Journey to Water's Heart

by Lea Ben Shlomo

  ***

  Zoded weeded the pumpkin patch, as his mother had instructed him to. Even though he thought the large, sturdy pumpkins would overcome the weeds, and the crops were expected to flourish, he didn’t dare argue.

  Ever since the market had closed on Hey Hill, they sold less of their pumpkins. He knew that come winter, he’d have to eat pumpkin soup every day, as well as pumpkin pie and cuscuta patties with pumpkin. He hated pumpkin in all forms and dishes, except when it was dried and used as a musical instrument, the dalitar.

  He straightened and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was better off fixing the broken stone fence. He’d been building the fence for the past two years, during his mother’s absences, while she was busy with her social activities, leading a group of active, enthusiastic women to volunteer for the welfare of the people of the village and the nearby city. When she was away, he was free to build the fence around the yard, which would protect the chickens and geese from the foxes and wolves that frequently attacked the farms. On the stone railing, he inserted sharp, crossed sticks, which made his wall impenetrable. Zoded was proud of his wall, which was the only one in the village. Lately, several stones had collapsed and created a breach, through which his friends passed when they came to visit him, or neighbors who widened the entrance when they wanted to take a shortcut. He decided to repair it and close it as quickly as possible.

  Zoded started tearing angrily at the weeds. Once again, he had given in to his mother’s demands, an overgrown young man like himself. His young friends had found their way. Some were courting girls; two were married and had built their own homes. And he was still being supported by his parents, his days going exactly according to stormy Iralu’s plans, who was active and hardworking and terrible when she was angry. She managed her daily schedule, as well as those of her passive husband and obedient son, who didn’t dare fulfill his own dreams.

  Matana, his childhood love, had been avoiding him lately. Rumors indicated she didn’t want to be “Iralu’s puppet.” Wagging tongues said she was spending quite a lot of time with Mazof, the cattleman’s son, and a good friend of his. Zoded thought he could win her back if he proved he was independent.

  Many dreams that he dreamed at night faded away with morning, when his mother woke him up, shooting orders at him.

  His desires burned in him, hurting his stomach. There were moments when he felt a fist twisting his guts powerfully. Rage bubbled and rose toward his chest. A groan broke out of his mouth. Enough. Tomorrow, he’d wake up at dawn and escape his house. He’d go wherever his legs would carry him. He’d build a barge and sail on the lake until the swamp border. He’d eat whatever he wanted, sleep and get up whenever he wanted. He’d shout and laugh. He’d take the dalitar with him and play out in the open and sing loudly beneath the canopy of sky. And no one would yell at him that he was wasting time.

  And when he’d been gone for many days, his mother would be sorry. His father would regret giving in to her and not standing by his side.

  He was so agitated that he hadn’t even noticed he’d finished weeding the plot. Zoded straightened and went to the well to wash his hands. He filled a cup with water and drank his fill. He looked at the breach in the gate. He still had time to bring the missing stones.

  Something drew his eyes to the half-broken gap. Something dark was lying there, something that didn’t belong there. Was that material fluttering there, or a live creature?

  Zoded approached cautiously. Now he noticed that a person was sprawled motionless on the pile of stones. He took another step and tentatively touched the person. The figure moved. It was alive. The figure was wrapped in a lead-colored garment.

  A foreigner. A foreigner who had come from afar. The foreigner’s hands and bare feet were scratched and bruised. They were small, elegant. Black curly hair covered the foreigner’s head and slender neck. Zoded stepped even closer. Now he noticed a profile and a soft, slender figure beneath the garment. It was a woman. She didn’t look Blue or as though she belonged to the cave people. Perhaps she’d run away, or had gotten lost, and collapsed here from exhaustion. Was she seeking shelter or something to eat?

