The SealEaters, 20,000 BC

by Bonnye Matthews

  “My father died just after we reached the headwater of this river,” Wen explained. “He had terrible pain in his chest and arm.”

  Urch pulled Wen to him and embraced him. “I’m sorry Wen. We all thought you were too young. It looks like you proved us wrong.”

  Wen introduced Urch and Wapa to Akti, Doho, and Bagaguha.

  The men gathered their things from the boat and brought them to the campsite.

  “No others have arrived?” Urch voiced the obvious.

  “I’ve seen no others,” Wen replied.

  “Are you planning to make the crossing?” Urch asked.

  “I have conflict about it, Cousin,” Wen replied truthfully.

  The men sat and Bagaguha brought them each food on a slab of wood.

  Both looked quizzically at her, and thanked her. They were very hungry and the food was delicious, even still warm.

  They ate while Akti and Doho began to prepare their skins for sleeping.

  “Wen,” Urch said quietly, “We need to oil our boat skin before we leave. Do you have any seal oil available?”

  “No seal oil, but we do have sheep oil. You are welcome to it. That’s why I brought it here. There’s enough for a use here and twice at least while at sea.”

  Wen stood and went to the boat. He turned it water side up to prepare for oiling when the sun returned. He remembered that every half moon on the sea, they had to haul up to oil the small boat skins, to keep them from letting water through. It was a tedious but necessary process.

  Bagaguha went into the lean-to that she and Wen had prepared. It was enclosed to some extent on three sides, but the roof was very well done and had it rained torrents, it would not have passed through. Bagaguha knew how to make a rainproof roof.

  Urch and Wapa finished eating and quickly threaded cordage through a skin and tied it between two trees. They took the end pieces and tied them to trees at a distance so that the skin angled. They tossed their rolled skins into the space and unrolled them. They were ready to go black.

  Soon all slept except for Wen. He lay beside Bagaguha, with his arm across her. Her regular breathing told him she had gone black. He looked at the stars and thought about the sea voyage. He really didn’t want to take that trip again.

  He had come to love Bagaguha. What if he drowned at sea? He would be of no use to Camun or Bagaguha. How likely was it that someone could make three sea voyages as the sea was with all that ice? He gave himself a long list of reasons not to make the trip and then fell back to guilt. What was the likelihood, if he went back, that he could take Camun as wife? he wondered.

  It had been so long since he thought about Camun. He truly loved Bagaguha. How would he feel without her? How would she feel if he traveled across the sea and drowned?

  His thinking place could think no more, and he went black.

  In the morning, Urch arose and went to the cache. It was a huge cache. He began to remove the rocks. The winter clothing had held up well, the gut outers to protect them from water weathered better than the furry skins to protect them from the cold.

  There were some spear points.

  “Do you think we need these?” Urch asked Wapa.

  Wapa shook his head. He had no use for more. He’d made a good supply. They were in his backpack.

  Urch noticed that the two men had double pointed spear tips. “Did you teach them to make the spear tips?” Urch asked, knowing that making them was very hard for Wen.

  “Yes. I knew what my father told me over and over. The people here have more experienced hands than I do. They learned fast. I’m a little better now than I was.”

  “I see,” Urch said, examining the closest spear tip that Wen had actually made.

  “Come with me,” Urch said.

  They walked along the edge of the river.

  “You love her?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you take her as wife?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I want to tell you something. Listen well. Reg prevented me from taking Kol as wife. Life is short, Wen. Do not take the voyage. It’s dangerous as you well know. We may not even make it home. Bagaguha seems to be a wonderful person for you as wife. Don’t take a trip because you feel a sense of obligation to someone you knew long ago and is now far away. Not one this dangerous. Much changes at your age in two years. Much! Live your life as it is now. You didn’t choose to come here. That choice was made for you. Make the best of that choice. I know you and Camun were close. Much has happened in both your lives since then. She could already be the wife of someone else. She could be dead. Don’t make a mistake this time, since it’s your choice. Take a certainty over a hope. It’s wise. Three crossings. That is not wise. I do it because I have no one else I want but Kol. If I died trying, I’m old. To me dying would not matter so much. I’ve had a good life. Your life has just begun. You know that. I’d rather die than miss seeing Kol again. We have shared much over our lifetime. Your life is different. Take Bagaguha as wife and love her with all the love you have to give. Live life as fully as you can. We leave just after high sun.”

