Saturday, the Twelfth of October

by Norma Fox Mazer

  She ran back to the waterhole and, kneeling, scooped water to splash her face again and again, at last sinking back onto her heels, damp but sane. She had seen a girl. She had seen a real, living, breathing person. But somehow she had frightened her away. She crushed a handful of grass. If only the girl hadn’t gone too far! If only she was still in the forest, secretly watching Zan. Hope gave way to conviction: the girl was nearby; was going to come back. Zan had to believe it. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then folding her grass-stained hands in her lap, she sat down cross-legged on the ground.

  “Come on out, please. I guess I scared you with all that dumb screaming and shouting, but I won’t do that again.” She spoke in a calm, conversational way, hoping the girl was listening. “Are you watching me? Was that you watching me before? Why don’t you just peek around a tree again? I’ll sit here nice and quiet, okay? No acting like Frankenstein’s monster. Honest! Hey, what’s your name? My name’s Zan, and I’m really okay. It’s just that I need someone to talk to. I really do. Come on back, please. Please?”

  Flies droned around her ears, several large black ants crawled up her jeans, and an enormous red grasshopper leaped across her leg. Single-mindedly, Zan stared at the spot where she’d seen the girl. She had been like one of those tiny strange deer, appearing for an instant and then, startled, disappearing in a flash.

  For a long time Zan sat very still; gradually, she fell into a half-waking state, her mind touching blurrily on all that had happened to her. Perhaps she was even falling asleep. Her head sagged sideways and she made a queer, throaty noise that startled her into sitting up very straight. She felt confused, as if a lot of time had passed, and for a fraction of a second she couldn’t remember why she was sitting in the grass that way. Then she looked up and the girl was there.

  “Hey,” Zan said softly, without moving. “Hi. I’m so glad you came back. Don’t go away, okay? I really want to talk to you.” Then she saw that there were two of them, a girl and a boy.

  Zan stood up carefully. She felt shaky and queer. They both appeared to be about her age, but she had never seen anything like them. They were naked except for woven belts around their waists with little flaps hanging from the front. The girl had narrow, shiny shoulders, a small blunt nose, and round, small breasts with very pink nipples. Her long tangled hair was tucked behind her ears, and she gazed unblinkingly, almost greedily, at Zan.

  The boy’s mouth was soft, half open, his head cocked at an angle. His thick eyebrows met over slightly tipped eyes. He, too, was staring at Zan. Like the girl, he wore necklaces and anklets made of beads and shells. His skin was smooth and hairless. Both wore some kind of long nets hanging from the backs of their heads and down over their shoulders, like capes.

  “Who are you?” Zan said. She took a step toward them. The girl shrank back, the boy turned toward the trees. “No, don’t go away!” She forced herself to stand quietly. After a few moments they both came very slowly toward her, chattering to each other. She couldn’t understand anything they said.

  “Where am I?” She appealed to the girl. “Can you tell me where I am? What is this place? Did you have a storm, a hurricane, or a tornado, too?”

  The girl touched Zan in a tentative way, putting her forefinger on Zan’s shoulder. She peered at Zan as if checking her reaction, then slid her fingers rapidly back and forth across Zan’s cheek, as if trying to rub something off. “What are you doing?” The boy, too, bent toward her, flicking at her nose with his thumb. They spoke to one another softly, but in a strange language. The boy, tongue jammed between his lips, picked doggedly at Zan’s nose. Zan realized he was trying to peel her freckles, as if they were paint, or dirt. As if he had never seen freckles before.

  Both smelled strongly of sweat, sun, and earth, a not unpleasant smell, but one so unfamiliar to Zan that, combined with their nakedness and their strange actions, she became acutely alarmed.

  They lost interest in her freckles and turned their attention to her clothing, fingering, sniffing, and tasting everything she wore. In her astonishment at the sight of two kids down on their hands and knees, licking her dirty old sneakers, Zan was torn between a belly laugh and a wail of pure despair.

  “Look, I’m lost I want to get back home. Can yon help me?”

