Time to Remember

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 5

  Jenette’s eyes opened very slowly. A tall, well-built figure stood as a blurred image before her. As her eyes regained their ability to focus, she was able to distinguish his features more clearly. She looked up into the bearded face of a man in his mid-twenties. He seemed puzzled by her. Then, she noted that his hair was silver-white, like the colour of the moon. A pair of cruel stone-grey eyes gleamed beneath rough, bushy brows. She felt his staring gaze burn deep into her flesh. Instinctively, she pulled at her tattered clothing to hide her embarrassment.

  A smirk passed over the face before her. He gave a low, short gutteral laugh and moved closer. He was tall and extremely muscular with the body shape of a body-builder. He stopped and bent his large torso over her. Then his long arm reached towards her and his broad, hairy hand came closer.

  “No, don’’t!” She cowered back into the safety of the snow. “Don’t touch me! Keep away!”

  The tall fur-clad figure ignored her. He poked at her with a stick. “Please - ” she pleaded.

  When he spoke it was fast, in a strange, guttural language she did not understand. He stood, watching for her next reaction. She remained still, stiff with fear like a frightened fawn. He continued to watch in silence for several minutes before turning and taking several steps away. For a horrified moment, she thought he was going to leave her and although she despised the rough man, she couldn’t bear to endure all that loneliness again.

  “No - don’t leave me!”

  The man did not heed her calls. She made a struggled effort to stand. It was then that she noticed that the tall man had gone over to a sled that was nearby.

  In her cry was the voiced fear of panic.

  “Please, don’t leave me here to die!”

  The man stopped. He turned and strode with long strides back towards where she stood uneasily. He grabbed her arm with considerable force, pulling at her as a hunter might grab at his prey. She could smell the strong odour of stale sweat on his body. His tangled, matted hair hung either side of a hard, weather-beaten face. Jenette tried to wrench away her arm which now was giving her considerable pain.

  Suddenly, he released his vice-like grip. The young woman fell back like an object cast away in disgust. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to flow uncontrollably down her cold cheeks.

  The man spoke again. He had produced some leather straps and a cruel looking dagger with a wide, shining blade that glinted even in the dimness. She felt sure, now, that he intended to kill her. As he closed in towards her once more, she mustered all her remaining strength and began pounding his leather-bound legs with her fists.

  He grabbed her hair, and pulled her face back as he sneered with satisfaction. She screamed and reached up to push his hands away but she had been weakened by the penetrating cold which made her as weak as a small child. In desperation, she stretched out her aching, frozen fingers and tried to grasp his cloth-bound legs. Suddenly, without warning, the back of his hard hand caught her across the face and sent her body reeling back into the snow. She felt extremely weak and powerless.

  As the dark-haired woman lay helpless before him in the soft virgin snow, the tall man knelt, and with that same hand that a moment ago had caused her harm, now reached out and tentatively touched her dark sprawling hair. It was soft and fine. Yet her skin was not pale as others he had seen. Never had he beheld such a woman as she. He found her strangely beautiful.

  Picking up the young woman in his strong, muscular arms, the tall man carried her over to the sled. He wrapped her cold, limp body with the furs he had been carrying, using the narrow leather straps to hold the furs around her. He stood, a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth, as he studied the shape now securely tied to his sled. He seemed highly satisfied with his trophy.

  When she regained the full use of her senses, she discovered she was in some kind of hut. The man had put her down on a rigid, wooden bench. He placed several strong-smelling fur coverings over her shivering and aching body. Slowly, her body became warmer but the piercing chill which had inhabited her body for such long time, made it painful and difficult for her to move any of her limbs.

  Her eyes wandered around the walls of the small building. It was dark inside. Daylight filtered in through small gaps between the logs and crept silently into the hut past the half-opened wooden door. On the centre of the floor, sitting with his legs crossed, was the black shape of the tall man. He sat with his back towards her.

  As soon as she felt strong enough, she tried to sit. She put out her hand to find the edge of the bench. Something fell clattering to the floor. The tall figure jumped up. He muttered something. He did not attack but handed her a mug, instead. It was warm from the liquid inside. She tasted it. It was thick and sweet. It made her throat tingle as she swallowed and made her feel warmer inside.

  “Thank you.”

  She held out the empty container. He refilled it and then poured some for himself which he began to drink with loud slurping noises.

  She carefully moved her legs over the side of the bench and shifted her body forwards until her bare feet touched the floor. A thick layer of straw tickled her soles and made her retract. The tall man watched her. He was tense and alert. He watched as she withdrew her legs and settled down again pulling the furs around her shoulders. He sat back on his haunches like some unpredictable animal and watched her very intently. She could hear his heavy breathing, almost panting one minute and then relaxing into a quieter rhythm the next. The young woman felt uneasy but realised there was nothing she could do to change the situation.

