The Spirit Quest cotpl-2

by John H. Burkitt

  “What do you mean by that?”

  "I know the love Metutu has for you, and I would not begrudge him anything. But I will NOT stand by and watch you corrupt him."

  Makedde opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "Oh, no! Don't you try to deny it.”

  “Why, because I give him a little work to do? It’s good for the soul.”

  "PAH!" Kinara growled. "A little hard work is fine. But you have filled his head with dry grass! Lion stories! Meat-eater religions where a lioness nurses cubs with her own blood! My gods, did you think I would want my son to hear that perversion!"

  “It is NOT perversion! I try to respect all people’s beliefs when they are sincere about them, but a god that lies and steals is no god of mine. I have dared to hunt out the God whose love is unconditional and whose heart is pure.”

  Kinara thumped his staff down. "At least you don’t deny it. You were always too honest to lead our people effectively, so I didn’t mind when you wanted to be a shaman healer. But now you heal the body while corrupting the spirit. Who says that Pishtim--may he increase--lies or steals?? Since he is the source of all things and all truth, he can change the truth as he sees fit, and he can take back what he has given! See that you don’t offend him with your impious ranting!

  “Me impious? Father, don’t you know your own son better than that? Hasn’t love given you eyes to see or ears to listen?”

  “Don’t think I don’t still love you, for I have worked to keep your secret from the council. I’ve stuck my neck out for you, and I’ll continue to do so, but I will NOT have you taking Metutu from the true path! I’m sorry, Makedde, but you are no longer his teacher. I’m sending him to live with Busara. He will teach my son the old ways that have sustained us for generations. He will be made worthy to take my place when I die. Gods, how I wish I’d done better with you! I wonder if I could have done or said anything different. You send me to my grave with many regrets and a broken heart!”

  “Father!”

  “I warn you not to try and interfere. Don’t presume too much on our ties of blood, for I am still your leader and you are still my subject, understand?"

  “Completely, SIR.”

  “Don’t sass me boy! You’re not too old to get a few licks from your old dad, and I’m not so sure they wouldn’t do you some good!”

  He whirled and left, descending the tree so abruptly that he almost fell to the ground.

  The shaman sat on his haunches and sighed. He gazed at the painted drawings on the side of the tree's bole, where a stylistic portrait of Metutu was emblazoned on the bark. “The gods will have their way. Father, you have pulled him from the creek only to plunge him in the river." He looked through the swaying branches of his home to the bright azure sky above. It was a bittersweet victory, just another thorn between himself and his father when once they had been so close. “Touch his spirit, Aiheu. Bless my father in his darkness, and shine the light of wisdom into his heart.”

  CHAPTER 11: HOMEWORK

  Metutu eyed the cliff wall warily. The caves were only a few minutes walk from the lush aerial homes of the rest of the troop, but to the superstitious mandrills, they were a completely separate world. Few dared to venture there. Busara’s wisdom was legendary, but so were his eccentricities. Metutu remembered hearing stories that he sacrificed goats on nights of the full moon in exchange for powers from the evil Makei. But Kinara had always insisted that his Chief Scribe was kind and patient. “You would love him. I could kick myself for not introducing you long ago.”

  Metutu had seen Busara from a distance once or twice, but had never been introduced. That was a real shame, for he was rather fond of Asumini, and he was curious about her parents. He was about to explore the great mystery, and he was more than a little nervous.

  Metutu mused over this as he observed the coming and going of the birds high overhead. They wheeled and chirped, their colorful plumage flashing in the sun as they went about the daily business of gathering food and hauling it to their nests at the top of the cliffs. Some of them were weaver birds, constructing elaborate nests that hung like baskets made out of carefully woven grass.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  He gasped and spun, whirling to see Asumini standing behind him, a look of amusement on her face. “What do you want, Metutu? I can’t talk long; father is expecting a new student soon, and I have to go meet him.”

  Metutu grinned. “You just did. I’m going to be a scribe!”

