Galway

by Matthew Thayer

  Lucy and Pearl ate their meals while seated on our furs. They took no part in feeding the baby, but could barely conceal their smiles. Fralista dragged Jones to a spot by the cook fire where they ate in silence.

  Gray Beard consumed his entire meal with his back turned to us. Flanked by his nephews, Bongo and Conga, he was only 10 feet distant, though it felt like 10 miles. How could my native father treat his grandnephew with such disdain? Had I misjudged the man?

  As if he were reading my thoughts, Leonglauix tossed his makeshift birch bark plate into the flames and turned my way as he stood. “Listen and I will tell you a story!” The words carried far into the trees, but his eyes were on me.

  This is the story he told:

  As you all know, a woolly rhino is a very dangerous beast to hunt. Would you believe I killed two in one day? I did! Now, if my friends Goingpo and Jennrey were here, they would laugh and say they killed them while I watched crying in a tree. The truth is we destroyed the two mighty rhinos together.

  We were young and in our prime, convinced there was nothing we could not do. Wide, dangerous rivers were things we swam across for fun. Lions and bears ran in fear when Leonglauix, Goingpo and Jennrey were on the hunt. The chances we took made girls swoon and clan elders shake their heads. Our parents expected us to drown or be mauled. If only they knew the adventures we had when they were not able to see! We lived for risk! Excitement! Danger!

  Ours was a friendship of one season each year, autumn, the time of change and feasting. Goingpo was the strongest, most able young man of the Owl Clan, while his clan mate Jennrey was the toughest, prettiest, most adventuresome girl in the long river valley. Between you and me, I think she thought she was a boy.

  From the days when we were tadpoles, whenever the Green Turtles camped in the land of the Owls, the three of us were off hunting and exploring. One day I threw a stone in the pond of talk by asking which animal was the most difficult to kill. Goingpo insisted a mother mammoth was the hardest. “She is always wary and cannot be tricked,” he blurted. “Even fire will not drive a mammoth cow from her child.”

  Jennrey agreed that a mammoth with child would be hard to kill, but it is possible. “Remember the red ants that brought down the hobbled bison?” She asked. If enough warriors were willing to die, why couldn’t they do the same?” That gave us something to think about.

  Finally, Jennrey had her answer. She claimed the most difficult type of animal to slay is a giant white shark that swallows seals whole and cuts big sea lions in half with one bite. The two Owls had never left their valley or seen a sea shark, but I had told them stories about the ones I had seen during Green Turtle seal hunts along the southern and northern coasts. She must have been impressed.

  Neither sharks nor mammoths were the prey I had in mind. I teased them that if they ever traveled anywhere in life they would know the most dangerous animal to meet along the trail is a woolly rhino. The horned animals are hateful, aggressive and almost impossible to kill. A rhino does not need a reason to attack. Even aurochs, a species that does not back down from mammoth, will move away when a crash of rhinos arrives at its meadow.

  Before my friends could shout their arguments, I quieted them with a challenge. “There are two rhinos not far from here. I saw them this morning while hunting running-birds with my father. If you think it will be so easy, let’s go kill them.”

  That is what we did!

  The rhinos were still in the bog where my father and I had given them a wide berth earlier in the day. A male and female, they used their horns to tear up the ground to expose sweet, fat roots and tasty earthnuts. In the swampy lowland there was no way to attack or hurt them, or even make a fire to force them to move. We found a lookout spot up where the wind kept the mosquitos away and settled to wait. When we grew bored, we ran down to the river to swim and catch crawfish to eat. Out of earshot of the rhino, we wrestled and laughed and practiced throwing our spears. We did not build any fires, which might spook our game, for we were serious hunters.

  Finally, the two rhinos waddled out of the bog, shook themselves and trotted up toward the tree line to find a dry place in the sun to warm. You will say I am exaggerating, or that time has made my arms grow long, but believe me when I say these rhinos were almost twice as big as the one who killed our people. They were huge!

