“Do you see the second hill on the shoreline? It appears gray in color from here.”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we stop for the night. Let’s move.”
The two picked up the things they were carrying and moved down the beach. Olomaru-mia discovered that her skin was a little sore and red. She said nothing, but it hurt.
When they finally made camp on the bluff overlooking the water, Mechalu commented on the redness of her skin. By then it was much redder.
“It hurts,” she admitted.
Mechalu felt the heat of it. He put a skin in the shade of several trees and pointed for her to sit there. “I’ll be back,” he said vanishing into the forest. Shortly afterwards, he returned with a succulent plant. He squeezed the leaves to drain the liquid on his fingertips. He put the liquid on her shoulders, forearms, nose, forehead, the places where she had the most discomfort. Her feet were red and swollen. He covered them with the liquid from the plant.
“Your skin does not seem well suited to this land,” Mechalu said while gently putting the liquid they used for burns on her flaming face. “Your skin rejects the intensity of light we accept as normal. You were fine in the forest. Out on the beach you seem to cook. We will have to keep you shaded.”
“Do your people live in the forest or in the sun?”
“We live at the edge, but there is much sun. You remain here while I go for crabs.” Mechalu stood before her, looking carefully at all her exposed skin to see whether he’d missed anything.
The two feasted on crabs again. Olomaru-mia loved the taste of the animals, and she found it delightful that it carried its own bowl, for she tended to place the meat in the upper shell before eating it. That evening, Mechalu also brought two soft-shelled crabs. Olomaru-mia didn’t care for them at all. Mechalu had roasted them over the fire instead of boiling them. She was convinced that boiling them would not have made an improvement.
Before they slept, Mechalu made a very thin skin cover to go around Olomaru-mia’s neck to protect her shoulders. He also designed a cover for each foot that circled the ankle and had a hole cut for the big toe to stick through to hold the cover over the top of the foot. Mechalu had never had to solve skin problems from the sun. He learned as Olomaru-mia had problems from it. He had brought her some plants she requested. Some of the boatmen had hats made from woven plant leaves. She would try to make a head covering to protect the skin on her face. She reasoned that would also reduce sun in her eyes. The two worked together quietly, listening to the waves breaking and the forest bugs and animals preparing for night. For the next day’s trek, she would be protected.
They slept that night listening to sounds of a storm at such a distance that they could not see the clouds. Mechalu told her the storm would not bother them, and it didn’t. The next morning they continued their walk along the beach. After several days, Olomaru-mia realized they were going in a different direction. Instead of heading to the south, they were moving more eastwardly. They continued day after day coming closer and closer to his home.
Zamimolo and Linpint hadn’t gone many days before Linpint began to shiver. The sun on their skin from days of trekking had burned both of them, but Linpint seemed to have the worst of it. Zamimolo had provided a quiet space at the edge of the forest in good shade. He laid skins under and over Linpint and went to find a water source to replenish their water bags. Zamimolo’s shoulders, nose, and forehead seemed the most tender places on his skin. Both men had the tops of their feet burnt. Zamimolo gathered some long leaves and noticed a small fall of water from the edge of the hillside. He tasted it and the water was good. He filled both bags and tied them off. He gathered the bags and the leaves and headed back to Linpint, feeling the edges of nausea himself.
Back at the camp, they both were cautious about drinking too fast. They did spend much time in drinking a small amount and waiting and then repeating the process. Zamimolo felt better, but Linpint still seemed very sick. Zamimolo felt him. His skin was hot. Zamimolo took the leaves and quickly weaved a temporary hat for Linpint. Then he helped him to undress, and both headed to the water. After a short while in the water, Linpint began to feel a little better. He did not feel good, but the chills and high fever had gone. They returned to the edge of the forest and Zamimolo fixed Linpint a resting place in the trees where he would be surrounded by breezes for cooling.
Later when Linpint was feeling better and it was almost dark, Zamimolo asked, “Why did we have no problems on the boat but now on land the sun burns us?”
