Ivory and Bone(10)

The sun is already moving into the western sky as we tie the final knots. “Go clean yourselves,” our mother says. “And put on clothing reserved for feasts. When we sit down to eat the evening meal with our guests, I hope you will no longer smell like the game we are dining on.” She smiles at me. “And be sure you speak to Mya,” she whispers as my brothers shuffle toward our family hut. “The other clearly has eyes for your brother, but Mya, like you, is the oldest. Her eyes are like yours—as dark as the night sky—but there is a sharpness to her gaze that complements the warmth in yours. You two would make a strong match, I think.”

The smile of impending success on my mother’s lips is so endearing, I can’t tell her how wrong she is. She sighs and I hear a note of contentment in her voice I haven’t heard in a long time. No, I can’t take that from her, not just yet. I simply nod and let her walk away.





FIVE


The sun has burned into the shade of gold it reserves for evenings in early summer, when it hangs low in the sky, refusing to set, stretching out hours of pale yellow light, painting long deep shadows on the ground. This is when the drums begin to send their rhythm through the ring of huts.

My brother Kesh is one of the musicians, and I catch the tone of his flute as it pierces the evening air, dancing above the beating of the drums. Not the oldest or the youngest, not the most gifted with a spear, Kesh found himself in music. He was offered a place among the musicians four years ago, when he was only eleven years old and causing constant mischief. He hid handfuls of snails, earthworms, and finally a dead vole in the music leader’s bed, until she offered him a flute in exchange for a promise to stop. She had a flute of her own that he envied, and she meticulously copied it, carving the thighbone of a wolf to just the right length and carefully drilling each hole. The day he received it was like the day he was born, and that flute has been the focus of his life ever since.

Pek and Roon left the hut long before the shadow of the kitchen tent stretched to our door, but I wait it out as long as possible. I lie down, but I can’t relax. My mother borrowed pelts from each of our beds to make up yours. The difference is slight—my bed is almost as thick and lush as it was before—but even this small change in our home unsettles me. I think of Pek’s prediction that you and Seeri will change our lives.

Maybe I’m not ready for change.

The music grows louder, and I can’t stay behind any longer. I head out to the open-air gathering place in the center of camp where our clan shares all its meals.

I spot you almost as soon as I step through the door of our hut. I wish I could ignore you, but it’s impossible—my eyes are drawn to you the way they are drawn to a flash of light. You’ve changed into a tunic made of supple hides cut in a much more feminine style than your shapeless hunting parka. The hair around your face is wound into three thin braids that are gathered at the crown of your head, but otherwise your hair is down like it was this morning. You stand beside your brother, Chev, who is speaking to my father. I take just one step in your direction before you look up at me, almost as if you’ve been waiting for me to show, though I know better. As soon as you see me approaching you turn your head, and I change my mind about joining the three of you. I turn toward my brother Kesh, instead, and congratulate him on the solo he played during the gathering music. Lil, the music leader, interrupts. “A circle! A circle, everyone!”

The first song of the evening is about to be sung.

I move to a place near my brother Pek, and I notice Seeri beside him, smiling but clearly confused. It occurs to me for the first time that your clan might not follow all the same customs that we do. Do you not sing the same songs? Taking her by the elbow, Pek guides her to a place within the circle right between the two of us. She gives me a weak smile and shrugs.

“Follow along—it’s easy,” I say, just as the first line is sung by the whole clan as if by one voice.

Manu was a hunter lost in a storm, wandering far from home. . . .

Like all songs, this one is sung to the Divine. It tells the story of our clan’s founding ancestor, Manu—my favorite story since I was a small boy. When I was ill or could not sleep, my mother would lie beside me and whisper it in my ear.

“There was a hunter named Manu who became lost in a storm, separated from home and clan,” she would say, and I would shiver at the thought. “After wandering long and far, he lost hope of finding his way back. He was so lonely that he befriended a mammoth, but despite his hunger he would not kill it. The Spirit of a mammoth is too precious to give its life to feed just one man, Manu told the mammoth. In thanks, the mammoth gave Manu one of his tusks, and Manu carved a woman out of the ivory. The Divine saw Manu’s selflessness, and said to herself, I must reward him. So she sent a little piece of herself to dwell in the carving, bringing her to life and giving Manu a wise wife. Together, Manu and his wife had many children, and their offspring became our clan.”

This story always comforts me. Even now, singing Manu’s song with my clan, I know that I am home.

The song has many verses, but the steps are simple—one foot over the other, one foot behind—as the circle moves over well-worn earth, slowly to the left. Seeri joins in at the refrain, which repeats the word wandering . . . wandering. She makes mistakes at first but she gets it by the second time through.

I glance over at you, but I can’t meet your eyes. You have stepped back from the circle and you are turned away, your attention focused on the ground, as if you’re searching for something no one else can see. Are you embarrassed because you do not know this dance? Even your brother is not afraid to try—he stands beside my father, who coaches him through the changes in the song.