  We trailed them for another two days as they moved south along the river. You may wonder what our families thought of our long hunt. Were we not ignoring our chores? Did they not miss our help as they prepared for winter? Of course! We probably were punished, though I do not remember. Hunting, fishing, fighting and exploring were all we cared about in those days. Although it sounds like we took crazy risks in our efforts to outdo each other, we took pride in working together, in hunting both bravely and wisely. That is why we did not lose our lives as early as everyone expected. We thought before we acted.

  By the second day the rhinos knew they were being followed. They did not like it. Not at all! Many times they doubled back to face us, and many times we climbed up into trees or hid in narrow caves to escape. When they couldn’t kill us, they ran, always moving south. In this way we pushed them higher and farther away from the river until they were grazing along the rock fall line at the base of the Baby Mountains.

  Climbing high above them, we searched in vain for ways to start an avalanche. The best we could do was roll medium size rocks, and that just made the rhinos move to new spots to feed. We needed a plan! For the next two days we ran hard to get far in front of the rhinos, to scout for a place to set a trap. On the afternoon of the second day, we found what we were looking for.

  Amid the sounds of trees being pushed over and hazelnuts chewed–the sounds of rhinos scrounging on the move–the beasts arrived the next morning. They were standing side by side resting when Jennrey darted out from behind a tree no farther away than I am from you. She jumped and yelled, then turned and ran back up toward the rock line. We had killed a red fox that morning. Jennrey waved its bloody pelt over her head and sang an Owl Clan children’s song as the rhinos charged after her. We chose Jennrey’s route with care. It had many deep streams to cross. While Jennrey could leap the narrow channels, and run across fallen logs spanning the wider ones, the rhinos had to go down in and climb back up. Whenever it looked like they might give up the chase, she stood on the far bank and mocked them, shouting her songs and waving the pelt.

  Jennrey led the two angry giants to where Goingpo was ready to take his turn. Grabbing the fox pelt from Jennrey as she dove into a brush pile, he flushed from cover like a deer. Goingpo led the grunting animals on a zigzag course that was a big circle, right back to where I was waiting with Jennrey to take the final leg. Snatching the fur out of Goingpo’s hands, I had the slightest of leads as I led the rhinos toward the cliffs. The rhinos were tired of Goingpo’s zigging and zagging. Fanning off to my sides, they forced me to run in a straight line. Behind me, I knew Jennrey and Goingpo were dumping embers from fire horns into piles of wood and bird nests we had stacked early that morning.

  Their fire spread far faster and wider than we expected. It’s a wonder we did not burn up. The rhinos were almost upon me as I saw the edge of the cliff in the distance. This was the fastest I had ever run. When the tip of a horn tapped my shoulder, I knew I must run even faster. I could not go left. I could not go right. I could not stop. My only choice was to run straight off the cliff.

  Spotting the stones we had placed to mark the way, I put on one last burst of speed to launch myself from the edge. I could see the river far below as I sailed and sailed to the top of a wintergreen tree. Wrapping my legs and arms around the narrow trunk like a flying squirrel, I held on tightly as it bent and then sprung back. That nasty tree was determined to shed me like the tip of a dog’s tail sheds water, but I held on.

  The rhinos poured their hatred over me from the edge of the cliff. Snorting and bellowing, they leaned their necks out over the edge and could almost, but not quite, reach me with the poin
ts of their horns. I clung to the trunk, no wider than my wrist, and made it swing with the wind as I sang all the bits of Jennrey’s song I could remember. This made the rhinos so angry! “Come back here and let us stomp you!” They snorted.

  The first puffs of smoke made their nostrils flare wide.It had not rained for several moons. The land was dry and our fire was soon spreading from treetop to treetop. I knew my father would not consider this hunting wisely. Clinging to my tree, coughing and wiping my eyes, I watched the rhinos stomp nervous circles. Finally, a wave of heat spooked them into bolting into the smoke.

