She looked relieved. “That is a real decision.”
“Are you glad I’m staying?”
“Yes, of course.” It was almost casual. She was still a mystery to me. At one moment she could say she would be with me whenever I called, and at another, she seemed almost indifferent to me.
As I looked at her a tiny, almost transparent butterfly flittered down through the air and landed on her shoulder.
“Your friend’s back,” I said.
She laughed and walked away to embrace one of the children. I turned to Salvatore and Sbgai. “So it looks like I’ll stay another year.”
“Good, my kin,” said Sbgai, throwing his hairy arms around me.
“Could you really have sent me back?”
“I think so,” said Salvatore.
“How?”
He sighed. “It cannot be explained. Many things are needed. The person must be called, chosen.”
“How?”
“In his dreams. In the winter fast. Something happens, I do not know what, because I have never been called. Then when we come together after the fast, when we are most purely in our dreams, we can send the chosen kin out to the rest of the world.”
“Does someone go every spring?”
“Not every spring.” He smiled. “No, as you see, no one was called this spring.”
“You seem glad of that.”
“Of course. No one wants to go.”
“Then why would anyone go?”
“If he was chosen, he must. And, you see, it is always a strong dreamer, a great dreamer, who is chosen. The loss to us is terrible. That is why we are glad when no one is chosen.”
“What would happen if someone were chosen and didn’t go?”
“Then Ata would be no more.”
“What do you mean?”
“The world would be destroyed.”
“By whom?”
Salvatore spread his arms out as if to include the whole universe.
“Are you telling me that every spring, well, not every spring, but sometimes in spring, you must sacrifice one of your best to insure survival of Ata?”
“That is true. It is a sacrifice.”
I smiled. “Hey, you weren’t going to kill me, were you?”
“No, why would we do such a thing? We were going to try to send you back.”
I believed him. “But what you say resembled old religious rites. The spring sacrifice. We don’t actually kill anyone anymore, but people used to. Some still kill animals that way.”
“Yes, I know. It is a misunderstanding, a false imitation. Unfortunate. How can death be a sacrifice? Death is only release into dreams; it can only be bad if one’s dreams are bad. But to be sent into the world you left … can you imagine what that is like for a person used to the ways of Ata, used to living for his dreams? A world where all is donagdeo, where the most admired are the farthest from their dreams. Where empty speech is praised. Where noise is constant. Where people learn hate and suspicion of all, even of those they sleep with. Where people must feed themselves, or have the food snatched away from them. Where instead of the sacred dreams of the la-ka people fill themselves with diversions that are like painkillers, only adding addiction to dis-ease. Where all the people are like starving beasts, catching a glimpse from time to time of the great feast that lies before them, but kept from it by an invisible wall of fear and pride and superstition, crying, clawing at one another, despairing, and, by their acts, creating nightmares so that they learn to despise and fear that which would save them …”
“Then why send someone back?”
“All that I have described. Is it true of the world you left?”
“Yes, it is true.”
“And have you ever asked yourself, how is it that this world has not yet destroyed itself?”
“Yes, everyone asks that, especially these days.”
“It would have destroyed itself. The complete disconnection from the dream, total donagdeo, is destruction. When that possibility is imminent, someone is called, some kin of Ata, someone very strong. This kin is sent back, is sacrificed, is sent to live among those on the edge of destruction. The human race is like a suicide, perched on the edge of a cliff, wavering, teetering. When she is about to fall over the edge, one of us goes out and, using all the strength he has, makes a wind that blows against the falling, keeps humanity wavering on the brink. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“I don’t know. But anyway, why? Why not let her jump? Why bother?”
“What, and go back to start all over, from the very beginning.” Salvatore shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder. “You still do not understand. You will, you will understand more, by and by. Why not let her jump? But my dear kin, did you suppose that we of Ata are not a part of the human race and all a part of us? We are all kin, and though we have lost them, we must draw them all back again if any of us is to go to … to what we are for. One cannot go alone; it must be all or none, you see. A hard law, but inexorable.”
“I thought there were no laws on Ata.”
“That is a law. Like gravity.”
“How do you know so much about the world?”
“I know. I have seen it.”
“In your dreams?”
“Yes, enough of it.”
“You are of that world.”
“Yes, we are all kin.”
“No, I mean you came from there. I’ve finally figured out some of the history of Ata. Long ago, how long ago I’m not sure, some of you started leaving that world, maybe when industrialization began. You found this island, uncharted, deserted, and settled on it. Since then, people have come here, usually by accident. You set up a different way of life here, and you’ve stumbled onto—excuse me—you learned how to use some psychological forces that I don’t understand yet. And to keep from being over-run you’ve had to …”
But Salvatore had been steadily shaking his head and smiling as I spoke. “You have reversed it. But look, the broth is ready now. Let us drink. Then, within three days, you will hear the whole story from the beginning. It is part of the spring ceremonies.”