  Wen was silent. He had to think and that’s all he’d done for days. He didn’t want to make a mistake. He knew his cousin was wise.

  As high sun approached, Wen, with a somewhat heavy feeling, carried the backpack filled with pemmican over to Urch’s boat.

  “I think, Uncle, you’ll have more need for this than I will,” Wen said quietly.

  Wordlessly, Urch embraced his very young cousin. “I’m proud of you, Wen. Your father would also be proud. You’ve grown into a fine man. Stay strong. Have many children. Be happy. Treat your wife well.”

  Wen looked up at Urch’s face. He smiled looking eye to eye with his cousin. He turned and walked back to the others. Urch and Wapa had gathered and stowed all the things they would take on the voyage. They began to push off. The three men on shore ran out and pushed the boat into the water while Urch and Wapa climbed in.

  “Do you mind, if we stay here until they disappear from sight?” Wen asked.

  “We agree that is the only way it would be right,” Akti said and Doho nodded.

  Wen turned Bagaguha toward him and kissed her.

  Bagaguha was filled with joy. She turned to watch with the others until they could no longer see the boat.

  Wen and Bagaguha had eight children. Wen lived to the age of fifty-five when he was killed in a hunting accident by the bison he was attempting to spear. Bagaguha lived to the age of seventy-three adored by her children and grandchildren. In his lifetime Wen never saw another SealEater, though a few times he heard that some people from the land where the sun arose had migrated to the west. Wen’s contribution to his children and grandchildren was to teach them to study their environment. He insisted they learn the names of all plants, animals, and people with whom they came in contact. He questioned them frequently regarding the data connected to those names. With them he established an intellectual curiosity that lasted for many generations.

  Chapter 5

  Plak’s Story

  Plak sat on the bluff overlooking the wide river expanse that separated him from the land that continued on to the west. He had just parted from Torq, his friend from childhood who had been with him all the way to the river. Torq had no intention of going further. He wanted to be sure to return to the cache to meet the other SealEaters in time for their return to the Cove. Plak had just made it clear to Torq that his interest lay beyond the river to see the breadth of this land, the features it had, and the people and animals living there. What he’d seen so far had filled his thinking place with delight, feeding his desire to explore further. Plak was adamantly not content to stop his search. Both were young and very determined. He and Torq had argued terribly through the entire night, as Torq tried to convince Plak that they had a singular responsibility to return to bring others to this land. Plak was equally determined that he had no such responsibility. The argument had erupted again about the time the night wa
tch should have changed, had they chosen to go black that night.

  “Torq,” Plak said calmly, “I have no intention whatever in turning around. You keep saying the same thing over and over.”

  “You have a sacred duty to Father Sky and Mother Earth to return to the Cove!” Torq stood as tall as his stretch allowed.

  “I took no oath, did not swear, made no obligatory promise to the gods or our people. I have no duty. I was forced to make this trip. I did not volunteer. Do not tell me what my sacred duty is.” Plak spoke gently as if in a light conversation.

  “Plak, have you no love for the SealEaters?” Torq was pacing furiously. Plak’s seeming comfort in his decision disturbed Torq greatly. Plak’s calm voice poured oil on the flames of Torq’s anger. He was reaching the end of his patience and available points to make. He was convinced that something had happened to the thinking place of his friend.

  “I love them as much as you do, my friend. I just have no desire nor intention to cross the sea again. There are plenty of others who will do it. Without me there are twelve people who can make the return and guide people here. One of them stands here before me.”