  As the light outside faded, the interior became darker. Very soon, the young woman’s eyes found out that they could no longer make out any of the shapes around her. In the darkness, she could hear the tall man move and shift around and with the blackness bearing in, the fear of her isolation returned. She wrapped the fur coverings tightly around her body and lay down on her side, staring into the black void, listening.

  She found herself dozing, fitfully dozing, her mind trying to comprehend what was happening to her. She could remember the storm but very little else. She tried to recall the events from earlier in the day but that only made her temples begin to ache and throb.

  As her senses grew more accustomed to the surroundings, her ears picked up the low, distant moaning of a rising wind. She heard the tall man stir. He grunted and went outside. She could make out his body shape in the doorway. He stood and looked at the angry clouds gathering together menacingly in the distance. He knew that it would not be long before they would reach the hut, and then with giant ferocity, the howling winds would whip up the loose snow into a blinding snowstorm. She heard the man call out, and then, soon after, heard him return. He sat in the centre once more, and she could hear something being rubbed together. Before much longer had passed, her nostrils picked up the smell of smouldering wood. A small, flickering flame had been coaxed into life. In the dimness, she watched him light the fat in two metal bowls that had been hung from the centre of the roof rafters. Shadows melted into the corners, as a warm orange glow expanded up into the ceiling beams. The tall man draped a cloth woven with designs of birds of prey over the thick timber braces across the door.

  Blackness overwhelmed the hut as the storm arrived. The interior lights receded, then expanded in harmony with the lament of the winds. Smoke was driven back down through the roof opening and into the interior, making both of them cough. It was many hours before the raging winds began to abate. The young woman sat, huddled in her blankets of fur, silently observing the tall man, chanting to himself, as he squatted in the straw not far from the stones that surrounded his fire. As the calm returned, both occupants began to relax. The young woman with the beautiful raven-coloured hair began to doze. She was tired and fell asleep.

  When she next awoke, she became aware of a stale, sour odour. It was the same smell that was apparent before. She could hear the rhythmical sound of close breathing. Then, something touched her arm. Instantly, she opened h
er eyes. Everywhere was black. The lamps had gone out.

  A large hand grabbed her wrist. She reeled back. He pulled. His grip was firm. Jenette dug her nails into the man’s flesh.

  “Minn!”

  He could feel the woman writhing and wriggling like a captured eel.

  “Yuk! You stink! Get your hands off me!”

  She tried to push his smelly body away from her.

  He laughed; a deep, cruel laugh.

  “Minne vif!”

  Large, strongly muscled arms enveloped themselves around her.

  He gripped her tighter in a python squeeze. Panic. She suddenly became aware of his intentions.

  “No! Don’t! Please, don’t!”

  She began to whimper, vulnerable and child-like.

  His fingers groped in the dark. The man tore at the remains of her ragged clothing. She had smooth, fragrant skin. She was like a goddess. He forced himself upon the terrified woman with a storm-like fury. His was the thrill of a victorious hunt: hers was the humiliation of the tortured prey.

  The tall man slept; a contented sleep. The young woman wept in silence. She had been violated.

  Shame - deep shame: Whakama!

  There was nowhere to go. No escape from her shame. No escape from the man. She was a prisoner, his prisoner. A worthless creature. Shame! Whakama! Shame!

  With the arrival of dawn the following day, the tall man awoke and went outside. He prepared the sled for its homeward journey. Inside, the young female began to stir. Hers had been a fitful sleep. She felt stiff and cold. The man returned. He pushed some kind of clothing towards her. He offered her food and drink. The food brought memories of the pikelets her mother used to make when she was small, and she wept at the thought. But such memories were now only fragments, becoming more and more fragmented as if the puzzle which represented her life were being dismantled. Would she would ever see her family again? How much longer could she keep the memories of each one alive? Instinctively, her hand felt for the carved ornament that still hung around her neck. She thought of Koro - of his love and the bond that had grown between them. Would she ever see him again, his deep brown understanding eyes, the flecks of silver-grey around his ears or hear the quiet monotonous murmur of one of the ancient songs of her ancestors, a waiata, as he sat in his old armchair outside on the porch? She was saddened by the memory, not because she had been able to recall his face but because it was difficult to remember all the little things about him, small details like the way he used to smile and the way he always used to tap his fingers on the edge of his armrest. She must not forget. She must hang on to the memory but she could feel him drifting further away like a piece of driftwood so near to the beach and then being carried away by the current. She tried so hard not forget. She looked at her ivory-coloured dragon pendant with saddened eyes. Why had it not protected her?

  The tall man stood in the doorway. He observed her, in silence. He could see the hate and fear for him in her eyes and it gave him satisfaction that he had taken control of her.

  She found him cruel and barbaric. He was hairy and unkempt and uncivilised. He stank. She lowered her eyes. She felt dirty, too, for he had taken away her self-respect.

  The man spoke to her in a commanding tone. She watched him, subdued. He revolted her, his dirty countenance, his barbaric roughness. Her eyes dropped to the floor again.

  He spoke. She could not understand his words, but she guessed that he meant her to go with him. What choice did she have?

