Читать книгу The Gathering Night - Margaret Elphinstone - Страница 8

I last hunted with my wife’s brother Bakar at River Mouth Camp, three Moons before my daughter Esti was born. We left Gathering Camp at the beginning of Yellow Leaf Moon. The Sun was getting old, but he wasn’t tired yet. It was mild when we arrived at River Mouth Camp. A circle of hills shelters it from all the winds. For those of you who’ve not seen it, our River flows down through many little gorges into a wide valley where it winds among the marshes, always heading for the Sunless Sky, until it reaches the salt flats and open water. River Mouth Camp lies on dry ground at the foot of a craggy hillock. Every Year we clear the saplings from the top of Lookout Hill so we can see out over the marshes, through the Narrows to the Open Sea, and the islets off Sand Island.

There were still plenty of berries, hazelnuts and crab-apples when we arrived. There’d been a lot of rain, and on our first day the women’s baskets were overflowing with every kind of mushroom. It looked as if we were going to live well. Our family was very small – too small – but I was looking forward to hunting with Bakar through the winter. We needed meat to store and furs for our winter clothes. He and I planned to hunt in the hills, as much as the Winter would let us, between Swan Moon and Moon of Rushes. The best hunting grounds I know for winter pelts aren’t far from River Mouth Camp, and you can trap small Birds and Animals from River Mouth Camp itself. That was just as well because I had to stay close to home after Bakar was gone, and yet I also had to get enough furs to clothe the whole family. My wife’s father said we should never let River Mouth Camp go out of our hands because the hunting was so good. He was right, and I’ve kept my word to him.

Bakar and I had hunted together for a Year and two Moons. Haizea just told you how I took his sister Alaia when I first came to the Auk People’s Gathering, and after that I went with her family. I come from the Seal People under the Sunless Sky, but I couldn’t find a girl there – I’d plenty of cousins but not one that was far-off enough. Though Bakar and I first met as strangers, by now we knew each other well. We trusted each other.

Two days after we got to River Mouth Camp Bakar and I set off before dawn. We took spears and knives, a bark-rope to make a trap and a basket of broken mushrooms. We left the marshes behind us and turned towards the Morning Sun Sky. We climbed through oak-woods, and followed the course of a small stream rushing to join our own River. We had my dog – the one who came into Alaia’s family with me – he was a great hunter. He’d soon made himself the leader, but now he was getting old, and wasn’t so fast any more. We had Bakar’s good dog, two bitches who were reliable and a young dog in training. First we went to the marshy pond where the pigs wallow to see if there were any around. Sometimes when we arrive at River Mouth Camp the wolves are in our hunting territory and the pigs have gone inland to get away. The wolves always retreat when we come back with our dogs.

Above River Mouth Camp there’s a hollow like two hands cupped together where the trees begin to thin. It holds a shallow lochan in its palm. Some pigs had drunk at the lochan the day before. We followed the path they’d made. Three sows had passed that way, heading uphill, yesterday afternoon, with a couple of half-grown piglets. The boar’s tracks were fresher; he’d come down to the pool in the evening, and gone back a little later. We found a good place for a trap under an overhanging birch tree. We hung the noose across the path, and fixed the weighted rope to the branch. I scattered the mushrooms I’d brought as bait. Then we went on very quietly, taking the pigs’ path uphill, the old dog leading. The path led over rocky broken ground, crossing swollen streams and bright mosses.

We came to a clearing. Saplings were shooting up in the light where an old birch had fallen. Brown fungi grew out of the dead tree, and it was all overgrown with brambles and old man’s beard. Flies danced in the patch of sunlight. We skirted the thicket, following the pig path.

The lead dog barked.

The other dogs cocked their heads – so! The thicket was still.

When the first dog barks to the stillness, he barks to wake the sleeping Animal – that’s when the Hunt begins. In one heartbeat we all wake to the Hunt at once: dogs, men and the still-hidden Animal.

That dog was the bravest dog I ever had. He knew what was in that thicket – he could smell it plainly. If I’d known what he knew, I’d have hesitated – this wasn’t one of the great hunts of Deer Moon. This was just Bakar and me, and a hand-full of dogs. But that brave dog of mine never held back. As soon as I raised my hand – like this – he ran round the thicket to flush the pigs out. Bakar’s dog and the two bitches followed. I kept the young dog with me. I didn’t trust him. One to the left and one to the right, with the thicket before us, Bakar and I crept in close – like this – spears ready. Bakar whistled. The dogs barked. They pushed into the thicket. A pig crashed in the brambles. The dogs barked, but kept their distance. The thicket swayed and rustled. I balanced my spear. We crouched, waiting. The brambles parted.

It was the boar. Not a sow. A full-grown boar – this big!

The boar rushed out. My heart was in my throat. And there was my brave dog coming up behind – like this! – lashing out at the boar as he rushed towards me. That wily boar suddenly twisted in his tracks. My dog was too slow. The boar had him by the throat. He let go and tossed him high into the air. I ran forward. My dog yelped when the tusk pierced him. He hit the ground and lay still. The boar charged me, head lowered. I jumped out of his way, and before he could turn I thrust my spear.

My aim was true. I caught him under the shoulder. My spear went deep.

