A NOVEL SET IN PREHISTORY
The Oak People
Chapter 17: Koru tells Ansa a story
Ansa
The summer has come and gone. The men have been high up the mountain, tracking deer and quarrying stone, sometimes away for many days at a time. Ansa is glad to lie alone at night, with only Hua asleep by her side. Hua has grown taller and stronger and she is full of questions. There have been other changes too. Bo works as one of the women now. Like the pears beside the path, her breasts have swelled and ripened but she is still waiting for her first blood.
The days are growing cool again and the first rains have fallen. It is morning and the wind is shooting wet spears into the cave mouth but Ansa sits by the entrance. She doesn’t mind the rain. At least here the whispers don’t reach her and she doesn’t see the bent heads, the shoulders turned away from her. They have given her the knobbly roots of reeds to work on and she is struggling to tug out the fibres. Hua toddles across, wanting milk.
As soon as she has drunk her fill, the little girl wanders away again. Ansa peers over her shoulder into the dark interior of the cave, to see Hua climbing back onto the lap of her second mother, Bo. Bo is sitting by Gashi again, where she has sat all summer, like the older woman’s shadow.
Ansa feels a warm caress on her arm and looks up to see that the wind has blown the clouds across the sky, clearing a path for Eshtu. She stares out at the scudding clouds, wishing that the wind would turn in his tracks, scoop her up from the cave and carry her away. She is startled by the sound of a cough and turns to see Koru picking her way slowly across the uneven floor, towards the entrance. Soon she is at Ansa’s side.
‘The rain has stopped,’ she says.
Ansa nods, feeling the tightness in her chest that comes now, whenever the others speak to her. Mostly, they leave her alone.
‘Ikomar tells me the thornfruit are ripe,’ Koru goes on, undeterred by Ansa’s silence. ‘I would like to taste something sweet, before the winter comes.’
There is a wistfulness in the cracked voice and Ansa risks an upward glance. Bidari’s mother is staring out into the brightness.
She turns to Ansa. ‘Will you come and pick them for me?’
Ansa’s whole body feels stretched tight, like the skin of a drum. She gets to her feet and goes over to the wall, where the gathering bags are kept.
‘We won’t need those,’ Koru says. ‘Just pick enough for the two of us.’
It seems to Ansa as if this must be a dream. She glances back, towards the other women. Did they hear? Perhaps they did, because Gashi is staring at her. It is always Gashi or Ikomar who tend to Koru’s needs, though Ansa is the old woman’s daughter by marriage, just like the others. Now Koru’s words keep tripping through her thoughts: pick enough for the two of us. The two of us.
The hawthorns grow lower down, on the exposed edge of a patch of carob woodland. It is past midday and, after the rain, Ansa is grateful for the comfort of Eshtu’s touch. Away from the path, the ground is sodden. They walk under cover of the carobs, raindrops falling onto their shoulders.
Under the hawthorns, Koru sinks down to the grass, a rasping sound accompanying each breath. Leaving her to rest, Ansa finds a branch dotted with ripe fruit, the colour of dried blood. She bends the branch and picks the small fruits carefully, between the thorns. She takes a handful to Koru and turns back to pick more.
‘Sit down,’ Koru says, when she comes back the third time. ‘Eat some with me.’
Reluctantly, Ansa obeys. Ikomar was right; the fruit is just ripe, fragrant and sweet but not yet mealy. She spits out the clump of seeds and takes another.
Koru sits in silence, taking fruit after fruit and sucking the flesh with great pleasure. The intent look on Koru’s lined face takes Ansa back to the morning after Hua’s birth. Koru had looked the same when her fingers were probing Ansa’s body. She remembers the taut, magic silence and begins to feel frightened. But then, satiated, Koru leans back against the trunk of the carob, just an old woman after all, tired from her walk.
They sit for a time, Koru’s eyes closed, but there is no change in her breathing to suggest that she has fallen asleep. Ansa waits, listening to the kyok-kyok of the red-necked bird on the branch way above.
Koru opens her eyes at last and when she speaks, her words seem to cut through the air. ‘Do you still have the Balqa stone?’
At first, Ansa is too shocked to move, then her fingers creep towards the small bag at her belt. It seems as if Koru is able to look inside her, to see everything.
‘You haven’t lost it?’
‘No.’
Ansa gets to her feet, troubled. The Balqa stone is not something to talk about. She has almost forgotten that there was a time when it did not hang close to her body.
‘Wait,’ Koru says. ‘Will you show it to me?’
A surge of anger pushes up into Ansa’s throat. How dare she ask that? A picture flashes in front of her eyes: Koru snatching the bag with her clawed hand, Ansa tugging at it in panic. She watches herself lifting a heavy boulder and dropping it onto Koru’s head, sees the thin old bone of the skull, a crushed mess amid the brains.
‘Come and sit by me.’ Koru’s voice is gentle.
Ansa swallows down the rage. With an effort, she comes back to herself and to the harmless old woman. Sitting down, she unties the bag, emptying the contents onto Koru’s waiting palm.
