The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels (8 page)

“I wonder if it was Furious Lion? I couldn’t tell of course, at that distance. What
fun
he must be having!”

She Who Names The Women was fastening her shells.

“It’s pleasant to think of them enjoying themselves. I only hope they haven’t forgotten what they went out for! Well. I’ll come up with you and have a look. Lead the way.”

Again the woman in labour hooted like an owl. Not too long now, thought Palm. I hope——

Minnow stood by the boiling spring, one hand shading her eyes. Her breathing had not changed.

“There. See the big tree, Palm, with the one bare branch at the top? Well, just where it comes out of the leaves—can’t you see him?”

“No, I can’t,” said Palm. “But if they’ve gone as far as that, they’ll be bound for a long trip. You need not watch any more. Just come up here at sunset and spot their camp fire.”

Minnow turned and looked shyly at her.

“What would happen if they—well. If they found out?”

“They won’t.”

Palm looked down at the Lodge of the Leopard Men. It was open to the sky and so open to examination from the high point by the boiling water. The rows of leopard skulls gleamed in the sun. She smiled and the smile turned into a long peal of laughter. Minnow began to laugh too. They were sisters, and of the same age while the laugh lasted.

Palm fell silent first.

“We shall do nothing, of course, until the child is born. And even then, only if the child is—is named.”

Minnow went solemn.

“I understand.”

Palm smiled, loving her solemnity. She leant forward and kissed her lightly on the lips so that the girl flushed and swayed back and caught her breath. Then Palm turned and began her way down, her breathing easy at the descent, her body swaying gracefully, hands out on either side. The walls of the Lodge of the Leopard Men rose up and hid the gleaming skulls. This time, she thought, I shall be careful! I shall drink hardly anything at all! But at that, as if her thoughts had pulled the thing out of the air, the image of a coconut shell full of dark liquid hung before her, vivid in every detail. She could even smell the stuff, so that she flushed and caught her breath as Minnow had done. It is in me, she thought, I am not like the others. I was born with it; and no Namer Of Women could look into me and see this, this——

The ancient Leopard Man no longer lay sprawled against the rocks. The children slept. Palm stood in the open space where the children had been, graceful and gracious; and smiling sweetly.

At the top of the naked bough that thrust up from the big tree, there was a nest of sticks. Bits of food hung in the sticks—skin, fur. A handful of red feathers fluttered at the edge. The Leopard Man who was shinning up the naked bough was hardly more covered than the bough itself except that he wore a narrow strip of hide round his waist and a close bag of it between his legs. The other Leopard Men stood round the tree in groups, looking upward over the crown of leaves and laughing. Each time Forest Fire slipped back down the bough at immediate risk to his neck, they shouted with a laughter that was total. They held on to each other, went wet-eyed and weak-knee’d. But when he tried again, this time more slowly and carefully and seemed to ooze up with a snakelike movement they fell silent and motionless, looking up. They stood elegantly, their spears with their fire-hardened points cradled in the crook of an arm. Some of the Leopard Men were not much more than boys, but most were slim young men of light brown, or seemed to be. There was little to tell their age. The elders among them could only be recognized by the streaks of grey in their hair. If they carried more weapons, more ornaments, more miscellaneous objects than Forest Fire oozing up his bough, nevertheless, they were substantially as naked as he—keen-faced men, unlined but scarred, with dark eyes and eyebrows and hair and dusty, naked feet. Their beards were no more than dark smudges on lip and chin.

Forest Fire was just under the nest. He took both hands from the bough, gripping it with his thighs and shins and insteps, and leaned backwards in the air, reaching out for the red feathers. The Leopard Men changed position in one lissom movement, miming attention and excitement.

“Ah——!”

