Zamimolo’s Story, 50,000 BC Page 11

  “Keep holding it tight like that until you and Mechalu come to his hut after you’re joined. When he asks for it, release it.”

  “I will,” Olomaru-mia promised.

  Ahma left the hut and let the Chief know the joining could begin. She noticed that food had been placed on servers at the edge of the fire circle. The Nola Nola had prepared to feast well and celebrate this night. The Chief told her to bring Olomaru-mia.

  Finally, Mechalu and Olomaru-mia stood face-to-face in front of the Chief. All the Nola Nola stood attentive, watching the two join.

  Chief Uvela said, “Mechalu, have you discussed with Olomaru-mia the meaning of joining in the Nola Nola tradition?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Mechalu, in front of the Creator of All, do you join with this woman, Olomaru-mia, until death?”

  Mechalu replied, “Yes.”

  The Chief said, “Olomaru-mia, in front of the Creator of All, do you join with this man, Mechalu, until death?”

  “Yes,” she replied keeping her eyes downcast.

  The Chief said, “You are joined. You are free to leave for your hut to feast upon each other while the rest of us feast on the bounty of this land.”

  Mechalu put his arm around Olomaru-mia and led her to a fairly large hut with a skin flap dropped down across the entryway. Sure enough, a very old woman sat just inside the entryway. Her face was downturned and she appeared asleep, but Mechalu knew his grandmother was anything but asleep. He knew he’d better do everything exactly as he should or everyone in the village would know about it and tease him.

  Mechalu stood behind Olomaru-mia. “I’ve got the cape, Olomaru-mia. Let your grip on it go, now, so I can remove it.”

  Olomaru-mia released the cape. Mechalu took it from her shoulders and laid it carefully on the skin on the floor. He knew exactly how to fold the cape. Carefully, he folded it, knelt beside it, and rolled the skin to protect the cape. He returned to her and turned her towards him. He stood there for quite a while looking at first one part of her and then another as fire light played on her white skin. He smiled to himself when he realized what a painting his mother had done. He wondered whether all paintings were the same.

  “Olomaru-mia, my wife,” he said with tremendous emotion.

  She looked directly into his eyes and said, “Mechalu, my husband.”

  He led her to the bed made from the furred skin of a young sloth. The furred skin rested on sand. There were some soft hair-free skins tossed on the bed. Mechalu bent down, circled her in his arms, and kissed her gently. He pointed to the bed and she stepped onto the furred skin. Mechalu removed his clothing and joined her. They spent much time kissing until he finally broke free and began to remove the dots from her forehead. The rule was to start at the top and work down. While removing the dots, his hands caressed her in every place he could reach where there were no dots. With extreme care, he followed the rules. After Mechalu removed the dots from her face and arms, he pulled her down on the furry skin. The dots, Olomaru-mia discovered quickly, didn’t remove with great ease. She began to wonder how long this would take. Quickly she reasoned that the question was not a reasonable one. She gave herself over to the event. She felt herself responding and did not attempt to check responses in any way. She was now joined. She must, therefore, be joined, she reasoned. She let herself flow with the flames of passion that were being set and fanned, generously contributing flames of her own.

  The next day villagers smiled at Mechalu and Olomaru-mia. The word was out. The old grandmother wished her joining night had been like that one.

  Chapter 3

  It was well past high sun when the huge dugout boats made their way from the coast up the inlet that Linpint pointed out as the one they traveled to make their first camp. They beached on the sand and Zamimolo and Linpint looked about. They finally found what they sought—a pile of rocks near the last camp. It pointed north.

  At the same time atop the well-secured hill north of the boat arrivals, the People had been following the advance of these strangers since they spotted them.

  Zamimolo and Linpint rushed to find a suitable place to set three fires in what would appear to be a straight line, running east to west, each fire separately visible to any viewers from the north. The young men didn’t know exactly where the People were, but they knew that hunters would monitor the last camp watching for their return. He explained to those traveling with them that they needed to set signal fires to assure the People recognized them.

