Freedom 25000 BC Read online

  Later that evening Wing looked about and found some onions. He wasn’t far from an oak tree so he walked over and found acorns on the ground. They weren’t in perfect condition, but he didn’t care. Many times he’d eaten acorns with worms or some that were on the edge of rotting. He ate as many as he could find, until overfull. Wing scooped acorns onto a piece of leather which he tied into a bag. They’d be available food as he walked.

  Not only had Wing walked carefully so as not to alert predators, but also he’d been careful to leave no tracks for others to follow. He intended to leave his home and would have been very unhappy to have been forcibly returned. So far it seemed that Wing had no followers. He gathered his few things and set out again. He was descending the lower southeast side of Popocatépetl. Wing traveled the animal trails near the forest edges, because he didn’t want to be seen from above.

  One evening after he’d been trekking for four full days, Wing sat on an outcrop and looked back to the north and then east. He was struck with the realization that he was out from under the shadow of Popocatépetl. In the evening at home, Wing mused, the mountain shaded his land when the sun began to set. In the late afternoons his people lived in the shadow of Popocatépetl. This land had more time with the light than his people had. For Wing it was a clarifying moment. His life had been under the shadow of Itz. Itz to him was like Popocatépetl to his people. As he felt the sun on his skin at this late part of the day, he was also free of his father’s abuse. His arm had improved. There was only one problem. Wing was becoming terribly lonely.

  Wing found a place for the night and set up some snares. He hoped to catch a small animal. A rabbit would suffice. He set up eight snares and established a small hearth to keep away predators at night in the open. Behind him for protection rose the trunk of a great evergreen tree. He slept well that night.

  Wing arose the next morning with a new feeling for which he had no name. That feeling was freedom. He had lowered his shoulders and let his arms hang properly, not forced forward. He had no knowledge of the change in posture. In days the discomfort Wing felt from holding the defensive posture would decrease from the release on the muscles he’d unwittingly tightened. It was something that happened naturally and so gradually that it escaped his perception.

  Wing checked the snares. He had managed to capture two rabbits. One was too small, so he freed it. He dispatched the adult quickly enough that it had little time to experience fright. He took it to his hearth, cleaned and skinned it, and prepared it to cook. Before long Wing had eaten and was busy putting out the fire, ready to continue his trek.

  The day’s trek was difficult. At times he had to climb down rock faces that were challenging. He was acutely aware that a fall could be lethal in this land where he was alone. He used caution that in other circumstances would have made him question his manhood. Alone here, it was necessary. Injury would be a luxury he couldn’t afford. He already had a crack in the bone in his arm. A severe injury would require help from others. There were none. Where he’d normally drop four to six feet from a rock with ease, run across a fallen tree trunk, and swing from lianas, he chose his steps circumspectly, as if he were an elder.

  Wing found a rockshelter that evening where he had an expansive view of the valley. Included in the view were tortured looking mountains aligned roughly north south with a bit of an arch bowing away from him. They appeared to have been painfully twisted by some irresistible force. Tortured? How could such a thing happen to land? For a moment he considered what happened to him could also happen to the land. Wing wondered at the mystery of it. He also found it strangely beautiful. It spoke of hope. The mountain was a mountain despite the torture.

  Wing had gathered some pine nuts on his trek and at this place he located some greens. He ate plenty of both. He popped a few grubs he’d dug up into his mouth and chewed, savoring the bursts of liquid. Satiated, he settled down near the small hearth he’d made by the rockshelter. He watched as the light left the land, later than at home where the shadow of Popocatépetl darkened the land early.

  Wing watched as an eagle came from the south and landed in a tree far below his view. For the creatures of the day it was time to sleep. He rested comfortably as stars began to appear in the sky. He slept before the stars became plentiful.

  A golden mist gathered. It grew brighter and brighter. Wing became aware of the bright golden light. It grew in brightness causing his sleep to lift. He was more curious than frightened. He watched. The light moved nearer.

  “Wing, son of Itz,” a voice said slowly.

  Wing was startled. Fear grew. He wondered how the man knew his name.

