Ahna lay quiet covered with the furry skin Rokuk had given her. She thought those close to her were asleep. She kept coming close to something in memory, and then it would fade. She continued trying to recall the thing that kept escaping her. She closed her eyes and suddenly she remembered. During the storm, she’d heard Manak-na shout, “Wisdom!” He was calling to this creator, the one who made everything. He was calling in the midst of the horrible storm for help from Wisdom? What enlightenment! Was it possible when things went badly to call to this Wisdom for help to turn things to right? Would someone, who was big enough to make everything, care about her in this strange place? It sounded like Ki’ti thought so. How she wished she’d known about Wisdom long ago. She began to whisper to Wisdom. Ki’ti almost moved, but she caught herself and remained still, listening.
“Wherever you are Wisdom, I have never imagined such love. Thank you for bringing me here to these People who know you. I want to know you. My belly longs to be filled with you. I want to know Wisdom’s People. I want to be part of this People.”
Suddenly Ahna was flooded with warmth that she’d never known. As if a tiny voice from under the ground—or maybe far off from a star—spoke, she heard words of comfort. “I am with you, my Ahna. I have been with you since before you were born. I shall be with you until you die, when I draw you to me.” That part Ki’ti did not hear, but she did hear, “Thank you Wisdom from the bottom of my belly. I am your grateful servant.”
Ki’ti let the pent up tears flow. How could this child know Wisdom from what she’d lived through? How could her belly so clearly cling to Wisdom, about whom she’d just learned the tiniest part? Yet, there was no doubt about her sincerity. She wasn’t doing this for effect. Ki’ti had struggled to hear her. This child, new to them, was naturally drawn to Wisdom with an attitude that some adults never attained. Again, Ki’ti wondered, Is she my replacement?
Untuk-na had also heard the prayer and the words of gratitude. He felt certain that Ki’ti would be training this child. Ahna definitely had something special about her. Time would show him whether his thoughts had merit.
When Wisdom returned color to the land, Tiriku ran outside. He raced down the path that led to the valley. His friend had returned and was calling in the early morning. Ki’ti and Untuk-na had gone out and lingered to watch the tiny dog greet his friend in the white rain that lay on the ground. Raven landed near Tiriku. They embraced as they always did, Tiriku nuzzled and licked Raven. Raven used his beak and head to touch Tiriku’s chest, neck, and head. Raven hopped a dance that Tiriku appeared to try to emulate by lowering his front legs and moving from side to side in awkward leaps. It caused Ki’ti and Untuk-na to chuckle. Tiriku finally stopped and lay on his side on the ground panting. Raven began at Tiriku’s back and slid his body back to back against Tiriku, both animals with heads thrown back, until they were nose to beak. They lay there without moving for quite some time. Then, they got up and shook themselves out, as if they hadn’t really snuggled together. It caused more giggles from above. Raven made some strange noises that sounded a bit like gurgling and took off in flight. He swooped down over Tiriku and then was off to be about his day. Tiriku scampered up to the cave to find something to eat.
Yomuk and Ahna had dressed warmly and walked down to the valley. Once there, Ahna asked, “Tell me about Wisdom, please.”
“Oh, Ahna,” Yomuk replied, “I am not the one to ask. Ask Mother. She knows. She is the Wise One. She talks to Wisdom.”
Ahna asked, “Can you not talk to Wisdom?”
“I just don’t, because I don’t know Wisdom well.”
Ahna was confused. Knowing that Wisdom cared so much about the People, she could not understand why anyone wouldn’t be pursuing Wisdom to learn as much as possible. She had heard Manak-na call to Wisdom in the storm. If he did that, surely he talked to Wisdom
“Do you not want to know Wisdom well?” Ahna asked.
“I feel off balance when I think about Wisdom. I think I need to know more. I plan to listen to the stories with much more attention this year. I have been bored in the past. When Mother told the stories my mind wandered off to other things. Manak-na made it clear to me that there are life critical stories, and that I need to know what they tell of how to survive tough situations—like the story about your people who got devoured by the wave.”
“So you put off things until you are forced to do them?” Ahna looked directly into his eyes trying to understand.
Yomuk stood with his hand on the limb of a tree. He was running through his mind web. “Well, Ahna, you could say that. I should be more mature than I am. Once I thought I was more mature than People my age, but now I realize I was fooling myself. There are things I should have been pursuing that I just never thought about.”
“And nobody struck you for delaying?”
“No!” The very idea caused Yomuk to recoil. “Here each young person has a duty to observe older People. We learn to do by observing. We are discouraged from asking questions and are encouraged to figure out things for ourselves. We have a responsibility to grow our mind webs so that we can reason well. A little one will sometimes be jerked back away from a cliff, but usually that isn’t necessary. As children we may be struck for being mean spirited—little else. As a child, Mother was beaten severely. Occasionally, we are taught directly, but not often. We are allowed to ask questions once we have exhausted all the possibilities of our mind webs.”
