Bone Talk

by Candy Gourlay

  ‘Fetch another chicken!’ Salluyud commanded. Tambul snatched one from the corner of the courtyard and delivered it, squawking, to where the old men sat against their stone rests.

  ‘You mean the portents can change?’ I asked.

  Dugas nodded, his face kind. ‘A snake could be a warning of immediate danger. These new portents will let us know if the danger is over and we can continue with your manhood ceremony.’

  Hope surged in my chest. I had been biting my bottom lip so hard I could taste blood.

  The ancients called to the spirits in loud voices, praying for favour. Then they quickly sent the bird’s soul into the world of the dead and cut the chicken open.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘What does it say?’ I said in a small voice.

  Suddenly all the ancients were looking in different directions.

  At last, Salluyud’s eyes slid towards me. ‘It cannot be done. You cannot have the Cut. This is the message the snake carried for Lumawig,’ he said. ‘We will have to wait until your soul brother, Kinyo, returns.’

  I looked from one face to the other. Wait for a stranger?

  ‘It’s a mistake!’ I said. ‘Are you sure that’s what it says?’

  Maklan’s boiled egg eyes fixed on me. ‘Are you doubting the spirits, boy?’

  ‘But …’ I was panting. ‘We’ve already been to the Tree of Bones. We’ve already made a promise to Mother!’

  ‘Yes, that is true. That’s why we must choose another boy to take your place,’ Maklan said, his voice flat.

  ‘Another boy?’ I couldn’t believe it. Someone else was going to take the manhood that was meant for me. How could that be fair? I turned to Father. Father’s hornbill headdress lay abandoned on the ground. I had not even seen him cast it off. He stood, silently, his chin deep in his chest, his eyes closed.

  ‘Father,’ I croaked. ‘This is your fault.’

  His eyes flew open.

  ‘Father!’ My voice sliced the air like a spear. ‘I would have had a chance if it hadn’t been for you! Tell them what you did! Tell them how you angered the spirits and changed the portents!’

  The old heads swung towards me, bleary eyes alert.

  ‘What is the boy saying?’ Maklan said softly.

  ‘I am saying that you ancients have been DECEIVED!’ But didn’t you deceive them too, Samkad? a voice whispered in my head. Didn’t you play a prank with a dead snake? I shook my head, pushing my unruly thoughts aside.

  Tambul had dropped his pipe and for a moment I thought he was going to grab me and cover my impertinent mouth with his hand. He didn’t have to. Father was already striding across the courtyard, his face dark with rage. ‘Insolence!’ he cried, taking my arm and shaking me like he was shaking fruit from a tree. The boar’s teeth armband jangled on my arm and I ripped it off. ‘How dare you speak this way? It is unforgivable!’

  ‘Unforgivable?’ I was startled by the shrillness of my own voice. ‘It was not me who lied to the ancients.’

  ‘Lied?’ Salluyud stared at Father.

  Father was suddenly still, his eyes darting from side to side.

  ‘You are the liar, Father. Why don’t you tell the ancients what you did?’ The bitter words were flying out of my mouth with a will of their own. How could I cram them back into my throat once they had escaped?

  ‘What are you talking about, boy?’ Dugas cried. ‘Samkad, what is the boy telling us?’

  ‘I am telling you what Father didn’t have the courage to admit! When the snake appeared, he chopped it in half. He killed it. This is why the spirits are denying me my manhood.’

  Weh, Father’s eyes were so wide there was more white than black. ‘Old ones, I can explain—’

  The old men just looked at him.

  He whirled towards me, his hand thudding onto my shoulder like a club. ‘Why are you doing this to me, Samkad?’

  ‘How am I doing this to you?’ I cried. ‘What about me? Am I to wait until I’m an ancient before I can become a man?’

  ‘I deserve thanks, not blame!’ Father spoke from between clenched teeth. ‘I killed the snake to give you your life.’

  I blinked furiously, trying to stop my tears from spilling over. ‘It was not life you gave me, Father, but shame.’

