“Kukuk-na and Timkut-na were exhausted. They looked for a place to sleep. Wisdom was sucking color from the land fast. Below them was a grove of trees and they stumbled towards it. Timkut-na was the first to arrive. He noticed a spring that had not dried up. He kneeled and began to drink, for his thirst was great. Suddenly he felt a hit on his hand. A serpent had been har-boring in the grass beside him, and it bit his hand. He noticed it was a cobra.” Olomaru-mia paused. “That snake doesn’t live here. Cobras are poisonous.” She continued, “Timkut-na cursed himself for being so careless. Kukuk-na arrived. He saw what had happened, and Timkut-na showed him the direction the cobra had gone. Kukuk-na found the snake and killed it. He looked for others and found none. There was no cure for the bite. Either Timkut-na would live or die.”
“Kukuk-na tried to make a lean-to from what was available. He helped Timkut-na put out his sleeping skins so he could lie down. He made a fire. He handed Timkut-na a piece of jerky, but the hunter declined. He wasn’t hungry. Kukuk-na ate it. Timkut-na’s hand was beginning to hurt severely. He became nauseated and vomited, but there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of but a little water. His eyelids were drooping and his hand and arm were swelling. He was in obvious pain. Kukuk-na agonized over his friend. He kept the fire going and watched Timkut-na carefully. Timkut-na slept fitfully. When Wisdom restored color to the land, Kukuk-na saw that Timkut-na was struggling to breathe. He saw him breathe his last.”
“Kukuk-na took the digging tool Timkut-na carried in his backpack and dug the best he could to bury his friend. When he had him in the hole and covered by dirt, he still needed to find more dirt to cover him. He did not want any animal to dig the man up. Slowly he brought more dirt and covered the body. Then he found rocks and covered the mound. In the distance he heard what sounded like voices. He thought it was just his being alone and starving that caused him to hear things that weren’t there.”
“Kukuk-na sat by the lean-to and wept. He wept because his People hungered. He wept because there were no animals to feed his People. He wept because he and Timkut-na were starving. He wept because Timkut-na died. He wept because he was alone.”
“The voices came closer. Kukuk-na didn’t notice. It was two hunters from his People. They had found meat. They came to call the hunters home.”
“This story is the reason we always check thoroughly for snakes and spiders when we look at a place to stop. Even if you are terribly tired, you must look to be certain that the place you are planning to stop is free of harmful living things. Timkut-na died because his thirst was more important than his safety.”
Ghumotu, Oscola and Fimolamo’s first child, was seven years old. He loved the stories. He could hardly contain himself. “Olomaru-mia, please tell the story of the dippers. I love that story best,” he said with so much enthusiasm that Olomaru-mia was delighted.
“Of course,” she smiled at him. “Remember that Notempa is a very tall mountain,” she said and began the next story.
“Notempa was the greatest of the great ones. He had long white hair and a fierce face. Clouds would gather at his head and hang up there making ovals in the sky. The People had been visited by two Others called traders. They brought beautiful shells from the salty water. The shells were large and made wonderful dippers or food holders. They were shiny purple inside. Some of the People wanted dippers, but the traders told them they had to trade something for the dippers. Some of the People thought they should just be given the dippers for their hospitality. The People knew that Wisdom required them to show hospitality. Strangers were to be taken in and cared for well, so not to anger Wisdom. Hospitality required no return gift. It was to be freely given. While the disputes over the trading occurred, Notempa fumed. Smoke arose from his head and the smoke smelled like bad bird eggs. Many times Notempa fumed, letting the People know that they were supposed to remember hospitality.”
