The Shaman and the Droll

by Jack Lasenby

  “Do you mean the storm?”

  He didn’t reply, just spooned up his soup. By my feet Nip gnawed a bone. I filled my bowl, drank the soup, chewed the chunks of meat, astonished at my appetite.

  “Where did you get your dogs?”

  “Jak came with me. The Travellers used to have sheep and goats, and donkeys to carry our loads. We are the last of the Travellers…” I thought of Sodomah, the Garden of Dene, and stopped my wagging tongue. Had I already said too much?

  The Bear Man put down his bowl, reached for my gear which he’d brushed against before, and took up my broken spear. Felt the head, its fluted shape, the lashing. “You’re from the North Land.” Like almost everything he said it was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a stretch of sea between it and the South Land.”

  “Yes.”

  “You crossed it.”

  “Drifted on an ice island.” I didn’t tell him Taur and I had sailed as far as Marn Island on our first raft.

  “Lucky.”

  I thought of Taur’s battle with the Salt Men. Getting across before the ice island broke up. I knew just how lucky we had been.

  “You had somebody with you then.”

  Had I said as much? “A friend. And another dog.”

  The Bear Man seemed to be looking at me from behind his mask. I waited for him to speak. I wasn’t going to tell him anything unless he asked.

  “They are dead.”

  I grunted.

  “What was the dog’s name?”

  “Jess.”

  “Same litter as Jak?”

  I nodded. Anything about the dogs seemed to interest him. As if they were more important than people.

  “She was killed.”

  “Shot by some men chasing us.” I heard the reluctance in my voice.

  “Salt Men.” Again he said it rather than asked.

  How did he know about the Salt Men? I wondered why the Bear Man was more interested in Jess than Taur. He didn’t ask his name, how he had died.

  “Nip – where did you get her?”

  “Stole her.”

  I thought I saw a gleam through the slits in the mask as he turned his head and shoulders again in that strange, stiff movement. As if his neck did not turn. “You stole a dog!”

  Perhaps he was rude in his speech and with food because he lived alone, never saw anyone else. There couldn’t be any harm in telling him a bit more.

  “We came down a lake on a raft and saw wild dogs pull down a deer. There was a bitch in milk. I sneaked in while she was away, grabbed the pick of the pups.”

  The Bear Man helped himself to another bowl of meat and ate noisily. Nodded towards the pot. “Eat up. You need plenty here.” The sound of the storm came in despite the muffling door and curtains. Then I realised I was hearing the shudder of wind in the chimney.

  The Bear Man’s whole upper body turned to me, the head carried with it. “You came across the mountains from the Western Coast.”

  I nodded.

  “Through the Pass of the Guardians – the stone statues.”

  I nodded again.

  “Down the lake on a raft.”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you not been on a raft,” said the Bear Man, “they would have got you. Stealing one of their pups!”

  “I’ve stolen wild pups before,” I said. “In the North Land. I had to kill the bitch once.”

  “You got away on your raft. Otherwise they would have ripped you apart.”

  I had the uneasy feeling he knew exactly where we had found and stolen Nip. I felt something on my skin as if from behind the snow mask his hidden eyes scored my face. As if they looked inside my mind.

  “Those were not wild dogs.” Smoke bulged into the cave and sucked back with a sound like a gasp.

  “They looked wild to me.”

  The Bear Man stared into the fire. The way he turned made his words seem aggressive. “Along that side of Lake Ka, there are deer and brown bears. Goats higher up. The Dog People hunt them. It is their country.”

  “The Dog People?”

  “There used to be Salt Men around that side of Lake Ka. The Dog People drove them out. Hunted them.”

  I knew the Salt Men didn’t like dogs. Again and again Taur and I had escaped only because we had Jak and Jess. The snow mask was turned towards me again. Could he tell what I was thinking? I tried to empty my mind.

  “I have been saved by dogs many times myself.” His head tilted so the mask stared up into the darkness, the Bear Man set down his bowl. The great nose cut the air as he raised one hand. I sat up.

  “Once upon a time, there was a hunter,” said the Bear Man. His voice deepened, a richer note. His face became more expressive. I wondered why he still wore the snow mask.