  ‘Sam, all will be well when Kinyo returns!’ Father was pleading, his eyes begging my forgiveness. But the sight of his remorse filled me with disgust.

  ‘Kinyo?’ I shouted. ‘Who is Kinyo? How do you know he will ever come back? How do you even know he’s still alive?’

  Father’s face turned a dull red. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Sam. I am your elder. Your mother would be outraged to hear you!’

  ‘My mother!’ I laughed wildly. ‘What mother? I do not have a mother!’

  Father’s palm on my cheek made a sharp noise like an earthen pot splintering against a rock.

  ‘I hate you,’ I whispered. ‘I hate you, Father.’

  ‘Sam …’ Father held a hand out. Perhaps he wanted to offer me comfort, show that he was sorry, show that he cared.

  But I just slapped it away and ran.

  6

  As I fled with my shame and disappointment, I could hear Father pleading, ‘Let me explain! Let me explain!’ under the angry clamour of the ancients.

  In my desperation, I ran clumsily, catching my elbows on the corners of houses, stubbing my toes on stones and dislodging small boulders that rolled and bounced ahead of me on the downward path as if they were racing me to the mossy forest.

  As I dived into the trees, I could hear the distant murmur of the Tree of Bones. Perhaps the spirits were discussing what had happened. Perhaps they were plotting an awful vengeance. Perhaps they were agreeing that I did not deserve to become a man.

  ‘Kind spirits,’ I called into the trees. ‘It was just a mistake.’

  A soft breeze brushed against my cheek and the Tree of Bones chattered louder. ‘Mother, help me,’ I cried. ‘Tell them Father didn’t mean it.’ The chatter continued. If you know Father did not mean it, why did you tell on him?

  ‘Mother?’ I whispered. ‘Are you listening?’

  The chattering stopped. Had Mother’s spirit managed to persuade our other ancestors to spare me?

  There was a flicker of movement behind a large tree.

  I swallowed. ‘Mother?’

  A low noise. Something between a throat clearing and a grunt. The sound hardened, as if it came from a throat filled with sharp stones.

  A wild boar!

  Slowly, slowly, I turned round, trying to spot the beast hiding in the trees. But nothing stirred in the undergrowth, though the grunting continued. I could feel it watching me, waiting for its chance to attack and gouge me with its tusks.

  I needed something to defend myself with. I grabbed a branch nearby and tried to snap it off its trunk. But the tree wouldn’t let it go.

  Tambul once told me all I had to do in case of a boar attack was to punch the boar hard between its tiny eyes and it would turn around and run in the opposite direction.

  I stared at my fists. They looked like pebbles on the ends of sticks.

  The grunting became even louder. Shriller. I frowned. It sounded like … was that giggling?

  ‘Little Luki!’ I roared.

  There she was, on a branch right above my head, bouncing up and down with a massive grin on her face. She had taken off her skirt and put on a breechcloth like mine. If her hair had been cut above her brow instead of tucked behind her ears, she would have looked exactly like a boy.

  ‘You know you ought to stop calling me “little”,’ she laughed. ‘I’m the same size as you now!’

  I scowled. ‘The ancients are going to bury you under an ants’ nest when they see what you’re wearing!’

  ‘They can’t see me now, can they? Nobody can!’ Luki blithely slid down the tree. ‘You try wearing a skirt, Samkad, and see if you like it!’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘So, tell me, what is going on? Everyone
in the village could hear the yelling.’

  I told her about Father and the snake in my most matter-of-fact voice, as if I was relaying news about some new method of chasing the rice birds from the fields. I raised my chin and concentrated on keeping my eyebrows straight, bracing myself for the inevitable joke Luki will make out of my misfortune.

  But she actually looked dismayed. ‘That’s terrible, Samkad! You must be so disappointed.’

  ‘I’ll survive.’ I was annoyed to feel tears starting in my eyes at her sympathy. I looked away, turning my face towards the tree canopy and holding a hand up. ‘Did you feel that? A raindrop!’

  I made a show of dusting imaginary raindrops off my shoulders.

  But Luki was not going to change the subject. She stamped her foot. ‘Your father should have been more careful! And what about those portents? This is not fair.’

