Daygo's Fury (14 page)

“This is for you,” he said. She looked down at it, her mouth parting. “May I place it on?”

She looked sheepishly at her friends, who watched with interest. “Okay,” she said. Niisa walked around to stand behind her. He waited as she unhooked the wreath she wore and passed it to her friends, until she raised her hair up from her neck, then he clipped the wreath in underneath, close to the hairline at the back of her neck. He stepped back and she let her braided hair fall down her back once more. The flowers created a beautiful frame around her shoulders and upper back and the mane of hair that hung to just above her hips. Niisa felt a sudden appreciation for its beauty, and hers. For a moment he stood still, and watched. Then he remembered his purpose, and walked back around her.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said. “I’m sorry for being rude to you the last time.”

“That’s okay,” she said meekly, raising a hand to the flowers framing her neck and turning to try to see how it looked.

“Will you pick me tonight?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He gave a small smile. “Thank you.” He stood a moment before he turned slowly and walked away, not wanting to spoil his chance, knowing he would have a full hour to quiz her that night when she would have no escape from him.

******

Emeka stayed true to her word. That night she placed a stick into Niisa’s palm. Minutes later he took her hand in his and led her to a fire where they could privately get to know one another. He bided his time. He enquired after her family and her tribe. Then he asked after her friends. Then he asked her if she missed Namuso. She quietened.

“Were you good friends?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Niisa waited. “You do not like to talk about him,” he ventured, when it seemed she would say no more.

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just …” she glanced at him and stopped. “I do miss him,” she said. “He … we used to play together all the time. He didn’t want to go, in the end. He said at the start he did, but then when he realised … he was …”

“He had no choice?”

“No. Once the priest was sure that he was not lying. It’s the law. You can’t refuse Daygo’s call.”

“Daygo’s call?”

She nodded and looked up at him. “The Abashabi …?”

He shook his head. “We never talk about the priests at home. Your chief’s brother was taken?”

“Yes.”

It seemed to Niisa, by her words, that there was some connection between this and why the Abashabi rarely spoke of the priests. She said it as though it were obvious, but Niisa was not sure what the significance was.

“Why did he not just say that he did not sense anything?”

“Because they made us all eat pacroot before the testing.”

Niisa leaned forward intently. He noticed her eyes flicker towards him, so he made himself sit back a little again and pretended that he was just adjusting his place. “It makes you honest,” she continued. “And hazy and relaxed.”

“Pacroot? My father never mentioned this to me.”

“That is because your chief will not allow it.”

Niisa looked at her. His heart beat furiously. Why the pacroot? Was it just for honesty?

“Did the priest say why it is used?”

“He said that it helped you to see Daygo. That you needed to become separate from yourself in order to see.”

Niisa thought back to the first night at the gathering. He had lost himself to music and dance, he had lost his sense of self, and once that returned, his vision was gone. It made sense now that he saw nothing in the countless animals he had examined over the past few days. He was too caught up in what he was doing.

He forced himself to bring his attention back to Emeka, knowing that this was his last chance to question her.

He tried to remain subtle as he continued their conversation, allowing it at times to diversify, but still he started to feel a reluctance from Emeka to talk about Namuso and the priests any longer. In any case, it appeared as though she had no more information to offer him, and his mind started to wander. The drums came to signal the end of their time together.

“Thank you,” Niisa said, standing. She glanced at him and said nothing. He stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and together they walked back to the main fire. He noticed that she held her hand slightly out from her body and open, so he took it in his. They glanced at each other at the fire and separated.

The second dance commenced. Both Emeka and Niisa were required to choose someone new. Niisa tried to maintain a level of politeness through the next hour with the Maschascha girl that he shared a fire with, but it frequently fell to protracted silences. On occasion he steered the conversation towards the priests and the testing, but she had little to contribute to what he already knew. His mind frequently wandered. It made sense to him, what he had learned. Of course a person needed to achieve some level of separation from the self to commune with Daygo; how else could it be achieved? It was frustrating that he had not figured it out for himself over the preceding days, for it was something that he had already learned through meditation and stillness and the vibrational rhythm of dance and song. It was in those moments that he felt most connected to the world around him. But only once had he sensed it, only once had he achieved the commune. After the wedding ceremony of the following night, they would for the second and last time of this gathering perform the Ijo dance. He had to pass the test that night, so that if he failed when the priest came, he would know enough to be able to answer his questions and gain admittance into their tribe.

The final drums of the night sounded. He bade farewell to Tapiwa and wandered into the night. He found a comfortable seat and settled himself. He had close to a full day to prepare himself for the dance.

******

The next day was the second hunt of the gathering, and Niisa was forced to attend. They wanted an abundance of meat for the marriage feast later that day, after sixteen new couples would be declared a union. Some time after the feast and the drink, they would dance once more in the Ijo and feel the attachment to Daygo and all things, to celebrate life in its freest form.

Close to three hundred tribesmen attended the hunt, far too large a number to hunt together. They split into four groups, and each took a corner of the forest. The men had spent much of the gathering proclaiming their prowess in the hunt, and they were eager and excited at the chance to prove themselves. Today the hunt was an exhibition of skill, not the daily necessity it was the rest of the year. But to Niisa it held little interest. His own nerves worried him, and he feared the vast need he felt to succeed threatened to push him towards failure.

