Rome

by Matthew Thayer

  Once the two fallen mammoths were finished off with spear and stone, and the women had rushed in to begin the skinning and butchering, my father ordered great fires to be built. Our clan did not number as many as you, but every person was hardworking. Everyone knew their duties and did not need to be told twice to do them. By nightfall the hides had been removed and placed over frames made of weathered tusks and fallen trees. We did not bother taking the steps to cure the great skins. This was just another temporary camp for the Green Turtles. We would make a great kill and stay until the meat ran out or the seasons said it was time to move on. It was good hunting.

  The bull mammoths snuck into the valley in the dark of early morning after our fires had burned low. For animals so big, I am always amazed how quietly they hunt. The dogs did not hear them coming. Our guards were sleeping and did not see them. It took an old man walking to the edge of camp to piss to discover five mammoths standing around the carcasses of the two females. He said they made moaning sounds as they sniffed the red mountains of flesh and bone.

  The instant the old man shouted the alarm, the beasts went crazy, knocking over the two hide tents and smashing anything that moved. I awoke to chaos, saved only by the luck of being the headman’s child. My family had bedded down away from the others.

  “Climb the cliffs!” My father shouted to his people. “Climb!” Those who listened survived. Those who did not, those who chose to stay and fight, to defend their belongings and their families, died. Sitting with my parents on a ledge where the angry mammoths could not reach, we groaned and sobbed in horror as the evil, foul-tempered bulls got their revenge by stomping half our clan and nearly all our dogs into flat puddles.

  When I grew older, I became leader of the Green Turtles. Being leader may sound like you have won a prize. You are the Big Man who sleeps in the best spot or gets first bite of warm liver! Mostly it is a headache. All a leader deals with is problems. Problems, problems and more problems. I see your leader lives over there while most of you are down by the river. I do not blame him. There were times when my people made my head ache so bad I had to run away and hide for a while. I would escape on my own without telling anybody where I was going, not even my wife.

  One summer up north, my people were driving me crazy. Three married hunters, two of them my sons, brought new women into camp. I did my best to make things right with their wives, but knew it was going to take time–either that or a stabbing or two. I left for a full circuit of the moon to let them sort it out themselves. When I returned I was carrying the bitch’s mother in a cage made of sticks and twine. You may not believe this, but my special, smart dog was born to a gray fox! Yes she was!

  I found the fox in a clearing by following the sounds of her calls. In heat, dripping blood beneath her tail, the vixen wanted sex and she wanted it bad. Yoourrrrragh! Yooooouurrrragggghhhh! She called.

  The first to answer her yowls was a male wolf. Though he was three times her size, he bunched up his body to mount her as she lifted her tail and backed against him to meet the bucking of his hips. The female fox rutted with that wolf until he was tired, sweating and his tongue hung out. When he had his fill and trotted away, she began calling out again. This fox was in heat!

  Next to mount her was a hyena. Again, the female fox matched the male thrust for thrust! Again, she wore her lover out. The hyena looked like he needed to lie down and take a nap, the way hyenas do after eating the bones of a bison.

  If I did not see what happened next with my own eyes I would not believe it. I swear to you it is true. The next to rut with the fox only had two legs! The vixen was licking her wounds where the male wolf and hyena had nipped her in their throes of passion when a black raven dropped from the sky to land on her back. The crafty thief had a comb made of shiny abalone shell in his beak. Spreading his wings, digging his talons into her hide, the raven mounted the vixen quickly. In, out he was done and flying away.

  Only then did the fox curl up to sleep. I waited for the little kicking and false running of dreams to begin before sneaking up and trapping that fox under my leather cape. I wrapped her into a bundle in my arms and gave her a good, long shake. “Mix, mix seed of wolf, hyena and crow,” I chanted to the night sky. “Blend me a dog as smart as the raven, brave as the wolf, tenacious as the hyena and crafty as his mother the fox.

  I kept the vixen well fed as her stomach grew large. Have you ever seen a female dog have a litter from different fathers? A few look like one father and one or two look like the others. This baby was different. The fox had only one kit, a daughter that pulled the best traits of each father. In one moon, the pup was nearly as big as her mother. She nursed on her mother’s teets so hard she nearly turned that fox inside out.

  Once the pup could handle softened meat and other solid foods, I let the fox go. You know fox, they can never be tamed or trained. I didn’t want that fox teaching my bitch bad habits. The mother left and never came back.

  There are different ways to teach dogs. I never hit or kicked the bitch. I didn’t need to. From the start, all she wanted to do is make me happy, to protect me, to carry my belongings and to be my friend. She felt bad enough when she made a mistake. I did not need to make her feel worse. We were a good team. The best. As I said, many offered to buy her and many tried to steal her. She was that kind of dog.

  We had wonderful adventures together while following the herds with my clan. When I broke my leg in a snowstorm, she walked a day each way to bring help. Our friend the great warrior Jones was left for dead by the Tattoos with a broken back. The bitch caught him rabbits and squirrels to keep him alive until he was strong enough to travel. A woolly rhino was this far from running me down when the bitch ran up from behind and clamped her teeth on its tail to slow the brutal killer. The rhino spun with its wicked horn, but my dog held on tight. Have you ever held a child’s hands and spun him in circles? That’s what my dog looked like. Big eyes, growling, she would not let go until I had climbed safely into a tree. That rhino tried to run her down, but it could not catch her. The bitch was as fast and agile as a gazelle.