  It was gratifying to see that she understood my distress. We stood facing each other silently, deep in thought.

  Luki’s head snapped up.

  ‘Heh, Sam, you don’t need a stupid ceremony to become a man. If you want to become a man, then you should just be one.’

  ‘Heh,’ I scoffed. ‘Be a man? What is that supposed to mean? I need the ancients to make it official. Nobody will call me a man without their say so.’

  She grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘You just need to do something so manly they will have no choice but to treat you like one!’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Do what a man does and they will call you a man.’

  ‘And what thing is this that I should do?’

  ‘There are lots of things that make a man. Fight a war. Kill a wild boar. Kill a Mangili!’

  How was I supposed to find myself a Mangili? And even if I did, how was I supposed to fight one without a weapon? I shoved Luki hard in the shoulder. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  Luki shoved me back. ‘If you kill a Mangili, there will be no question of your manhood. You know I’m right, don’t you, Samkad?’

  She was right. The Mangili had been taking our heads and we had been taking theirs since we began to remember. What young man didn’t dream of adding a Mangili skull to the rafters of the House for Men?

  But I just growled, ‘What a stupid idea.’

  ‘Pah!’ Luki planted her shoulder in mine and pushed, making those stupid grunting noises again.

  ‘Stop that!’ I cried. ‘I’m not going to fall for your wild boar prank again!’ I stared at her … how was she managing to make that noise without moving her lips?

  Then I smelled it. A powerful musky reek. The odour of wild boar.

  Fearfully, I looked around me.

  One of the boulders clustered around a tree was stirring. It heaved itself to its feet, its hackles raised, white tusks gleaming in its hairy black jaws, its tiny red eyes filled with hatred.

  Be a man. Kill a wild boar.

  I clenched my fists. ‘Luki,’ I whispered. ‘Do you know how to punch a boar?’

  But Little Luki was already racing up the hill.

  ‘Run, Samkad!’ she yelled over her shoulder.

  The boar lowered its head to charge.

  I got ready to punch it between the eyes.

  But my feet were not having it. They were already pounding after Luki.

  When I glanced over my shoulder, the boar had halted its attack and was watching us make our escape. Its lower jaw shook a little, almost as if it was laughing.

  We ran all the way to the fern tree pillar with the water buffalo skull.

  A woman with a full jar of water on her head grabbed Luki’s shoulder. ‘Girl, why are you dressed like that? Your mother will be furious!’

  Luki grimaced, pulling away and hurrying alongside me towards the House for Men. When we were just a few houses away, we stopped to catch our breath.

  ‘You must have known that boar was there!’ I gasped.

  Before Luki could reply, there was a scream.

  ‘This way!’ Luki cried, racing towards the noise.

  ‘Luki!’ I called, ‘You need to change back into your skirt or the ancients will—’ But she had already reached the courtyard.

  I followed reluctantly. Father would be furious that I’d run off, the ancients would be pitying and the younger warriors were sure to patronize me while pretending to be sympathetic.

  A boy suddenly appeared at the top of the lane. It was Bitteg … and the way he waddled, with his legs far apart, made the breath catch in my throat. The ancients had not wasted any time. That squeal had not come from a pig but a boy. While I’d been in the forest with Luki, they had summoned Bitteg and given him the Cut that was meant for me.

  But he was younger than me!

  But he was smaller!

  But it was my chicken that had been offered to the ancestors this morning!

  But. But. But.

  My eyes caught his, but he turned away as he waddled slowly down a lane towards his mother’s house.

  Shame turned my belly cold. I was totally disgraced now and it was all Father’s fault.

  ‘Father!’ I roared. ‘Father!’

  Someone grabbed my arm. ‘Calm down, Samkad,’ Tambul said kindly. ‘Where have you been? Everyone’s been looking for you.’ The young warrior bent over me, so close I could see the pulse throbbing under the gecko tattoos across his chest.

  I shook him off. ‘I need to find Father. I must speak to him at once!’

  ‘Samkad,’ Tambul said softly. There was pity in his expression. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Your father has left.’