  Zoded hurried to the well and filled a cup of water. He crouched over the girl. Gently, he turned her over and supported her back on his arm. She was light. His heart clenched with pity. He brought the cup up to her mouth. Water spilled from the corners of her mouth. He gave her water again. The slightest swallowing motion was evident in her throat. Her eyes opened for several seconds and closed again. They were gray. That same shade of gleaming lead. Zoded blushed. Beneath the filth and bruises, the girl was as delicate as a doe. For a second, he wanted to call his mother. She’d know what to do.

  He restrained himself and sat quietly. The girl was his find, at his wall. For precious minutes, he held the girl with one arm, while wetting the corner of his shirt with water and gently cleaning her delicate face.

  Chapter 31

  The Yenook Farm

  A crested kingfisher stood on the swaying reed and screamed at the boats sailing beneath it in the gray hours of dawn. None of the people on the boat turned toward the kingfisher, who complained about the interruption of its fishing hour.

  The boats passed in the fog, and the kingfisher lost its taste for fishing. It spread its wings and flew away. The fog lifted slowly.

  The people in the boat were exhausted and filled with experiences. They’d had a successful week. They had finished expanding and fencing the Yenook farm. More than twenty young Yenook had been added to the farm and started their first training session. The best part of their successful week was their proximity to the female Hayatulaum, who’d had their pups taken away from them. They approached the gate and mooed in pain, their udders bursting with milk. The Bonook managed to approach them and milk them. Their milk was very thick, and when they drank it, they felt their exhaustion disappear. Their scratches and wounds from riding the Yenook healed, and bruises from falling off the large beasts disappeared within several hours.

  The miraculous beverage couldn’t bring back the dead. Some trainers had lost their lives, not only in riding accidents but also when they attempted to milk the females. The unfamiliar hands touching their udders made the female Hayatulaum nervous. The blow of their tail was lethal, as was the burning poison it spouted, resulting in an agonizing death. Milking required unique patience and sensitivity, and of course, bravery.

  The trainers continued working tirelessly. The rejected Swamp Dwellers became riders of gods. Their pride and enthusiasm knew no bounds. Being on solid ground for long periods of time instilled confidence in them. They gained the respect and admiration of their king, and had enjoyable nights around the campfire while resting, sharing experiences, singing, dressing their wounds, eating well, and enjoying wine. They were the chosen ones.

  The dead were sacrificed to the Hayatulaum leaders and gained baroha moyara, eternal glorified souls.

  The heaviest loss to the Bonook people was the death of the much-admired Seniro, who was active and efficient and had captured five successfully trained Yenook. He was the first one who managed to milk a huge female Hayatulaum.

  On their last day in the prairies, they loaded a large amount of flourista, which they’d bring with them to the swamps. Mabul ordered the collection of more milk to give his people, to heal the ill, to nurture pregnant woman and strengthen them. It was on that day that the females were restless. They managed to collect a small quantity and flee just in time. A huge female approached the gate and Seniro was sent to milk her.

  Why did Mabul send him? Until then, they hadn’t dared milk the females more than once a day. It was obvious that the female wasn’t in the right state for milking. It was strange that Seniro, who was extremely familiar with the Hayatulaum, decided to climb the fence that day instead of milking her through the bars. Did he know that Mabul Otonto wanted him dead?

  As for Mabul, he looked
as though he hadn’t even noticed the horrific carnage. He stood with his back to the prairies and his frozen, impassive face staring at the horizon.

  While they heard the Hayatulaum scream and roar as they fought over their prey, Mabul ordered the people to climb into the boats. “Baroha moyara.” He mumbled and repeated. “Baroha moyara, Seniro.”

  “Baroha moyara, Seniro!” his people shouted, helping the wounded into the boats. “Baroha moyara, Ablan. Baroha moyara, Shiyore.”

  They embarked on the long journey home, shouting out the names of their dead friends and adding the title “eternal glorified soul.”

  While they pushed the boats into the thick mud, Mabul ordered the distribution of an excellent blue liquor, expressing his appreciation for their courage. He also permitted them to eat whatever was left from the journey. They’d arrive home by the end of the day. He didn’t want them to return home with low spirits. These eager, hotheaded youngsters were his hope.

