Ki'ti's Story, 75,000 BC

by Bonnye Matthews

  Minagle gasped. She couldn’t help herself, so she asked, “Were you woman?”

  “Yes. Manak was born then. He was baby. It happened and I was miserable, but at least I knew what copulating was and had been with one who loved me. Every night, he would come to me expecting to copulate. There was no preparation; he just did what he chose and that was it. If I refused, he’d beat me and I would have to give in. Finally, I managed to escape. They were faster but I was better at seeing at night and in making care to leave the least in the way of tracks. I made it home. When you were born, the People thought that I had somehow kept the face of the Other who captured me in my mind web. They thought that was why you looked different. But I don’t think so. That man had black hair. You were the only child I had who looked like you. I think it was in the copulating. But it doesn’t matter. I love you even if you do look different. I think your hair is lovely, like a sky at dusk.” Likichi brushed her hand against Minagle’s hair. “I just want you to know that sometimes People have to endure hardships that are not in their capacity to control, like this ashfall. Sometimes, joy comes from the suffering, like you, my lovely daughter. My suffering brought me the joy of you.”

  “That is like what Nanichak-na told me earlier.”

  “He talked to you about what you experienced?” Likichi was astounded that Nanichak-na had counseled Minagle.

  “Yes. He wants me to have a husband and children for the People. He doesn’t want my mind web to think wrong things about copulating and what happened to me.”

  “Did the talk help?”

  “Yes, my mother, the talk helped, just like your talk helped. I am less afraid now. For a while, I thought I was alone and there was no help for me. I thought I would have to kill myself if I had to join with a husband, because it was too terrible to think about.”

  “I’m glad that you understand that joining with a husband and what happened to you are different. We don’t have a word for what happened to you. I am just so regretful that it did. If you feel a need to talk in the future, please come to me. I will listen.”

  “Thank you my mother.” Likichi put her arm around Minagle, something she didn’t do often, even though she loved her daughter. Minagle nestled against her mother for a brief time and then got up and went to her sleeping mat.

  Wamumur walked back from the cave entrance and noticed that Ki’ti had lined up small sticks beside her baby brother who was sleeping. She was talking and talking. He observed briefly and then, using the quiet hunter’s walk, he moved where he could hear. To his utter shock, she was telling a season-of-cold-days story to the sticks and the baby. Her memory was incredible for one so young and her inflection was perfect. He retraced his steps and then called to her.

  Ki’ti came to him at once, the baby in her arms. She lowered her head.

  “How long have you been telling stories, Ki’ti?” he asked.

  His question startled her. “I don’t know, Wise One,” she replied.

  “How many stories do you know?”

  Ki’ti looked at her hands. She didn’t know how to add up the stories. “I don’t know,” she responded with her head lowered as far as possible.

  “Ki’ti, do not worry. I am just surprised at what you are doing.” He reached out and raised her head so they were looking at each other eye to eye. “I want to spend time with you and this cave time is good. I want you to tell me every story you know and if there are errors, we can fix them.”

  “Then I will not be punished for telling the stories to sticks?”

  “Ah, you know that rule. Sticks cannot repeat the stories, Ki’ti. Neither can a baby. We don’t want the stories told by People to anyone who will retell them. They might retell them wrong. That would confuse our history, and lessons vital to our understanding of the Winds of Change would be worthless.”

  “I see.”

  Wamumur leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “I believe you. I will talk to your parents about needing to spend time with you. We will need much time.”

  Ki’ti lowered her head. She returned to her sleeping mat to play with her brother. She didn’t resume the storytelling. She was confused.

  Wamumur saw an opportunity to talk to Emaea. He headed toward the cave entrance. “Emaea, may I have a word with you?”

  Emaea stopped and turned to see his face light up just as it had in his youth when he looked on her. Wamumur saw that hers glowed in the same way. The Winds of Change had not affected their attraction. “I guess I should extend my . . . .”

  “Do not speak of it,” Emaea cut him off. “Neither of us can truthfully say we’re sorry. Both of us did what we had to do. Every group has to have a storyteller. The Winds of Change have brought us together again. We are old but we are no different from when we were young.”

  “Speak for yourself. My back is killing me,” Wamumur admitted with a grin.

  “I meant about the way we feel about each other,” Emaea chuckled and pushed at his shoulder.

  Then they stood there holding hands.

  Across the cave, Gruid-na put his arm around the shoulders of his wife, Veymun, and said, “Finally. I knew this would happen the moment he walked into the cave. It is so bittersweet.”

  She smiled at him. Ever since Thrullut-na died, they had known that Emaea yearned for Wamumur. They had no idea how to locate him or they might have tried. No one was surprised when Wamumur’s sleeping place was empty that night while Emaea’s was bulging.

