Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  Hramack’s face reddened. “Oh.”

  He stood behind the screen painted with a waterfall scene, removed his filthy clothing, and handed them to Aseara. He felt slightly uncomfortable standing naked near her in spite of the screen between them, but she showed no sign of embarrassment.

  “I will bring clean clothing for you,” she offered, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “These garments have lost their usefulness.” She tossed them in a pile on the floor.

  The shower was open to the sky, but the screen and a row of young trees provided ample privacy from passersby. Wastewater ran down a gutter to a stone tank downslope. Pipes ran from a wooden tank on the roof to the showerhead above him. Unsure of the proper etiquette of bathing with a water shortage, Hramack asked Aseara. Her voice was as soft as her skin and as gentle as her eyes.

  “First, wet your skin with a small amount of water. Then use this gel,” she offered him a small bowl of pale green paste. “We gather it from a cactus flower. Rub it over your body.” She gently rubbed the cool paste onto his arms. Its white lather produced a mild tingling sensation on his skin. Aseara’s ministrations were soothing, but Hramack’s embarrassment got the better of him.

  He gently removed her soft hands from his body and said, “Perhaps it would be best if I do this.”

  Aseara giggled. “As you wish.” She wiped her hands on a towel,

  and then continued with her instructions. “Lastly, rinse it off. The gel will remove all dirt and leave your skin soft and clean. It takes very little water to remove it. The wastewater will feed the trees. The cleanser will not harm them.”

  Hramack followed her instructions, surprised that the shower provided both hot and cold water. He had seen no evidence of electricity in the village.

  “The water is hot. How do you heat it.?”

  From deeper in the house, she answered, “One line runs directly from the water tank on the roof, but a second snakes around the roof, allowing the sun to heat it.”

  Passive solar heating, he thought. The people of Pueblo Nuevo were not primitive in spite of their clinging to their ancient roots. In fact, in many ways they were more advanced and in tune with their environment than the people of Ningcha.

  After he finished his relaxing shower, he dried off with a large, soft towel and felt remarkably clean and refreshed. It had been many months since he had felt as clean. He would try to take some of the gel back to Ningcha. It saved a remarkable amount of water, and from the fact that the cactus quill punctures in his leg were no longer burning, he suspected the gel could be useful as a medicinal balm for burns and cuts.

  Thoughts of Ningcha quickly reminded him of the reason for his journey. Things could be bad there for his people already. It was imperative that his father be able to convince Chief Kosono to help them in their quest. A yawn cut his thoughts short. First, he would rest. Aseara had left a thin robe in hanging beside the shower. He donned the knee-length robe and eyed the comfortable looking bed but instead chose a rope hammock strung between two poles used to support the roof of the veranda. Several wool blankets with intricate designs lay folded on the hammock. He sat down on the hammock experimentally. Its swinging motion startled him at first, but as he lay down, he was pleased to find it surprisingly comfortable.

  In spite of his fatigue, Hramack found sleep too elusive. His mind overflowed with thoughts and questions. He was eager to find out about these strange, new people. Until their encounter with Grey Eagle and his men, he had thought the villagers of Ningcha the only survivors in the world. There were also the savage Marauders to consider. If these two groups survived and flourished in spite of the wars, the Upheaval, and the centuries of solar radiation, it was possible that many more had survived. How did so many people manage to eke out a living in such inhospitable surroundings? Were there places on Earth less ravaged by the Upheaval and by the sun’s deadly flares than the lands of the Southwest? Perhaps it was time to seek them out. Only by acting as a united force could they hope to overcome the inhospitable climate and lack of resources. Perhaps they had already made a small start with this meeting.

  Aseara returned with clothing similar to that worn by Grey Eagle and White Elk: leather pants and jacket with a shirt and underclothes made of a soft material.

  “Cotton,” she told him as he gently rubbed the cloth. “It comes from fibers of a plant we weave. We also weave wool and work the leather of our cattle.”