  Mabul drank quite a lot this time. His head swayed from side to side. He threw the empty bottle into the water. Babu blinked incessantly, while rowing with his one eye. He shook his head sorrowfully when Mabul mumbled over and over again, “He knew too much. Too much.”

  When they reached their colony, the sun was on the other side of the sky. On both sides of the waterway, people stood and stared at them curiously. One by one, the young trainers returned to their families. The row of boats grew shorter. Behind them, they could hear cries of joy and pride from those who welcomed their dear ones home, and the screams of pain of those whose loved ones would never return.

  Next to Shunek’s house, a group of men stood whispering and worried, waving their hands excitedly. Mabul ordered that his boat be stopped immediately. He sent his assistant, Babu, to them, to find out what had occurred.

  Babu returned at once.

  “Arisan disappeared,” he said. “She may have run away.”

  “Of course she ran away!” Mabul said, and then fell silent before Babu’s scrutinizing eye. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t anyone chase her and bring her back?”

  “I don’t know. They said she disappeared without a trace.”

  “Send her father and Shunek to me. I want to know exactly what caused her to flee and where to. We can’t allow ourselves a lapse in discipline.”

  Mabul was dead tired. He wanted to relax in his wives’ arms. He wanted to bathe and sleep in his spacious house, built on top of a hill of boulders emerging from the middle of the swamp.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest and relax until Arisan was found. He would have to investigate the details of the event and organize a search party. He saw in her eyes, before they left, that she wasn’t accepting the verdict. She moved like a princess. She had the gaze of a princess. She couldn’t bend to her greedy father’s will and marry her uncle.

  Tomorrow, with first light, the search would begin.

  Chapter 32

  Arisan

  When Iralu saw her son walking toward the door, a girl held helplessly in his arms, something moved in her heart. Something she hadn’t noticed before: Why hadn’t she paid attention to how much her boy had grown?

  She hurried toward him.

  “What’s this? Who is this?”

  “She was near the fence. Unconscious.”

  Iralu took matters in hand.

  “Hurry. Put her here, on the bench. Bring water and a towel and nettle water to disinfect her wounds.”

  For once, Zoded was glad to follow his mother’s orders. He wasn’t as efficient as she was. Iralu shooed him out of the room when she bathed the girl. She gave her water to drink intermittently, cleaned her cuts and scratches, and put soothing compresses on her bruises. The girl’s bare feet were particularly bad. Full of gashes and cuts that had to be disinfected. At times, Iralu had to cut and bleed them to prevent infection from spreading. Zoded rushed around, boiling water, and going out to the garden to pick healing herbs. He ground leaves, blanched seeds, poured out filthy water, and helped dress the injuries. Side by side, he and his mother worked, talking quietly. Zoded didn’t remember the last time he’d so enjoyed his mother’s company, trusted her, and admired her efficiency.

  When the girl opened her eyes and started shaking, frightened, Iralu soothed her with a soft voice. She stroked her forehead, careful not to touch her bruises, and again her gray eyes closed and the girl fell into a deep sleep. This time her breathing was clear and steady. Her sleep was calm.

  Iralu crossed her arms in satisfaction. “What’s important is that the girl feel calm and safe. You saw how the poor thing startled. Let’s go out and let her sleep.”

  She hurried to the kitchen to prepare barodia soup with clover and chicken legs. “When she wakes, she’ll be hungry,” she said.

  At first, they didn’t understand her. She spoke quietly, her speech melodious, ate a bit, and fell asleep.

  In the afternoon, when Nakod, Zoded’s father, returned from work, the girl woke up, heard his voice, and screamed. She trembled and covered her face with her blanket. She didn’t calm down until Nakod was taken out of the room. In Zoded’s presence, she was quiet. He sat next to her for hours and talked to her, noticing the soothing influence of his words. When she spoke, he was mesmerized by the melodious notes, and slowly, he started to understand her.