  Wisdom moved the sun so the rays of light touched the sky and darkness was slowly dispelled. All but two of the hunters dressed in their booted garments and prepared to harvest. Neamu-na, Hahami-na, Slamika, Manak, Ermi, Kai, and Lamul went to harvest meat. Two of the hunters, Mootmu-na and Reemast, joined Ermol-na to go to the site where he remembered a coal deposit. The home guard was Wamumur and Ekuktu. Reemast had also lost the ability ever to be part of the home guard. The harvesters carried brooms that were used to clean the floors of their homes. They had tried them at the cave entrance and could move ash with them. That is how they had kept an area for the privy. While the men teased each other about their outfits, the sounds of home in the cave were pleasant. The fires from the morning meal had been permitted to die down but not go out. The women had swept the cave floor and tools from the morning meal had been cleaned. Blanagah and Olintak had gone down to refill the gourds of water.

  On the way down, Blanagah asked Olintak, “How do you like your husband?”

  “He doesn’t talk much.”

  “Now, that’s a strange answer.” Blanagah looked at Olintak’s pinched face and felt genuine pity.

  “Well, he is just so silent. I don’t know whether he is happy or sad or maybe just has no emotion.”

  “How was your first night?”

  “He went to sleep.”

  “You have copulated?”

  “Only once.”

  “You cannot be serious!”

  “I am. I don’t know what to do. Am I unattractive?”

  Blanagah stared at her sister. She thought Olintak was more attractive than she was, but she would never have said that. “Of course not! He’s the odd one, not you. Are you encouraging him?”

  “I do everything I can to arouse him. It seems difficult for him to become erect. It’s as if it’s too much effort.”

  “Oh, Olintak, I am so sorry to hear that. Do you want to borrow Reemast?” She breathed a sigh of relief that she had gotten the brother she wanted.

  “I think after yesterday that would not be a good idea.”

  “That’s true. We’re both in a mess, aren’t we?”

  “It looks like it. Maybe we were both in too much of a hurry to be wives.” Olintak gently hit her left palm with her soft fist.

  “Well, we weren’t getting any younger and with this ashfall, who knows when we will see People. And if he can’t join with you, at least make him hold you.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll try it.”

  Wamumur was sitting in vi
ew of the cave entrance, eyes focused outside but not really seeing while he listened to Ki’ti tell her first story. He listened with a deep part of his mind web. Any deviation would rattle the web at that depth and he could correct. Ki’ti told the story of the creation of People and their emergence from the womb of the earth. It was not one of the longer stories but she had executed the telling perfectly. He was already persuaded that Ki’ti was the next Wise One, but he forced himself to check out her memories story by story. Skepticism was critical to keep the stories alive and accurate. The outside view began distracting him. He was fine as long as he kept his eyes shut. Occasionally, he’d lapse from his focus and he’d look at her. When he saw how tiny she was, he still wondered at her being able to remember so much so well at such a young age. He had not been that young when he was discovered. In her first story, she was running circles around her father and uncle, and they had studied for many, many years. But she was so tiny. He tried to keep his focus with his eyes shut. He was eager to discuss the story with her afterward to see whether she understood the connection between the emergence from the womb of the earth at birth to the return to that womb of the earth at death. The cycle was embedded in the story but was not specified exactly in the telling. Other cycles would be based on that cycle. He would never have guessed when he carried her as an extra burden on his backpack at the end of the trek that she might be the future Wise One.

  Armed with their brooms, Ermol-na had led Mootmu-na and Reemast to the coal bed. They wondered how Ermol-na had been able to find it with all the ash and over all the years he had been away from it. Covered with ash, landscapes lost their unique character. They had begun to sweep away the ash so they could get at the coal. It was tedious work. Ermol-na had a clear picture in his mind web so that the sweeping would not place ash any deeper on any of the area where coal was accessible. It took hours just to begin to see the coal emerging. They had stone hammers and bags made of woven plant fibers that served to carry the pieces of coal. They chipped away piece by piece. Reemast still remembered yesterday. From time to time, his mouth would taste of copper and he would shudder at the pronouncement. Occasionally, he’d chew the edge of his thin mustache. The whole group had basically said that if he approached Minagle, they would kill him slowly. To be castrated, have his hands cut off, and be banished would kill him even if Blanagah joined him. He couldn’t understand how the secret could have been revealed. He wondered if someone had been watching, but he didn’t think so. He blamed Minagle. Minagle should have been too afraid to talk about it. He wanted to get even with her for ruining his life, but he could think of no way that might not put him at risk of death. All the People, even the little ones, had joined in the palm strike. He swept up ash into the air as if that could create a Wind of Change for his blighted life.

  “Hey, Reemast, don’t get that stuff in the air. You don’t want to breathe it! We don’t either.” Mootmu-na shouted, riveting Reemast with his piercing blue eyes.

  When men reached adulthood, the People didn’t tell them what to do. What was wrong with Mootmu-na? Reemast wondered. He forced himself to continue the sweeping properly but his inclination was to take his anger out physically on anything he could. He felt a tremendous need for release of the anger and how he wished he could release it on Minagle. He thought of ways and discarded each one for fear of being caught.