“While the People argued with the Others, Maknu-na and Rimlad went hunting. They didn’t like the squabbling over the dippers. They ranged far to the north, farther than they normally went. They could see Notempa in the distance. One day they saw that the ash had become a great billowing gray cloud, so much wider than the previous slender reddish ash clouds they had seen recently. It rose high into the clouds. Notempa shook the land and made a great noise that they could hear even where they were. They could see the cloud still rising but parts of the cloud were falling back to the earth from the sky while other clouds were racing down the face of Notempa and coming right at them. The cloud came toward Maknu-na and Rimlad at great speed. They were terrified. They could feel the warmth of the cloud coming at them. They could hear it. They grabbed reeds and jumped into a pond to try to save themselves from the wrath of Notempa. They submerged themselves in the pond and only the reeds kept them breathing. Both expected to die.”
“After a long time, the air seemed to clear and they raised themselves from the pond. The whole landscape was the same color. An ugly gray. It was hot and smelled awful. They looked at Notempa. Notempa had been so angry that he had blown his own head off. No more white hair, just an empty place cut off at the neck.”
“Rimlad and Maknu-na looked at each other. They knew that their group of People was gone. They could not have survived the horrible down-rushing hot smoke they’d seen. Why had they been spared? They wondered. They walked as far north as they could to get away from the terrible fury of Notempa. The air hurt their breathing passages. The ash burned their feet, legs, and arms with its caustic quality. They pushed on. When one would tire, the other would urge him on. They feared Notempa and they didn’t want to die. They found animals covered in ash, dead, and they ate raw meat from those animals.”
“On the third day they found a group of the People. They were taken in and cared for well. The People at first had thought they were ghosts of the dead because they were ashy colored from head to toe. But they washed up and were given clean clothing and food and what they wanted most, water. They had bad coughs, but those finally went away. The People gave them good bedding and let them sleep. They were treated differently from the way their People had treated the traders of the Others. They were shamed.”
“They were asked to live with the People who took them in. They accepted the invitation. The air didn’t clear from the explosion for a long time. There were many years of very cold weather. The People had to make clothing for cold weather. Sometimes people would have a toe or finger turn black and fall off. If it got too bad, they would die. One man cut off his black finger and took a white-hot stick from the fire and touched the sore place with it. His hand healed very well.”
“For years along with the cold weather they also had beautiful sunsets. The colors of brilliant orange and red and purple and yellow were like none they’d ever seen. But the cold didn’t last and the sunsets were only there briefly. They learned of Notempa’s wrath when People failed to offer hospitality to travelers. First Notempa would get very hot and explosive and then he would cause the world to turn icy cold. Never again would the People fail to offer hospitality freely to those who were traveling. After a long time passed People said that Notempa’s head was growing back. He would not forget the People. That was all a very long time ago.”
Olomaru-mia looked up. Ghumotu was staring into her eyes.
“Olomaru-mia, what is the white hair? I know what a mountain looks like, but I do not understand the white.”
Olomaru-mia removed her hat. “Mountains are different from place to place. The mountains we have here are long, fairly low running mountains. Sometimes mountains are shaped more like my hat. They are wide at the bottom and rise like a dirt mound. They are not mounds of dirt, though. Ash and, sometimes, fiery red material from under the earth rise up through these mounds and come out onto the land. Sometimes these mountains rise very high. When they rise very high, it is colder at the top of the mountain than it is at the bottom. In very cold places, when it rains, the rain becomes very cold and it falls to earth solid, not liquid, a
nd it becomes white, not clear. White rain is called snow. In high places where it is always cold, the mountains may have snow on the top all year. The person who told that story first must have thought that the snow looked like white hair on someone old.”
“I want to travel so I can see mountains like Notempa, well mountains like Notempa before he lost his head,” Ghumotu said contemplatively. “Olomaru-mia, why did the sky turn brilliant colors? Our sky is colorful and brilliant as the sun leaves us for the night, but we had no explosion of a mountain here.”
Olomaru-mia thought. “I think that the ash from the volcano makes the air a little dirty. I think that the colors look like what you have, but for some reason you get beautiful sunsets without dirt in the air. I do not really understand it. The dirt in the air made the temperatures much colder than normal for a while. I don’t understand that either, but I know it’s true.”
