new ones among them — perhaps photos of me making love to Marina. I skipped the parts I had already read and lost myself in the text.
I asked Xnen if I should return for a while to the house in the town beyond the forest, by the great river. I explained to him that my wife who lives in the town is worried for me, and something in my heart tells me my other wife fears for me and she might send my son to spy on me. Xnen smiled at me. “You are like the Mashko. You forgot that having many wives means having many troubles. Even Omauha wants only one woman.” We laughed. I couldn’t explain the strange duality ruling my life to him, in the same way I couldn’t explain it to myself.
I asked Xnen about what his apprentice had told me. “When did you find the hands?” I asked. “I cannot remember,” he answered. “The hands found us. A procession had crossed the forest, a very strange procession. My father was the village’s marikitare then, and the Mashko were still Yarkiti. The people of the procession crossed the forest, carrying large stones in their hands. My people had left their village, situated back then on the other end of the stream, and on their way met the group walking with stones in their hands. They did not threaten us, and theirs wasn’t the way of war. We asked them about the stones they were carrying, and they explained they had come from afar, from the place where mountains connect and a huge pit lies inside them.
Perhaps Mahuari, Omauha’s brother, the god who settled in the swamps, lives there. The great mountain belongs to Omauha, and the great hollow belongs to his brother, who fights him because he desires the mountain for himself. Stones and tapir skins were next to the pit, this is what the strangers told our people, and they bore drawings like the ones we paint on our bodies. They knew a large group of the Nave, with members of the Mashko among them, was getting closer to the mountain where the world had begun and where it would one day end, and they must hide and cover everything, because the Nave take everything and leave nothing behind.
They hid the tapir skins in the hole, covered it and took the heavy stones with them, so the Nave wouldn’t find them. My father told the travelers they should place the stones here, in the heart of the forest, because the Nave would never dare go so deep into Minare’s kingdom. The leader of the procession agreed with a sigh. The stones had already been set down and it was difficult to pick them up again. They said they would return to the mountain to bring the rest of the stones from there. Our people remained here, to safeguard the stones, slept and ate beside them, and waited for those who returned to the mountain to bring the bones of the earth remaining in it.
After some time, my father sent men to the edge of the forest, to the place from which the mountains can be seen. They heard thunder, lots of thunder. After the voices of the earth that sound like the voices of the heavens stopped, our scouts waited for a little while, then went out into the open. The people of the procession were lying there, painted red. Their marikitare still managed to say a few words. He wanted to tell the scouts where the pit was and where the skins were hidden, but barely managed to open his mouth before Omauha claimed him. At some point, my father arrived and took the dead before the forest cats could eat their flesh. He brought them to the place where we safeguarded the stones and burned their bodies. All the tribespeople had become the dead’s family members, so they swallowed the ashes of the dead and those strangers became a part of them.” “And were you able to find what they hid in the pit?” I asked. “We weren’t able to find it. Omauha’s brother might still hide the painted skins in it,” Xnen answered.
Yakura began to climb down from the tree. I quickly hid the journal among the leaves. She was holding the poisonous fruit of the wild palm in her hands. “The fruit is for our ritual,” she said smiling. “In order to summon the spirits that can bring back the men.”
From the corner of my eye, I tried to find the journal I had tucked under the leaves, but it was gone. A strange sensation overwhelmed me, that I could no longer trust my memory and actions.
“The fruit of this palm tree can serve as both poison and food. This is why it is the teacher of the forest, the guiding spirit,” said Yakura.
I nodded distractedly then looked again at the place where I had hidden the journal.
Yakura followed my seeking eyes with hers. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Do you know anything about the hands on the stone?” I asked. She didn’t answer but silently went to the stone and cleaned the mud smeared on it until the two carved hands were revealed to us as if newly chiseled. She placed her hand on the stone, and her wrist fit into one of those carved into the stone, as if she had been the model. “Would you like to see if your hand fits?” she asked.
I shuddered but didn’t answer her. She picked up the cluster of palm fruit and we turned back to the camp. We walked in silence, and the road back seemed longer because of it.
Marina waited at the door of Yakura’s hut. She looked at me and Yakura and smiled. “So we’re a couple?” she suddenly asked me.
I moved closer and stroked her head. She wrapped her arms around my neck then gave me a kiss that sounded like a soft handclap hovering between the trees.
“I don’t know what happened to me, that deep sleep… I don’t normally sleep for so long.”
I looked back for Yakura, but she had disappeared.
We sat, Marina and I, next to the hut. Silent. I think we were both afraid to speak. I looked at her young body and imagined my own body, as if a mirror had been placed in front of me. I was struck by the disturbing thought that while sleeping with me, Marina had been lost in some form of incest, this time with her father. The idea filled me with unease. I idly played with some pebbles the floodwater had swept in. I dared not raise my eyes.