  Totamu had made a neck bag for Enut and placed a supply of vasaka leaves in it. The leaves were brittle so they broke into smaller pieces. She took it to Enut and explained how often she should use the leaves to help her breathing. She gently tied it around Enut’s neck and sat beside her. She suggested she make tea with it because it worked better that way, but chewing was better than nothing. Totamu began to look for lice in Enut’s hair. She worked on the hair diligently and found numbers of the little monsters which she smashed between her fingernails. Enut had not cared for herself well for some time. Totamu suspected the cause was her breathing problems, but things would worsen in the confines of the cave if they had to be there long, so getting rid of the lice was critical. She would scan the individuals at meal times for scratching and then check out scalps for infestation. She would try to rid them all of lice. She wished she knew of a way to kill the eggs but was at a loss. She had a very fine comb that her deceased husband had made for her. It was so old now that it was missing several teeth and that did not make it a good tool. She was wistful, momentarily thinking of times past. They normally didn’t have a head lice problem when they lived more openly in their tents. They were a clean people. Totamu shook her head as if to bring her mind web to the present and keep it there. She needed to find out if the other People in the cave had a master comb maker. She walked over to Ekuktu. In her hand was the broken comb.

  “Ekuktu, I need some information.”

  “How may I help?” Ekuktu was surprised that a person of this stature would ask him for information. He lowered his head.

  “This is a comb made for me to clear out head lice. It was made long ago. We are having problems from head lice in the cave. I need another comb made. Is there anyone in your group with the skill to make one of these with these very tight spaces between the teeth?”

  Ekuktu reached for the comb. He examined it.

  “May I take it to the cave entrance to examine it better?” he asked.

  “Of course. I’ll wait here.” Totamu sat down.

  Totamu did not know that Ekuktu carved as often as he could. People made fun of him because he carved representations of animals. But he had an understanding of wood and could make his carvings look very real. He said he could see the animal in the wood and his carving just released the animal. After examining the comb, he returned to Totamu. He knew there was little likelihood that she knew he carved.

  “Whoever made this was expert at carving.”

  Totamu heard the genuine appreciation in his voice. “He was my husband, and, yes, he was expert at carving,” she replied.

  “I do carve things that People think are trivial. I love to do it. It relaxes me after a hunt or just from confinement in the season of cold days. But I am told this is a waste of time where I could be more productive. I would like to try to reproduce this comb. It may take awhile, but I would really like to try. I would need to borrow this comb to teach me.”

  “I would appreciate that very much, Ekuktu. There is nobody in our group that carves well. For them to try would be unproductive indeed.”

  “I am not this good,” he said, holding the comb for her to see. “But I will try my very best.”

  “Thank you,” Totamu said and hit her left palm with her right fist for emphasis. She went to the sleeping mats of her family and began to check that they had been folded properly.

  At the skin harvesting, the men had finished the aurochs, and the elephant skinning was under way. Neamu-na asked Manak to carry the skin of the aurochs to the cave and to hurry back to help with the remainder of the work. Manak shouldered the load, which was quite heavy. He struggled with the burden in the deep ash but got the skin to the cave entrance as fast as any might have done. He laid the skin at the entrance and looked for Likichi, who saw him and came to the cave entrance.

  “Mother, the first skin is at the entrance. It needs to be swept of ash before bringing it inside.”

  “Good, Son. I will tend to it. Do you want to take any jerky to the workers?”

  “No, Mother. We are too busy.”

  “Very well. Be safe, my son.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Manak lowered his head.

  Manak turned on his heels and left the cave. He wondered as he walked why they always had to be so formal. He had so many questions. Young People were expected to observe and figure things out, not worry the older ones with endless questions that reduced their own problem solving effort. Still, as with the stories, sometimes he really wanted to ask a question when the answer didn’t come to him after some thought. He walked quickly through the ash. Hunting, skinning, butchering, and preparing meat
were things he understood with great clarity. It was good to get out and be busy doing something profitable after being cooped up in the cave during the ashfall. He thought for a moment of Domur and was glad that he was alone because he blushed at thoughts of her. He wished he could prevent himself from blushing. He didn’t do it often, but it was embarrassing when he did. He reached up and felt the beginnings of his facial hair.

  At the coal deposit Mootmu-na had filled two bags with coal chunks. He reached for them and Reemast walked over. “I’ll take them to the cave,” he volunteered.

  “No,” Mootmu-na stated flatly. “You are not trusted at the cave when few men are there. Don’t volunteer for opportunities that would be seen as ways you might create more problems. Consider that you are going to be watched for the remainder of your days. Get used to it. I don’t like to have to watch you. Nobody else does either. But that’s how it is. You chose to require it of us.” The last few words were said in anger. Mootmu-na had no patience with the young man. He also had come to an intense dislike of him because of what he’d done to Minagle, and having done that to her, he hurt the entire People.