  “Love involves purposeful doing, not self-absorbed intentionless pursuing as a child, whatever notion passes your thinking place.”

  Plak turned around where he sat to face the pacing Torq. “You tell me I have no love? I have no sense of sacred duty? I do nothing? I am a child? Torq, I’ve made it clear. I have acquired a desire to explore. I didn’t start that way. I knew no other way but the way of the SealEaters, a people who live—because of Reg—an unnatural, even sick, existence. I know what love is. I love a girl at the Cove. Reg blocks every attempt for anyone but elders to take a wife. That’s a sickness the SealEaters permit. Here I have found a promising new land filled with food and people who are not like us. There are women here who would make wonderful wives. Women who are accessible. I want to learn, to know what this land has to show. There is nothing wrong with my desire or determination to carry it out. You are making something of nothing.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You make excuses to do as you choose rather than consider the good of the people we left behind. I wish I had the thinking place of Whug! Maybe then I could reach you.”

  Plak laughed. “Torq, my friend, if you had the thinking place of Whug, you’d be an old man indeed!”

  Torq stopped his pacing and kicked Plak hard in the leg.

  “Ow!” Plak exclaimed.

  “You deserve more than that, you coward!” Torq blurted out, anger rising. “Fear of the sea crossing has made you weak in your thinking place!”

  “By your punishing kick, you act as if you think you could substitute for my father, the go-between. Don’t you know, my friend, that I have taken all your pointed words through my thinking place—examined them before you spoke them? Don’t you think I’ve compared them with the obligations taught me by my father? Don’t you consider that I have a desire to see my parents again? All these things are true. I also have considered that I have another life to live that is separate from our small number of SealEaters. I am a SealEater. Nothing can change that. I am also now, having been made one against my wishes, an explorer. I have no more fear of the sea crossing than you do.”

  “You are no SealEater!” Torq leaned against a tree, slid down it, and sat on the ground leaning against the tree. He glared at Plak. His anger continued to smolder.

  At dawn Torq stood up wordlessly, put on his backpack, picked up his spears, turned on his heels, his dark brown hair blowing in the wind from the west, and his husky body fairly stomping as he left his friend on the bluff. Plak sat cross-legged overlooking the river contemplating how to cross it. Torq hadn’t considered the wind, and the hair that blew into his face was bothersome, but in his anger he kept walking towards the forest, deciding to tie his hair back once he was well into the forest. Just in case Plak looked after him, he didn’t want Plak to see him stop. Plak might think he was reconsidering. Torq didn’t look back. He considered Plak selfish and mean-spirited, a deviant from being a good SealEater for not following the plan. He knew now Plak had no intention of meeting at the cache at the assigned time. Torq’s whole view of his friend had changed following the argument of the previous night. He no longer considered Plak a friend. Torq stormed off into the forest heading east.

  Plak rested his chin on his hands. His light brown hair needed a good cleaning, but it blew in the wind despite the weight added by the oil and dirt. His gray eyes were intent on the river and the western horizon. He had a heaviness in his spirit at the separation from Torq, but, he knew, it would have been heavier had he given up and returned with Torq. Friends were friends for as long as they chose. He knew he couldn’t hang onto another person against their will—for any reason. He would continue, however, to love his friend, because Plak had never learned to put an end to love. He wished the gods would go with Torq to keep him safe and to speed him to the Cove and back unharmed. For hours Plak watched the powerful river. It was not a clear blue but rather a turbid brownish mixture swirling and moving quickly. Plak guessed the river simply reflected the recent storm that had covered the land with much rain. How, he wondered, could he cross it?