  He stepped towards her and grunted like an angry bull. With terror, she noticed that his fingers were tightening into a fist. The tall bearded man flicked his head, indicating to her to come outside. His eyes were fierce and menacing. She took a few hesitant steps in his direction, hugging the fur wrappings closer around herself. He handed her a bundle of straw and indicated that she wrap it around her feet. Together they left the hut - the tall fair man and the young dark-haired woman with the sun-tanned skin.

  They walked at a brisk pace down the mountainside: the man pulling his fur-laden sled, and the woman struggling to keep up behind. They clambered down for about an hour and a half before the man signalled a rest. The exhausted woman collapsed onto the hard snow surface, her body shaking with the strain. The man offered her a drink.

  Nearing the lower slopes, she noticed that an extensive forest of mixed spruce, oak and birch trees lay ahead. Snow clung to drooping branches whilst calling hawks wheeled overhead, watching the bleak landscape for the slightest hint of movement from its prey. The man pulled his sled, glancing back every few minutes to make sure his woman was following. They rested once more, and this time he offered her some flat oatmeal cake. She pushed the food into her mouth, swallowing it like a hungry dog. She felt sick afterwards and wished she hadn’t eaten.

  The trees came to an abrupt end as the pair reached the valley floor. Situated beyond a bare, flat area where the snow had fallen thickly on what could have been a number of fields, was a small settlement. A low stone wall surrounded a number of wood and stone buildings, poking out of the snow like scattered rocks. Smoke rose lazily upwards from the centre of each steep roof until its narrow coils evaporated and became one with the greyness of the sky. A short distance away from the settlement was a fjord that stretched backwards like a thin pale finger and on the water’s edge she noticed several small upturned wooden boats, which she presumed were fishing vessels of one sort or the other. They had been hauled up just above the water line and lay like dark bodies of beached whales. She had seen them once: dead whales. Sad and lost, lying side by side in death along the shoreline, silently waiting for carvers to collect their jaw bones.

  The man, his sled, and his captive approached the village. Fur-clad figures appeared, waving and calling as they poured out through the gap in the wall and began jumping their way through the virgin snow. The tall man lifted his left hand and waved in return. Within a short time, the man, his sled and the woman reached the group and the outskirts of the little settlement. Others now crowded around like inquisitive cattle, pushing and jostling to get a closer look at what the tall man had brought with him. The young woman realised how much taller the tall man was for his shoulders stood well over the heads of the people who were gathering around. Several grubby children in thick leather boots and warm animal-hide clothing ran and skipped among the adults, shouting and whistling with excitement. A young man, made his way from the back of the crowd and strode forward through the gap the others had made for him. He exchanged a few words with the tall man but in a language she had never heard before. The young man grasped her by the arm and pushed her forward. Together, the two men herded her like some wild and frightened animal into the village centre.

  The settlement was quite small. The smaller dwellings were arranged haphazardly around a large central structure, which looked more like the hull of an upturned boat than a building. It was awesome looming up out of the snow like some huge rock with countless white animal skulls and bleached deer antlers which hung like icy stalactites under the dark, wide eaves. At the bow end, one of the two huge wooden doors stood open, guarding a gaping entrance from where the flicker of oil-burning lamps showed that there was life inside.

  The interior, although lit, was at first subfusc and it took several minutes before the young woman’s eyes began to make sense of its many dark shapes. At first she could only hear their voices, ghostly voices without form or substance, voices that surrounded her and intensified her fear. Then, as she was pushed more towards the centre and closer towards the glowing fire, faces began to appear, the flicker of the flames catching the whites of their eyes like a thousand moving sparks.

  The young stranger stood and looked around. She could now see some of the large and colourful woven rectangular tapestries which hung down from the high rafters above. She noticed the polished shapes of swords and spears and the dark, round shapes of wooden shields high above her head upon the walls. She noticed, too, the horn-shaped lamps, glowing orange and playing wi
th dancing shadows upon human faces that surrounded her.

  Behind the fire was a long wooden table. Four elderly men sat at it, each with a cloak edged with white fox fur. The flames caused the silver and bronze shoulder clasps to reflect a metallic light onto each of the faces, making their cheek bones stand out. One of the elders gestured that they were ready.

  The tall man, who had brought her into the village, spoke harshly and quickly, waving his huge arms wildly in the air. He was excited. Every so often, he would pause. He pointed to the young woman he had brought with him to the settlement. He held up a small white bone pendant and turned to those inside the building. There was a murmur and then one of the elders spoke a few words. The tall man had been ordered to hand over the necklace with its carved ornament.

  She could hear other voices coming out of the shadows, excited and hostile. The voices jabbered and chattered from every direction, a torrent of words hurled towards her, yet none did she understand. The young stranger in their midst appeared timid and bewildered. She felt threatened yet there was no escape. Her aching body could take no more. The last of her remaining strength ebbed away. She began to shake and sway, and then silently she slumped onto the wooden floor.