  They had pulled the laces from her sneakers and the girl was tying them around her neck, while the boy sniffed an edge of Zan’s shirt. “I—don’t—know—where—I—am,” Zan said, speaking distinctly and spacing her words. “I am—lost. LOST! Listen to me!” She forgot to be calm, and pushed away the boy and snatched her sneaker laces back from the girl.

  Biting her fingertips like a rebuked child, the girl stroked Zan’s hair, speaking, but again Zan could understand nothing. The boy started to crawl around in the grass, parting it with his fingers and overturning stones. Loonies, Zan thought, her throat tight. Loonies! Crazies! But even as the thought came, she rejected it: there was another explanation, one from which her mind darted in terror.

  Yelling triumphantly, the boy snatched something up from the ground and returned. He took Zan’s hand and dropped a large iridescent purple beetle into her palm. She jerked her hand away, dropping the creature to the ground. The boy chattered at her, his eyes wide. Then, snapping off the head of another beetle, he popped the body into his mouth and spit out the wings with an expert flick of his tongue. White juice squirted from the corners of his mouth. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and went off again to search the grass.

  Feeling slightly queasy, Zan turned to the girl. “My name is Zan.” She waited. The girl smiled, but said nothing. Zan thumped herself on the chest. “Me, Zan. Me, Zan!” She could hardly believe she was talking that way, but she repeated it, trying desperately to make contact. “Me, Zan. Who you? Me, Zan.”

  “Meezzan?” the girl said slowly. She poked Zan on the chest. “Meezzan?” She smiled, showing small, milky-looking teeth, and touched herself on the left breast. “Burrum,” she said and, pointing to the boy, “Sonte.”

  “You’re Bur-rum,” Zan said, touching her. “And he’s Zon-tee.” The boy turned around at his name, and he and the girl laughed delightedly, pointing to Zan and slapping their legs as if she had done something terribly clever. Then the girl grabbed Zan, hugging her hard, rubbing her hands up and down Zan’s back and arms. Zan stiffened with surprise at the long close embrace. Even in her own family they hardly ever hugged, and only pecked one another on the cheek. The thought of her family made Zan go still and aching. For an instant everything stopped; not even the cry of a bird could be heard. And in that frozen moment of stillness, with the ache hard and cold inside her, Zan felt a terrible longing come over her. She wanted to go home. Why was she here in this strange place with these strange kids? Why was this girl squeezing her? Why didn’t she understand anything Zan said to her? And why didn’t she help Zan, or else go away, just go far away and leave her alone!

  As if sensing Zan’s thoughts, the girl released her, said something to the boy, and the two of them moved swiftly toward the forest. Stunned, Zan stared after them. They were leaving her. “Wait! Wait for me.” She ran after them. “Wait! I can’t stay here alone!”

  Chapter 5

  Early that morning, squatting by a rock as the sun came up in the east, Burrum had felt on her feet the warm touch of her body’s water as it sank into the mossy earth. The honey smell of its wet warmth had made her think of the tall flowers that grew in Meadow-with-Watering-Hole. Were those honey flowers blooming? After they bloomed, one could name the moons till the Season of Rains came.

  Thoughtfully, Burrum put up the fingers of her left hand. “Grass Moon,” she said under her breath, pushing down her little finger. “Moon of the Long Night.” Another finger down. “Egg Moon. Bird Flight Moon. Fire Moon.” All the fingers were down now. After that would come the Season of Rains: Rain Moon and Moon of Tears. Then Miiawa’s flowers, those tiny red flowers with petals like little drops of blood, appeared everywhere in th
e forest. And then—oh, then!—the Sussuru for all the girls whose blood had come down for the first time.

  The Sussuru, the beautiful festival of Miiawa, she whom Burrum loved as she loved the forest itself. Aiii, the Sussuru! The wild joyful dances, the chants and songs that worked themselves into one’s very bones!

  How sore Burrum’s belly felt as she thought that she had been left out once again! But until her blood came down she was still a girl—a child!—though she had her breasts and the sweet body hair that marked the difference between girls and women.

  Standing, she felt the soreness in her belly again, flashing like a little fish, and she rubbed her belly soothingly. “I want to go there, to that meadow,” she said aloud. If those tall honey flowers were not yet blooming, there would still be many moons till the next Sussuru. Surely, during one of those moons, her first blood would come. Sighing, she glanced down at herself, at the softness covered by little curls of crisp hair, and pulled her mingau into place.