Forest Fire grabbed the red feathers and thrust them into his belt. The Leopard Men opened their mouths to cheer—but instead, a scream came searing down the sky with talons and huge beak and a whirl of wings and feathers. Instantly there was a flurry of brown limbs and feathers at the top of the bough under the nest, there were feathers flying and blood. Then there was silence. Forest Fire, his face contorted, was twisting strongly with both hands. The bright blood slithered over him. He was a place of red snakes. He shouted aloud, and hurled the dead thing down into the crown of the tree. The Leopard Men laughed and slapped their thighs and hurried to the tree bole. Forest Fire slid down, clambered and shouted. Twigs, leaves and lichen came down before him. He swung, then dropped the last ten feet and was enveloped by his peers. The youths and elders stood round in a circle beaming with pleasure. The young men embraced and kissed him, careless of the blood or sharing it. There was laughter and chatter. Forest Fire broke away and chattered most of all.

“A scarlet feather for Furious Lion!”

“For me? Dear friend!”

“A scarlet feather for Rutting Rhino!”

“Best of men!”

“A scarlet feather for Stooping Eagle!”

“Sweetheart!”

Forest Fire was jerked under his blood, with effort and excitement. As they patted and kissed him, or thumped him on the back, he fell silent, feeling at his belt, then looking at his empty hands. His cheeks uncreased round his mouth which stayed open. He stared down to where his weapons and ornaments lay on the bare earth under the tree. He gritted his teeth. He snatched up his spear and hurled it at the bole.

“No scarlet feather for Forest Fire!”

He burst into tears.

At once, the other young men closed round him, singing and talking soothingly. Forest Fire sniffed and gulped. Furious Lion put an arm round his neck and kissed him and pressed the red feather into his hand.

“Look, Forest Fire, here is a scarlet feather for you!”

“No, no! I don’t want it!”

“And here is another red feather for you——”

‘‘And another–

“I wanted you to have them. When I saw them, I said there are feathers for Furious Lion, and Rutting Rhino and Stooping Eagle——”

“Forest Fire hangs the scarlet berries round his throat——”

“Forest Fire hangs the scarlet berries round his ankles——”

“Scarlet feathers for Forest Fire!”

“I couldn’t. Not now. Oh, do you really think so?”

“Bend your head down a little——”

“You’re sure? You’re not doing it just because I was so silly and weepy?”

“All three of them, straight up in front, I think. There!”

Forest Fire shook, and laughed through his tears. He bent down, put red berries round his neck, fastened, on anklets of red berries. Stooping Eagle took the instrument with three strings from where it hung over his shoulder and began to strum.

Forest Fire leapt into the air. He began to run, leap, swoop, fly round the bare earth beneath the big tree. His arms were out and made wing movements.

“Look at me! I can fly!”

“And I can fly!”

“And I!”

Forest Fire stood, bouncing up and down, arms out.

“Look at me! I’m a beautiful bird!”

“He’s a beautiful bird!”

“I’m a beautiful bird! See me! Hear me! Love me! I’m a beautiful bird!”

He swooped and flew to the Elder of Elders.

“Beautiful Bird?”

The Elder of Elders looked round with a stern face. He lifted his spear. There was much stately lifting of spears. There was silence. The Elder of Elders looked down. Forest Fire knelt. The Elder of Elders lowered his spear till it lay on Forest Fire’s shoulder.

“Beautiful Bird.”

Beautiful Bird stood up beaming, he shed a happy tear, he laughed. Stooping Eagle put an arm round his shoulder and kissed him.

In the silence there was a faint chattering. The Leopard Men swung as one, staring into the tall grass of the plain. The chattering came close, the grass moved, the chimps were coming back to the shade of their tree. The young ones broke into view and screamed. The mothers with young huddled back into the grass. The young chimps jumped up and down and showed their teeth. The Leopard Men stood sideways, leaning back on a foot. They stared in profile, chins up. The Boss Chimp rose, head and shoulders out of the grass. He bared his teeth and snarled. The Leopard Men laughed and jeered and made throwing motions with their spears. The Boss Chimp jumped up and down, snarling and beating the earth with his paws. The youths imitated him, laughing. Only the elders stood still, spears gracefully cradled, lips bent in a tolerant smile. The Boss Chimp stopped jumping up and down. He stood up on his hind feet, slowly and clumsily. He turned clumsily. Slowly and clumsily he laboured away, upright through the long grass. Only when it rose to his shoulders did he drop on all fours and lollop after his charges, out of sight.

