The Gathering Night

by Margaret Elphinstone

  ‘Why would we want to hear that?’ said Aitor coldly. ‘But speak if you must.’

  Amets faced him firmly. ‘Edur once did me a good turn. He stayed at Initiation Camp in my place. He lost his woman because of that. That was my fault. I didn’t mean it to happen. But it did. So I’m ashamed.’

  ‘What’s that to me?’ said Aitor. ‘You made a mistake. Why whine about it now?’

  ‘Because, Aitor,’ – Amets sounded angry, and no wonder – ‘you may be Go-Between, and know a lot of things I don’t. But I know that every man here – and woman too, perhaps, though I don’t know much about what they think – has some reason or other to feel shame. The spirits are showing us that all these different shames are joined up. Why punish Arantxa’s sons and not anyone else? You could say what happened in their family wasn’t their fault. I left my own parents long ago, but I can tell you one thing – I’m glad they weren’t like Arantxa and her man. Koldo, Oroitz and Itzal, I can see why you’re ashamed, but I don’t think anybody here wants you to carry the blame for ever. I’m not Go-Between, but I’m a good hunter, I’m one of the Auk People and I have daughters of my own. And now I’ve said one part of what I think.’

  All round the clearing People shouted and stamped and clapped their hands. Men surged forward and surrounded Arantxa’s sons, pounding their backs and shaking their arms. When Aitor raised his arms to speak again the men fell back to the edges of the clearing, taking Arantxa’s sons with them so they were lost in the crowd. Only Amets still stood before Aitor, with the three Lynx men on his left.

  ‘Well,’ said Aitor, with a glint of a laugh in his voice. ‘You’ve settled that matter, Amets. It looks as if we all agree with you. So what’s the other part of what you think?’

  Amets jumped up to the Healing Place next to Kemen and pulled his hands away from his face. ‘This man,’ he said. ‘Kemen.’ He turned Kemen to face the People, holding Kemen’s hands so he couldn’t hide his face.

  ‘What about this Lynx man?’

  ‘No!’ Amets grabbed Kemen’s tunic by the neck and ripped apart the grass twine that fastened it. He tore the deerskin away so Kemen stood naked to the waist. Amets swung Kemen round so everyone could see him. ‘Look at him! Look at his back! Is that Lynx? Is that Lynx?’

  People muttered. Someone called out, ‘I read Lynx, inside the red stripe!’

  ‘Inside! And on the outside’ – Amets turned the unresisting Kemen in a circle again so everyone could see his back – ‘Auk! And now read this!’ Amets pulled his own tunic over his head and flung it away. He turned his back to where the voice had come from. ‘What do you see? A man born into the Seal People – read that, inside the red stripe – and below it – what? Doesn’t it say Auk? Am I Auk, or not? You People can read what’s written here – I can’t see it – what does it say?’

  Amets had no enemies anywhere, except what his association with my family had brought him. The People shouted so loud that the rooks woke in their nests, and rose up squawking.

  ‘Auk! Auk! We read Auk!’

  Even Edur was shouting with the rest. When Amets showed Kemen to them again, the shouts were almost as loud as before: ‘Auk! Auk! We read Auk!’

  Sendoa and his brothers ran forward to surround Kemen, but before they could take him back into the crowd with them Aitor held up his hands. ‘Wait!’

  Everyone froze. Amets and Sendoa were holding Kemen by the arms, one on each side. They stood sturdily before the Go-Betweens, and made no move to let Kemen go.

  Aitor said to Amets, ‘You would say, I suppose, that just as Arantxa’s sons are shamed by their family through no fault of their own, this man too is shamed by his family though he himself has done no wrong?’

  ‘That’s what I say.’

  I watched Amets curiously. I’d never seen my daughter’s easygoing husband in this mood. My own man used to say that, although he never worried Amets would be unkind to Alaia, he wasn’t sure he trusted Amets to stand up for her. It wasn’t that he was weak – Amets was a brave hunter, and very strong – but more that he mightn’t take an important matter seriously enough to bother. I wondered what my husband would have said if he’d seen Amets standing up to the Go-Betweens, looking as dangerous and truculent as a newly wakened bear.