  I was visiting my other daughter, Fralista, where she and her husband’s clan live at the head of a secret valley deep in the Baby Mountains. Their camp is blessed with a hot spring where water comes out of the ground as if it has been boiled in a cook bag. Even in winter! Honest, I tell no lie! There is also a cave with a beautiful picture of two hunters riding a mammoth.

  Daughter Fralista had three children, two boys and a girl. The blond-haired, blue-eyed girl was my favorite grandchild of all my many grandchildren. She had a beautiful singing voice and strong desire to learn. She would sit by my side, not talking or interrupting, but watching and listening. This girl did not need to be taught the same thing twice. So smart!

  As I said, they lived in a valley up north where there is much snow in the winter and much melting in the spring. Little streams swell into raging rivers for one or two moons every year. My granddaughter and her brothers were playing along the river and somehow she fell in. The boys said she waded too deep, but I think one of them pushed her.

  The bitch and I were walking down the trail to fetch the children to help me with a leather-making project when the screaming began. The bitch pulled ahead as we ran. She knew I loved that little girl. As I said, she understood my thoughts. Barking, the bitch kept pace along the stream bank, calling to the little girl ‘swim to me, swim!’ The water was too cold, the current too strong. With a splash, the bitch launched herself into the river of ice water. Swimming strong, she reached my granddaughter and let the girl climb onto her back.

  I was running along the bank, willing them to reach shore as they disappeared over the waterfalls. A pair of net fisherman tried to snare them with the long pole of their net, but they were just out of reach and dropped to the pool below. The fishermen said the power of the rushing falls swept them both underwater. The dog was first to surface. Instead of paddling to shore the dog dove underwater once, twice, three times to se
arch for the girl. The last time, she popped up with the girl’s arm between her teeth.

  I reached the top of the falls in time to see there was no way they would make it to shore before going over the next falls. Did the dog know she could not survive the next drop? Did she know the falls were too tall and crashed on rocks?

  She never let go, never stopped trying to save that beautiful girl.

  Their bodies were difficult to retrieve from the rocks below the falls. When Fralista’s people realized they could not stop me from trying, they tied a rope around my waist and sent two of their strongest hunters to help as I did what had to be done.

  I wish I could tell you about the funeral for my granddaughter. It must have been fine. They tell me I chanted her family’s lineage and helped dig the hole. I do not remember. My poor Fralista nearly lost her mind grieving for her daughter. In some ways I envied her insanity. My clarity meant there was no hiding from the ache of sadness filling my body. Not only had I lost my favorite granddaughter, I lost my best friend, my bodyguard, my pack dog and my last chance to breed her replacement. My only solace is she died a brave and honorable death.

  Many turns of the seasons have gone by and I still miss that dog. I wake in the night and realize she is not there listening, sorting the night sounds, ready to warn me if I need to be warned. Every dog I have owned since makes me want to kill them. The ignorant animals always try to rub their packs off on trees or fight the leash and purposely tangle themselves to slow me on the trail. They bark all night and run away first chance they get.

  If you are ever lucky enough to own a smart dog like my special bitch, treat it with care. Let that dog know you are boss and make it part of your clan. Teach by rewarding good behavior with treats of dried goat. We’ve all seen dogs that flinch when you raise a hand. Dogs never forget a beating.

  If any you ever have such a special dog and want to sell it, come find me. Male or female, I will trade everything I have for another dog like my bitch. She was the best. When I think of her my body aches and dew comes to my eyes. I loved her. She was my friend and protector.

  Many in the audience were wiping away tears as he took his seat between Paul and me. Leaning to my ear, he whispered, “I told you the made-up version was better.” Before I could quash it, a small, inappropriate giggle escaped. Maybe that is why one of the acolytes took a poke at me later.

  The Toad wobbled back to his feet and, in no uncertain terms, let his chattering clan know it was time to get the hell off his property. The clan leader and his wife waited along with the shaman and her entourage for the rabble to clear before beginning their descent.

  “You are welcome to sleep by my fire tonight,” the Toad said. “I would be honored to host such a talented storyteller and his people. At first, I did not believe you met my grandfather and father. Many more people claim to have heard their stories than really have. I see similarities in your style. What they taught you has been put to good use.”

  I was listening to Toad recite one of his favorite anecdotes about his father when the biggest of the acolytes walked up from behind, pulled my hair and tried to choke me. What a bitch! I was forced to put her in her place.

  TRANSMISSION:

  Kaikane: “Good one, babe.”

  Duarte: “What was her problem?”

  Kaikane: “I don’t know, but you took care of it.”

  From the log of Paul Kaikane

  Recreation Specialist

  The old man woke us a couple hours before sunrise. I got a toe to the shoulder and looked up to see him standing in the light of a quarter moon reflecting off the silvery lake. Bathed in soft gray, he leaned low to whisper, “Let us leave this place before the people wake. No eating, no morning dances. Andiamo.”