“The history of Ata?” I asked.
“The history of the world,” he replied.
People were walking down the steps, picking up a shell from the pile near the fire, uncovering the clay pots, and dipping the shell into them. First the old were fed, and then came the children. Then the pregnant women; there were four of them, including Augustine, all of them, it seemed, close to giving birth. The other three were, however, very young. After Augustine had been fed, she dipped a shell into the pot and came toward me. I sipped the tepid broth. It tasted like strong aromatic tea.
“I tasted this before,” I said.
“Yes, in the hol-ka, when you were sick and hurt. It is made from herbs.”
The broth was warming and stimulating. I felt much stronger after taking it. When we emptied the pots, they were filled again and placed near the fire. People continued to feed the fire with mats torn from the roof. We stayed in the la-ka for two days and two nights, dozing, sipping the strengthening broth, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
On the third day we arose at dawn. “Bath day,” said Augustine.
As we left the la-ka, I saw that the old Life Tree had burst into bloom. The light breeze had already blown some of the white blossoms to the ground. We picked up the scattered petals as we passed under the tree. We filed down to the beach and scattered the petals over the water. Then everyone threw his tunic ahead of him as we entered the cold water. It was still almost icy, and our bath was not much more than a hasty ritual. But I did feel refreshed and clean as I came out, and we all put on new tunics before we filed back to the la-ka.
More broth, a few roots and some tender leaves made our feast, and then we settled down for the telling of the history which Salvatore had promised me.
It was told, acted, danced and sung; the complete enactment took seven days and could have filled many books. What I produc
e here is a faulty division of it (since there were overlapping parallel strains of the story) and not really a summary, but rather an introduction or heading for the subject of each day’s ritual.
The First Day-Creation
This day was given entirely to tellings and enactments of the creation of man, substantially the creation story I have written earlier, but with important additions. According to this history man was created on Ata as the climax in a long series of creations, and his destiny was to participate in further creations. “That was why he was born a dreamer,” went one of the songs.
The Second Day-Exile
This day was given over to the recitation of a long series of mass exiles from Ata. It seems that almost immediately man misunderstood his role, or was not himself a sufficiently advanced creation to quite understand his role. He began his work of creation, but impatiently, not dreaming his creation first, creating things that were merely things, empty of the dream. Then he became absorbed in the things, fell further and further from the dream and from his true destiny. For many ages these rebel-thing-makers rose to domination over dreamers, enslaving and decimating the population of Ata, then making boats in which they left the island. The few survivors began again, only to be again oppressed and destroyed by a new restless, impatient generation, who, when they had done the limit of damage, again left. Somehow there were always a few left to start again.
These defeats came to an end gradually as the exiles spread over the earth. In their dreams, the ones left on Ata could see how the exiles lived in restless misery throughout the world. Desire to leave Ata lessened; the people kept to their obedience to the dream, no longer tempted to seek short cuts.
The Third Day-Return
This day was given mostly to a description of the exiles spread over the earth, denying or forgetting that Ata existed, except in the continual hints of their own dreams. (Atans knew that their dream stories existed in countless versions throughout the world, despised or tolerated or, even worse, twisted into dogmatic law.) The dreams persisted, and so did the urge to return to Ata.
There were many stories of people setting out in ships to find—what? They did not know. But almost from the beginning of the exiles, there were attempts to return, people continually setting off for some place they could not name, but always a place full of rich treasure, where life was happy.
Such explorations, of course, failed.
But once a ship actually did succeed in reaching Ata. The long lost kin were greeted with joy by the Atans, who believed their long wait was over and that all their kin would now begin to return to obedience to their dream.
But they were disastrously mistaken. The people from the ship had been gone too long. Through many generations they had suffered, and the more they sought to escape suffering, the more suffering they created. They sought treasure, but did not recognize the treasure Ata offered. When they landed on the shores of Ata they brought back greed and cruelty against which the Atans had no weapons. Within a few months they had practically wiped out the population. They loaded the rest, along with their animals, in their ship, to take back with them as slaves. They themselves stayed in the la-ka.
But once more the kin of Ata were saved. During the night before they were to sail, a great tidal wave hit the island. The ship survived, but the island was flooded and all in the la-ka drowned. The next day the remaining kin of Ata came out of the ship and reclaimed their island, to begin again.
After this narrow escape a great dream shared by all survivors promised them that in the future no invaders would find Ata and that only individuals, by desire and faith in their dreams, could return.
The Fourth Day-Building
This day the stories covered ages through which the present way of life of Ata was designed by the dreams, in every way from the plan of the village to the use of the hol-kas. It was paralleled by building of exile kingdoms throughout the earth, continual explorations and searches, continual warring among exiled kin, so that the more perfect in dreaming Atans became the greater the multiplication of donagdeo throughout the rest of the earth became. This part of the history was repetitious and depressing.