  Kemen tried to pull away. ‘Amets . . . Sendoa . . . I can’t let you do this. I’m ashamed . . .’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’ Amets didn’t look at Kemen. He kept his eyes on Aitor, as if the Go-Between were a boar about to charge. ‘Aitor, Zigor just told us that there were only two things a man could do to be sent away from his People for ever. Kemen is one of the Auk People, and he’s done neither of those things. He’s ashamed because his brother and cousin have murdered an Auk man. But Kemen is an Auk man, just as I am. His own son, Bakar, is the very one who was murdered when he was here before! Kemen has to live with his shame, just as the rest of us do. We don’t punish each other for what our families do. How can we? We’re of one People: we’re all related to each other’s shame. I can’t let you People wrong Kemen. He’s my brother. If you wrong him, you wrong me.’

  Aitor said, ‘You’re a good man, Amets. People will listen to what you say. From now on Edur will know that you’re his friend. You’re right: Kemen is one of us. But he also comes from these Lynx People. The Lynx spirits he brought here with him have brought us grief and pain. Since he came, the Animals have refused to give themselves. Was that because Bakar was murdered? The murder wasn’t Kemen’s fault. But the Lynx People’s lands were swept away, these men fled towards the Evening Sun Sky, and all that we’ve suffered followed from that.’

  ‘Wait!’

  I’d been surprised already by Amets. But that Alaia should come forward and brave Aitor, with all the People watching her, astonished me more than anything else could have done.

  Alaia’s voice shook, but she faced Aitor as bravely as her man had done, and said, ‘I’m one of Kemen’s family too. Bakar was my brother. Even though he’s come back as Osané’s son, I’ll always miss the brother that I had – that’s what Bakar first was to me. But listen: if Bakar hadn’t been killed, then my mother wouldn’t have gone Go-Between. If my mother hadn’t gone Go-Between, Osané would have died when her father attacked her. That wrong would never have been put right. Supposing that had happened – the Animals might have been so angry they’d never have given themselves again. If Bakar hadn’t died, that’s what would have happened. And Osané would never have married Kemen. But she did, and so Bakar came back to us. And Kemen is Bakar’s father, and Kemen has made Osané happy, instead of her being dead. Bad and good are all mixed together, just like with everybody else.’

  Now Edur ran forward into the firelight: ‘But what about these murderers? You’re all talking about Kemen . . . Kemen this and Kemen that . . . We’ve heard quite enough about Kemen. What about these other Lynx men that I brought here? What do we do with them? Decide that, and we’ll know what to do with Kemen. Kemen hasn’t said anything for himself. Is he going to be loyal to his brother? Will he share what happens to Basajaun?’

  Kemen raised his head. ‘Yes,’ he said, in a voice so low most People couldn’t hear him. The crowd muttered, asking each other to repeat what Kemen had said. ‘Yes!’ repeated Kemen louder. ‘Edur’s right. Basajaun is my brother! Basajaun was my grandfather! Basajaun was the uncle of my grandfather, and my father’s cousin, and his cousin’s son. Basajaun was my far-off cousin’s newborn child! And the Drums just now – they beat out the lines of blood that tie me to the Lynx People. My father told me that my grandfather was a good man. Basajaun was a good brother to me. When the sea swept over us Basajaun saved my life. I can’t turn my back on Basajaun. Whatever you do to him, his name will live in my heart. I can’t change that.’

  Basajaun turned his head and looked at Kemen. Neither brother made any move. I think – the Moonlight was tricky and I can’t be sure – I think Basajaun smiled.

  ‘In that case,’ said Aitor, ‘for as long as yo
u live, Basajaun’s name won’t die.’ Aitor turned to Amets. ‘You call yourself Kemen’s friend?’

  ‘I certainly do!’

  ‘Then seize him!’

  Amets looked startled.

  ‘You and Sendoa – and you – and you – seize him! Bind him! Carry him to the Go-Betweens’ tent! You want him to live? Then seize him, I tell you! Do as I say!’

  Sendoa ran up and twisted Kemen’s arm behind his back, forcing him to bend over. ‘You hear the Go-Between, Amets! Fetch ropes! Bind him!’

  ‘What . . . ?’

  ‘You fool!’ shouted Sendoa. ‘You don’t want him to die with his brother.’ Kemen twisted backwards, and Sendoa fought to keep his grip. ‘Fool! Amets! Help me! Don’t you see, man! It’s the only way to keep him out of it!’