“Let’s go to the stream, to the place where it all started,” Marina suddenly suggested. I was happy that the silence was broken and stood, seeking Yakura but could not find her anywhere. It was as if the earth had swallowed her.
We went out to the great stream. I was unable to shake the feeling that had haunted me the past few days, the feeling I was being watched, that unknown eyes were secretly scrutinizing me. I shared my feeling with Marina, but not wanting to scare her, added that the forest is naturally teeming with life and there is always someone, an animal, a spirit, or a man, looking at us.
“Yesterday, when I came back from your hut,” she said, “there was a lot of commotion in the village, especially after I went into Yakura’s hut and peeked outside.”
“That’s impossible, Marina,” I said. “I followed you and didn’t see anyone or any suspicious movements.”
She smiled. “I saw you when I turned my head. I was happy to have you watching over me, I even thought about going back to your hut so we could wake up together, but I continued on my way, and was followed by shadows and hidden movements…”
“You were tired and excited.” I tried to calm her again. “If anything suspicious had happened, I would have noticed.”
We continued on our way. Thoughts of William’s secret journal began to trouble me again. Painted parchments in a hollow hidden in Omauha’s mountain… If only I could find that cave, “the pit,” as it was called in the myth, and discover the writings hidden in it. The researcher instinct in me awoke. The journal mentioned that the Mashko had once been a part of the Yarkiti. That might explain why the Mashko youths had chosen to seek their women from among the village girls.
Marina was out of breath as we got closer to the spring, as if she were climbing a mountain. When we reached the water, I stopped and put my arms around her, trying to lift her spi
rits. We got closer to the place Yakura and I had found her, bound and terrified, and saw a man sitting on a rock. He was muscle-bound and young — very young. Marina covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the scream that threatened. It was the young warrior whose injury we had treated after he had reached the village bearing Xnen’s message. The young man saw us, stood immediately, and slipped into the undergrowth.
“Gone, and we’re alone again,” said Marina and her fingers dug into my hips.
“Alone with the memories you must summon from inside you until the terror fades,” I told her in a whisper.
We walked among water channels and thorn bushes.
“He was here with us…the wounded boy… he was here when we were attacked, I’m sure of it!” she suddenly said.
“Did you see them hurt him?” I asked.
“No. I only saw leaves stuffed into his mouth, then saw him being tied and taken away. They shot the rest of the expedition members with poisoned arrows, then they picked them up and took them. It was only then that they came to me. I was dazed when they forced some powder into my nostrils, then I collapsed…” Her face twitched, then she pressed it against my chest, seeking refuge in my body. Tears flowed from her eyes. “I can’t remember what happened after that,” she cried loudly. “I don’t remember anything until you showed up…”
“Now you must wash in the stream and clean yourself,” I told her. “According to the beliefs of the tribespeople, it is in the place the soul was lost and the shadow has dropped from us, the place where we were attacked by the sickness of fear, it is in that place that the soul that has been lost is waiting for us, and it is there that it must be returned.” I pulled her toward a small lake, hidden between some tall trees. “Here you can be purified and find forgiveness in your heart,” I told her with a confidence that surprised me. “Here you could become yourself again.” We took off our clothes and went into the water, submerging completely.
A few minutes later the smile returned to her face. She began to play, splashing water at me and laughing like a child. I swung her in my arms and threw her back into the cold water. Great happiness filled my heart when we hugged. When I looked back at the forest, I thought I saw Yakura standing next to one of the trees that defined the borders of the small lake, the tree under which we had placed our clothes. She was looking at us and smiling. The warrior youth was standing not far from her, giving us an unreadable look. I closed my eyes and the vision was gone. I held on to Marina with all my strength to feel that she, at least, was real.
We got out of the water and allowed the wind to dry our bodies. I carefully looked at the earth surrounding the large tree to check for footprints. There weren’t any, but I did see a small arrow, stuck in the ground as if the shooter had wanted to injure its skin. I didn’t touch the arrow, fearing it might be poisoned. We got dressed and began to walk down the path to the stone hands.
I told Marina about the journal her father had written and added that I found it hard to believe it had all been a delusion, because the text I had read in the journal was long, eloquently written, and easy to follow. It had made such a great impression on me that I remembered it almost word for word. Marina listened to me attentively, her eyes gleaming.
“My father’s handwriting was almost illegible. My mother used to copy what he’d written for him, because she was the only one who could make out what she called ‘his scribbling.’ I find it hard to believe the journal you found was written by his hand…”
I told her about the photographs and described to her the one in which she appeared. Marina turned pale, as if some forbidden secret had been revealed.
“I remember that picture! One day it simply disappeared, and we weren’t able to find it anywhere in the house. But that happened long after we lost all contact with my father!” She gave me a penetrating look, as if expecting me to give some meaning to the riddles torturing her. I decided to show her both pens once I got back to my hut. I hoped she would be able to tell me if they had belonged to her father and what exactly was engraved on them.