“What caused your mother to be beaten?” Ahna asked horrified. These gentle People beat their Wise One?
“She was being taught to be the next Wise One. She had seen a green bag that belonged to a man found dead and mummified in a cave. Mother knew that in another cave a mother and her two children were sick and waited for the man to bring curing herbs. Of course, they were long dead. Those Minguat who like to make war killed the man. The man’s spirit or an evil spirit talked to Mother. She understood from that spirit that the family and the man were not rested in death, because he didn’t get the green bag filled with the herbs to them. Mother was just a little child at the time, and she couldn’t easily sort out whether the man lived and his family lived or whether they were all dead. She just was driven to get the green bag to the man’s wife and children for him. None of the people from that other time had been buried. But then, they looked like Mol. Mol don’t always bury their dead. So Mother took the bag to the dead family in the mountains alone without telling anyone. The spirit showed her how to get there. She had to travel a good distance to do that, and she did it while Wisdom sucked the color from the land. Three hunters went to find her. They said they’d never have found her, if she hadn’t made a small fire just outside the entry to the cave. It took them a long time to find the path to the cave. And the spirit led Mother right to it.”
“Why was she beaten?” Ahna was still aghast.
“She had asked the Wise One to take the bag to the wife of the man in the cave. The Wise One told her that they would not. That should have been the end of it. She disobeyed. The Wise One didn’t know she was being influenced by spirits—she was just compelled by the spirit or spirits to get that bag to its intended destination. Mother didn’t know she was being influenced by the world of spirits, but even not knowing would not protect her from punishment. She disobeyed. Not much is required of the People, but disobedience is not tolerated among us. When Mother did what she did, she also put the lives of herself and three hunters at risk. She had not considered the risk, because that spirit compelled her. Her disobedience was the reason for punishment. Obedience is very important to the People.”
“Now I understand. I suppose that means that if spirits talk to you, you’d better be very careful.”
“According to the old Wise One, there is never a need for someone in this time to communicate with someone from another time. If it happens, you call on Wisdom to make it go away. Unless you know how to deal with spirits, you stay far away from them and their influence. Now, Mother understands how to protec
t herself, so occasionally she will talk to these dead people, but it is not something she wishes to do. Like the man up the hill. She talked to him. He was evil. She saw to it that he was buried, and the paintings that gave wrong spirited ideas were destroyed.”
“What if Wisdom talked to you?” Ahna had heard that small voice that filled her with joy when she prayed. Was that a spirit? Was that safe?
“Ahna, on that you’d better talk to Mother.”
“We were raised so differently.”
“What do you mean, Ahna?”
“My people hated me from the time I was born and the bird man said I would leave. If I did anything wrong they struck me. If I did anything they thought was very wrong, they’d beat me. If I cried out in pain, they beat me more. I could be beaten and never know why.”
“Tell me they didn’t do anything else.”
“You mean like give me too little to eat?”
“Oh, Ahna!”
“It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes they’d have me take care of the little children. I loved them and they seemed to love me back. It was what got me through. That, and my hope that the person who came for me would take me to a place where people were kind. I never lost my hope. And I have been rewarded. The People are more than kind, they also love.”
“I love you, Ahna.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know? I haven’t told you until now.”
“Yomuk, you say things by what you do as loud as by what you say—sometimes louder. I can understand both. Remember when the flying fish scared me? You came over and tossed the fish back to the sea. That was a loving gesture.”
Yomuk was jarred. He wondered what else he’d done. What had she seen that he didn’t know was being observed? He needed to watch his actions?
As if understanding his thoughts, Ahna said, “Don’t try to watch every move you make and everything you do. I learned to watch what people do and say to keep from being struck or beaten as a little child. Most people wouldn’t notice that there is something alike or different in what people say and do. I just learned to do it. If I have disturbed you, I am so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You are just so small and for someone small to think these things, it certainly shatters my idea of myself that I’m more mature than People my age.”
“Why would it matter to you whether you are more mature, equally mature, or less mature than People your age?”
“I was making another error, Ahna, one my Mother would greatly disapprove. I like to think in some ways I’m better than others.”
“But Wisdom, from what I’ve heard, doesn’t think that. Wisdom would see all as equal.”
“I realize that. I just have a wrong thought that needs to be removed and replaced with a right one.”
Ahna laughed her lovely laugh, not at him but more at his incongruity of thought. “Well, Yomuk, nobody can do that but you! You are making part of yourself something not real except in your imaginings.”
“So true, Ahna. So very true. What is true—even simple—isn’t always easy.”
In the home cave, sitting on their rolled up sleeping materials, Domur and Manak-na were talking about the bear experience. She took another good look at the scars.
“Whoever did this healing did very well,” she admitted. She traced the scars gently.
“It was a man on the boat. He seemed to know what herbs and liquids did what. He used something that stung like many bees.”
“You’d have given your life to spare Yomuk, wouldn’t you?”