  Chief Paaku looked at Linpint and asked, “What can we do to expedite making the signal?” Framed by the sunset from Linpint’s perspective, the Chief was an imposing bronzed, well-fleshed figure. His hair was cut so straight at the bottom, level with the lobe of his ears, that it paralleled the horizon. He was a man of few words, efficient, yet acutely aware of what was best for his people. He was as much a part of this land as the night bugs, the day birds and monkeys, and the strange large animals, Linpint thought.

  “We need to gather materials that will burn,” Linpint replied. We need to create a working ember so we can start the fire in the east first, and from that one, the other fires. Zamimolo and I will draw circles in the sand and if the Kapotonok will gather dry wood and reeds to place in the circles, we would be grateful.”

  “We have an ember,” Chief Paaku said quietly, surprised that anyone would think to travel anywhere without one, but revealing no thoughts whatever by his facial expressions. “Kapotonok,” he called in a loud voice, “We need material for three fires. Please look for dry wood and reeds to put in the circles Zamimolo and Linpint will draw. Let’s do this quickly.”

  To Linpint and Zamimolo’s amazement, all scattered for the task, even the people who brought them to this place in the boats helped. The women participated. Suddenly they both found themselves showing people where to put the materials that would burn. Before dark they had materials that would burn well and be visible from a distance.

  On the hilltop the Wise One, called out, “Are all People now in safety?”

  Golmid replied, “All are here except Rustumarin, Grakumashi, Colitoba, and Uilo. They went to gather shellfish. Numing has run to bring them to safety.”

  “Thank you, Golmid. Let us continue to assure quiet. Keep children silent.” The Wise One pulled a furred skin around his shoulders. He had chilled easier recently and often went about wearing a skin around his shoulders. He tied it with the short leather tie that went through holes in the skin. He returned to the southern observation point after checking to be sure the other observation points were manned.

  Children heeded the warning about silence without question. They knew the loss of Olomaru-mia. They went to sheltered areas to watch the adults. They could see the tension and smell the fear. There were no infants or very young children among these immigrants yet.

  Grakumashi, Rustumarin, Uilo, and Colitoba quietly ascended the mountain carrying their shellfish. The sun had almost vanished below the horizon. The women went to the gathering place and the men went to the southern observation point.

  “Anything new down there?” Rustumarin asked.

  “Look,” Tokatumeta said in a hushed voice. “It looks like they’re starting a fire.”

  As they looked, a second fire began far enough to the right that the fires would not be seen as part of a single fire. Then a third one.

  “Linpint and Zamimolo!” Rustumarin shouted. “Golmid, Grakumashi, Jup, come with me to welcome them.”

  The four men took torches and carefully wended their way down the mountain on the north side. They rounded the hill and headed straight for the fires.

  Back on the hill the women were racing about to put together food to feed numbers of people. They had an idea that their numbers had almost doubled.

  “Look,” Zamimolo shouted from fireside. “They are coming!”

  “Your people have sent men to come for us?” Chief Paaku asked.

  “Yes. They will be here soon and then we can foll
ow them to where they live. They will probably have food ready for us by the time we arrive.”

  The four men walked boldly into the camp, the fires waning, since there was no longer a need for them. Men and women were already covering the fires with sand. Zamimolo and Linpint’s People hugged their two men in greeting. Golmid’s face fell as he realized that Olomaru-mia was not with the men. He had hoped to see his daughter again, despite warnings from the Wise One that he’d not see her again. He had to comfort himself with the Wise One’s assurance that her life was good. Zamimolo introduced the People to those he brought with him.

  “We invite all of you to our home,” Rustumarin said. “Please follow us.” The group followed the People to the mountain and up the winding path that ascended it to the top.

