The Cusp, Part XIII
They returned to their camp. The evening was spent with the families and playing with the young ones. They did not attend the evening fire to avoid confrontation with the braggart. There was no doubt that a physical confrontation would end poorly for him, but they wanted to avoid a spectacle at the gathering. He woke before sunrise nestled against the woman. He never tired of watching her sleep. He gave thanks to the mother and the ancestors for her and what they had. The younger brother was awake and by the fire. They ate a few handfuls of hunter food. The fat and sugar would get them through a long day. They filled their water skins and tied them securely so that they would not bounce against them as they ran. The woman awoke and joined them.
“Did you sleep well wife?”
“Yes. As long as you are with me, I sleep well. If you are not there, I cannot sleep.”
“It is the same with me. We are joined.”
The younger brother rolled his eyes.
“You will come to understand these things if the mother blesses you with the right woman.”
The woman spoke.
“There is a new woman who has eyes for him. I think she will get him in time.”
The brother blushed and spoke.
“How do you want to go after the gazelle?”
“You know where the herd is?”
The brother nodded.
“We will go there and begin to push them like the old one said. You are a much faster runner than I am. We will separate one from the herd and keep it in sight. If it tries to rejoin them, you can sprint ahead and turn it back. I will keep trotting and keep it in sight. You can rest then. When you are rested you can catch up. We will keep pushing the gazelle during the hot part of the day. When you can you will sprint ahead and push it again. We will just keep leap frogging until the gazelle is too tired to run and then finish it with a knife. Coming back, we will run fifty steps and walk fifty steps. That will let us cover ground quickly.”
“It sounds like something wolves would do.”
“I have seen wolves and wild dogs do it. They work together and the whole pack eats.”
They walked int the clearing just before sunrise. The braggart and one of his followers arrived later. The shaman, the old one, and his great granddaughter were already there. The old one carried the spear he used as a walking staff and a symbol of what he was. The hunter had fitted one of his best points to it. He spoke to the old one.
“Good morning hunter.”
“And to you young one.”
They grasped forearms. The braggart looked disgusted.
“You call that one hunter.”
“I do because he is and will always be.”
“That’s stupid. He is not a hunter.”
“He is more so than you are now and ever will be.”
The shaman saw the anger in the braggart’s eyes and the self-assurance in the hunter’s posture. She spoke before things could escalate.
“The sun rises. The contest begins. The first team to return to this spot with a gazelle killed with a knife will win. Begin!”
The braggart and his follower sprinted off. The hunter and the brother kept to a trot. When they reached the flatlands where the gazelle had bedded for the night, they saw the braggart and his follower charging toward them with drawn knives. The herd scattered. They spotted an older male and began to pursue him. Whenever he turned back toward the herd, the brother would sprint ahead and the gazelle would turn away. He ran out onto the open grassland. His instinct told him that whatever was chasing him would tire and give up the chase. The hunter and the brother read the land, and on several occasions the brother was able to sprint ahead and cut off the gazelle. When he tired, the hunter would continue to trot making sure that the gazelle could always see him. When the brother rested, he would catch up.
The sun rose higher and they drank from their water skins as the temperature rose. The time that they had spent together hunting and practicing with their bows had made them a team. There was no need for words. They had entered hunter mind and time slowed down. There was nothing but the ground and the gazelle. At times the gazelle was just a speck in the distance. When he tried to turn back the brother would sprint and cut him off. As the heat increased, they gradually drew closer. The gazelle had never faced such predators. Leopards and lions were fast for a short distance but would tire after a brief chase. The things behind him kept coming. He grew more exhausted. Whenever he stopped, one of the things would sprint after him. He was unable to rest. After mile upon mile and hour after hour, he stood with his head hanging and legs spread apart. The sprinting thing came after him and he could go no further. His tongue hung out as he tried to cool himself. The hunter spoke.
“Watch his horns. He will not give us his life without trying a slash.”
“I will keep his attention. Strike when you can.”