We changed direction and didn’t go to the stone of the clasped hands, even though I very much wanted to see if the journal was still there, hidden under the leaves. I was convinced I wouldn’t find it, because it seemed to come and go like a ghost — in the round house, my hut, or next to the stone of the clasped hands.
A bird called out, it sounded like a cuckoo, and the forest suddenly exploded with noise, as if we had trespassed where no human had ever walked in and all the animals had decided to protest the invasion. The noise was painfully loud, and we covered our ears to protect them.
“I think we should go back to the spring,” I shouted to Marina. She brought her head closer to me, trying to make out my words, then pointed at the winding trail. Then, abruptly, the world became completely silent, leaving a long ringing in my ears, the echo of a noise suddenly gone.
“This is how the forest wakes when a predator emerges,” Marina told me. “I don’t know this forest very well, but I know other forests.”
“And when does it become silent again?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “The forest has its own rules, and even the most experienced hunters, ones who are familiar with each trail and recognize every animal, each sound and movement, discover something new every day.”
Powerful odors now assaulted us, drifting from every direction, as sudden as the noise that had surrounded us moments before. I felt my eyes closing and a great tiredness taking hold of me. I looked at Marina, who was also struggling with her closing eyes. We both knew we mustn’t fall asleep in the forest, that one never wakes up from sleeping in the forest. And there I was, sitting in a carriage, traveling across a spacious desert. Marina’s hair was blowing in the wind, because although the carriage had wheels, they weren’t touching the ground. We were flying together, just like I used to fly in my childhood… And I was very young, about Marina’s age, and my heart swelled with happiness in that flight toward the upper sea.
In one hand, I held the reins of the wingless flying horses, with my other, I was hugging Marina, because flying had erased all the years separating us. Yakura was flying on a raft floating across the blue horizon. She looked so beautiful, her brown body defying the gods. An older, bearded man sat beside her. He was lying on the raft, while she was standing and moving her hands. On his shirt was the image of the mountain across the savannah,
and your face was tormented and your body was covered by a white cloth. You stood at the foot of the mountain and looked at it and at us… From afar, you waved your hand at me, but the carriage just passed you by, crossing clouds on which houses were built as temporary huts. And somewhere, in one of the houses, there was a written journal with a road map. And the carriage flew on and on, going through all the lights… I looked at Marina, lost in the experience of flying and remembered your image at the foot of the mountain, looking at us… you two look so much alike! And my hand tried to catch the stars. I couldn’t reach the realm of light. Darkness. Only the stars shone with a pale light. I held Marina’s shoulders so she wouldn’t slip and fall into the great darkness. My eyes were closing and I struggled with them, forcing myself to open them and see the night in the path between the stars…
Marina was lying in my arms when my eyes opened. We were on the mat in my hut, fully dressed. Marina was sleeping soundly. Darkness. The sound of a drum from afar reminded me of a carriage whose wheels were rattling on the road. My eyes asked for pity and I closed them, sucked into space again, drained like water in a sink, like water into a funnel, and my head was spinning… I opened my eyes again. Rain. It was raining outside. And my eyes closed again. Marina was lying beside me, her breath deep and regular. The flight was over.
9
The Bitter Date
Morning. Yakura was standing at the doorway, looking at us with her eternal smile. “Would you like to eat?” she asked.
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br /> Outside, the rain trickled in a thin drizzle.
Marina raised her head, looking about in wonder. “How did we get here?” she asked. “All I remember is leaving the spring, I don’t even remember getting dressed…”
I tried to clear my head. “We were walking in the forest,” I said, “then there was a terrible noise followed by powerful odors, and then we sank into a strange dream.”
We both raised our heads together to look at the doorway, but Yakura was gone.
“I’m happy there are two of us,” I said, “this way I don’t feel like I’m going insane. Strange things have been happening in the last few days and we must do something so as not to slip down the road leading to madness…What about your mother?” I dared to ask. “I’m sure she’s worried about you.”
“My mother is hospitalized,” Marina answered, “and hasn’t lived with us in the house for a very long time. Father’s last departure devastated her. The town doctor said he didn’t know how to treat her, and a friend of the family took her to the capital. She is in grave condition. She couldn’t even recognize me during my last visit.”
I hugged her, and we sat silently for a short time. My thoughts wandered from Marina’s mother to Yakura.
“A few days ago,” I told Marina, “Yakura suggested that you and I should leave the village and go to the town. When she first told me, I thought she might fear for my safety and was looking out for my best interest. But a little later, when our special relationship began, she went back to being as cheerful as ever, as if all her fears were gone. Such a strange girl. She knows so much and reveals so little.”