  Amets couldn’t think that fast. He hung back. Koldo and Oroitz rushed forward to help Sendoa instead. A mass of People, including Alaia – she wasn’t stupid – grabbed Amets and forced him back before he could move to help Kemen. Kemen kicked Oroitz in the groin. His fist smashed into Sendoa’s face. Sendoa fell to his knees, blood pouring from his nose. Kemen’s cousin lurched forward to help him. Swift as a snake, Basajaun struck down the man’s raised arm. I saw the frightened question in the cousin’s eyes. Basajaun didn’t trouble to answer it. He just held his cousin back, gripping his shoulders, until the Auk men had overpowered Kemen. Edur bound Kemen hand and foot to a big birch branch, pulling the ropes tight with vicious knots. I hid in the shadows when they carried Kemen up the mound and dumped him in the Go-Betweens’ tent. As soon as they’d left him there, I crept back to see what happened next.

  Only when Aitor turned to Basajaun did I see a glimmer of understanding in Amets’ face. ‘Your brother is out of this, Basajaun. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t try to help you, but we’ve made it impossible for him to do anything.’

  Basajaun nodded. ‘For that – I thank you,’ he said, as coolly as if it were he, not Aitor, that was Go-Between.

  ‘Now,’ said Aitor, ‘I say to you two Lynx men what Zigor said to you before: choose now! Either your names go out of the world for ever, or you give yourselves! You did murder! Yet the spirits of the Auk People are kind. They let you choose: will you give yourselves, and put right the wrong you did? Or will your names die for ever?’

  Basajaun held his head high. He showed neither fear nor sorrow. He looked Aitor in the face, and challenged him: ‘My name will never die!’

  Aitor met his eyes. ‘Are you so sure of that?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Even though he had to look up from the Healing Place to meet the eyes of the Go-Between, Basajaun seemed much the taller man. ‘You heard what the Drums were saying. You know very well that whatever you do, my name will live in this world. You can’t make it die!’

  I thought of my son, dying at the hands of this man, alone on the white beach beside the Dolphin that had given itself to him. Now Kemen, one of my own family who shared my hearth, had told everyone that Basajaun’s name would stay alive in his heart. Yet Kemen was now Bakar’s father. Five Years ago Zigor had made Kemen swear that Lynx names would live among the Auks, and nowhere else. Zigor hadn’t known then about Basajaun, but the spirits had known everything all along. Although I’d been Go-Between five Years I found myself without any wisdom to deal with this matter.

  No one asked me to be Wise, which was just as well. I was a woman, and had nothing to do with what followed.

  Zigor said, ‘We promised that before the Moon set we’d speak to the Animals about the Hunt. We must do that now, or the Animals will go away and leave us.’ Zigor stepped out of the smoke and came round the Go-Betweens’ hearth to where everyone could see him. He held something in his hands. It looked like a branch from a tree. ‘Now we’ll speak to the Animals about the Hunt! Men, come forward!’ He dismissed Alaia with a flick of the hand. She fled, and hid herself among the women.

  The Animals were stirring. I stepped quietly into the shadows beside the tent.

  Men flooded into the clearing. Their song surged forward like new tide over ebbing water. The men stamped their feet along with the footsteps of the Animals, as the Go-Betweens’ Drums led them onward.

  Always when the dance began, I’d creep away from the Go-Betweens’ tent and go down the dark side of the mound, away from the fires, and round by a little woodland path to join the other women by the hearths. Now I stayed where I was. The men danced the footsteps of the Animals. They danced Cat, Marten, Boar and Deer. They danced Aurochs, Wolf and Bear. They danced Lynx. Their stamping shook the ground. Never had I come so close to the Hunt as this. The part of me that was woman was too afraid to move: if I was not Hunter, I must be Hunted. As each Animal danced before my eyes I felt the terror that comes before the giving in. I had no wish to give myself, yet I couldn’t take my eyes away. Terrified, I crouched in the shadow of the Go-Betweens’ tent.

  I saw Zigor lift the branch. It was no branch: I recognised the antlers. I gasped in fright, but I was neither man nor woman now. I was Go-Between, and the spirits didn’t hurt me.