  The Wise One was the first to greet the strangers at their mountaintop home. “Thank you for accompanying Zamimolo and Linpint. Each of you is welcome. Please, place your spears against the wall here. We will prepare food for your bellies and water to quench your thirst. After you are comfortable, we will talk. The girls here will show you where to sit at our gathering place.” With minimum noise or confusion, all strangers were seated in an internal ring in the gathering place, and young girls of the People served the group. Only very quiet talk occurred during the meal. Slowly, stars began to appear in the dark sky and the noise of the forest and lowland, muted as it was by distance, rose as a comforting sound. A couple of tree frogs had made their home near the living area of the cave, so their calls were very loud. Some adults assumed the children had brought them to the caves, because they were interested to know more about them. The People had learned that as long as the night noise was there, the noisemakers were not alarmed at a change in the environment. Silence became the new alarm for the People. As the group finished eating, young girls showed the guests how to dispose of their remaining food and rinse out and drain bowls. Since there were not enough bowls to go around, young girls and boys had to wait until bowls were washed and available for them to use to eat. They viewed this wait as a way to show hospitality and graciousness to the visitors. Sometimes young ones would fight over the honor of giving up a bowl to a visitor.

  When all had eaten, the Wise One took his seat at the head of the group. Chief Paaku was surprised to see an ancient one with a leather loincloth and a skin wrapped around his shoulders lead the People. Usually their leaders were among the fittest, able to lead hunters in war when needed.

  “We welcome you to our food and fire. We are part of a larger People most of whom remain back across the western sea, where the land is not as warm as it is in this place. Some of us decided to move here to make a life where it is not so cold and where food is plentiful. We wish to live at peace with our neighbors. We are interested to know what brings you here. Whoever will speak, let him sit here,” the Wise One pointed to a place to his right side.

  Chief Paaku stood, claiming the place. The Wise One stood facing the Chief and held up both hands out from his own face palms outward. It signified that he was unarmed. The Chief put both of his palms against the palms of the Wise One. He and the Wise One both lowered their heads. Then the Chief stepped back and seated himself.

  He turned and looked back at the Wise One. The Wise One nodded, and the Chief began. “I am Chief Paaku of the Northern Kapotonok. We came to this land at the beginning of time from the lands to the west from where you came, then to islands between the lands, and then here. We have lived here so long that only a few of our old land stories remain.”

  “We met Zamimolo and Linpint when they tended our wounded hunters and notified us of the death of one of them. They are good men and we are fortunate to know them. When we learned that Zamimolo was pursuing an abducted girl with help from Linpint, our Wise Man made it clear that the girl had already joined her abductor. He assured Zamimolo that her life would be good. As with our Kapotonok, it seems that the People also take joining seriously as a sacred act, not to be overturned for any reason.”

  “We offered to travel here to return Zamimolo and Linpint that they may live their lives well, and we came with the hope of finding wives and husbands for our young people. I have Lomah of the southern part of the Kapotonok,” he held his hand towards her and she lowered her head. “She and Linpint plan to join, if they can secure your permission. Then, there is Kumoha of the southern part of the Kapotonok,” he motioned to Kumoha who lowered her head, “who seeks a husband and Dop of the southern part of the Kapotonok,” Dop lowered his head, “who seeks a wife. I have brought two of my children, Ba and Kolpatin,” he motioned towards them. “Ba seeks a husband and Kolpatin, a wife.”

  “We want to live in peace with you. We also want to make available to you, if you are interested, the means by which we communicate through distance. I will not discuss the drums now. Take time to discuss this with Linpint and Zamimolo to see whether your People would find this to your advantage. Then we will talk on this further. While we are here, if there are questions about this land, we will be glad to share our knowledge of the land, the animals, and the people who live here. Whatever help we can provide, we will do so gladly. We come in peace and hope to establish an agreement to live in peace with you.” The Chief remained quiet.

  “That is all you have to say?” The Wise One asked.

  “Yes. That is all I have to say.”

  “We need time to use our mind webs to consider your offers. For the rest of this night we can get to know one another. Let us visit for a few days and then talk again of these things. We will have music.”

  Tokatumeta brought his drum and Uilo her flute. Meninkua brought her ancient eagles-beak rattles. Tokatumeta began and the others joined. The Chief was delighted. The music was in rhythm with the sea and it reached him at an emotional level, surprising him. He had thought these people were somewhat backwards, yet their music was expertly timed and exquisite.