  “Do not fear, Wing. I bring no harm.”

  Wing looked at the light. From the light an extraordinarily old man emerged. This man looked far older than his grandparents. Wing didn’t know a face could hold so many wrinkles. He watched.

  “You are to descend to the valley. Follow the valley southward many days. You will see an eagle perched on a pine nut tree. Watch. It will drop a feather. The eagle will leave. Look at the feather it drops. Don’t touch it. Look at the feather’s attachment point. That point directs you to the place you must go to the east. Follow the river to the mountain’s crest. On the other side of the mountain there is another river. Follow that river to the salt water.”

  “Salt water?” Wing asked. “What is this salt water?”

  “You used to hunt by the big lake. Salt water is many, many, many times larger than the big lake. Drink from rivers. Do not drink the salt water.”

  Wing was dumbfounded. Who was this man? From where had he come? What was the golden light? Why was this man telling him these things?

  The man turned and walked back into the bright light. The light faded. The old man was gone.

  The morning’s sun warmed Wing’s face. He opened his eyes surprised to find the sun so high. He had slept longer than usual. He stretched and then remembered the bright light and the old man. He stood carefully, sweeping his gaze over the place where the man had stood. Since he’d stood in a place where Wing hadn’t stepped, the young man tried to find evidence of the visit. From where he lay he could see no footprints. Vertical lines formed between Wing’s eyebrows. Slowly and slightly cloudy of thought, he continued to stare at the place where footprints should be. He was careful not to step where the old man had. He inspected every part of the place where he anticipated finding footprints. He could find nothing. It made no sense.

  “I must have been dreaming,” he muttered, trying to dismiss the light and the old man.

  Wing headed downhill to empty his bladder. He returned and mindlessly ate some pine nuts and greens. His hearth fire had gone out and he didn’t want to start a new one to cook anything. He gathered his things and left the rockshelter, heading to the valley below at a faster rate than he had been using on the trek. The valley was very wide and open. Ungulates were grazing in large numbers, while others chewed their cud. He could hear the horses snort and saw one camel look up, alert to his presence. A sloth on the edge of the forest browsed the tops of trees. He knew that every animal in the area was aware of his presence, just as he was of theirs. All things were connected. Wing scanned the area carefully searching for animals that might consider him prey. He saw no cats, bears, terror birds, or wolves.

  As he walked Wing considered the old man and the golden glow. Speaking to no one, he said aloud, “I must have dreamed it. The old man left no footprints. I remember going to sleep. I remember waking up. This had to happen at dream time.” Wing chuckled. “I’m following the valley. He told me to follow the valley. To look for an eagle on a pine nut tree. A feather will point to the direction to salt water I cannot drink. Water not to drink? Strange dream. That’s all it was. Just a strange dream. Tangled.” He walked a little faster. “It’s all a dream? I should be willing to go to the west or the north or to the south or east now. I feel compelled to follow this valley. Do I follow a dream?”

  The ideas spooked Wing so he began to
jog. He jogged for a long time. Finally, a little winded, he resumed the trekking. He stood still. Wing had seen a tiny movement in the trees. A parrot. The edge of his right eye had picked up the movement. He scanned the area until he was certain. Lying on the ground was a small peccary light in color around its neck. It appeared to doze. He considered how tasty that would be to eat that evening. He laid down his spears all except for his best. It was slender but very strong and went where he aimed it. Wing felt his arm was strong enough to thrust the spear with some force.

  Wing crept up almost imperceptibly towards the peccary. How great it felt not to have someone undermining him all the way to the peccary. That feeling again. That sense of freedom, a sense he didn’t know existed until he moved from the shadow of Popocatépetl. He bared his teeth as he moved the spear backwards to increase the power of his thrust as it came forward. The spear flew straight and hit its mark perfectly. The little peccary was slain in a single spear throw.

  “Why couldn’t I do that in the presence of my father?” he asked aloud of no one.