  I feared for my friends. Had Jennrey and Goingpo been caught by their own fire? After what seemed like a long time, but was probably no longer than it takes to skin two rabbits, I heard their calls in the smoke. I had already spotted a ledge near the base of my tree that looked like it might be a safe place to wait for the flames to burn themselves out.

  “Over here,” I shouted. “I have a safe place! Over here!”

  I heard their replies, but at first could not understand. Finally, I figured out what they were screaming. “Look out! Look out!”

  Both rhinos were on fire as they thundered out of the smoke and charged off the cliff at full speed. Clinging to the top of the spindly, little tree, I thought my life was over. Closing my eyes, I felt the heat brush me on both sides as they flew past like the biggest, ugliest birds mankind has ever seen. Goingpo and Jennrey emerged from the smoke to find me holding onto the tree as it flapped back and forth.

  The only way to reach the ledge was to climb down my tree. Using hand sign, I quickly gave them the plan and then shimmied down out of the way. Goingpo allowed Jennrey to leap first, and let out a cry as she nearly lost her grip. She was on her way down, but snagged a limb with the crook of her leg and clung to it like a limpet. Jennrey barely had time to climb out of the way as a wall of flames forced Goingpo to the edge of the cliff for a desperate jump.

  Reaching the ledge, we saw that his leather clothes were blackened and most of the hair on his head had been singed away. We caught our breath and lay hidden, watching below as a traveling clan tried to make sense of the two burning rhinos that flew down out of the sky to crush four of its people.

  The fire burned for days and caused much trouble for many people. And so, we could never boast of our great hunt. Upon our return, arriving with torn clothes black with soot, the clans assumed we had been waylaid by the fire. It was a better excuse than the one we had made up on our long trek home, so we just nodded our heads and said, “It was awful.”

  I wish you were the first people I told this story to. It happened so many moons and seasons ago, I had forgotten. But recently, I did tell this story. Do you know whom I told? I see by your faces, you have guessed.

  Yes! I told the Sons about my great adventure, about using fire to herd a rhino! They asked me to repeat my story and I did. Is it my fault my nephew and his wife are dead? How about Lanio and the dogs? Is their blood on my hands? I feel like it is. Goingpo entrusted me with his three most capable grandsons. With all three dead and unburied, do you think I kept my promise to protect and teach them?

  Tomon was the third son born to my youngest brother, Zal, and his wife, Olonlon. Smaller than other boys his age, Tomon learned early the power of knowledge. My wife was first to spot his potential. He observed, he listened and he remembered. Most boys at that age have the attention spans of mice. They dart about and cause mischief instead of paying attention. When we sent Tomon to fetch a skin of water he did it quickly and without question.

  Due to his good eyesight and steady hands, we put him in charge of pulling splinters. As you all know, a clan suffers many splinters, especially during blackberry season. It wasn’t long before the lad was stitching wounds and collecting his own bags of healing herbs. Two Newts and I agreed Tomon had the makings of a good clan leader. We figured someday he might leave the Turtles to start his own tribe. With so many uncles and cousins in line in front of him, he had little chance of ever rising through the ranks of the Green Turtles.

  How was I to know that my wife and all my sons, grandchildren, nieces and nephews would be killed? Beside myself, an old man not long for this earth, Tomon and Gertilkgs were the last members of the original Green Turtle Clan. They knew our long genealogy and had learned most of the great stories. Who will carry on the legacy of my great-great-grandparents’ clan?

  One day, when Tomon was of an age to just start to show fuzz on his chin and upper lip, a young, slender girl joined us at our chores. The girl had the manners to be quiet and listen. An adult at work does not have time to answer a child’s questions. It wasn’t long before she too was being sent on errands and given tasks to perform.

  “You must never have children. It will kill you and the baby.”

  Those were the first words my wife said to Gertilkgs. The girl had narrow hips. Anyone could see she would probably die in childbirth. We pushed Tomon to find another girl, one that could provide him with many offspring, but love is not easily pushed. In the end, Two Newts taught them how to make the root powder that keeps away babies and made them promise to always use it.