The Fifth Day-The Sacrificial Exiles
It was unclear exactly when the sacrificial exiles began. Sometimes there was one every spring; sometimes many years passed before a strong dreamer was sent back to live briefly among the millions lost to Ata. This day was given to the stories of the many who went, and what they did. It was the closest thing I ever saw to hero worship among Atans. And, of course, a few of the heroes and heroines were startingly familiar to me.
The Sixth Day-The True Return
These stories were more optimistic than those of the past two days. Some kin in the world, the history ran, had actually perceived the truth of their dreams, somehow overcame the beliefs under which they grew, and tried to live according to the dream. Some did so in a partial way, some learned the way and then lost it, some lived entirely by Atan ways—but not for long, for the world generally destroyed them. But every one of them, however briefly he or she touched the dream, was a cause for celebration, and while the sacrificial exiles from Ata were never mentioned by name, on this day the songs of celebration were made up of lists of names of those in the outside world who had made the return.
The physical return, a rare occurrence, was seen as a precious gift and an omen of great importance which was not yet understood. I understood now why I had been welcomed so reverently, if mistakenly.
The Seventh Day-Rededication
This day was mainly one of ritual rededication to the purpose of Ata: to survive, to persist in the dream until the lost Atans returned, not in ships or planes, but one by one through their dreams; to hold on until man could begin again to fulfill his destiny.
The next morning all went back to the regular routine. I got up and faced Salvatore as he recited his dream, but when he had finished, I realized that I had nothing to say.
“I did not dream,” I said. “Or if I did, I don’t remember.”
Salvatore nodded. He did not seem to see anything strange in this. But I was a bit disappointed. I thought that, now that my monsters had at last been laid to rest, I might dream something more interesting.
As we went into the fields I noticed that Augustine stopped at a hol-ka. I made no comment, but kept an eye on it throughout the morning. She did not come out. When the sun was overhead, I went to sit outside her hol-ka, trying to decide whether I should disturb her. Just when I was ready to crawl in, worrying that she may have gotten sick or fainted, she emerged, head first, moving on her back instead of crawling on her immense belly.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
I brought her some water, then called my little goat, who had just dropped her kid. I made Augustine lie under the goat and squirted some milk into her mouth. In a moment she sat up, thanked me, and then stood.
“You’re not going to work.”
“Just for a little while. Then I will return to the hol-ka.” “Why do you spend so much time there?”
“My time is near.” She did not want to talk. She spent most of the day, and those following, in the hol-ka. I came to her several times a day, bringing water and milk and fresh greens.
As for me, sex surged up in me after the fast, as if I were sixteen again. Of course, I did not approach Augustine, but I found myself counting off the time—even after the baby was born I would have to leave her alone for a while. The next day as she sipped water from my hand, she smiled at me and said, “Many girls are warm and eager after the fast. They will not refuse you.”
“Do you always know what I am thinking?”
“Not always. Often.”
“You would not be jealous if I lie with that girl?” I pointed toward a nearby teenager who was scattering seed.
Augustine thought for a moment then shook her head. I could see that she meant it, and I was a little disappointed.
“ Would you do it, if I were sick or
something?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ah, see, you don’t approve. Why?”
“For me it would be donagdeo.”
“But not for me?”
She was silent for a moment. “That depends on where you are in your dreams. I can’t know. Only you can find out. If sex for you is still simple, as it is for the children, for the goat …”
“You don’t care?”
“What has it to do with me?” she asked. She began to slip back into the hol-ka.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “One question. How is it four women are having children at the same time, and only four?”
“Those are two questions.”
“All right, two questions,”
“The spring is the best time to have a child. And we do not have too many children, not to go too far from the twelve times twelve number of the dream.”
“But how do you arrange this?”
“By not making love when we would conceive. Man is always fertile, but women only for a few hours from one full moon to the next. Surely you know that.”
“Of course, but it’s a pretty hit and miss way to …”
“It is not hit and miss.”
“You mean you know the exact time when you are fertile?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
She shrugged. “How do you know you are thirsty? You know. The young girls do not know so well, so usually they are the ones who have a child, once or twice, as I had a child when I was very young.”
“And you would not have had this one if I had not forced you.”
She squeezed my hand and smiled tolerantly, as she often did when I fell into meaningless small-talk, then eased herself back into the hol-ka.
A few days later we were all summoned to the la-ka in the middle of the day. One of the girls had announced that morning that her pains had begun. She had stayed in the village, sitting under the Life Tree with three boys until the pains were very close together. Then we were all summoned. Chil-sing explained to me on the way in.
“Giving birth is a very hard thing. We all try to help.”
The Kin of Ata Are Waiting for You Page 12