  “Once upon a time there was a hunter and his dogs who tracked a white bear over the bend at the top of the world and down the other side.” I found myself nodding as if in agreement.

  “When the hunter saw the claw marks on the ice cliff high above his head, when he felt his sledge bump over the deep prints in the snow, he knew it must be an enormous bear. ‘Its skin will make me new leggings,’ he said to his dogs. ‘A warm tunic. You will gorge yourselves. My wife will feast the whole village on its meat and fat.’”

  The Bear Man moved to his bench one side of the fire. I sat opposite. He tipped a bag of the black stones on to the flames and stared down as if finding the story there, drawing the words from the twisting smoke, the red lick and leap. Nip lay against my foot. I leaned forward, stared into the fire, too.

  “Once upon a time,” the Bear Man said, “a man hunted a bear as big as a white hill.

  “For days he followed. Each night he ran the sledge behind a hummock of ice, made a snow shelter, fed his dogs dried fish. They gulped it down, curled in the snow, warm inside their thick coats, the tips of their tails over their noses, and dreamed of the white bear. The hunter slept warm out of the killing wind which freezes the seagulls’ red feet to the ice, snaps off their bodies and blows them away. A wind that breaks fingers like sticks. In the morning the hunter whistled, and the dogs burst out of their snow-buried beds. He harnessed them to the sledge, and they raced off after the white bear.

  “One morning the hunter saw the bear heaving ahead like a running hill and knew he was catching up. He disturbed it eating a seal, and his dogs fought to eat the dung it dropped as it fled.

  “The bear disappeared among cliffs and gullies of ice. The sledge was no good there. The hunter cut the dogs from their traces.” The Bear Man stood. He wasn’t just telling the story. Now he was the hunter, the next moment his dogs, then the white bear itself.

  “All day they tracked it. At last they surrounded the creature reared against an ice wall.” Arms above his head, the Bear Man reared himself. “The dogs barked, keeping its attention.” He leapt in and out like a dog bailing. “The bear roared at the dogs, and the hunter ran in, shoved a spear through its side, and leapt away. The bear swiped at him but hit a dog, broke its back. It bit through the spear shaft and growled, ‘Grrrr!’” The Bear Man bared his teeth, shook his great hands like claws, and growled so I sat back, shaking my hands like claws and growling myself.

  “The bear must weaken with the iron. Blood spilled red down its white coat. It galloped off, the broken spear wagging out its side. The bear stopped and stared over the heads of the barking dogs into the eyes of the hunter. He flinched, put his hand over his eyes.” The Bear Man put his hands over the snow mask as if it hurt to look at the bear, and I remembered my feelings at the gaze of the bear I had killed. “The bear gave a groan, turned, and floundered on leaving a red swathe across the snow.

  “The hunter called off his dogs. They whined, licked the red snow, wanted to break ahead. When the bear lay down, the hunter held back the dogs. He was waiting for the wound to stiffen so the muscles would not pull the bear back on its feet, but the creature heaved itself up, a tower of bloody fur which limped o
ff with a cry like a man. ‘Ohhh!’”

  I heard my own voice echoing, “Ohhh!” as the Bear Man limped across the cave, crying to himself.

  “The hunter crept closer. The white bear spun as if it did not have a spear through its side already. It leapt at the hunter who stumbled, tripped, fell. He must be killed. But the dogs surrounded the bear, kept him busy while the hunter escaped.”

  I watched the Bear Man crawl through the snow, clamber to his feet, falling over, getting his balance, crouching again.

  “The bear lunged claws like sickles and gutted a dog. The long head swayed from side to side, snarled through a red haze, shook, and darted. It gathered two dogs in its arms, crushed them against its chest, tore off their heads. And the hunter ran in, slid a second spear into its red heart, jumped aside. The furry tower tottered a few steps, collapsed like a tree.” The Bear Man tottered, swayed, and fell.

  “The hunter punched and knifed off the bear’s shaggy coat, working it over on its back, one huge leg at a time. He slit the skin over the stomach, spilt the guts smoking on the ice. The other dogs fought for the innards, the fat around them. The poisonous liver the hunter dropped down a crack in the ice.