  And then, one summer day, a great wave crashed upon the ocean shore bringing not only good hunting and much destruction, but also new people into our lives. These strangers had great power and loud weapons that delivered death from long distances. We have three of those people with us today. They are no longer strangers, and we do not hold them accountable for the sad changes since they arrived. These three saved my life when my clan was taken away by Lordenzo Mertoonelly.

  Over the many moons I was separated from Tomon and Gertilkgs, their training paid off. They became adults and leaders of what was left of our clan. They also took each other as mates and became pregnant–all very natural and wonderful, unless you are a girl shaped like Gertilkgs. There are ways to kill a baby inside the belly before it gets too big. I offered to show them how. They refused.

  Their love had grown strong. Some couples think with one mind. They know what each other is going to say before the words are spoken. This is how it was with Tomon and Gertilkgs.

  When it came time for the baby and Gertilkgs to die, another stranger turned good friend, Salvatore Baldzano, used great healing skills to bring them both through alive. If I was not there and did not see it happen with my own eyes I would not believe it. Baldzano cut that baby out with a flint knife! I was supposed to be guarding the outside entrance to the cave, but swam through the secret channel to watch Baldzano perform his magic.

  Baldzano was also there when I discovered Lanio. Her clan had been wiped out by Mertoonelly’s Tattoo warriors. She was the only survivor. The poor woman was barely holding on to her mind. We offered her a chance for revenge and she took it. Many women do not recover from seeing the things Lanio saw, or from the things she was forced to do to survive. She was wild and afraid, but slowly she healed. So skittish was Lanio, I did not expect her to be able to find love with a man. In the arms of Goingpo’s grandson, Greemil, Lanio did find happiness and peace.

  And now they are gone. In my long life I have learned it is one type of pain to lose someone you love, and another to see that person’s blood spilled before your eyes. That sort of death provides memories that are fresh and cut deep. I have also learned that time has a way of making even hard memories turn soft. There will be a time when we think of Tomon and Gertilkgs and remember how they loved to hold hands when they walked and how they spoke to each other with their eyes.

  Tomon, Gertilkgs, Lanio and Greemil were too young to be taken by death. They should have had many hunts and adventures. I know my nephew and his wife were excited to raise their son, to teach him the ways of this clan. I’m sure Lanio and Greemil also had dreams and plans.

  You will not believe it, but dying should not be feared. It can be a mercy. Who knows what our clan mates’ futures may have been if they had not been killed? They may have been burned and disfigured by fire or left lame by the kick of a bison. Who wants
to become so old and decrepit they become a burden to the clan? Who wants to live so long they rot slowly from the inside?

  If death does not come too early, it often comes too late.

  Gray Beard delivered his requiem while standing on the wide trunk of a fallen, snow-covered tree. Gesturing to the darkening sky with both arms, illuminated by flickering, amber firelight, he began to delve further into Tomon’s and Gertie’s belief they would live forever as adjacent stars. Suddenly, without a sound, Ha-Ha rose out of a drift behind the storyteller and raised a bulb-headed war club studded with shark teeth. Although his shattered collarbone made him crooked and weak on the left side, his right arm was in strong working order as he leaped onto the log and began a vicious downward chop to the storyteller’s exposed neck.

  The atlatl bolt plunging through Ha-Ha’s chest altered the course of the club just enough to make it glance off Gray Beard’s shoulder. Ha-Ha was part of a war party of a dozen Sons that tunneled more than 50 yards uphill, under the snow crust, to listen to Gray Beard’s story. As the tale neared its end, he was the first to break free and attack. I imagine, with him being an invalid, he was afraid he would miss out on the fun. The Sons found their surprise was not nearly as effective as they hoped. Green Turtles are born ready. We poured spears and bolts into them from the high ground, killing an additional four before they retreated. Their de facto leader, the troublemaker Fa, was the last to weave for cover, shouting what I imagine were obscenities over his shoulder as he disappeared into the dark forest.