  Hramack donned his new clothing and walked around the room. The leather britches were surprisingly light and comfortable, and the cotton underclothing much more supple than the linen he had been wearing.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She bowed her head. “They belonged to my husband.”

  Hramack glanced at her. “I … I didn’t know,” he stammered. His sexual thoughts about her embarrassed him, causing his cheeks to redden.

  She smiled and touched his hand gently. “Do not be embarrassed. It has been a year since his death.”

  Under Aseara’s guidance, he began to explore the village. Like Aseara’s home, the other apartments of the pueblos were large and open, blending seamlessly into the environment. Each home possessed many doors and were open to covered verandas, which the villagers seemed to prefer. Those homes on the top floors of the pueblos contained frosted glass skylights to allow in light but shaded to reduce the intensity. Though most people lived in the main buildings of the pueblo itself, many smaller, single-family dwellings Grey eagle had called hogans lay scattered about the area. Even here, it seemed some preferred their privacy. One building bore many floor-to-ceiling glass panels etched with scenes of forest and lakes.

  “A reminder of what we have lost,” Aseara replied to his unspoken question.

  Although now empty, the building once held a pool for swimming. The thought of swimming in a pool of water prompted visions of the empty Pools of Yarah. He sadly turned away. The walkways

  were works of art: colored stones intricately fitted together in

  mosaic patterns and cemented in place. The walkways curved whenever possible with wide, flowing steps to negotiate slopes. A stream cascaded alongside one walkway, providing music as it poured from between thin, flat stones into catch basins filled with hollow metal balls. Even the trees bore decorations. Ribbons and carved wooden ornaments hung from the lower branches and whirled in the wind. Black and gray squirrels leaped from branch to branch, chattering at Hramack as he walked past. A myriad of birds, most of which he did not recognize, flitted through the branches. Compared to Ningcha, Pueblo Nuevo was an Eden.

  From a rise, he spotted many pueblos and small hexagon-shaped

  buildings Aseara called hogans dotting the valley. Many appeared empty and abandoned. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Aseara said, “Today we number less than a thousand. Once we were five times that number. Our numbers grow fewer, while our enemies increase.”

  Hramack nodded. “Our village suffers the same problem.”

  A deep, circular pit in a clearing away from other structures intrigued him. Unlike other roofs he had seen, roughly split cedar logs covered this one. The only entrance was a square hole in the roof’s center. The end of a wooden ladder protruded through the opening.

  “Is this a cistern?” he asked.

  Her smile was slightly chiding but kind. “No this is the village kiva, a holy place. It is for our religious ceremonies. Our legends say our ancestors came to this world through a sippapu, or hollow reed. The kiva is round for this reason. It represents our beginnings.”

  “At least your people remember and honor your past,” Hramack said bitterly. “Mine seek to forget it.”

  “Even our past has dark moments, but these, too, are a part of it and must be remembered.”

  Hramack smiled. “Show me more.”

  Many walls and the sides of homes displayed intricately designed, multi-hued mosaics and vibrant paintings. Each home seemed in competition with its neighbor for attention. Hramack remembered the dull, white-on-whi
te homes of Ningcha and felt shame. It was as if his people had built their homes with only refuge from the weather in mind. In Ningcha, each person strived to become one with the village, a part of the whole. Here, each took pleasure in their individuality, yet the whole became more than the sum of those individuals. The pueblo took on a life of its own.

  He discovered a forest of windmills sprouting near the desert’s edge, providing electricity for the village’s buildings, yet they chose to cook with fire and light their homes with candles. Unlike the looping metal bands of Ningcha’s windmills, these were circles of woven thin wooden strips atop stone towers, a low-tech approach but just as efficient. Aseara showed him a fountain in a small alcove near a vine-covered walkway spraying water into the air. The water fell onto a series of metal dishes before cascading back into the fountain. Netting above the fountain prevented evaporation from the sun.

