‘Why?’ said Taffy, and her eyes shone too with incitement.
‘I’ll show,’ said her Daddy. ‘What’s water in the Tegumai language?’
‘Ya, of course, and it means river too—like Wagai-ya—the Wagai river.’
‘What is bad water that gives you fever if you drink it—black water—swamp-water?’
‘Yo, of course.’
‘Now look,’ said her Daddy. ‘S’pose you saw this scratched by the side of a pool in the beaver-swamp?’ And he drew this. (8.)
‘Carp-tail and round egg. Two noises mixed! Yo, bad water,’ said Taffy. ‘’Course I wouldn’t drink that water because I’d know you said it was bad.’
‘But I needn’t be near the water at all. I might be miles away, hunting, and still—’
‘And still it would be just the same as if you stood there and said, “G’way, Taffy, or you’ll get fever.” All that in a carp-fish-tail and a round egg! O Daddy, we must tell Mummy, quick!’ and Taffy danced all round him.
‘Not yet,’ said Tegumai; ‘not till we’ve gone a little further. Let’s see. Yo is bad water, but So is food cooked on the fire, isn’t it?’ And he drew this. (9.)
‘Yes. Snake and egg,’ said Taffy ‘So that means dinner’s ready. If you saw that scratched on a tree you’d know it was time to come to the Cave. So’d I.’
‘My Winkie!’ said Tegumai. ‘That’s true too. But wait a minute. I see a difficulty. SO means “come and have dinner,” but sho means the drying-poles where we hang our hides.’
‘Horrid old drying-poles!’ said Taffy. ‘I hate helping to hang heavy, hot, hairy hides on them. If you drew the snake and egg, and I thought it meant dinner, and I came in from the wood and found that it meant I was to help Mummy hang the two hides on the drying-poles, what would I do?’
‘You’d be cross. So’d Mummy. We must make a new picture for sho. We must draw a spotty snake that hisses sh-sh, and we’ll play that the plain snake only hisses ssss.’
‘I couldn’t be sure how to put in the spots,’ said Taffy. ‘And p’raps if you were in a hurry you might leave them out, and I’d think it was so when it was sho, and then Mummy would catch me just the same. No! I think we’d better draw a picture of the horrid high drying-poles their very selves, and make quite sure. I’ll put them in just after the hissy-snake. Look!’ And she drew this. (10.)
‘P’raps that’s safest. It’s very like our drying-poles, anyhow,’ said her Daddy, laughing. ‘Now I’ll make a new noise with a snake and drying-pole sound in it. I’ll say shi. That’s Tegumai for spear, Taffy.’ And he laughed.
‘Don’t make fun of me,’ said Taffy, as she thought of her picture-letter and the mud in the Stranger-man’s hair. ‘You draw it, Daddy.’
‘We won’t have beavers or hills this time, eh?’ said her Daddy, ‘I’ll just draw a straight line for my spear.’ and he drew this. (11.)
‘Even Mummy couldn’t mistake that for me being killed.’
‘Please don’t, Daddy. It makes me uncomfy. Do some more noises. We’re getting on beautifully.’
‘Er-hm!’ said Tegumai, looking up. ‘We’ll say shu. That means sky.’
Taffy drew the snake and the drying-pole. Then she stopped. ‘We must make a new picture for that end sound, mustn’t we?’
‘Shu-shu-u-u-u!’ said her Daddy. ‘Why, it’s just like the round-egg-sound made thin.’
‘Then s’pose we draw a thin round egg, and pretend it’s a frog that hasn’t eaten anything for years.’
‘N-no,’ said her Daddy. ‘If we drew that in a hurry we might mistake it for the round egg itself. Shu-shu-shu! ‘I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll open a little hole at the end of the round egg to show how the O-noise runs out all thin, ooo-oo-oo. Like this.’ And he drew this. (12.)
‘Oh, that’s lovely! Much better than a thin frog. Go on,’ said Taffy, using her shark’s tooth. Her Daddy went on drawing, and his hand shook with incitement. He went on till he had drawn this. (13.)
‘Don’t look up, Taffy,’ he said. ‘Try if you can make out what that means in the Tegumai language. If you can, we’ve found the Secret.’