  After a long time of unproductive contemplation, Plak gathered his backpack and spears and climbed down the river bank to the sand along the river’s edge. Fatigue from lack of sleep the night before weighed upon him but not enough to cause him to go black. The river noise was louder here than where he had sat above it. He felt the temperature of the water. It was tepid in the shallows. At the bank it didn’t move as quickly as it did towards the center. Plak decided to immerse himself in the river to clean the sweat and dirt from his skin and hair. Using sand, he rubbed himself with it and spent a long time rinsing, enjoying the water. He submerged, rubbing his back against the sand. The river water left no residue on his skin like sea water did. He faced the south, so he did not see the dugout that was heading toward him. In it were three indigenous people, clothed as scantily as he had been before entering the water. They had short black hair they kept cut above their shoulders and across the upper part of the face. Each wore a blue colored band across the forehead and tied in back to keep their hair in place and out of the face. Three stony sets of black eyes stared at the stranger.

  Feeling watched, Plak turned around in the water and jumped. He was startled by the presence of three men he hadn’t even heard approach. His loincloth lay on the ground, and his spears were beyond by his backpack. Knowing he could be speared before he could return the effort, he leisurely walked to his loincloth and dressed. He noticed the natives were moving their dugout to land. He went to his backpack and shrugged into it. He lifted his spears. By then the men were upon him.

  Plak stood in a resting stance. He had been taught well, because of the local wars in his land. The information was reinforced by Urch on the voyage over the sea. He would not give indication that he harbored any fear. The natives approached. They were not threatening, but their faces were hard set.

  “Who are you?” one asked, and Plak didn’t understand.

  They asked other questions, but it was clear that Plak didn’t understand.

  The tallest man slapped his own chest, “Arangawee!” he said loudly, as if the man were hard of hearing.

  Arangawee slapped Plak’s chest.

  “Plak,” Plak said, shocked that anyone would touch him without permission, while trying to act as if this happened all the time. Urch had reminded them on the boat to use a no-fear response to natives, if they encountered any. So far it had worked well for him.

  “Shingamoana,” the second native said, and repeated “Plak,” while pointing to Plak.

  Plak, repeated “Arangawee,” and pointed to that man and “Shingamoana,” pointing to the second man. He pointed to the third man.

  “Pelamutazona,” the third man replied. Arangawee realized that Plak had just taken control of the introductions. It concerned him. Clearly, Plak gave no hint of fea
r of them. Arangawee didn’t want to lose control of the events.

  Arangawee said in a demanding manner, “How did you arrive here?”

  Plak looked at him blankly.

  Arangawee took the end of his spear and drew into the sand. He drew first the big river that would one day be named the Mississippi. Then he drew mountains off to the west. Big pointy mountains. Then to the east he drew the eastern sea marked with wavy lines with little mountains between the eastern sea and the river. The little mountains ran roughly northeast to southwest. Arangawee drew the coast line of what is now Florida with more water south and west of the peninsula. It was an amazingly accurate map for the time.

  Arangawee looked at Plak. He pointed to the river and showed the alignment of the river to where they were. He showed the direction of flow. He took a small rock to show where they were on the map.

  Suddenly Plak understood. He retraced his journey back through the forest, over the smooth mountains, back to the tidewater area and onto the eastern sea. He drew a boat and made a spaced line to show the voyage through the eastern sea. He drew an arc in the sand with his spear end. He acted out water as liquid and then shivered pointing to the water, trying to cause them to understand ice. Then Plak showed more land with little mountains around a small area of land. He took a small twig from the sand and put it on the place where the Cove should be. All the while, Plak was memorizing the map.

  Arangawee was shocked. The man was believable. There appeared no guile at all. Yet, this man said he crossed the salt sea where there was ice. Arangawee knew about the ice sheet on land. It never occurred to him that it extended into the sea. Yet, he could imagine it.

  Arangawee pointed to the ice and to his mouth and belly. He wanted to know how the man ate while on the sea.

  Plak understood. He moved further down the sandy shore. With his spear end, he drew a seal the best he could, then carried sand to the drawing to give a three dimensional appearance to the seal. He tried to explain that the seal was in the sea and would climb out on the ice. Plak lay down on his belly, spear at his side, and crept up on the sand figure of the seal. He speared the seal, demonstrating with his spear thrust into the sand seal he’d created.