  Her eyes widened disbelievingly. “You?” She laughed. “Oh, that’s good, Metutu! You can tell them how to escape leopards. I’m sure you’ll have the situation under control!” She added, “I was being perfectly serious. He should be here any moment.”

  “Asumini, that is no way to treat a guest, is it?” The old voice was gentle, with only a hint of reproof. They both turned to see Busara leaning heavily on his staff. His wizened features bore the scars and furrows of age, but his eyes were bright with intelligence, crowned with wonderfully expressive eyebrows. His kindly smile was as warm as a good hug. “Please show Metutu inside, and get him settled in. We have much to discuss, and it is already high sun.”

  Asumini looked at Metutu, unable to hide her surprise.

  It was the first time that Metutu had been in a cave. He stepped back into the refreshingly cool recess. Expecting things to be pitch black, he found to his delight an invention lit the passageway. “You like the lamps? They burn rendered fat. My Asumini scavenges carcasses to make sure I never run low. You have to get there quickly you know, before the hyenas snatch up everything.”

  Now it was Metutu’s turn to be surprised. He looked at Asumini with new respect.

  The twinkling lights were like stars in the night, but much brighter. As they got further into the cave, there was what Busara called his “tree trunk.” It was a shaft of stone that reached from the floor to the ceiling, and Metutu fingered it with wonder, for it had not been carved but formed of its own accord. There Busara stopped him. “Tell me, young buck, do you know where Mano is?”

  He says quietly, “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask Minshasa.” That was the pass phrase by which Aiheusists in hiding recognize each other.

  Busara took the boy by the arm. With almost pleading in his voice, he said, “I know you are the son of the chief, but I also know why he sent you here. Now I ask you in all sincerity to tell me you are not here to spy on me. That before the gods all you seek is the truth for your soul’s sake.”

  “That is all I seek,” Metutu said. “My father teaches me that the gods argue among themselves, that they have been known to cheat and even steal. My brother tells me that the creator is perfect and holy, and that he loves us all. I want so bad to believe he is right. I watched the birds just now. I cannot believe that the beauty I see, and the good things I feel when I see it came from petty, thieving, lazy gods that must be bribed to bring the rain and heal the sick. If I were God, I’d do those things to make people happy.”

  “Let me tell you why I believe. Son, you are much closer than you think to the source of faith. Aiheu is not a secret hidden under a rock. The work of his hand is everywhere, filling the world with beauty and wonder. Open your heart and take it in. The hardest task would be NOT to believe.”

  In the golden flickering light of the lamps, Busara’s kindly face looked almost godlike. “Look, son. See the paintings?”

  Metutu looked at the walls. They were covered by paintings much like the ones on Makedde’s baobab, but done with such skill and artistry that it took Metutu’s breath away.

  “I have to keep the lights out in this place when Kinara comes calling. I wish they could be visible to the public, where the words of comfort they represent could become bind to their hearts and settle in their minds.”

  Metutu was humbled. “I’m sorry I called you an evil sorcerer. You know, we kids grew up telling stories about sacrifices of goats by the light of the full moon.”

  “Once I was brought a goat carcass. I had to c
ut it up for some sick lion cubs. It might have been a night of the full moon--I don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t let them starve to death.” Busara shook his head. “And to think that I love children so much. Perhaps you will put in a good word when gossips tell their tales?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Metutu looked up and down the wall. He recognized many of the paintings from his brother’s work, but one thing was missing. “Where is your story? I bet it’s interesting.”

  Busara smiled. “I like to think so. Let me see your hands.” He took a look at Metutu’s palms by the lantern light. “They are young and fresh, not used to hard work.” His own were callused. “Hard work is part of my story.” He tugged at his gray beard. “Worry about my daughter’s future. Her first case of Dol Sani and her near death from pneumonia.” He drew his finger down the deep lines etched in his cheeks. “Long hours of study, tending the sick, teaching lore, crying tears and smiling smiles.” He drew his finger across the deep wrinkles on his forehead. “Late nights with sick lion cubs and a couple of leopards. Oh yes, my story is plainly written. The youth has been pulled from my outside, but inside I still feel like the young buck that earned these.”