‘Snake—pole—broken—egg—carp—tail and carp-mouth,’ said Taffy. ‘Shu-ya. Sky-water (rain).’ Just then a drop fell on her hand, for the day had clouded over. ‘Why, Daddy, it’s raining. Was that what you meant to tell me?’
‘Of course,’ said her Daddy. ‘And I told it you without saying a word, didn’t I?’
‘Well, I think I would have known it in a minute, but that raindrop made me quite sure. I’ll always remember now. Shu-ya means rain, or “it is going to rain.” Why, Daddy!’ She got up and danced round him. ‘S’pose you went out before I was awake, and drawed shu-ya in the smoke on the wall, I’d know it was going to rain and I’d take my beaver-skin hood. Wouldn’t Mummy be surprised?’
Tegumai got up and danced. (Daddies didn’t mind doing those things in those days.) ‘More than that! More than that!’ he said. ‘S’pose I wanted to tell you it wasn’t going to rain much and you must come down to the river, what would we draw? Say the words in Tegumai-talk first.’
‘Shu-ya-las, ya maru. (Sky-water ending. River come to.) what a lot of new sounds! I don’t see how we can draw them.’
‘But I do—but I do!’ said Tegumai. ‘Just attend a minute, Taffy, and we won’t do any more to-day. We’ve got shu-ya all right, haven’t we? But this las is a teaser. La-la-la’ and he waved his shark-tooth.
‘There’s the hissy-snake at the end and the carp-mouth before the snake—as-as-as. We only want la-la,’ said Taffy.
‘I know it, but we have to make la-la. And we’re the first people in all the world who’ve ever tried to do it, Taffimai!’
‘Well,’ said Taffy, yawning, for she was rather tired. ‘Las means breaking or finishing as well as ending, doesn’t it?’
‘So it does,’ said Tegumai. ‘To-las means that there’s no water in the tank for Mummy to cook with—just when I’m going hunting, too.’
‘And shi-las means that your spear is broken. If I’d only thought of that instead of drawing silly beaver pictures for the Stranger!’
‘La! La! La!’ said Tegumai, waiving his stick and frowning. ‘Oh bother!’
‘I could have drawn shi quite easily,’ Taffy went on. ‘Then I’d have drawn your spear all broken—this way!’ And she drew. (14.)
‘The very thing,’ said Tegumai. ‘That’s la all over. It isn’t like any of the other marks either.’ And he drew this. (15.)
‘Now for ya. Oh, we’ve done that before. Now for maru. Mum-mum-mum. Mum shuts one’s mouth up, doesn’t it? We’ll draw a shut mouth like this.’ And he drew. (16.)
‘Then the carp-mouth open. That makes Ma-ma-ma! But what about this rrrrr-thing, Taffy?’
‘It sounds all rough and edgy, like your shark-tooth saw when you’re cutting out a plank for the canoe,’ said Taffy.
‘You mean all sharp at the edges, like this?’ said Tegumai. And he drew. (17.)
‘’Xactly,’ said Taffy. ‘But we don’t want all those teeth: only put two.’
‘I’ll only put in one,’ said Tegumai. ‘If this game of ours is going to be what I think it will, the easier we make our sound-pictures the better for everybody.’ And he drew. (18.)
‘Now, we’ve got it,’ said Tegumai, standing on one leg. ‘I’ll draw ‘em all in a string like fish.’
‘Hadn’t we better put a little bit of stick or something between each word, so’s they won’t rub up against each other and jostle, same as if they were carps?’
‘Oh, I’ll leave a space for that,’ said her Daddy. And very incitedly he drew them all without stopping, on a big new bit of birch-bark. (19.)
‘Shu-ya-las ya-maru,’ said Taffy, reading it out sound by sound.
‘That’s enough for to-day,’ said Tegumai. ‘Besides, you
’re getting tired, Taffy. Never mind, dear. We’ll finish it all to-morrow, and then we’ll be remembered for years and years after the biggest trees you can see are all chopped up for firewood.’
So they went home, and all that evening Tegumai sat on one side of the fire and Taffy on the other, drawing ya’s and yo’s and shu’s and shi’s in the smoke on the wall and giggling together till her Mummy said, ‘Really, Tegumai, you’re worse than my Taffy.’