‘I’d forgotten its beauty,’ Koru says, fingering the Balqa stone reverently. ‘See how it shines, even here under the trees?’
‘Forgotten?’ Ansa is confused. ‘When have you seen it before?’
‘It was mine,’ Koru replies simply.
Mine? For one whole breath, no thoughts will come and then Ansa starts to be terribly afraid. Afraid that Koru will reclaim the Balqa stone. But Koru is smiling and replacing the magic stone in her palm, closing her fingers over it.
‘I gave it to Bidari for a joining gift for you. I wanted you to have it.’
Ansa looks up, searching Koru’s face for any sign of malice or cruel laughter. Since the day she sent Tipi to find the calf, the other women have tricked her many times; she is sure of it. But there is only kindness in the old woman’s face.
‘May it bring you comfort,’ Koru says.
She is looking straight into Ansa’s eyes and, at first, Ansa squirms under her gaze. Koru’s fingers are still enclosing her own. Slowly she becomes aware of jagged, painful memories of the hot summer just gone scattered all around her, like discarded stone chippings. A harsh word from Gashi. Bidari turning his head away from her questions. The chatter of the women dying away when she comes close. The love on Hua’s face when she looks up at Bo.
Koru seems to be in no hurry to move. Ansa is aware of warmth spreading from the Balqa stone to her hand, her wrist and along her arm. After a time, her breathing slows and the tightness in her chest begins to ease. Now, when she thinks of Gashi, of Bidari, of Hua, the pain is less. There is a space around her now, the debris cleared away.
Koru releases Ansa’s fingers and leans back, resting her head against the tree. When she starts to speak again, her voice has taken on the lilt of story-telling.
‘I am going to tell you about one of the old people from long ago. This is the story of Mina and Askone, the honey badger.’
Ansa’s heart starts to beat faster. Story-telling is for the night, for sitting around the fire together, not for one person alone. But Koru is clearing her throat, as she always does before a story. Ansa closes her eyes to listen.
‘One morning, Mina woke up, thinking of her mother and her brothers. She decided to go and visit them. All morning she walked and, when Eshtu was high in the sky, Mina heard a shrill voice from high up in a tree.’
‘“Tya, tya, tya,” came the chattering of the honeybird. Looking up, Mina could just see the rounded belly, through the branches. The honeybird fanned out her tail feathers, showing the white spots underneath. “Tya, tya, tya,” she said again. Mina listened carefully and, sure enough, she began to hear the faint humming of the bees.’
‘How good it would be to take honey to my mother and my brothers, thought Mina.’
‘She started to climb the tree. Half way up, she fell to the ground and the hand on her heart side was broken. Mina thought of the sweet honey and began to climb again. This time she almost reached the top before she fell, breaking the foot on the other side of her body. But still the honeybird called — “tya, tya, tya” — and still came the humming of the bees. She climbed once more and, this time, she reached the top. With her digging stick in her good hand, she poked inside the tree trunk. The bees buzzed around Mina’s face, stinging her, but she hooked out a big piece of honeycomb, thanked the bees, and slithered down the tree.’
‘Mina limped on her way, leaving a trail of blood on the path. Once, twice, three times, she thought she heard the sound of someone following. When she stopped to look, there was no-one.’
‘It was winter and Mina began to grow cold. She was tired and her mother’s people were still far off. The sound came again and Mina turned quickly. There, behind a rock, she spied a white head, a blunt black snout, a pair of small eyes. It was fierce Askone, who loves to gather honey. He began to growl and to scrape at the ground with his sharp claws.’
‘Mina looked around for brushwood to make a fire that would keep Askone away but then stopped dead in her tracks. She had only one good hand. To pick up the wood, she would have to lay down the honey.’
‘Mina heard Askone growling, right behind her. His strong body was curling round her legs. He began to paw at her, his sharp claws tearing her skin, his jaws snapping at the honey. Mina cried out but she held tight to the honeycomb and lifted it up above her head.’
‘Way up in the heavens, the Skymother sneezed and stars flew from her nostrils, shooting out into the darkness. Hearing Mina’s cry and seeing the gift held up towards her, the Skymother at once began to journey through the sky, stopping only to throw over herself the coat of a she-leopard.’
‘Mina caught sight of the leopard, loping towards her through the darkness. She screamed and dropped the honeycomb on the ground. As everyone knows, Askone is not frightened of anything, not even of leopard. He snatched up the honey at once and sauntered away behind a rock, to eat it.’
‘Mina cried out again. She could not run but only hop along, waiting for the she-leopard to pounce. She could almost feel the hot breath on her back, the sharp teeth tearing her skin. But to her astonishment, what came was not pain but comfort. The Skymother had taken off her leopard coat and was wrapping Mina in it to keep her warm. She took Mina in her arms and rocked her, to and fro, till she fell asleep.’
Ansa opens her eyes. The story is over and Koru is getting to her feet. It is time to go back.
Thank you for reading. Chapter 18 is here:
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