Vilminit said, “I think I have a dipper like the one you describe. Have you ever seen one?”
“I saw one once. The one I saw was purple. I understand they can be different colors.”
“Let me get mine.” Vilminit went to his hut and returned with a beautiful turquoise colored shell.
He held it out to Olomaru-mia so she could take it but not touch him.
She examined it while children circled her to look at the beautiful shell.
“This is a dipper, but the color is different from the ones I’ve seen. This is very beautiful, Vilminit.” She carefully handed him back the shell.
“This is one of my treasures. I found it far north from here in the western sea. A man I met told me how good the meat was. He and I went diving and we found several of them. We brought them up and ate them that night. I kept my shell. He discarded his.”
“I love what the sunlight does to the colors,” Olomaru-mia said while Vilminit allowed a few children to continue to examine it while he held it.
Ghumotu gently touched the inside colored part of the shell with his forefinger. He looked up at Olomaru-mia. “I can see why the People wanted them. I’d want one too, if I were fully a man.” He looked at Vilminit. “What do they taste like?”
“They taste a little like clams, only they taste better than clams, I think.” Thoughts of the taste of the shellfish and his time diving for them came back to him forcefully in memory. He remembered the beautiful light skinned girl with the black hair with a blue shine. Her pale blue, almost gray, eyes burned forever into his memory. She had chosen to spend one night with him. He wanted to spend every night with her for the rest of time, but that was not her desire at all. He was glad to have what he could have.
Vilminit slowly turned and carried the shell back to his hut where he placed it among his few things. Just looking at it for a moment was enough to bring back all the memories.
Children dispersed to do the chores that were assigned to them before the evening meal. Olomaru-mia sheltered herself in the shade and readjusted her seating to make herself more comfortable. She had already given birth to three children and was close to having her fourth. She wondered whether it would come before the dawn of a new day.
A shadow deepened across her legs. “How is it coming?” Ahma asked.
“You always know,” Olomaru-mia smiled at her mother-in-law. “How do you know?”
“It’s the way you carry yourself, Mia,” she said, using the shortened version of the name she used with Olomaru-mia when the two were alone together.
“I can tell you I feel awkward this time, Mother.”
“This one is large. It’s just one baby, but a large one.”
“Does it take longer to give birth to a large one?” Olomaru-mia asked.
“I don’t think so,” her mother-in-law said smiling. “This light tomorrow, it’ll be all over.”
“I hope so,” Olomaru-mia laughed. “Is the evening meal ready?”
“Yes, of course, that’s why I’m here. Take my hand,” Ahma offered to help her up.
Olomaru-mia got up and walked slowly to the gathering place for food. She wasn’t very hungry, but she thought it would be a good idea to eat.
As she was serving her bowl, Olomaru-mia noticed some commotion at the far end of the group of people and some got up from their food and began to walk fast toward the southwest. Her curiosity grew as she sat on a log and picked at her food. Suddenly she saw a few people and the unmistakable face of Tuna, whose body looked much like hers, ready to bring a new life to the world. After the greetings, Tuna sought her out. Flukua brought her daughter a bowl of food and Tuna and Olomaru-mia settled side-by-side to chat.
“I saw snow,” Olomaru-mia. “It was exactly what you described. I knew what it was the moment I saw it. It’s beautiful! I saw the western sea that you crossed in a boat. While we were there, we experienced a fierce earthquake, harder than what we’ve ever had here. The mountains were huge! Oh, Olomaru-mia, travel is wonderful!”
Olomaru-mia tried to follow her friend as she moved from one thing to the next. She was delighted to see Tuna so happy.
“How near are you to the birth of your baby?” Olomaru-mia asked.
“From the pains, I’m thinking it should be here by tomorrow,” Tuna said with a grin.
“We may have our babies at the same time, then,” Olomaru-mia said.
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Tuna mused as she gently stroked her bulging belly.