  Later, after she had gone to the river to wash and swim, she met Sonte, who said he had a craving for Ahera, the sweet root that grew near the white Pashuba trees. “Let’s go together to gather those sweet roots,” he said. “We haven’t eaten them in a long time.”

  But Burrum, who usually liked to do whatever Sonte wanted, shook her head. “No, I am going to Meadow-with-Watering-Hole, to see if those honey flowers are blooming.” She had just then realized that it was Miiawa herself who wanted her to do this. “Miiawa of the forest came to me in my dreams. She came to me in the night. I saw her!” Yes, she had seen Miiawa’s flowing green hair, had felt her presence, like wind on the skin, and heard her voice, soft as the voice of night birds. “We’ll find the Ahera tomorrow.” She threw her arms around Sonte and hugged him. “I promise.” She ran ahead of him, calling him to catch her. She had always run faster than he.

  When they were very near Meadow-with-Watering-Hole, Sonte left the path to gather some Aspa nuts, while Burrum went on alone. Moving from the shade of the forest into the open field, she saw a girl running clumsily through the meadow. Burrum had never seen the girl before and knew at once she was not of the People.

  Hurrying back into the forest, whistling like a bird to call Sonte, she ran to the Aspa tree. “Sonte, Sonte, come down from that tree!” she cried. Then in her excitement she climbed up to tell him about the girl.

  “This girl—you must see her! A girl with mingaus all over her body!”

  Sonte burst out laughing. “You have been sleeping and have dreamed another one of your dreams.”

  “Oh, you make me so angry,” Burrum said, but she laughed, too, knowing that she had seen what she had seen. Something wonderful, frightening, and strange! She tugged at Sonte as he stretched out along a limb. “Come down, come with me, perhaps she has already run away.” She slid down the tree trunk.

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he said. He shook another branch vigorously, and Aspa nuts rained onto the ground. Burrum loved the small green nuts. Any other time she would have scooped up handfuls. “Oh, hurry, Sonte, my friend, my cousin, hurry,” she implored.

  Wrapping his arms and legs around the trunk of the tree, Sonte slid to the ground. He picked up a handful of nuts, tossed them into the air, and caught them. “Now show me this girl, this spirit,” he teased. “Show me that you were not sleeping and dreaming!”

  Taking his hand, Burrum led the way back to the meadow to the very spot where she had seen the girl. But the meadow was empty. Sonte slapped his thigh, saying that he would tell everyone about her wonderful dream when they went back to the caves. “Mingaus all over her body, even on her legs,” he said humorously. He put his arm across her shoulder, nuzzling her neck affectionately. “What good dreams you have!”

  Just then, Burrum saw the girl again on the other side of the meadow, near the watering hole. “Look!” In her excitement, she pinched Sonte’s arm. He had also seen the girl and his mouth fell open. Burrum snorted with pleasure. Sonte was always so sure he was right about things—where the Ahera grew, how to find the best Buitiri fruits, and if the honey flowers were in bloom—so sure, and often right. But this time he had been wrong, teasing her as if she were a little girl who still pissed down her legs. “Come!” Burrum said. Sonte, she noted with satisfaction, followed her without protest as she led the way through the cover of the trees toward the waterhole.

  Hidden, they peered out at the girl. She was covered with spots like a salamander. And she wore not just a small, neat mingau over her genitals, as was necessary and proper, but mingaus on her shoulders, her breasts, her back, her legs, and even her feet. In his astonishment Sonte whistled through his teeth like the Minhaw bird.

  “Sss,” Burrum said reprovingly. She was afraid the girl would hear them. Hastily, she climbed into a tree, followed by Sonte, and there, while the sun moved through the sky, they sat watching the strange girl. Never had Burrum seen anything like her spotted skin. Never had she heard anything like the meaningless cries that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in alarm.