Bakar ran to the twisting boar. He thrust his spear in below the other shoulder. Three brave dogs began to bite, tearing at the hide. The young dog ran round us, barking. The rest of us held on. We kept on holding. The boar writhed and fought. The blood from his wound ran down my spear and into the earth. The shaft slid in my hands, leaping up and down as if it were alive. The ground under our feet was slippery with blood and mud. We held on. We held fast, and slowly, very slowly, the great boar died. He thrashed and lay still, and together Bakar and I let our spears drop before the dead weight broke them.

We eased our spears out of the boar’s flesh. The dogs licked up the blood round our feet. The barbed point of Bakar’s spear was broken, snapped into three pieces by the boar’s straining muscles. Bakar shrugged and said, ‘So there’s work for tomorrow, as if I needed it.’

I went to my old dog and rolled him over. His body was limp, and there was a great wound in his stomach where the boar had gored him. The soul had gone out of his eyes. The other dogs watched, tails down.

Bakar and I put our hands into the wounds we’d made, and smeared each other with the hot blood. We cupped our hands where the blood flowed, and drank. The Boar’s spirit was with us, and our hearts were his.

I took embers from my pouch, unrolled the damp moss and blew sparks on shavings of birchbark. While I got our fire going, Bakar slit the boar down the belly-line and pulled the guts aside. He cut out the liver and heart. We cut strips, held them in the flame to seal the blood, then wolfed them down. We threw the lungs to the dogs. The hunt had made us hungry, but as soon as we ate, the life-warmth of the Boar flowed into our veins and made us strong.

Bakar knew I grieved for my dog. He helped me weave a platform out of saplings and lay the dog high off the ground where the spirits would find him. We did that as if he were a man, because I knew the soul of that brave dog would wish to be among People, just as his life with me had been.

Bakar cut another sapling and we lashed the boar to it. It had taken less than half a morning to walk uphill to the Boar’s Thicket, but it took from before midday until sunset to carry the dead boar back to River Mouth Camp. Although it was downhill, we had to rest often. We changed places, and shifted the weight from one shoulder to the other. He was as great a boar as two men alone could kill, let alone carry, but that day Bakar and I did both.

When we got back, the women had known – though how you women always seem to know these things is beyond me – to line the pit and heat stones in the fire. The dogs ran ahead, barking our success. The women came out to meet us. They noticed at once that my dog was missing. Alaia cried out, wanting to know what had happened to him. We took no notice. To tell the truth I doubt if we could have carried our load another step, but we wouldn’t show weakness in front of the women. So we marched right up to the fire without speaking, and dumped the dead boar beside it.

Alaia glanced at me once, and didn’t say another word about my dog, then or ever. Alaia is a good woman.

Bakar looked at the cooking pit and the hot stones waiting in the embers, and scowled. ‘So you thought someone would bring back meat, did you? Ah well, you’re sadly mistaken, as you see. All we’ve got is this puny bit of a pig for you. That won’t do you much good.’

‘Ah well,’ Alaia grinned back at him, ‘that’s very sad. But I think if you scrape the bottom of the cooking pit you might find some old limpets. You must be hungry for your supper, after such a disappointing day.’

‘Not so hungry as your man here. I had nothing to do but carry the pole. That was easy, because as you see all we had was this poor half-starved pig. But you should know it was your man who caught it on his spear first. Not that I’m jealous, since there’s hardly enough meat to flavour a limpet, now I get a chance to look at it. Are you going to take first cut, Amets, or are you too ashamed of this small day’s work to set your knife to it?’

I smiled. ‘I’ll conquer my shame,’ I said. ‘But admit it’s your shame too, Bakar. Because I think that little needle-prick on the other side is your work. If we can call it work. These women might have made a better job of it, but they won’t say so, because they’re too kind. Isn’t that right?’ I was addressing Alaia, but I could see Haizea giggling at her side. I was fond of her, but of course I couldn’t speak to my wife’s little sister directly. ‘You won’t shame us by pointing out what a miserable supper we’ve brought back for you, will you?’

Haizea giggled. ‘I don’t mind eating it,’ she said to Bakar. ‘But then there mightn’t be any left for you, if I eat all I want!’

So we went on, while Bakar and I laid the boar on its back. Bakar cut away the jaw while I cut the ribs apart. Alaia put the brain and kidneys to roast quickly in the ashes because everyone was hungry. I threw a hind leg to the dogs. Alaia put the hot stones at the bottom of the pit and laid the cut ribs and shoulders over them. Bakar and I hung the rest of the carcass in a tree. Alaia covered her pit with turfs so the meat would roast slowly. It soon began to smell good! One thing about being by ourselves at River Mouth Camp: we didn’t have to give any of our meat away. That night we feasted by firelight while the stars swam towards the Evening Sun Sky, until the first streaks of dawn spread across the Morning Sun Sky. There was Moon enough to eat by, and on a night of plenty, who needs more?

That was the last hunt, and the last feast, that I shared with my wife’s brother Bakar. It was a great boar who gave himself that day. See these tusks – the ones I wear round my neck – these are his. If I spread my fingers wide – see – the long tusk reaches right from my first finger to the fourth. See that mark, that’s where his skin came to. Look how worn they are – sharp as an arrowhead! Go on, you can take them if you like – go on, pass them round – I don’t wear these tusks because I’ve anything to say about my own skill. I did very little that day. I wear them so as to remember my good dog – the bravest dog I ever had. Look! See how the dogs are listening to me! They remember. They know.