As darkness began to fall, Mechalu and Olomaru-mia gathered their three children, the twins, Pipto and Token, and their younger sister, Ahmu, and headed for their hut. The children were ready for sleep. During the night Olomaru-mia felt the first pains. She silently slipped out of the hut and headed to the larger one where she would give birth. There she found Tuna already laboring. By the light of the new day, each had an infant girl. Where Ahma had predicted that Olomaru-mia was carrying a very large infant, the baby had been born of normal size. Olomaru-mia and Tuna were both delighted. Ahma gently teased Olomaru-mia about too many crabs.
Weeks later Mechalu and Olomaru-mia walked down to the sea to gather crabs. Olomaru-mia had a grass sling that fitted over a shoulder to carry the new infant. The day was just slightly breezy and it was not too hot. Mechalu and Olomaru-mia were enjoying each other.
“My husband, there is something I would like to know,” Olomaru-mia said softly.
“Anything,” Mechalu replied.
“I know that you went south to learn and then went to the Alitukit to learn more. What did you learn in those places that you couldn’t have learned at home?”
“Why do you want to know those things?” he asked.
“I am just curious. I know you plan for the boys to go there. I’m interested to know a little of what they’ll be learning, and why they must leave home to do it.” Olomaru-mia looked out to sea. The sea was calm and incredibly blue. A small lizard slithered through the vegetation at her feet.
“Here, we learn basic counting. We learn to add and remove quantities. In the south the numbers are far more complicated. We learn to project what quantities may be needed for very large projects. If, for example, you wanted to build a tower for signal communication that would be taller than the trees, how many of a certain size stones would you need to complete the task? We learn the different stones’ qualities and what is useful for what purposes. Some people learn to carve stones. I didn’t learn that.”
“I have not seen buildings made of stones. Are there any of them in the south?”
“Yes, and much more distant to the south, there is great need for the towers, for the forests are very thick. Communication there is very difficult, if you cannot rise above the trees.”
“And what did you learn from the Alitukit?”
“Ah, that’s a different matter. The Alitukit look to the future and want to be able to determine future outcomes. I knew that there would be some falling stars near the time of the naming of our twins, but I was uncertain of the day. The Alitukit would know the day precisely. They would have castigated me for being lazy mi
nded in my imprecision.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t personal. They treat all the same. They expect perfection. They strive for it. They are actually brilliant people. They tolerate us to the point where we become ineffective. For me it was with zero. You see, there is a manipulation of numbers that focuses on partitioning quantities. Let’s say that you have two papayas. You have six children who want papaya. How do you distribute the papayas?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“I cut up the papayas into thirds and give each child a third.”
“Right. Now, our number partitioning became more complex. Suppose you had seven children who wanted papayas and you had two papayas. What would you do then.”
“I see what you mean, if I had to partition it equally among them. What I’d normally do is cut the papaya into small pieces and give a small piece to each child. Other children or older people could have some as well.”
“The Alitukit would not want that for an answer. They want precision.” Mechalu looked off into the distance leaning on his nola nola. “I told you I
failed when dealing with zero. In theory, you can partition zero. You could say that zero partitioned by seven is zero. How would you partition out nothing? In practice, that’s nonsense. The problem is that I could not theoretically or in practice partition a number such as seven by zero. The Alitukit call it dividing by zero. I could theoretically divide zero, although that’s absurd, but I could not divide a number by zero. I couldn’t reason how to do it, so I failed, and they sent me home. I know of no non-Alitukit, who was taught by the Alitukit, who got past that point. They told me I thought too small. That’s what they tell those who can’t figure out how to divide by zero. They said that our minds learn how to learn in only one way, while they use a variety of different means. They say that our way of learning works until we reach dividing zero and by zero. We have to learn differently to grasp that and our prior learning interferes by telling us it’s impossible. They say the brightness we have grows to a certain point and then needlessly extinguishes itself.”
Zamimolo’s Story, 50,000 BC Page 15