  Through the screen of trees, Burrum never took her eyes from the girl. Aii, what a story she would have to tell that night around the fire! For most of her life, Burrum had been unaware that there were others in the world besides the People. She had been young and stupid! Now that she was nearly a woman, she listened more carefully to her grandmother, to the other old ones, and to Mahu, the Teller. From their stories and songs she learned that Beyond-the-Mountains other beings did, indeed, live. And, in fact, long ago when her father’s mother’s grandmother had been only a small child, a man of the Others, Niben, had come among the People.

  “Yes, my grandmother told me of him,” Burrum’s grandmother had said. “She was one of the children who found the stranger fallen down near a stream.” The stranger had been sick and weak. The People had cared for him and refreshed him. When he was well and strong, the stranger, Niben, had talked in a loud voice, and grabbed the food that others had gathered. Around the fire at night he sang no songs, but told instead how his people chased animals with long, sharp sticks. “Yes! They drove those sharp sticks into the animals’ bellies, so they could eat the flesh of the animal races,” Burrum’s Auuhmaa said, recalling his words. He had talked like a man with fever, saying things that could not be. He had said that when hunger came among his people, when they could not drive sticks into Bear or Boar, they ate their old ones, and also the infants. “That man said bad things. He made our people unhappy,” Burrum’s Auuhmaa had wailed. And in a trembling voice, the old woman had chanted the Song of Niben. He came from Beyond-the-Mountains, His voice was the voice of Thunder, He came from Beyond-the-Mountains, The sun died, The mountain fell, Aieee! Aieee!

  “Aieee, Aieee,” Burrum hummed, sitting in the tree close to Sonte. Suddenly the strange girl came crashing into the forest. Burrum and Sonte went still as tree frogs, made themselves part of the bark and the leaves, breathed as the tree breathed. Ignoring the path, the girl flung herself about, stumbling, nearly falling. She snatched up a stick and, holding it in front of her, ran about aimlessly, making loud sounds. Was it some sort of ritual of her people? Astonished, Burrum watched as the girl ran headlong into a tree, dropped her stick, and bolted back to the meadow.

  Touching Burrum on the arm, Sonte made a sliding motion with his hand and pointed his chin toward the girl. Burrum dipped her head in silent agreement. They left the tree and crept soundlessly to the edge of the forest. Being so close to the girl, Burrum was overcome by curiosity and, forgetting caution, she peeked out. The girl saw her. For a moment they stared at one another, then the girl came leaping and shouting toward her. Startled, frightened, Burrum and Sonte turned as one and scrambled up a tree. “Perhaps she is dangerous,” Sonte whispered. “She might be one of the Bear People!” He wanted to go back to the caves.

  “I am not afraid of Bear People,” Burrum said bravely. She had often watched bears fishing in the river in their own place. She had stood on Cliff-of-Bear, looking down into
the white tumbling waters, and had seen the bears, sometimes on all four legs, sometimes upright. Bears had the power of spirits in them; they could walk like the People. Some said they could speak the language of the People, as well. At night, every night, fires burned in the caves. It was said that, otherwise, Bear might come and demand the cave for his own. Even so, Burrum would not be afraid if this girl was one of those Bear People. No, not even if she met her at night in the forest, she thought, her belly contracting at the very idea.

  “You go back to the caves,” Burrum whispered to Sonte, her mouth close to his ear. “I will stay and watch this girl.” Miiawa had sent her feet to Meadow-with-Watering-Hole so she would find this strange one, this girl of the Others. She would not leave now.

  “Mother Olima, today you are disagreeable,” Sonte grumbled, but he did not leave her.

  After a while, when the girl was sitting in the meadow, twitching and moving, not ever still, but at least not uttering her frightening calls, Burrum and Sonte once more left the tree and gradually approached her. Then, looking into her eyes, Burrum saw that the girl’s soul, her Ta, was neither unfriendly nor dangerous. Therefore, she went up to her, greeted her, and touched her.

  As they looked the stranger over, Sonte asked many questions that Burrum could not answer. “Is this a girl or a woman?” he wanted to know. “Why is her skin spotted? What are those sounds she makes?” And so on. Finally he asked, “If we take her back to the caves, with whom will she stay?”

  “She will stay with me,” Burrum answered quickly and firmly. “She will be my companion. I tell you, Miiawa has sent her to me.”