He trailed his uncle meekly and spent his time holding his mind open to balance and equilibrium. The noise upon their return was almost a constant, happy roar as the tribesmen slowly trickled back. They called out hasty questions and results to one another amidst high-pitched exclamations of triumph and disappointment. There were protestations of near misses and stories of valour and skill to accompany the upraised trophies that lent proof to their claimed exploits. Many eager and hopeful faces fell crunched to the bitterness of defeat while others flushed brightly in the joy of triumph. Alone among them all, Niisa’s stayed flat and neutral. His calm remained.

There was an hour’s rest before the wedding ceremonies began.

The sixteen couples were married together in the centre of the Rutendon. They stood in a line two steps apart from each other while the nine tribal chiefs stood spaced before them. The chiefs oversaw the marriage ritual, taking turns to say the appointed lines. The nine tribes sat cross-legged in an ever-expanding oval around them, in still silence. Amongst the even recitations of the priests could be heard the blowing of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the gentle swaying of the trees that cascaded over hours of forest, up and down the hills and mountains and valleys, distant monkeys and cats, nearby birds, the creeping of ants and insects, spiders and flies, the wasps and the bees, the disturbances in the earth of moles, rats, mice, capybaras, the gentle hiss of a snake along the outskirts of the clearing; the sun itself seemed to leave a gentle, silent noise on their skin. The blue sky seemed to bless their quiet, the infinite space above them opened up to it. The moons dispersed, distant and meek. All was blessed, bright, holy.

When the recitations were over, the sixteen couples bent to their knees and opened their arms wide to the world, gently interlocking their fingers where their hands met. The chiefs’ knelt too, silent.

Slowly, as though connected by some common feeling, the tribes began to shuffle and rustle, and then whistle and slap hands to thighs and then cry out and roar until all of the Rutendon erupted in celebratory noise. And then parents and families of the joined stood to offer their congratulations. Some more rushed to light fires and cook the hunt and open sacks of cauim to pass out and drink.

Niisa rose alongside his family as everyone in all the tribes seemed to turn instantly outwards, chatting, laughing and embracing, leaving Niisa standing still, alone within the largest crowd he had ever known. He stared straight ahead, holding to silence as all about him descended into chaotic noise. He was not alone. He was the only one there that was not alone. He would attune to the all-thing. He would bathe in the Daygo stream.

Chiko turned to him and embraced him. “I am glad I gave you the wreath,” she announced. Then, as she normally did, she skipped to the next place of her attention.

He moved with his family, almost by instinct staying close to them, close enough to be associated without drawing attention. If he became separated, he would raise eyebrows and invite conversation. The best way to escape attention was to be the shy part of a group, the part that the eye skipped over. A single entity, alone, only caused notice. He had always been single, on his own, but it would not be like that anymore, he would be greater than all of them combined. He would be part of the all-thing. Daygo was his home.

His parents fell into conversation with Emeka’s. Emeka herself stood slightly apart with her friends. They chatted but she seemed distracted. She looked in his direction. She seemed shy as she gave a small smile. Niisa looked over her blankly. Niisa’s parents glanced back at him a couple of times. Her parents glanced at her. They looked at him. The smallest frown was on her mother’s face. Niisa turned his face, as if he was simply unaware of their attention, just shy and distracted.

His parents were in fine form as they clasped hands, said “hi” to Emeka and the girls and wandered slowly onwards towards the sixteen couples. Chiko became lost and found as she darted between the maze of people, laughing and smiling and playing with other girls, playing small tricks on men and women who smiled down at her and laughed.

They made their way through the throng of people and eventually gave their congratulations to the newly-married couples. The feast was already underway; everything that the forest had to offer was cooking over nine fires. They wandered and ate different pieces and drank from sacks of cauim, never staying too long over any fire, sometimes tending to one for a time, ensuring the food did not burn. They would start the Ijo full and drunk. Niisa ate sparingly. After a time, he drifted away from the rest. He found an uninhabited hut and sat inside its doorway.

His heart seemed to want to beat from his chest, but he forced himself to remain gentle within, to keep calm. The first round of drums sounded. It was almost time.

The drums were beating solidly when he slowly came out of the trance he had fallen into. He rose to his feet. It was time. He strode from the hut. The noise had become drunken. People danced where they stood. Men pissed where they should not and some women did the same. More twirled, more kissed. This was the night of celebration, where the gathering became feral. Many called out to him, but he walked slowly past them.

“Niisa,” cried his mother, stepping in front of him, clearly drunk. “My boy.” His father strolled drunkenly some steps behind her. “How did you fair with Emeka last night?” She smiled down at him. “I hear you did good.”

“Niisa!” his father announced, almost stumbling into Fumnaya. “Your sister,” he panted. “She is drunk. We had to carry her back.”

Fumnaya leaned into her husband. “Poor Chiko. She is such a good girl.” She smiled at Niisa and reached out a hand, passing it through his hair. “She got too excited.”

“I must go to the Ijo,” said Niisa.

“Of course,” proclaimed his father, smiling. He turned and waved a hand to the glowing fire at his back. “Dance like the wind!” Niisa walked past them. The press of people was thickening. The noise gained some rhythm, and Niisa began to move with it, slowly.

The dance started slowly, but it built and built. The throng of people grew, the space began to compress, bodies encroaching upon one another. The beating of drums, the singing, the whistling, the rattling of orin sticks; random, disjointed, assorted, slowly developed towards rhythm, slowly joined, slowly found commonality. The movement, brash and erratic, improvised and considered, slowly started to meld towards the one, to enact from some felt purpose, an unseen direction emitted from the very air itself. Niisa fell into it, collapsing, drifting away, disintegrating from himself to a meshed piece of a whole. He danced. He sang. He moved. He lived.