‘Please don’t mind,’ said Taffy. ‘It’s only our secret-s’prise, Mummy dear, and we’ll tell you all about it the very minute it’s done; but please don’t ask me what it is now, or else I’ll have to tell.’
So her Mummy most carefully didn’t; and bright and early next morning Tegumai went down to the river to think about new sound pictures, and when Taffy got up she saw Ya-las (water is ending or running out) chalked on the side of the big stone water-tank, outside the Cave.
‘Um,’ said Taffy. ‘These picture-sounds are rather a bother! Daddy’s just as good as come here himself and told me to get more water for Mummy to cook with.’ She went to the spring at the back of the house and filled the tank from a bark bucket, and then she ran down to the river and pulled her Daddy’s left ear—the one that belonged to her to pull when she was good.
‘Now come along and we’ll draw all the left-over sound-pictures,’ said her Daddy, and they had a most inciting day of it, and a beautiful lunch in the middle, and two games of romps. When they came to T, Taffy said that as her name, and her Daddy’s, and her Mummy’s all began with that sound, they should draw a sort of family group of themselves holding hands. That was all very well to draw once or twice; but when it came to drawing it six or seven times, Taffy and Tegumai drew it scratchier and scratchier, till at last the T-sound was only a thin long Tegumai with his arms out to hold Taffy and Teshumai. You can see from these three pictures partly how it happened. (20, 21, 22.)
Many of the other pictures were much too beautiful to begin with, especially before lunch, but as they were drawn over and over again on birch-bark, they became plainer and easier, till at last even Tegumai said he could find no fault with them. They turned the hissy-snake the other way round for the Z-sound, to show it was hissing backwards in a soft and gentle way (23); and they just made a twiddle for E, because it came into the pictures so often (24); and they drew pictures of the sacred Beaver of the Tegumais for the B-sound (25, 26, 27, 28); and because it was a nasty, nosy noise, they just drew noses for the N-sound, till they were tired (29); and they drew a picture of the big lake-pike’s mouth for the greedy Ga-sound (30); and they drew the pike’s mouth again with a spear behind it for the scratchy, hurty Ka-sound (31); and they drew pictures of a little bit of the winding Wagai river for the nice windy-windy Wa-sound (32, 33); and so on and so forth and so following till they had done and drawn all the sound-pictures that they wanted, and there was the Alphabet, all complete.
And after thousands and thousands and thousands of years, and after Hieroglyphics and Demotics, and Nilotics, and Cryptics, and Cufics, and Runics, and Dorics, and Ionics, and all sorts of other ricks and tricks (because the Woons, and the Neguses, and the Akhoonds, and the Repositories of Tradition would never leave a good thing alone when they saw it), the fine old easy, understandable Alphabet—A, B, C, D, E, and the rest of ‘em—got back into its proper shape again for all Best Beloveds to learn when they are old enough.
But I remember Tegumai Bopsulai, and Taffimai Metallumai and Teshumai Tewindrow, her dear Mummy, and all the days gone by. And it was so—just so—a little time ago—on the banks of the big Wagai!
OF all the Tribe of Tegumai
Who cut that figure, none remain,—
On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry
The silence and the sun remain.
But as the faithful years return
And hearts unwounded sing again,
Comes Taffy dancing through the fern
To lead the Surrey spring again.
Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds,
And golden elf-locks fly above;
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
And bluer than the skies above.
In mocassins and deer-skin cloak,
Unfearing, free and fair she flits,
And lights her little damp-wood smoke
To show her Daddy where she flits.
For far—oh, very far behind,
So far she cannot call to him,
Comes Tegumai alone to find
The daughter that was all to him.
THE CRAB THAT PLAYED WITH THE SEA
BEFORE the High and Far-Off Times, O my Best Beloved, came the Time of the Very Beginnings; and that was in the days when the Eldest Magician was getting Things ready. First he got the Earth ready; then he got the Sea ready; and then he told all the Animals that they could come out and play. And the Animals said, ‘O Eldest Magician, what shall we play at?’ and he said, ‘I will show you. He took the Elephant—All-the-Elephant-there-was—and said, ‘Play at being an Elephant,’ and All-the-Elephant-there-was played. He took the Beaver—All-the-Beaver-there-was and said, ‘Play at being a Beaver,’ and All-the Beaver-there-was played. He took the Cow—All-the Cow-there-was—and said, ‘Play at being a Cow,’ and All-the-Cow-there-was played. He took the Turtle—All-the-Turtle there-was and said, ‘Play at being a Turtle,’ and All-the-Turtle-there-was played. One by one he took all the beasts and birds and fishes and told them what to play at.