  I got Maria up and we skedaddled. Instead of using the steep trail the way we came, Gray Beard led us up through the rocks on a path he spotted people using the night before. The guy has a knack for finding his way, picking a line through terrain. It was rough going in the dark, lots of ups and downs, but we popped out on the main trail way south of their stinky camp right about the time the winter sun poked over the horizon. It was going to be another bright, bluebird day.

  “Wise Father, why are we in such a big hurry to leave,” I asked. He shrugged and didn’t answer for a long time. A couple miles later, walking through a stand of wide-spaced oaks, he said, “That clan is bound for trouble. Let it happen without us.”

  Maria brushed a leaf off his shoulder. “What do you think will happen to the clan of your old storyteller friends, wise father?”

  “I did not know Toad’s father or grandfather. Their names and stories were given to me by the same traveler who brought news the Toad had dogs to trade. Do you believe everything you hear? Did you think I was really sick, not looking for an advantage in case we had to steal a dog?

  “Whether that clan goes north or stays, it will have new leaders soon. Why have they not moved to a new camp along the lake as their clan has done for generations? I’ll tell you. The leader and shaman are too old to travel. Toad is too weak. They sit in their warm caves and order slaves to do their work, while their people live in their own waste.

  “If we wanted the Acorn clan it could have been ours. Daughter, do not look at me like you do not believe my words. Toad would have asked first. This morning. Just to see if we would consider it, to see if we would need to be killed. Later, others would seek us out, complaining, ‘Our leaders are weak and old. Help us kill them and you can be in charge.’

  “No, we went to get a dog, not a large clan too stupid to care for itself. The best part was your fight, daughter. To you I say, bravo!”

  I thought it was pretty cool too.

  Maria was minding her own business when a woman jumped her from behind. We were listening to Gray Beard and Toad swap fibs after the big show, when the broad snuck in and yanked Maria’s hair. Slipping an arm around Maria’s neck, she got her in a chokehold. People were leaving, talking about the stories they had heard, so I don’t think many saw what happened.

  Before I could step in to help, Maria went right to her training. Instead of fighting the neck lock, she let her legs buckle and dropped straight to the ground–just the way I’ve taught her. The red-faced attacker had only two choices, let go or get dragged down. Knowing a kick was coming, Maria pivoted to dodge the first and blocked the second with her forearms.

  Fast as a mongoose, Maria was back on her feet and facing the woman dressed in leathers and furs. The bitch lunged to claw Maria’s eyes, but my sweetheart stood her up with a left cross to the jaw. Faking another left, Maria stepped in with a right-handed uppercut to the solar plexus. What a knockout punch! I was so damn proud.

  Maria’s fist buried beneath the woman’s sternum to drive every scrap of air from her lungs. Doubling over, making an “ommpphh,” the broad looked like her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. She was out on her feet as Maria sat her down next to an old woman they said was a doctor.

  Dark eyes flashing in anger, Maria stared down at the hag and her other two helpers to let them know she was ready to go another round if anybody dared try. They didn’t move.

  Gray Beard said it best, “Fantastico!”

  Maria thought she caused it by giggling at the wrong time. Gray Beard said that wasn’t it.

  “They’re jealous of you,” he said. “Your reputation as a healer has reached the lake. The shaman and her daughters knew you would start treating people. When you helped the ones they could not, their clan would see their weakness. Like I said, that tribe is headed for trouble.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TRANSMISSION:

  Duarte: “How bad is it?”

  Kaikane: “Bad.”

  From the log of Paul Kaikane

  Recreation Specialist

  I was checking the sailing canoe for dry rot today when I almost poked my finger all the way through the right hull. A woodworm has made a pocket about eight inches long and more than an inch across. The ho
le angles into the bottom of the hull and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it. None of our pitch or other repair gunk will hold up in a wound so big.

  Maria wants to call a meeting right away, tell the gang that if we’re gonna sail to the Americas we better hurry up and go. Hunter or no Hunter. I’m wondering if we left it too late. Instead of cruising to the east coast of Africa and sightseeing the Med all these years, maybe we should have scooted when we had the chance. She wants to make a crossing as soon as possible. Oh, boy.

  At least the old man and I have made headway on the new ropes and sails. I just need to figure out how to keep the hulls from busting apart in an Atlantic storm. I don’t think Maria understands how serious this is. She expects me to make it better. We’re gonna try cooking up another batch of cement this afternoon. After we give that a try, we’ll cross to the mainland and give Jones and Sal the scoop.

  TRANSMISSION:

  Bolzano: “More wine?”

  Jones: “Yeah, fill ‘er up.”

  Bolzano: “You know, once we leave this wonderful sanctuary behind, we will probably never enjoy such comfort again?”

  Jones: “Maybe we’ll find a better place, one that ain’t so fucking hot and dry.”

  Bolzano: “I thought it might rain yesterday.”

  Jones: “Me too.”

  Bolzano: “No, you miss my point. I am sure, if we survive an Atlantic crossing, we will find many suitable locations to settle down and start over.”

  Jones: “I wanna see New York.”