When the chimps had gone the Leopard Men relaxed, singing and laughing. The Elder of Elders examined the sun-shadow he stood on which was not much longer than his foot. He stretched and yawned a huge yawn. The other men began to yawn too and move towards the bole of the big tree. They talked all at once but paid little heed to what anyone else said.

It was not speech that Palm or Minnow would have bothered to understand. They would have recognized, being women, that it was not useful speech. It was no more than an expression of an emotional state, so that in that sense, each Leopard Man was talking or singing to himself. Mime of the body, song of the throat, it was a communication at once total and imprecise as the minds that lay behind it. It conveyed contempt of the chimps, pleasure in the thought of sleep and love—love as unselfconscious as the sleep. One laid down his three-stringed bow, one his hand drum. They put off weapons so that there was a scattered jumble before the splayed roots. They snuggled, old and young together into the natural rest places between the roots so that the trunk seemed to grow a frill of brown skin and sliding muscles. The dappled shade shifted over them. The singing became a crooning, murmuring sound as they hugged and cuddled and made love. There was much stroking and intimate sharing till heat and satisfaction sunk them towards sleep.

But not all slept. There was a young man who had not crept into the mass of skin and togetherness. Nor, if it comes to that, had he avoided it. There were rest places on the other side of the tree but he had not gone to them. He sat instead, at the edge of the sleepers, where their feet reached. His knees were up to his chin and he glanced sideways, every now and then, without speaking. All the time, his hand caressed his ankle. There was a thick callous of skin on the bone, and a long bruise on the side of his foot under it. Sometimes he stroked the bruise, sometimes he picked at the callous; and his eyes looked from one face to another as the hunters made love or sank openmouthed and snoring, towards sleep. Once, the young man put his smudgy beard and moustache down on his knees and shut his eyes; but he soon lifted them again and stole glances sideways at the others.

Beautiful Bird was snuggled against a youth who lay in the crook of his arm. Beautiful Bird opened sleepy eyes, saw the young man with the callous and grinned. Sleepily he put out his tongue. He filled his chest with air and sang, but softly.

“Charging Elephant Fell On His Face In Front Of An Antelope!”

The sleepy mass heaved, chuckled, giggled; but softly, as at a joke well-worn. The boy by Beautiful Bird grinned at the young man with the callous then snuggled closer to his lover. Beautiful Bird, his eyes shut, but the grin still on his face, put out his tongue.

Charging Elephant looked away and took his hand from his calloused ankle. He said nothing. He stared down over his knees at all the gear scattered on the bare earth. He inspected the drum and the three-string bow glumly, looked at the white bone flute laid before his feet. He reached down, took it up and placed it to his lips. He pursed his lips to blow, glanced sideways at the Elder of Elders, then slowly put the flute down again. Behind him, a voice whispered and he could not see which hunter it was.

“Charging Elephant Fell On His Face In Front Of An Antelope——”

Charging Elephant began to talk, urgently.

“There was a stone—the branch is bent, the root twisted but not broken—See!”

He leapt to his feet and immediately lurched sideways as his ankle gave. He came down sickeningly on the calloused bone, gritted his teeth, and began to walk up and down before the other Leopard Men, clumsily. The youth who lay in the Elder of Elder’s bosom unbroke his voice for a moment and squeaked in delight——

“Chimp!”

The Elder of Elders jerked up, struck the youth a fierce smack on his backside so that the boy yelled at the top of his voice for the pain. But there was noise from the young men too—snorts and gurgles, there were heaving chests and shaking shoulders. There was another fierce smack and wail from the other side of the group; slowly the noise and movement died away to be interrupted every now and then by a fresh snort or gurgle—and once, by an outright guffaw.

Chimp stood still, wearing his new name. A flush swept up under his brown skin, paled, then came flooding back again. He bent his knees, little by little, and felt with his hands for the place where he would sit, without looking for it. He squatted. His mouth was dropped open, his eyes and his nostrils wide. His face stayed dusky red.

The sun moved over the tree and down, the shadow of the leaves crept back towards the bole. Chimp squatted where he was and did not sleep. The red had faded from his face but he did not lay his cheek down on his knees. Instead, he looked bleakly across the plain.