  Hramack reached down and splashed a handful of the cool

  water on his face. On an impulse, he splashed Aseara. She laughed and pushed him to the ground. She was surprisingly strong for her slender frame. As she reached to help him up, he tripped her. She fell on him laughing and throwing handfuls of a creeping groundcover into his face. He rolled away spluttering, picking tufts of pungent leaves from his mouth.

  “You have little water,” he commented, holding out one flowered stem, “Yet you use it wisely.” He sniffed the plant, pleased with the scent. “What is this?”

  She wiped dirt from his brow and laughed. “It is called wild lilac. This, cotoneaster, creeping juniper, and coyote brush are hardy xeric groundcovers to keep the soil from blowing away. Water is scarce, but they use very little water.” She pointed to the fountain. “This water is for all to use. We could not bear to forego its soothing music at night. Treated wastewater irrigates the plants. It would better serve to water trees or food, but it is a small price to pay for the comfort it gives in return.”

  Hramack nodded. His own people took the same care with potted flowers. At least they had until the Pools of Yarah had dried up. Most were now leafless stems. He listened to the soothing metallic tinkling of the fountain with his eyes closed and smiled. He roused only when Aseara nudged him.

  “Come,” she said.

  They walked down the sidewalks between homes as both men and women prepared vegetables for their midday meals, but there seemed to be more women than men in the village. He asked Aseara the reason.

  “Many of our men have died fighting Marauders. Others are away guarding the passes.” She stopped talking and glanced away. She looked back with tears forming in her eyes. “My own man died last year while protecting one of our distant cactus groves from Marauders.”

  Hramack tried to offer words of sympathy, but they sounded weak in his own ears. Aseara, though, accepted them for what they were and thanked him. “What of your village?” she asked. “Are there many women there?”

  They had come to a small grove of citrus trees, dozens of them: lemon, orange, and grapefruit. There were only two such trees in Ningcha, and it was one of Teela’s favorite spots, especially when the trees were blooming, filling the air with their fragrance. Hramack thought of his beautiful Teela. “Only one I care about,” he answered.

  Aseara saw the look on his face and replied softly, “She is a lucky woman, I think.”

  Hramack blushed. “We have many young men without wives or hopes of one. Perhaps our two villages could arrange an exchange of people and of cultures.”

  “That would be a blessing to our women,” she agreed. “Many sleep alone at night. That is not good.” She looked into Hramack’s eyes and squeezed his hand. “It has been many months since my Long Walker’s death. Will you sleep with me tonight?” she asked.

  Her unexpected request dumfounded him. He was also flattered. She was very beautiful, but he loved Teela very much.

  Aseara noticed his reluctance and perhaps understood the reason. “In my culture, women choose the men. Sex is a way of giving to each other and a means of strengthening bonds. Between husband and wife, it is more. Between you and me, it will be a release. Nothing more if you wish it so, just a way to explore each other’s sexual urges and to fulfill them.”

  To show Hramack her desire, she took his trembling hand and gently placed it on her left breast. Her nipples were large and hard and twitched slightly as his eager hand seemed to explore her breast with a mind of its own. She slowly pushed the top of her tunic down and exposed her breasts for Hramack’s view. They were magnificently large and shaped somewhat like the pori fruit. The skin between them blushed red with excitement.

  His breath came faster as Aseara’s hand guided his over her warm breasts, exploring their softness and warmth. “I’ve never... I don’t...” he stuttered.

  “We do not have to wait until tonight,” she moaned softly. “I will teach you all you need to know. Your woman will be grateful.”

  She took him to a stone bench behind a grove of trees. She lowered his head to her breasts and he kissed them softly, hesitantly, exploring her nipples with his tongue. Her soft moans excited him as she first pulled his hair, and then pushed his head into her bosom.

  Her hands were not idle and explored Hramack’s eager body beneath his tunic. All thoughts of Teela disappeared from his mind by the rising heat of passion. Lost in each other’s desire, they fell to the ground sheltered from view by the trees. Aseara patiently helped Hramack through the awkward phase of becoming a man while fulfilling her own needs. Any person passing by would have heard and recognized the sounds of passion, but they were alone. Hramack’s cries of release caused a flock of birds to take flight.