  ‘Left?’

  ‘He said it was the only way he could make it up to you,’ Tambul said. ‘He has gone to the lowlands to fetch Kinyo.’

  7

  That evening I lay sleepless on the low wooden bed I had shared with Father since I was born. Guilt prickled inside me, like a thorny vine had suddenly sprouted inside my belly, its spiky tendrils coiling and bristling under my skin.

  Smoke from the fires of my neighbours crawled in the thatch above my head. It had been warm and dry all day, but now that it was night, the house felt damp and cold.

  It was the first time the ancients had not insisted I stay with one of them when Father went away. ‘You are old enough to be on your own,’ Dugas had informed me.

  Old enough to sleep alone, but not old enough to become a man, I thought.

  I sighed, pressing a hand to my chest where my heart beat gently. I was sorry now that I had been so petulant. I was sorry that I’d told the ancients that Father killed the snake. I was sorry that I had not spoken to Father before he left for the lowlands.

  The way to the lowlands was full of danger. The Mangili prowled outside our borders, hoping to take a Bontok head, all the better to deprive our ancestors of a soul. I pictured Father trudging down, down, down the mountain on his own. There would be no help if the Mangili attacked. And what if a malicious Mangili spirit pushed him over a precipice? Father had put himself in danger for my sake, and if something happened to him it would be all my fault.

  I tried not to imagine the cliffs and ravines hiding in the black of night. Tried not to think of the wicked spirits waiting to make mischief on the trail. Tried not to picture the Mangili, lying in wait behind trees and boulders, hoping to chop off Father’s head.

  ‘Don’t worry – your father is more than a match for our enemy,’ Tambul had tried to reassure me. ‘And the lowlanders will leave him alone. Everyone knows lowlanders are afraid of mountain people. That’s why they never come up here.’

  ‘It is good to fear your enemy,’ Father once told me. ‘Fear means you take nothing for granted. It is easy to get lulled into a false security, especially if your enemy looks just like you, as the Mangili do.’

  ‘I thought you said they had bright red lips!’ I had replied.

  Father laughed. ‘Yes, they do. And yes, they speak an incomprehensible tongue. And yes, they dig up their dead to clean their bones, and call on their ancestors to shower
malice upon us! But we are a match for them. We can defeat them with the help of our ancestors.’

  I reached for Father’s blanket. Rolled it into a small, vaguely Father-shaped lump and threw an arm over the lump the way I would have thrown an arm over Father’s waist.

  I dreamed I was lying flat on my back in an open grave. Its walls loomed up around my body and high above me I could see a rectangle of blue sky. There was a heavy rustling and creaking and I watched as the Tree of Bones appeared in the grave’s open mouth. It leaned in and a deep gash in the main trunk yawned like jaws. It shook its great shaggy head so that leaves showered into the grave. The bones jangled like sharp, accusing voices.

  ‘Please!’ I cried from the grave floor. ‘Please!’

  The Tree of Bones raised its great head and I saw that the multitude of things dangling from its branches were not bones but snakes. Thousands of them, coiling and hissing, their diamond eyes glaring down at me.

  ‘Snakes, why are you here?’ I shouted. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Slowly, they detached themselves from the branches above me. Down they glided, winding round and round the tree’s mammoth trunk. And then they were slithering over me, my legs, my arms, my body. Winding themselves tighter and tighter …

  I stared up into the musty thatch, blackened by smoke, listening to the pounding of my heart. The night air was freezing and yet my forehead was slick with sweat.

  So now Lumawig was sending snake messengers in my dreams. He was warning me about something. But what?

  I heard a scraping at the door and held my breath. Perhaps the Tree of Bones was waiting there, outside the door, to deliver another snake.

  But then I heard a soft whimpering. Slowly, I rose and unlatched the door. A whirlwind of black fur and licking tongue rushed in. It was the dog from this morning. She nudged my hand, whining wretchedly for me to stroke her head. I tried to push her back out of the door, but she darted past me and bounded into the sleeping room and onto the bed, her nose tucked under Father’s blanket.