Mountains surrounded the plain on all sides. Here and there were white patches against their light blue. Lower down the blue changed to dark blue, then blue and brown. Below that again was the green of the forested foothills, but Chimp looked through it all. Only when a black storm crept into view, crawling along the mountains on his left, did he watch it and fumble for his flute. But after a moment he let the flute alone and watched the storm cloud without expression. It was so far away it passed like a snail along the mountains. Where it passed, there were flashes and dazzles lower down so that the stormcloud left a glittering snail trail behind it. He watched the cloud drag its smears of falling rain right out of sight; and his own eyes were full of tears so that the plain and the foothills swam.

The sunlight moved inward. A casual breeze elected to drift their way so that the big tree stirred its leaves, woke, roared and was silent again. The Leopard Men began to wake too. They yawned and stretched, and licked furred lips. They stood up and collected a miscellany of things. The Elder of Elders refastened the strings of blown eggshells round his neck. Chimp thrust his flute through his belt. Stooping Eagle smoothed the strings of a bolas with his fingers and inspected the stones, as if lying there, they might have changed while he slept. No one smiled or laughed.

The Elder of Elders had finished with his gear. He waited, frowning and staring round, as the others fixed pouches and shoulder bags and tightened the strings of their loinguards. When all were done and waiting, he stood for a while, his ear cocked at the plain. He laid a finger to his lips and pointed with his spear. Soundlessly, youths, young men, elders, the Leopard Men crept forward through the long grass of the plain.

Droves of animals were grazing over it, knee or shoulder deep in grass. Here and there, between the herds, thorn bushes, termite cities or huge trees like the one they had slept under broke the expanse; but otherwise, it was flat grassland, that washed right up to the forests of the foothills. The Leopard Men entered this plain in single file along a narrow trail that animals had made. They went at the exact speed that threatened no creature. Firefly led the way, crouched and keen. When he reached a point where there were herds on three sides of them, the file stopped as one man. Even Chimp stopped, though by now he was a little way behind the others. The Elder of Elders stared round, saw not only what grazed where, but examined each animal in turn, fat, thin, old, young, healthy, diseased, male, female. Zebras, wild cattle, antelopes, gazelles, rhinos—he saw them all, and knew how they lay, between the invisible ravines with their puddles and their cliffs of clay. He saw, he knew what animal might be trapped against the edge of a cliff or driven over it. So when he turned to his left, the whole file turned and faced the nearer foothill, remembering the dry ravine that lay between it and them. It was a delicate balance, this inserting of a group of men into those societies to a point where a single animal might be cut out. Softly they moved when the Elder moved, aiming without conscious thought, yet nevertheless aiming for the exact point which threatened no herd in particular. Between them and the ravine were three separate droves—but also intermingled at the edges—droves of cattle, zebras, gazelles. As the Leopard Men moved, the margin for error became smaller. Animals on watch lifted their heads and stood at gaze. The expertise was to find a way at which the lookouts would wonder and watch, without knowing which herd was threatened—be wary but not frightened. This wariness was as yet no more than a slight intensification of the normal state of dread. So the herds began to move, grazing slowly into comfortable areas where the threat would be small enough to be ignored. The zebras moved to the left, the cattle to the right. The gazelles, willing to go with neither, moved a little farther off towards the edge of the ravine. The hunters stopped moving. There were many animals in front of them—animals that would escape past, as water escapes from cupped fingers, leaving no more than a drop in the palm. For the hunters were at least ten paces apart; and if the last animal did not leap into space over the edge of the ravine, it could burst between them. That was why each hunter was now hefting his spear gently in the palm of his right hand—why each left hand felt at the strings of the bolas hanging at each belt. It would be a desperate moment when the last animal obeyed nothing but terror. If it should choose to fly through or over the line, there would be a moment of screams and shouts, of whirling bolases and spears with points of fire-hardened wood but stone-weighted, bolas stones whirling in planetary movement at the ends of their strings. An eye might go, or teeth. There might be a broken arm or leg, or even a smashed skull. Then, with skill and some luck‚ there would be a kicking hysterical thing threshing about in the grass and a line of light brown men closing in on it.