  Aseara pulled Hramack to her and cradled his head on her heaving belly.

  “I have failed Teela,” he moaned. “She will never forgive me.”

  “No, you have not failed her. She need never know. Admitting what we have done to her will only confuse her. She cannot understand my peoples’ ways. It will be a secret between us. I shall cherish it dearly.”

  Though he believed her words, his heart told him different. However, she was right. He would never tell her. It was his burden to bear alone. Why then, do I not feel guilty?

  *

  Kena awakened from a refreshing sleep and changed into his clean, new clothes. Chief Kosono and Grey Eagle entered the room.

  “I hope you have rested well,” Chief Kosono ventured.

  “Yes, indeed,” Kena replied. “And I am cleaner than I have been in weeks. Your cleansing gel is marvelous, and your hospitality has been excellent,” he said, showing them his new leather pants and jacket. “Is Hramack enjoying his visit?”

  Grey Eagle chuckled. “I am told he is enjoying himself very much under the tender care of Aseara, my cousin.” He motioned all to seat themselves on the large pillows strewn about the room.

  “And the others?”

  “Travin is eager to learn our fighting ways. White Elk says he will make a fine warrior.” He rolled his eyes. “The small one is being attended to. Though his mouth belies it, he will recover.” He turned to Chief Kosovo. She nodded. “I have spoken with Chief Kosono concerning all we have seen and all that you have told me. She agrees with me that it is in both our best interests to seek out the source of the underground river and try to bring about its return.”

  Kena released his pent-up breath and sighed with appreciative relief. “I hoped that that would be your answer. I have come a long way and there is farther to go still. It will be good to make that long journey with friends.”

  The chief spoke, “I will send ten of my men with you and your son. You will guide them, but Grey Eagle will be in charge of all things concerning security. He knows the area well and there are Marauders about. The desert north of here is in the heart of their territory.”

  “Perhaps there is a safer way,” Kena ventured.

  “How is that possible?” she asked. “There is only one way north, through the pass.”

  “We can follow the river underground.”

&
nbsp; “Impossible,” Grey Eagle exclaimed, jumping up and staring at Kena as if he had suggested trying to fly.

  “No, wait!” he interjected. “Hramack and I followed the river’s course from our village to where Grey Eagle found us. The only danger is that of the river itself, but since there is no water flowing, there will be no danger. We can save many days’ water rations by avoiding the searing heat of the sun and travel by day or by night. More importantly, we can travel undetected.” He paused to allow the significance of that fact to sink in. “Once there, we can return overland from the north, if we wish. The Marauders will not expect us to enter their territory beneath their feet.”

  Grey Eagle stood quietly in thought. He became calmer as he pondered Kena’s reasoning. Finally, he spoke. “There is wisdom in your idea, Kena. Our greatest danger is that of discovery by the Marauders. If we can slip through their border undetected, it will greatly improve our chances of completing our mission.” His vision narrowed as he looked at Kena and admitted, “I tell you this: I do not like this traveling underground. It is … unnatural. I will agree only because it is necessary.”

  Chief Kosono nodded. “Grey Eagle agrees with you then, friend Kena,” she said. “I trust his judgment. He will choose the men to accompany you. It will be best if you leave soon, before the Marauders learn of their scouting party’s demise.”

  “We can leave tonight,” Kena replied.

  Grey Eagle raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing except, “Then I will start gathering supplies and choosing our men.”

  Chief Kosono stopped him. “No, it is best you wait one more day. You all need rest. Little Otter’s spirit must be set free. Even so, the young woodcarver will not be ready to travel.”

  Kena turned to Chief Kosono. “Can Anseer remain here? He would be of no use to us on this journey.”

  “Your friend is a talented woodcarver. Our people respect craftsmen. Of course, he may remain here if he wishes. He seems intrigued by the fact we have more women than men.”

  Kena chuckled. “He would be. What of Travin?”