  “Her name is Arisan,” he said to his mother. “She’s from the Bonook. I don’t know what that word means.”

  “The Bonook is an area in the swamps,” Iralu said. “What else did she say?”

  “She says the soup was very good.”

  “Maybe she wants more? I’ll heat it for her.”

  “No, she’s not hungry. I offered. She wants to get up.”

  “She’s still weak.”

  “Maybe just for a short while. Moving around will cheer her up.”

  Iralu nodded. Zoded’s heart sang. His mother was agreeing with him and wasn’t arguing. What was happening?

  The two of them helped the girl get up. She couldn’t step on her injured feet. Zoded hurried to lift her in his arms and settle her in a rocking chair, on the front balcony. When Nakod appeared before her, she startled again. He considerately stepped aside while Zoded calmed her and explained to her that she was safe in their house, and the man she feared was his father.

  Iralu covered her with a blanket, and when a slight breeze started blowing, covered her head and shoulders with a scarf. The sun started setting behind the blue hills. Arisan relaxed and rocked in her chair, admiring the open spaces and the purple sunset grasping the clouds. Iralu brought a fragrant pot of tea and cookies. Nakod approached cautiously and hugged his son’s shoulders to show her they were one family. He sat at a distance, aware of the girl’s tense gaze.

  “Poor child,” Iralu said. “Who knows what you went through to make you so frightened.”

  The next day, Arisan got up and started walking around the house, hobbling around on her bandaged feet. She was curious, examining the objects and corners of the house. She wanted to help Iralu with her chores. Iralu let her do whatever she wanted. Very quickly, the girl tired and asked to return to sleep. Iralu canceled that day’s SPPN meeting, the Society for the Promotion of the Public’s Needs. Taking care of the girl woke up latent feelings. She stood and gazed softly at the guest curled up in the blankets, slender and helpless.

  Zoded worked from the early morning hours on mending the fence. He wanted the girl to feel safer around them. He preferred that people enter only from the main gate. The girl had run away from something. It was better that no one knew she was here. His mother didn’t call him or cut short his work even once.

  “Zoadeodoa.” Arisan called him. “Drao watoa.” Zoded, drink water. Her words ended roundly, the sound pleasant and floating like a soap bubble. She was admiring one moment, and frightened the
next. He went to the chicken coop, gathered a few eggs, and brought them to the kitchen, eager to see her again.

  Gradually, she told them her story. Her father wanted to wed her to a bad man. She ran away and climbed the trees, from which she could see her pursuers. She waited quietly during the daylight hours. At night, she took a boat and rowed to the big lake. “We don’t have dry ground. Only water and trees,” she said. “The houses are made of mud and reeds, not like here. Here is good. And strong. Mud is good for healing injuries. This is good too.” She pointed at the bandages around her foot and hand and continued her story.

  She had to leave the water and the boat, and continued on a path circumventing the lake. White guards stopped her. They tied her up, and one of them was sent to call their commander and decide what to do with her. She wriggled out of the knots when the guards sat down to eat, and she escaped. They thought she was small and weak, but she was quick. She didn’t want them to bring her back to the Bonook. Bad things waited for her back there. The Whites had beautiful white clothes and good food.

  She continued. Being in an unfamiliar place was difficult. It was difficult on her feet. In the swamp, there was no need for shoes. But in the mountains, there were stones and thorns. And there were people and jackals and wolves at night. But she was free. That was good. She found water and fruit. A lot of sweet grapes. She stayed away from people. She knew her own people would be searching for her. She stared at her bandaged feet.

  “You’re good people,” she said. “Feet verrrry painful. I thought I was dead. My mother.” Her gray eyes filled with tears. “My mother doesn’t know where I am. Maybe I’ll never see her again. Maybe I’m bad for leaving her.” Iralu hugged her shoulder.