Linpint looked at him as if the question were too simple. “Zami, all of the traveling People were on the lower, shaded deck. We didn’t get the hottest part of the sun. We only went to the upper deck when there were big storms, and then they put us in huts.”
“How did I forget that?” he wondered.
“We have to make some protection from the sun for our heads, shoulders, and feet,” Linpint said, speaking, he felt, as if from a fog.
“I think we should stay here for a few days,” Zamimolo added, “until we get the protection made and have a chance to feel better. There is fruit around us and I can find some meat to spear when the sun returns. I may be able to find some sea snails like the ones we ate after the storm. They were so good.”
“They were good,” Linpint said, actually feeling hunger for the first time all day. “Is there any jerky left?”
Zamimolo looked in his backpack and found two good-sized sticks. He handed one to Linpint and rested against the tree trunk to eat his.
As darkness grew, Linpint said, “Zami, are you awake?”
“Yes. I was just about to get up to gather wood for a fire.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There is a boat on the water far away. I don’t think it wise to signal where we are to boatmen we don’t know.”
“Where?” Zamimolo was shocked. He’d been scanning the sea for boats.
“See that tiny island off to the southeast? It’s just south of that. See it now?”
“My friend, your eyes see very well! I had missed it altogether, and I’ve been searching the water for boats. You’re right about no fire.
“Do you think we’re safe from discovery here?” Linpint asked.
“Just to be safe, I will move us back tonight and tomorrow when it’s better light, I’ll find a place that will be safe for a few days.”
“Once you find a place, Zami, I can help move us. I am feeling a lot better now that it’s not so hot.”
Zamimolo headed to the woods. Near the place where he found the water, there was good space for them to camp. The trees more than adequately hid their place from view from the water. He hurried back to Linpint and the two of them moved the camp. Zamimolo went to the sand and in the moonlight, he took a leafed branch and smoothed out their footprints in the sand from earlier going into the water to cool off Linpint. Fortunately, they had walked in the water as they traveled, and those footprints would have washed out.
The next morning they realized the boat was just off shore from them. Both were very uneasy and maintained strict silence and no movement. They saw people with dark skin. They could not understand the words of the people at all. They appeared to be looking for something, but the men could not imagine what they sought. They dug in the sand and put something in bags. Occasionally they’d laugh. At length, the men who had come to shore got back in the small boat and rowed out to the larger one just off shore. They tied the small boat to the larger one and lifted a small square sail and left, heading north.
When the men were completely out of sight, Zamimolo went to the shore to see if he could understand why the men had gone there. Then he saw what looked like what the Kapotonok people had wanted them to see, turtles laying eggs in the sand—but the turtles were gone. Their slider tracks remained. Zamimolo released a sigh, realizing that he had removed their tracks just hours earlier. It appeared that these boatmen had the same view of caring for the turtles. They did not disturb all the nest
s, just some. Zamimolo headed back and started a fire. He took a cooking bag, filled it with water, and hung it on a rock protrusion. He took a grass bag and returned to the shore while Linpint watched from his perch where he was making grass hats.
Zamimolo returned with his bag filled. “We have turtle eggs for our morning meal!” he said triumphantly. “They were collecting turtle eggs, and just like the Kapotonok people, they didn’t take all of them—just enough for their own needs.”
“How good it was that you wiped out our tracks! They’d have found us otherwise.”
“It’s always good to be careful. We already know there are some who live nearby who steal people.”
“Zami,” Linpint whispered, “What in the name of provident Wisdom is that?”
Zamimolo looked in the direction that Linpint was looking. Above them on the hill was a brownish-looking animal that resembled a turtle but was twice in length the height of a man. It had a boxy shaped head and a fat tail. It was grazing. The animal’s heavily-shelled body made him think that hunters would find it difficult to spear one. Maybe they’d have to flip it to see a soft spot a spear could pierce.