  Wing walked to the dead peccary, pulled out his spear, and picked up the animal. He carried it down the valley to a small stream. There he gutted and bled the animal. Wing carried the butchered pieces a good distance away and set up his camp for the evening. He slowly cooked the meat over a good sized fire, and while it cooked he made a lean-to just inside the border of the woods. One side protruded into the valley. It was near that side of the lean-to where he had the fire going. The smell of the meat cooking was causing Wing to salivate and occasionally saliva dripped from his mouth. It had been a while since he had meat this good. He intended to delight in this meal he’d single-handedly acquired.

  As soon as the smallest meat pieces were ready, Wing took one and laid it on a large leaf he’d picked in the woods. He held it in place with a stick and cut off a piece which he then speared with the stick. He bit off a chunk, wincing a bit at the heat of the meat. It burned his lips.

  Wing spent the evening gorging on the meat. He hadn’t enjoyed food so much since the last time his mother cooked gomphothere. Thinking of the four-tusked elephant made him feel lonely again. He desperately missed his mother and brothers and sister. Only his two brothers, Amor and Spu, and one sister, Moot, remained at the only home he’d ever known. The rest had left long ago. He missed Zik and his parents, Mig and Koi, and Zik’s brother, Aga, and sister, Lat. He also missed his grandparents, Puh and Toa. Wing wondered whether he’d ever see any of them again.

  Wing reminded himself that he missed them because he left. He could not continue to take the abuse from his father. His emptiness was his own doing. And then he thought of the shadow of Popocatépetl. Wing smiled a wry smile. He would rather feel the emptiness and have that wonderful sense that had come to him. No abuse. Did he hunt better because he hadn’t been abused beforehand? He was freed like the little rabbit he’d caught that was too small. Freed.

  He tied up the meat and hung it from a tree nearby. If a bear were drawn to it, he didn’t want to have to defend it up close. At a distance a bear might leave him alone.

  It was a warm evening. Wing went to the nearby creek. He removed the leather skirt he wore and the leather cord around his neck where he’d tied the eagle claw he’d found. Apparently two eagles had misjudged their mating dive and died on a ragged piece of rock outcropping. He had treasured the keepsake, having no clue what meaning he derived from it. He hung the cord around a tree branch. Wing simply found the eagle claw irresistible. With the little grease still on his fingers, he polished the nails on each talon and softened the yellow skin. Wing waded into the water and bathed, trying to avoid allowing the splint to become wet. The water felt wonderful. His skin felt as if it could breathe again. Wing rubbed some of the sand into his hair, careful to rinse it all out. He walked briskly back to camp where he increased the blaze on the fire, then gathered more wood. He tied his skirt back on, having dried off sufficiently to keep the soft leather from hardening.

  Wing listened to the birds’ night songs, the frogs chorusing near the pond across the valley, the monkeys struggling to settle down nearby in a tree or trees. All the while insects created sounds that blended into a cacophonous mixture with the others. The sky was alive with color. Wing absorbed the beauty of it. A star appeared here and there. Wing started to doze off and jumped seemingly involuntarily as if to catch himself in a fall. He knew he wasn’t falling. Staring at a lovely sky and drifting off to sleep was how he went to sleep the night he dreamed of the old man. He didn’t want to dream of the old man again. It was somehow unnerving. Finally, Wing slept after admonishing himself not to dream of old men.

  In the morning Wing built up the fire and cooked more of the peccary. It was just as good the second time, maybe better, he mused. He wrapped the meat and prepared to travel. The fire clearly out, he began the day’s trek. At one point on the trek Wing counted eight snakes in one place. They were not all of the same type. Wing carefully avoided them. They ignored him.

  On the far side of the valley, Wing saw a small mammoth herd eating grasses. One noticed him and trumpeted. They were special animals to him. He loved to watch their sense of family. The herds contained none like Itz. All seemed to care for each of the others. He’d seen mammoths cry when one of their family members died. They hung around for a few days, seeming to hope the family member might wake up. Wing remembered that eventually, the mammoths had given up.