  Olomaru-mia opened her eyes and realized there was new light of the day visible through the smoke hole. The scent of newly cut wood from which their hut was constructed stung her nostrils in a way she enjoyed. The astringent nature of the scent made her think of cleanliness. It certainly seemed to deter the accumulation of biting insects. She rolled over to her right and realized Mechalu was not there. She hadn’t noticed his going out. She smiled. How she had hated him in the beginning. Now, she had to admit, she really had grown to love him. She still had bouts of conscience where she felt as if she betrayed Zamimolo. Olomaru-mia was comforted that somehow the Wise One would calm Zamimolo’s concerns and make him know that she was well cared for and had joined another. Zamimolo would find a wife, Olomaru-mia felt certain, and she had to adjust to the demands of the winds of change. Mechalu had repeated he’d be a good husband, and he had kept his word. Olomaru-mia already suspected that she might be carrying a child. The very idea brought waves of joy to surround her with warmth. For many cycles of the four seasons, she and Zamimolo had dreamed of having many children. Perhaps, she would realize that dream, although with another. She ran her hands across her belly. How she hoped her suspicion was accurate.

  Olomaru-mia raised up on an elbow, kneeled, stood, and reached for her tunic. She slipped it over her head. It was becoming too short. Women of the Nola Nola only wore short skirts, but Olomaru-mia was not comfortable in just a skirt and her tunic was becoming shorter with her own recent spurt in height. She had let Mechalu know she needed new skins for a longer garment to cover her skin from the sun. She took the comb Mechalu had made her. Carefully she combed her hair.

  There was a shadow at the entryway. Ahma entered.

  “Mechalu asked that I tell you he has gone hunting. Come with me this morning to gather berries. There are some growing nearby. Bring a container and meet me at Kiahmuha’s hut.” She didn’t wait for a reply but slipped out of the hut as quickly as she had entered. Olomaru-mia finished combing her hair and pulled it back, holding it in place with a tie of leather. She picked up a wooden bowl that Mechalu’s grandmother had given her, but
put it back down, not wanting to stain it. She picked up a woven grass bag that a woman whose name she’d forgotten had given her, thinking it would do well. It had a strap that went over her head. It would give her two hands for picking berries. She put on the sun protection she had for her feet and her hat and went to find the women.

  “There’s the lucky girl,” Tuna said flatly, unsure whether to pout or sneer so she tried both, wanting to make Olomaru-mia feel uncomfortable.

  “Tuna, how can you call her a lucky girl?” Albigrimpa, Ahma’s sister, said sharply. “The poor girl was abducted and taken far from her home in a new land, very different from any she’s ever known. What are you thinking? She’s had to learn to love an abductor. You are acting inappropriately.”

  “I’m thinking that if Mechalu hadn’t found her, he’d be here for me. He used to like me.”

  “Stop the self-centeredness!” Flukua, Tuna’s mother said, scowling. “The truth is more likely that if he hadn’t found her, he’d still be on his test of valor. If you aren’t going to control yourself, stay here!”

  Tuna’s face burned with the rebuke. She really had adored Mechalu, but she had no reason to think he even knew she existed. Not once did he respond to her advances. Never did he steal glances at her during meetings. She knew all those things, but she had allowed herself to dream. She hadn’t planned to make her disappointment so public, but the words were out before she controlled them. Tuna thought for a moment of what it might be like to be abducted. The thought was terrifying. Olomaru-mia had survived it—to thrive. Tuna reckoned there was something to be learned from Olomaru-mia.

  “Is everyone ready?” Ahma asked trying to return pleasantness to the berry picking.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Then let’s be off,” she said a little too loud.

  Olomaru-mia felt a bit odd wearing the hat and having been discussed as if she weren’t there, but the day was lovely, and berry picking was a way of fitting into the society in which she had to live. She didn’t want to appear self-centered. If this is what Wisdom had in mind for her, she wanted to fit in well.