  He showed Metutu the back of his hand with five parallel scars. “To you they are ugly scars. To me they are beautiful. You see, my lioness sister Asumini was once warm and strong like you and I.” He took from around his neck a grass cord from which hung an ivory fang. “Once she could bear me on her back without thinking about it. Now I wear what’s left of her next to my heart.” His eyes began to grow misty. “If you learn anything from me, learn this. Love well and for always. For everything else a shaman does is but leaves and branches.” He patted the column of stone. “Love is the trunk and the root of all good things.”

  Busara sat on a prepared cushion of leaves. He motioned for Metutu to do likewise. “I’m going to tell you a love story. One that is strange, for it is about a young mandrill shaman and a lioness. Listen well to my words, for I can make you look, but I can’t make you see.”

  “Is she the one I heard rumors about?”

  “The rumors pale next to the truth.” He fondled the relic and kissed it. “Once I was in search of worldly treasures. And instead I discovered God. Only I did not recognize the significance of the moment, for the truth came in the form of a wounded lioness.

  “At great risk I tended her wound and saved her life. Her name was Asumini. It means ‘jasmine,’ and may I say that the flower is more beautiful because it bears her name?” He put the tooth back around his neck. “She received comfort to the body, but returned to give me comfort to the spirit. Everything that came before I count as loss. Everything that has happened since I treasure. Through her eyes, I have seen face to face what others only saw dimly reflected. Because of her, I have seen the face of Aiheu and slept at the feet of Minshasa and Mano. And I will sit with them when I die, among the great kings of the past.”

  “Who are the great kings?”

  “Those whose hearts are warm with the joy of service. It is good to receive eternal life. It is far greater to give eternal love. In the beginning all animals were brother spirits. In the end they will all be brothers once more. Some of those spirits will be weak cubs crying out for milk. Others will answer their cry and say, ‘Come you who hunger for my milk. No one shall I turn away.’” He drew close to Metutu and took his hand. “Aiheu calls to you. He says, ‘Metutu, feed my cubs. Feed my cubs.’”

  Metutu slowly knelt and bowed his head. Busara rested his hand on his head and blessed him.

  “Aiheu, come into my heart! I will feed your cubs! I swear!”

  Busara knelt beside him and put his arms around Metutu. “Bless you, son! I have lived to see the promise fulfilled in you. The light will not go out!”

  Kinara loved his son, but there was a depth and genuine warmth to Busara that endeared him to Metutu at once. “When I am Chief, everyone will see your paintings, and there will be no punishment for worshipping as your heart dictates.”

  Tears came to Busara’s eyes. “I have lived to see this moment! Now I can die happy!”

  CHAPTER 12: BREAKING BREAD

  Busara told him, “Let’s celebrate. How about something to eat?”

  “Fine!”

  “Then come on. We’ll prepare it together.” A second later Busara added, “I forget you have servants. Do you know how to prepare a meal?”

  “What I don’t know, you can show me.”

  “That attitude will take you places, my son!” Busara put his arm around the smiling Metutu and led him into the pantry.

  The year-round cool of the deeper cave passages made it possible to store greens in fresh-picked condition for quite a while. Busara found all the fruit and vegetables he needed in the flickering light of his lamp.

  “I can’t believe this!” Metutu saw herbs and fruits that he knew were out of season. “This is incredible! You’re a genius!”

  Busara laughed. “I make a mean fruit salad too.” He took a mango and took a sharp dagger from the wall that he used to slice it into this sections, then dice them.

  “What is that??”

  “It’s a man thing. There was a big male that drowned in the river a few years back. Very sad, but he was wearing this. I figured he didn’t need it anymore.”

  “A man thing? But those are cursed!”