Zamimolo let out a short snort. “At least they won’t eat us!”
Linpint laughed aloud. In light of the frustration, sunburn pain, and nausea of the last few days, it seemed fitting to laugh at the utterly strange creature grazing on the hillside. It was a creature they had no need to fear as a predator.
Zamimolo dropped hot rocks in the cooking bag. He carefully washed off each egg and dropped them one by one gently into the bag. The eggs were soft and his fingers made depressions in the shell surface. There were nearly a hundred eggs. He decided to cook only a portion of them and save the others for later. When the water cooled slightly, the men decided the eggs had probably cooked adequately. They began to eat. The meal definitely was larger than most of their meals, except at feasting times. They peeled the eggs and made a pile of the soft shells. No sooner had the shell pile begun to form than ants appeared and headed straight for them. The men quickly scooped up the shells on the ground and threw them towards a dead tree as far as they could, having no interest in a large number of ants as neighbors.
“These eggs have a strange, unpleasant aftertaste. I like bird eggs better.”
“I agree,” Linpint said. “And these shells are strangely soft. But, it’s food.”
“Do you think those people are the ones who took Olomaru-mia? Their boat could explain why we haven’t found traces of them.”
“Zami, I think she could be anywhere. We’re in a strange land among strange creatures and plants. It’s hot and we sweat. The sun burns our skin. Animals, birds, and bugs are rudely loud. Day is about the same length as night. I am overwhelmed with just the day-to-day effort of getting to know this place. It’s too soon to be able to make the assumptions we could have made if this occurred back where we used to live. Who would have thought to eat peeled turtle eggs, but here we are doing it.”
“You think this is futile?”
“I do for the present, my friend. We just do not know this land well enough. We are strangers here.”
“Do you wish to return to our People now?”
“Well, of course. Nevertheless, I promised you four seasons. You know that I keep my promises. The better question would be, whether you want to return to our People now?”
“I waver on my answer. I want to believe that just beyond the next hill or turn, we’ll find her. I don’t have anything in my mind web that would support that belief. In fact, I have clear evidence that isn’t the case. I feel driven by the pain of the loss of Olomaru-mia. Sometimes I’m blinded by that pain.” Tears welled up in Zamimolo’s eyes and he unashamedly wept.
Zamimolo continued, “This morning when the boat was here and people collected turtle eggs, I hardly breathed fearing they’d see us. Then I realized they didn’t know about Olomaru-mia and the People, because they were too casual about what they were doing. They didn’t look into the trees, because they didn’t expect to find anyone here. It made me feel safe, and it tore my belly.”
“I understand,” Linpint said as he tossed the last of his turtle shells toward the dead tree.
A human shout rang out behind them on the hill. The two men looked at each other with concern. It sounded like someone was hurt. They heard an elephant belligerently sounding its warning, and then the ground noise from its run reached them audibly, and they felt it through the ground. Monkeys and birds were contributing chatter and shrieks, their contribution to the confusing noise. They stood and picked up their spears.
“Wait,” Linpint cautioned. “Let’s put on our sun protection first. We’ve taken about all we can take. Look at my skin. It’s peeling off!” He pulled a piece of dry skin from his shoulder about the size of the palm of his hand.
The men put on their conical hats made of long leaves, their shoulder protectors that wrapped and tied around their necks, and the foot coverings that surrounded their ankles with a skirt-like circle. They gathered their weapons and began to climb the hill to reach the level from where they’d heard the shout. The enormous animal had moved away.
When they first reached the hilltop, they saw nothing. No large animals were anywhere and they didn’t see people. Something moved in the grass and they noticed it was the arm of a man. They ran to him. The man must have been hunting and had a bad time of it, they thought, until they noticed the puncture marks.
“Did he try to fight with a wolf by himself?” Zamimolo asked.
“He’s been bit badly in the side. Where are his people? He’s not as dark skinned as the people we saw this morning. He looks more like the Kapotonok.”