While the brother moved in front of the gazelle, he crept up in the blind spot behind him. Then with a lunge he buried his knife in the crease behind the shoulder severing the vessels above the heart. The gazelle fell over, kicked and was still. The hunter thanked the mother and the ancestors. He thanked the gazelle for giving his life and promised to use him for the benefit of the people. Then he placed a last bite of grass in his mouth. He spoke to the brother.
“Let us look at this place where this animal spent his life. It is very beautiful. I hope his spirit crosses over to be with the ancestors.”
“We gave him a good death. Wolves or hyenas would have eaten him while he still lived.”
“Thank you for your help. You are a great runner, a good friend, and I am proud to be your brother.”
“We are family now and a team.”
They dressed the gazelle and tied his legs together. They took turns carrying him on their backs. They ran fifty steps and walked fifty steps toward the gathering eating the distance as the sun settled lower in the sky. They reached the clearing when the sun was still a hand above the horizon. Almost everyone at the gathering was there. His woman hugged them both. They were very tired. The old one stood next to the shaman. He spoke.
“You did well young ones.”
He used a form of the word that conveyed great affection, as one would address family.
“We had a good teacher.”
“You were wise enough to listen.”
The braggart and his follower came into the clearing. They were empty-handed. He looked at the gazelle and spoke.
“They cheated! They had a bow or spear hidden and used it.”
The shaman spoke.
“Will some of you women step forward?”
A line formed.
“Can you skin this animal and expose the wound?”
Two women quickly skinned the side of the gazelle where the knife had entered.
The shaman spoke to the hunter.
“May I see your knife?”
He handed the knife, handle first, to her. There was still blood on the blade. She spoke again.
“Can some hunters come forward. No one from either team’s band please.”
Several hunters stepped forward and stood near the shaman. She handed the knife to the first man, a hunter of about thirty years and spoke.
“Each of you examine this knife and the wound on this animal.”
The hunters each took their turn. Some of them held the knife near the wound. A few placed the blade into it. The shaman spoke again.
“Hunters, did this knife kill this gazelle?”
All of the hunters said that the knife had made the wound. The shaman spoke.
“These men brought in a gazelle killed with a knife before the sun set. They are the winners.”
The old one came forward and placed his hands on the shoulders of the hunter and the brother. The hunter spoke.
“There is your gazelle loin. I hope you enjoy it.”
“It will be the best meat I have ever eaten. Come to our fire and share a meal.”
“We are tired. All we want is a bath in the river and our sleeping mats.”
The brother nodded. He could barely keep his eyes open. He and the hunter turned toward their camp and started to walk away. The braggart pulled his knife and ran toward them screaming with rage. The woman shouted. The old one saw from the corner of his eye. For an instant he was not old. His knees no longer hurt. His eyes sharpened. In that moment he was what he had been in the prime of life. With snake-like speed, he turned his spear and tripped the braggart with the shaft. The braggart fell hard and rolled onto his back. The old one twirled the spear and placed the tip against the braggart’s belly. The braggart looked up into the old one’s eyes. He saw fire and determination as he understood that if the old one leaned forward the spearhead would pierce his belly. The old one did not move. The braggart wet himself. The hunter and the brother turned. The hunter spoke.
“Do not do it hunter.”
“I will end this thing. This tribe has had enough of him.”
“I ask you as a hunter to spare him.”
“Why, young one?”
“It would ruin your spear. You would never get the stink off it.”
The old one chuckled and reversed the spear.
They looked at the people who had gathered. Their faces were angry. The braggart had shown himself to be a coward willing to commit murder. The shaman pointed to the braggart and spoke.
“Who will speak for this one?”
No one spoke. One by one the crowd turned their back on him. The shaman began a chant. It was a chant that everyone recognized. She had only used it three times in her life. It was the chant of expulsion. The braggart was no longer a member of the tribe. The braggart was no longer a person. He did not exist. No one would see him. No one would hear him. He was a non-entity. The braggart began to sob as the crowd began to walk away to their campsites.
As they were walking toward their fire the shaman called to them. They stopped and waited for her. She spoke to the hunter.