But towards evening, when people and things grow restless and tired, there came up the Man (With his own little girl-daughter?)—Yes, with his own best beloved little girl-daughter sitting upon his shoulder, and he said, ‘What is this play, Eldest Magician?’ And the Eldest Magician said, ‘Ho, Son of Adam, this is the play of the Very Beginning; but you are too wise for this play.’ And the Man saluted and said, ‘Yes, I am too wise for this play; but see that you make all the Animals obedient to me.’
Now, while the two were talking together, Pau Amma the Crab, who was next in the game, scuttled off sideways and stepped into the sea, saying to himself, ‘I will play my play alone in the deep waters, and I will never be obedient to this son of Adam.’ Nobody saw him go away except the little girl-daughter where she leaned on the Man’s shoulder. And the play went on till there were no more Animals left without orders; and the Eldest Magician wiped the fine dust off his hands and walked about the world to see how the Animals were playing.
He went North, Best Beloved, and he found All-the-Elephant-there-was digging with his tusks and stamping with his feet in the nice new clean earth that had been made ready for him.
‘Kun?’ said All-the-Elephant-there-was, meaning, ‘Is this right?’
‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician, meaning, ‘That is quite right’; and he breathed upon the great rocks and lumps of earth that All-the-Elephant-there-was had thrown up, and they became the great Himalayan Mountains, and you can look them out on the map.
He went East, and he found All-the-Cow there-was feeding in the field that had been made ready for her, and she licked her tongue round a whole forest at a time, and swallowed it and sat down to chew her cud.
‘Kun?’ said All-the-Cow-there-was.
‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the bare patch where she had eaten, and upon the place where she had sat down, and one became the great Indian Desert, and the other became the Desert of Sahara, and you can look them out on the map.
He went West, and he found All-the-Beaver-there-was making a beaver-dam across the mouths of broad rivers that had been got ready for him.
‘Kun?’ said All-the-Beaver-there-was.
‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the fallen trees and the still water, and they became the Everglades in Florida, and you may look them out on the map.
Then he went Sout
h and found All-the-Turtle-there-was scratching with his flippers in the sand that had been got ready for him, and the sand and the rocks whirled through the air and fell far off into the sea.
‘Kun?’ said All-the-Turtle-there-was.
‘Payah kun,’ said the Eldest Magician; and he breathed upon the sand and the rocks, where they had fallen in the sea, and they became the most beautiful islands of Borneo, Celebes, Sumatra, Java, and the rest of the Malay Archipelago, and you can look them out on the map!
By and by the Eldest Magician met the Man on the banks of the Perak river, and said, ‘Ho! Son of Adam, are all the Animals obedient to you?’
‘Yes,’ said the Man.
‘Is all the Earth obedient to you?’
‘Yes,’ said the Man.
‘Is all the Sea obedient to you?’
‘No,’ said the Man. ‘Once a day and once a night the Sea runs up the Perak river and drives the sweet-water back into the forest, so that my house is made wet; once a day and once a night it runs down the river and draws all the water after it, so that there is nothing left but mud, and my canoe is upset. Is that the play you told it to play?’
‘No,’ said the Eldest Magician. ‘That is a new and a bad play.’
‘Look!’ said the Man, and as he spoke the great Sea came up the mouth of the Perak river, driving the river backwards till it overflowed all the dark forests for miles and miles, and flooded the Man’s house.
‘This is wrong. Launch your canoe and we will find out who is playing with the Sea,’ said the Eldest Magician. They stepped into the canoe; the little girl-daughter came with them; and the Man took his kris—a curving, wavy dagger with a blade like a flame,—and they pushed out on the Perak river. Then the sea began to run back and back, and the canoe was sucked out of the mouth of the Perak river, past Selangor, past Malacca, past Singapore, out and out to the Island of Bingtang, as though it had been pulled by a string.
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 597