From the edge of the forest, Linpint heard a moan. He ran to the place, leaving Zamimolo with the bitten man.
“There’s another here,” he called to Zamimolo. “This one is bruised badly. There’s a dead wolf here beside a camel carcass. There’s a dead man here also.”
Zamimolo and Linpint lifted the semi-conscious men to their burnt shoulders and carried them to their place at the bottom of the hill. They treated the open wounds with honey and wrapped them. Zamimolo realized they were running very short on skins and honey. The man with the wolf bite was running a fever. Linpint took leather skins and wet them, laying them across the chest of the man.
Linpint took a couple of spears and went back up the hill to pick up the camel carcass for the evening meal. He opened and gutted it quickly, leaving the entrails for carrion eaters. He dragged the dead man a distance from the entrails. He returned to their camp and began to skin the animal. They would prepare it for roasting so that by evening they would have food.
By high sun, the first man awakened. He said words that sounded like those of the Kapotonok. The men showed him his living friend who’d been bitten. The man wanted to know where the third man was. They explained his body was up on the hill. He had died.
The man wept at first loudly and then more subdued. The dead man was his father.
When he regained some composure, Linpint asked him, “Where are your people?”
“We live on a hill above the sea to the north. It is not far from here. It just requires following the water’s edge.” He marked in the sand sunrise, high sun, sunset, dark. He showed half of the distance from high sun to sunset. Linpint realized that the distance was not long. Zamimolo looked at it.
“I’ll go to get help,” he offered. “After yesterday, I’m in better shape than you,” he looked at Linpint. “You can take care of these people, while I go for help.”
“Good. Be safe, Zami.” Linpint was glad he didn’t have to walk any distance in the sun. Even with the sun protection, his skin was still very sore.
“I will,” he said with assurance. Wearing his green hat and sun protection, Zamimolo walked as quickly as he could north on the beach.
Shortly after Zamimolo left, the man who’d been bitten waked.
“Met? Met? Where are you?”
“I am here, Foo
. A wolf bit you. People are caring for us. One has gone for help.”
“Where’s Soklinatu?” Foo asked still very foggy of mind web.
Tears filled Met’s eyes. “My father’s gone, Foo. He’s with the Maker.”
Foo wept. “He was the best, Met. The best.” The exertion was extreme and Foo slipped back into sleep.
The camel roast was beginning to smell, but it was not ready at all. Linpint filled the cooking bag and hung it. He put several good-sized hot rocks into the bag and carefully added some turtle eggs. When the water had cooled, he took the eggs and placed them carefully on a green leaf. He handed it to Met.
“See that dead tree over there?” Linpint asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s where we’ve been throwing the shells,” Linpint said.
Met looked at him quizzically, but when he peeled the shell from the egg, he tossed the shells to the place Linpint had shown him. At his home, he would have dropped the shells at his feet and the women would have swept them away.
“Why remove the shells so far?” Met finally chose to satisfy his curiosity.
“Because as soon as we dropped them nearby, they attracted ants. We prefer not to have ants around us.
“The ants you find here are not the bad ants,” Met said, tossing some shells in the direction of the dead tree.
“I don’t know what you mean by bad ants.”
“I mean the ones that sting people.”
“I thought all ants bit people.” Linpint was confused. Was there a special ant that wanted to bite people? He’d believe anything about bugs in this new land.
“I mean the ones that bite people with their mouths while stinging them with their tails. They leave nasty sores.”
Zamimolo wasn’t eager to see those ants. Met’s face was showing pain. He asked, “Met, do you hurt?”
“Yes, there is a lot of pressure on my air bladders. When the elephant ran by and hit my chest with its big tooth, it must have done some damage. I’ll probably be fine in a few days. It seemed anxious when it saw the fresh killed wolf or maybe it was something else. I don’t think my ribs are broken, but I’m not sure.” Met closed his eyes. It hurt to breathe.
Zamimolo’s Story, 50,000 BC Page 8