  “By the time he finished it was too late to find the sledge with his warm furs. His snow knife for making a shelter, that was on the sledge, too. His old clothes were too worn. He would freeze to death, but his dogs would sleep in the snow, tails curled over their noses.

  “The hunter spread the bearskin on the snow, flesh side down, rolled himself in its furry warmth and wriggled inside the belly of the gutted bear.”

  I could feel fur against my own skin, smelt blood in my nostrils, felt myself – rolled in the skin – wriggling inside the bear.

  “The house of meat kept the hunter warm through the long night. He slept warm and dreamt he was a dog with his tail curled over his nose. Next morning he sneezed awake, the fur tickling his nose. The hunter tried to get out but, during the night, the bear had frozen solid. He was going to freeze to death inside.”

  I watched the Bear Man’s hand feel around inside the red tomb of frozen meat.

  “He whistled his dogs. All day they gnawed.”

  I felt the frozen meat tear my own lips and gums as the Bear Man chewed at the rock-hard boulder of flesh from inside. The fire rose, throwing light and shadows across his masked face. Other faces seemed to press behind his, other eyes looked through his, other voices spoke through his voice. I became aware of stories that receded down a dark cave of time. What had happened to Jak and Nip must have happened to many others. Would happen again.

  “Two days later, the hunter shoved the ribs aside, sprang free. Full of meat, his dogs dropped and slept in the snow, tails over their noses. The hunter dragged the sledge as close as he could. He loaded what was left of the carcass, took his snow knife, built himself a shelter. He had to wait three days before the dogs slept off their feed and woke.” The Bear Man turned his mask towards me, and I nodded agreement.

  “Strong from the bear meat, they towed the sledge home as if it weighed nothing. The hunter threw himself on top to slow them down. Although the dogs had eaten half the bear, there was enough left for his wife to feast the whole village. The Snow People ate and danced. And the hunter sang and danced the story of the bear hunt.”

  “Ah!”

  The Bear Man slumped on his bench, remote again. Face heavy with tiredness, wrinkles incised like dark lines. Thinking of the tattooed faces of some of the Salt Men, I lay down by Jak and must have fallen asleep.

  Chapter 12

  One Lap of Water

  I woke beside Jak, Nip his other side. The Bear Man pouring a bag of fine black dust on the fire. Feeling the way to his bunk. As I closed my eyes there came a groan. I did not dare look in case I saw a dying bear, a broken spear sticking out its side, red daubing its white coat. And I slept.

  Nip’s cold nose shoved into my face. The fire a hot mound of ash. No movement from the bunk. I rubbed Nip’s ears. Jak felt warm enough, but didn’t open his eyes.

  Further back in the cave, I found a huge heap of the black stones, shovelled some into a bag made from sealskin. Grey and orange ashes cleared away, embers glowed red beneath. I poured on the bag. The fresh black stones smoked; the smell sharp.

  Outside, I turned my back to the storm. Nip squatted beside me, finished, and disappeared into a scud of snowflakes. Yapped and ran back, excited.

  “You thought you were lost?” She yapped again.

  Back inside, shadows shook across the walls. I raked coals aside and hung the cooking pot. There was still plenty of soup and meat. I stirred it, looked into the flames, saw the Bear Man dance the story: hunter, bear, dogs leaping, barking. The bear’s claws tipped out a dog’s guts. He crushed another against his chest, pulled off its head. Roared. I sat up with a start. A shadow slunk along the wall of the cave. The Bear Man lay still under his furs. I whispered in Jak’s ear, “The lying old thief – he stole our story!”

  By the wall were two great pots of water. I dipped full another cooking pot and hung it to heat. Filled two more bags with black stones. Carried in slabs of ice from a stack outside, lowered them to melt in the pots by the wall.

  There were shelves and shelves of little pots with skin covers, bags with strings tied around their necks, bundles of dried plants hanging from pegs, rolls of dried skins of small animals, birds, fish. Some new, some thick with ancient soot. So many they covered the roof. Spare clothes and furs, rolled and hanging. Shelves of tools and gear. Everything neat and in its place. Larger pots and containers. I would have liked to know what was in them, but something moved by the fire.