  “No. The only time it’s cursed is when it rests in an evil hand. Funny thing about those big hairless creatures: for all their collections of things, they are mortal and full of fears just like us. Aiheu made us all for one reason or another. I haven’t figured out why he made their kind yet, but it’s enough just knowing he had a reason to show a little tolerance and understanding.” He smiled. “They do make some great stuff, though.”

  “If you say so,” Metutu murmured, looking closely at the dagger but not touching it.

  Later as they ate, Metutu glanced at the tooth of Asumini around Busara’s neck.

  “Tell me more about the lioness.”

  “She is probably listening right now,” Busara said. “She reveals herself to whom she will as the spirit moves her.”

  “No, I mean as a person.”

  Busara smiled. “She is full of love. Love that echoed through her cubs and now her grandson Ahadi who rules at Pride Rock. Our spirits are one, bound together eternally with cords that cannot be broken. She brought my family and I into the light. My debt to her could never be repaid.” He leaned over and kissed Kima. “My wife is very understanding about this--she shares me with Asumini. I think that if I’d spent that much time and affection on another mandrill....”

  “I would have killed you,” Kima said, kissing his cheek. She turned to address Metutu directly. “Sometimes he sleeps next to her. At least she waits for him to fall asleep before she sneaks away. But when she was alive, that was even worse. She would sprawl out in the floor with Busara snuggled up against her. The two of them would snore like a thunderstorm. Sometimes he’d rub her stomach and her leg would kick.”

  “You talk about her like a nuisance,” Busara said with a slight scowl. “I know you used to spend hours grooming her, picking ticks, and calling her ‘Fuzzy love.’ And those cubs: I thought you were going to fight her for custody!”

  “Well sometimes she was a nuisance. But only sometimes.” Kima smiled reflectively. “She was always very sweet. Sometimes out of the blue she would say something absolutely wonderful that would take your breath away. Then you wanted to hug her and never let go. She was so wise about so many things.”

  “They must be great philosophers. And I thought all they did was hunt.”

  Busara laughed. “Oh my boy, what constitutes great philosophy? I remember the way she used to say it:

  “You have lots of time to sit about in that odd crossed-legged stance to do thinking. That kind of time must be wonderful--I spend much time hunting and tending to my family. But even in my busy life, I have moments when I feel that small voice inside me speaking truths
. I know what works for me.

  “In one way, there are no mothers who aren’t philosophers. We use what works for us, and if you are interested, I would tell you some truths. For one thing, we see the beauty that surrounds us. The father sky, the mother earth, the dew on the grass. We know that God is beautiful, though we have not seen him. You can tell a mother’s looks by her cubs. Even so, we see the beauty of God in everything he made.’”

  “My gods!” Metutu gasped.

  Busara sighed. “Such pure, beautiful and childlike faith! Rather than dealing in vague concepts, she brought comfort for the spirit...words that help us face the pleasures and pains of life. Well my son, she helped me face them. She lived to be quite old for her kind, then she came here to die, and she has never left. Sometimes in the night you can see her keeping watch over me, my blessed Nisei whose prayers are always before the feet of Aiheu.” His eyes grew misty again. “To think she leaves the blessed presence of Aiheu to tarry in the shadows with me. She healed my spirit, and all I did was heal her body!”

  Suddenly Busara looked around. “No, I didn’t exaggerate!” He listened for a moment, but all Metutu could hear was silence. “It’s true!”

  “Was that her?”

  “Yes. She’s among us. Apparently she has not revealed herself to you yet.”

  “Well ask her to. If you ask her to, she will.”

  “I believe it. But I will not ask her to. When she is ready, she will show herself.”

  Busara’s daughter got up and reached down to touch something, though Metutu could not see a thing. “Is that her?” Metutu asked.

  “Yes.”

  Metutu reached out in that direction. Asumini scowled. “You drove her off! Give her time--she’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

  “Will I know it?”

  “She could chew you up and spit you out. I dare say you’ll know it.”

  “Is she temperamental? I mean, is she good to you?”

  Asumini said, “She was a second mother to me. She was very strict but very kind, like most lioness mothers. I could never get away with anything because she would tattle on me to Dad.”