“I will truly say, I don’t know. I was not fully tested. Yomuk and I both fought. We were intent on killing the bear. Until testing, I’m not sure anyone can say unequivocally what they will or will not do. It was never fully a question for him or me. There was no time to think. We just relied on the training we’d had and did our best.”
“Are you thinking to return to adventuring?” Domur asked, certain that she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“I wish I could answer, my Dearest, but I don’t know. The storm at sea was one of the most awful experiences I ever had and I’m not sure what to make of the travel they do by boat. I can say I’m not at all sure I’d want to take that trip again. Another adventure might appeal to me. Right now, it’s too soon. I just want to be here with you.”
“Manak-na I love you. When you left, I felt my life ended. I wondered why I continued to breathe. Likichi pointed out that I was not living and that by becoming bitter and unforgiving towards you, I was making my own body sick. She frightened me by telling me that if I failed to forgive and start living, I could make myself sick to death. She reminded me of our children and grandchildren. She waked me up. At that point I decided that, if and when you choose to adventure, it is something that you have a right to do, and I should not be bitter if you choose to do that. I also learned that I have a life here with the People whether you are here or not. Does that mean I love you less? No. It means I love you more, because I fully give you freedom. It also means I have a place here with you as your wife, and that I have a place here without you as one of the People. Both are important.” She did a palm strike.
“I don’t know what to say, Domur.”
“There is nothing to say. You’ve said it already. Right now you want to be here. That is fine. In the future, if you want adventure, I will not try to hold you against your will or make you feel guilt that you shouldn’t feel. If the time ever comes that I feel the need to have a husband who does not adventure, then I will simply renounce our joining and join another.”
“You would do that?” Manak asked shocked. The thought had never entered his mind web. He felt off balance as if he might be falling feet over head through the blackness that surrounds the suns and earths.
“As you said, Manak-na, right now, I just want to be with you.” Domur was in earnest, there was no attempt to be coy. She simply stated fact.
“But there is no one with whom you share an age who is not already joined,” he reasoned.
“That is true today. Who knows what or whom tomorrow will bring?”
Manak-na was shaken. It had never occurred to him that Domur might leave him. They had always been so close. What if he adventured to return to find that she was joined to another? Kipotuilak had lost his wife for the same reason. Could he live with that? What made him think that her waiting and waiting for him was appropriate? All his certainties fell apart as a hearth log that has smoldered for too long, holding its form, finally collapsing in a single act to ashy formlessness. He put his arm around Domur and the two sat together in silence. All that needed to be said had been said—maybe more. He asked himself whether he put his arm around her from love or to protect her or to hang onto a lifeline. He couldn’t answer his own question. A huge storm at sea held nothing to compare with the terror of the life critical situation in which he found himself, he thought. There was no story for it.
In the back of the cave, Gumokut, Flinee, Lolmeg, and Maylue were deep in discussion not for the first time about returning to their Mol home they’d left without really thinking carefully. They felt that they really didn’t fit into this group and they remained homesick.
“I really miss our people,” Maylue said for more times than she could count.
“But it’s getting to the cold time of the year. White rain has already fallen. Can we make it back without freezing?” Flinee questioned.
“We have warm clothing to protect us. Lolmeg and I have hunted in the very cold. When you’re active, you stay warm. Aside from that we can move a lot faster without children and old people to slow us down. We know the way.” Gumokut sneered.
“I want to share the giants with our people. They should be able to visit them to see what we’ve seen.” Lolmeg added.
“Can you imagine Gnomuth’s face when he sees those giants?” Flinee said laughing.
“The Chief probably couldn’t get up there,” Gumokut said. “He’s pretty old now.”
“
We could do what Kai-na did. Hold up a head!” Lolmeg said with a laugh.
“You shouldn’t laugh about something like that,” Maylue said. “That was one of our dead.”
“Well, Maylue, the dead giant wouldn’t know, now would he?”
“We should have respect for the dead,” Flinee said. Her hands were on her shoulders as if somehow she could protect herself from thoughts around her.
“Why?” Gumokut taunted. “They cannot do anything to us.”
“Because they are our ancestors,” Flinee argued.
“Look at us now. We’re fighting among ourselves. We need to get back to our own people where there was no constant moving and little irritants making us unsettled,” Lolmeg snorted with an air of authority, mocking the People with an exaggerated palm strike.
“I agree,” Gumokut said, using the palm strike.
“When would we leave?” Maylue asked.
“I say we leave at daylight,” Lolmeg replied.
“Is there agreement?” Gumokut asked.
Each one nodded affirmative.
“We will not mention it until the men’s council. Agreed?”
Each nodded affirmative.
Outside, Ki’ti and Untuk-na were wrapped in warm clothing and boots and had climbed to the stone building. It was a clear, crisp day, almost cloudless. The deciduous leaves were almost gone, but the poignant scent of evergreens added a reminder of chlorophyll to the clean air. The footing was a little slippery but not dangerous.
Manak-na's Story, 75,000 BC Page 25