  Jak opened an eye. Closed. Opened again. Careful, slow, as if it hurt, he got to his feet rump-first. I remembered Taur’s cows rocking on to their back feet, then on to their front feet. So Jak got up, hunched, belly sucked up to his back. Swayed getting his balance. A step. He paused. Another. And another. Stopped and looked at me.

  I carried him outside, held him while he pissed, unable to cock his leg, even to squat. He shivered as I carried him back. Head nodding uncertain, he lapped once at the bowl of water. I took his weight, lowered him as his legs folded, his eyes closed, and he was still again.

  Nip came nosing over. I held her back from him. “He’s going to get better!” I told her. Tied the goatskin wrappings on my feet, put on the bearskin tunic, and took her outside for a run. I was so excited, I needed one myself.

  Against the wind we ran and crouched, eyes whipped. I had to turn and lean back against it. Nip disappeared into the white whirl, yelped, scampered to my voice, skidding, unsure of herself, licking at the snow. She had a shit, sniffed it, scratched the snow, and tried running again. A scrap of a bark was snatched out of her mouth, lost in the roar. The Bear Man had been right. The storm had not lessened.

  Inside, he sat on his bench, staring into the fire, the mask over his eyes. Silent.

  “Still blowing outside.”

  Silence.

  “Soup’s hot.”

  He sat unmoving.

  At last I said, “I took Jak outside. He wanted a piss.”

  The Bear Man turned his shaggy head towards Nip who had run to trip over his feet. He scratched her ear. “Drink any water?”

  “One lap.”

  Another silence. Perhaps he had used up all his words last night.

  “Good sign,” said the Bear Man.

  I filled both bowls with soup. The Bear Man took his in silence, spooned it down. I washed the bowls and spoons in hot water, flung it outside, and refilled the pot with ice. The Bear Man stared into the fire. As I worked at my bearskin, scraping it of flesh and bits of fat, he said something to Nip.

  He can talk to her, I thought.

  Making a good job of the bearskin took a long time. I washed the blood out of the fur, let it freeze outside, brought it in again and beat out the ice and snowflakes. I hung it on a pole, stretching it out, unrolling the edges where they had curled.

  The Bear Ma
n was going over what looked like a dog harness, replacing a stitch here and there, rubbing oil into the leather.

  “Not a bad skin,” he admitted.

  How did he know it was a good skin? He hadn’t even looked at it, not that I’d noticed. He went on with his stitching and rubbing. His needle was metal. The thread he used was not deer tendon, looked as if it was spun. He ran a fresh piece through a ball of beeswax. Where would he get that?

  Had his storytelling last night exhausted him? Did he feel he had revealed too much of himself? I was sitting staring into the fire when he asked, “How did you kill that bear?”

  “Luck. My spear went through his backbone.”

  He nodded. “Must have been luck. Still, you did all right.” It annoyed me that I flushed with pleasure at his praise. Of course I’d done all right, killing a white bear with only a wooden spear. I didn’t need telling. It was like being called “boy” by Lutha. I’d like to see her try to call me that now. Even she had said the white bears were dangerous.

  I went to refill the coal bags. As I walked to the back of the cave, I wondered if the Bear Man was mocking me, saying I’d done all right? Perhaps he wasn’t praising me at all.

  “This black stone…” I said, returning to the fire.

  “Coal.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to say any more, to ask any questions. It felt as if I was giving away something, making a stupid mistake every time I spoke. But it wasn’t my way to sit in silence. There was too much I wanted to know.

  “Where does it come from?”

  He turned his masked face to me then. Perhaps he thought I talked too much, at least, that’s what I felt. It was awkward, the silence.

  “People swap me coal and warm clothes. Tools. Food.” His mouth snapped shut as if he’d said too much.

  I wanted to ask what he had to swap that other people wanted. I understood swapping. That’s what the Travellers used to do with the Metal People, swapping woven clothes and blankets for needles, knives, and arrowheads, tools and weapons. I thought of the scythe Dinny had swapped us, how Taur slew the Salt Men with it.