  I saw the Hunted. He never flinched. When they brought the antlers he didn’t cower. He towered over most of them, but he didn’t bend his head to help them. Unlike an Animal, he met their eyes. Like an Animal, he knew the only way was to give himself before he was taken.

  Edur placed the crown of antlers round Basajaun’s head. He was the only man tall enough to reach. Edur pulled the mask down over Basajaun’s face. Basajaun’s green eyes glittered through the slits. The footsteps of the Animals beat from the heart of the earth. The press of stamping men hid the Hunted from the eyes of all but the Hunters. Except they had forgotten me.

  Even under the weight of the antlers Basajaun held his head high. I’d almost forgotten the other one, a pale shadow at his side. No one took any notice of him. I think he was past caring himself whether his name lived or died. I looked at him and felt a sick wave of fear that for a heartbeat rocked me off my balance. From Basajaun I felt no fear at all.

  Edur knotted the last strap. The hands that restrained Basajaun fell away. For a heartbeat he stood still, perhaps not realising he was free.

  Then he leaped.

  He went straight up the Go-Betweens’ mound, surprising all his pursuers. He leaped over the fires and ran for the dark space behind the tent, where there were no men to hold him back. Only I was there. He crashed into me as he landed, flung me aside and shot away down the dark side of the mound, into the shadows under the trees.

  Kemen said:

  My arms and legs were lashed to the branch behind my back. I tried rolling on the wood to break it; it was too thick. I strained against my bonds until my wrists and ankles bled, but Edur had used thick strips of rawhide, and he’d done his work thoroughly. They’d blindfolded me too. I don’t know why: I couldn’t have freed myself even if I could see. I knew where I was. I’d lain blindfold in this same place before, only then it was full of People. Now I smelt only the closeness of imprisoned air.

  I was so full of grief and anger, I felt I had to break out or die, but for all my struggles I lay helpless as a baby that doesn’t want to be born. And about as much use: my mouth was filled with bitterness that I lay trussed like a pig on a spit when Basajaun needed my help as he’d never done before.

  The ground beneath my back shook with the footsteps of the Animals. I heard them all: Cat, Marten, Boar, Deer, Aurochs, Wolf, Bear, Lynx . . . Lynx . . . and . . . something else. The close air round me rippled with a current I’d never felt before. My skin prickled. I smelt strange excitement. I smelt fear.

  I’d been in this place before. Not when I lay under Zigor’s knife a hand-full of Years ago. I went back long before that. I smelt the sweat of huddled bodies. Before my blinded eyes I saw strips of hare meat roasting over a heather fire that sparked and hissed, then flared up, catching the faces of the listening boys in sudden flashes. I smelt their excitement; I also caught a current of cold fear.

  ‘A man can also give himself.’
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  Even the snow-laden wind that had buffeted our tent seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what came next. All these Years later, I remembered exactly what our teacher had said to us: ‘A man is not an Animal. He doesn’t know the spirits as the Animals do. But the spirits know him. If the spirits mark him, they can take him for their own. They can save him by forcing him to give himself. He is still man, but also, for a little while, he is Animal as well.’

  Long ago, in the high snows where the Lynx People have – had – their Initiation Camp, I listened to that quiet voice telling us how it was done. Even then the story sent a cold trickle down my spine. But I was very young: I didn’t understand how we still live in the Beginning, even though the Years have carried us such a long way away. How could I know, caught on the cusp between child and man, that one day I’d lie bound and helpless, listening to the footsteps of the one Animal that is not Animal? How could I dream that the Hunted Man would be my own brother? I couldn’t: through the Years that followed my dreams told me many things, but they’d never given me any hint of this.

  I lay, wide-eyed under my blindfold, until the last footsteps died away. I don’t know if I slept. A strong wind started to blow from the evening sky. The trees roared like the sea. If Basajaun were making inland, towards the drowned lands of the Lynx People, the wind would be behind him, blowing away his scent and helping him on his way. Perhaps the spirits were on his side. But later, in the stillness before dawn, I felt no wind at all. Perhaps it had already done its work. I heard faint movements outside the tent. The soft sounds faded into whispering leaves. A dog howled. I sniffed the growing dawn seeping into the tent. A blackbird sang above my head. Doves cooed in the wakening woods. My anger and grief were spent. What I wanted more than anything in the world was to piss. How long would they leave me here? I was thirsty too, but there was nothing to be done about that.