  In the valley Wing had the oppressive feeling he associated with the shadow of Popocatépetl. Darkness came earlier there. He found a convenient rockshelter for the night and set up his camp, starting with a fire. He fixed a raised stick to spear through the meat so he could turn it to warm it thoroughly. As it began to cook, Wing searched about for some greens. He found some along with onions and a scraggly prickly pear leaf, which made him laugh, since it was out of place in this grassy valley. Wing also found mafafa, a large leafed plant with a corm (tuber) that was a starchy vegetable he loved. He took his cooking bag out, adding a mafafa corm, some greens, pieces of the prickly pear leaf, and onion. Wing laid one of the mafafa leaves on a nearby rock after brushing the grit from the rock. It would make a good place to put his food.

  Wing was thrilled. This would be the best meal he’d had since leaving home. All this and he’d had no supporting hunters. He sat with his back against the rock, viewing the valley and savoring the smell of his meat.

  From the south a short faced bear had caught the scent of the meat. It raised up to assess the direction of the captivating aroma. Then with fierce intent and saliva dripping from its loose-lipped, gaping mouth it headed toward the attractant with great speed. It stopped a distance from the hearth. Wing had spotted it, and his mouth filled with a coppery taste. He wondered whether the bear would take his life and eat him. Slowly, he reached stealthily for his spears. He stood. With a spear in each hand he held his arms out from his body. He began rhythmically moving his arms up and down making his body look wider and taller than it was. He made no sound.

  The bear looked at this strange creature moving without apparent fear. It stood clicking its teeth, saliva dripping down in a frothy mixture. The bear did have fear. It wanted the meat that drew him. He couldn’t cease to fixate. Neither could Wing. He had hunted the peccary. It was good meat he already knew. The vegetables were almost ready. He could not give the bear the opportunity to steal from him. Not this meal. It was his.

  Wing let out a long, chilling shout that arrested the bear’s fixation on the meat. The bear stood tall and glared at the strange creature with the huge voice. Wing began to stomp loudly on the ground as he advanced toward the bear.

  “Leave here now!” Wing shouted in a deep, rarely used voice. It resonated with no trace of a tight throat of fear. “Leave! Go to your home. You will not have my food!” He continued to advance, arms out moving up and down. “Go! I tell you—go!” The bear became uneasy. It wagged its head and clacked its teeth. Wing advanced more forcefully and shouted orders in t
he deepest, most command-filled voice he could, “Go, go, go, go, go! Leave here now! Go, go, go, go, go!” He increased the speed of his advance. He was more forceful than he’d ever been. He felt imbued with significantly greater size. He sensed he brushed against things too far away for him to have touched.

  The bear turned and ran. It ran south far faster than it came to the place. The bear had been completely frightened. It had never seen such a thing. Suddenly, running from the strange creature was much more important than a free meal.

  Wing stood there caught between relief and terror. His hands shook. He didn’t want to chance breaking his spear points, so he put the spears back against the stone wall, walking on shaky legs to do so. He slumped to the ground, leaning against the rock wall, momentarily forgetting his food. After a while he could feel his heart beat at a normal rhythm. He looked around.

  “I freed me!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Freed me! Freed—m. Freed—m!”

  The new feeling he felt—out from the shadow of Popocatépetl had a name—freedom!

  In the far distance now, the bear heard. He recognized the sound of that voice. He ran faster. Far away.

  “I never lose freedom—now I have!” Wing vowed. His words flew out through the valley and returned to him.

  He remembered the food and went over to it, laying out on the leaf a good portion of meat from which he cut a tiny piece. He popped it in his mouth and grinned. Wing used sticks to fish out some of the vegetables and sat beside the rock where the food was displayed. He speared a large cut of the meat and ate big bites from it, juice running unchecked down his arms. He hardly noticed. Never had meat tasted so good. He speared a piece of mafafa corm. It was tasty. For the first time in his life Wing felt invincible. Like Popocatépetl. He was capable, strong, able to care for his needs and defend himself. His father was an elder, he realized, but his father was wrong about this son. Wing wasn’t no good. Not at all! Truth wrapped its arms about Wing.