Cave Interlude #2

Peerl was terrified, but tried not to show it.  There was going to be a new moon tonight during the solstice, and his time had come.  It was the longest day of summer, when the sun set behind the notch in the mountains west of his village.  People said this notch was where the evil spirits lived, for the setting sun could advance no further north, and humbly retreated south for the winter.  This place was called “no-sun-go,” but it sure was hot!  Six of his relatives walked in a line behind him.  Only the ancient, withered elder they called “The Old One” walked ahead of him, never turning back to see if anyone followed.  Peerl was not so disciplined, and kept looking back at his older brother, Numo, who leered at him sardonically and poked his butt with a stick.  He looked ahead to where The Old One was leading them.  Grotesque rock shapes peeked through the trees, seeming to mock his fear.  The oily little bushes scratched his ankles.  Why were they always walking in the worst spots?  He stepped to the side, not following The Old One who seemed to lead them though the roughest undergrowth.  His brother poked him vigorously with his long stick, and his uncles shouted, until he resumed his place in the shadow of his great-grandfather.  He thought again of his father, who had recently been killed on a hunt by a huge Grizzly bear.  It was going to be a long walk.

He tried to subdue his anxiety by comparing the green plants to the ones his mother sometimes produced from her medicine bag, or hung to dry in their lodge.  Many of them were unfamiliar to him, and the trees had a cleaner, healthier look than the dusty, tired ones around their little village back at the river.  Suddenly, The Old One stopped, turned, and pointed dramatically.  The men all ducked their heads and bent a knee, as if a shadow had passed over them.  Peerl turned to see what the old man was pointing at, and nearly peed in his deerskin loincloth.  Just above the trees, in the direction of the rising sun, was their God.  A great purple volcano dominated the horizon, with a plume of blue smoke drifting casually from its summit.  Surely this was “The Nameless Thing” of legend, from which all creation came forth!  Peerl had soaked up all the stories around the lodge fire during the long winter nights, for he was curious and eager to learn.  Still, he had never seen any mountains other than the ones immediately surrounding their river valley, and he stood, transfixed, ignoring his brother who snickered and poked at his loincloth with a stick.  He had never seen anything so awesome, or beautiful, in his thirteen summers.  He turned as if to say something to The Old One (and bit his tongue because he knew this was not allowed), but the spry old man had already resumed the westward climb, and was a stone’s throw up the ridge.  Peerl hurried to catch up, stealing looks back at The Nameless Thing, and wondering why his relatives were trying so hard to avert their eyes from the spectacle.

The ridge opened up to reveal dozens of grotesque granite shapes poking their hideous heads into the sky and looming over them with a vague malice.  Now they were surely surrounded by evil spirits!  What would they do?  His uncles and cousins stopped their jovial banter and fell silent.  Even his older brother finally had the grin wiped from his face and looked around nervously, rubbing his upper arms as if he was cold.  Peerl was impressed by the effect these rock formations had on his companions, but The Old One trudged on as if he would never stop.  They passed a wide-open space surrounded by mountains, and Peerl could smell cool water.  He shook the gourd he carried on a thong over his shoulder.  It was almost empty, and he was thirsty.  But his great-grandfather didn’t stop, turning south to climb another outcropping of rock that swam in the heat waves of midday.  How far would they still have to go?  At last, Peerl could see their destination when they topped out on the ridge, where it looked like all the cracks and pathways led up to a cleft in the ridge.  Was this the “no-sun” notch, beyond which the sun itself would not travel?

They arrived at a cool little lake, and Peerl filled his gourd carefully.  Back at home, the river was always within earshot, and water was never an issue.  He had been curious when presented with this gourd to carry, as it was an object he had never seen before.  His mother produced it from thin air, or so it seemed, and pressed it into his hands with an appeal, as if it held great importance.  Back home, it was just a dumb way of saving water that was everywhere.  Up here, it felt precious in his hands, and he dipped it reverently into the still pond, watching the ripples spread away and break up the reflections.  It had curious designs scratched into its sides, which he had never noticed before… His brother poked him with his stick again, and he threw water from the gourd at him before he realized what he was doing.  A cloud of anger crossed Numo’s face, and Peerl knew in an instant he would pay for his defiance sometime soon.

The Old One had paused at this small lake expectantly, as if it held great importance.  His uncles and cousins milled about with discomfort, looking up at the rock walls and shifting their weight on their feet, anxious to get on with it.  Peerl met his great-grandfather’s gaze, and realized it was the first time he had looked directly into his eyes all day.  The old man lounged as if he were sitting casually by the lodge fire at home; not showing that he had just trudged up a haunted mountain in the heat of summer.  He smiled with his entire face, in his loving, toothless way – then in a flash he became stern like The Old One again.  He abruptly stabbed his ceremonial staff into the ground, and walked around the small lake.  The sun was approaching a majestic, pointed mountain to the west as they passed by, and seemed impatient to set early.  To the east, The Nameless Thing was clearly visible with its plume of smoke, and his relatives continued to show great deference towards it by looking away in genuine discomfort.

The afternoon proceeded in a very confusing way for Peerl.  Nobody would look at him, much less talk to him, and every time he approached an uncle or a cousin, they would turn and walk away deliberately.  His great-grandfather was nowhere to be seen.  Out of sheer boredom, he began to explore the place that was obviously their destination, even though it seemed anticlimactic.  There was a big lake above the small one; surely the largest body of water he had ever seen.  Was this the initiation?  The light danced off the water in a different way than it did on the river back home, but it was the same light.  There was a huge rock wall behind the lake that captured his attention for a long time.  After the sun disappeared behind the wall and was no longer shining in his eyes, it seemed as though there were people inside the wall trying to tell him something.  He was interrupted from this fantasy by his brother, who poked him deliberately again with his stick.  Peerl rose suddenly as if to strike him, and their flashing eyes met, then he looked to the earth in a proper sign of respect.  The time had come.

In a clearing near the lakeshore, his uncles and cousins had been busy preparing a bonfire.  Peerl had heard the snapping and cracking sounds of wood being collected, but didn’t realize it was so much!  The wooden teepee that stood nearly as tall as him seemed like an extravagant waste of fuel.  His great-grandfather was still nowhere to be seen, and Peerl suspected he was napping somewhere after the long walk.  The atmosphere was casual, as if they were preparing for an evening meal, instead of his passage to manhood.

When the last sunlight faded from the rocks to the east, everything got serious.  His uncles and cousins that had formerly been avoiding him now stood expectantly in a semicircle around the unlit bonfire.  They were all staring at Peerl as if he should know what to do, and he looked with confusion at Numo.  Surprisingly, his older brother was no longer holding his stick, but was on one knee, eyes downcast.  In his hands he was offering a bundle made of otter skin.  Otters were considered sacred, and Peerl had never seen their skin so close before.  Obviously, he was meant to take this bundle and open it, so he did.  Inside were three curious rocks.  One was long and black, somewhat like the precious knives and spearheads his tribe used for hunting, but dull-colored and not at all sharp.  The other two were smaller rocks of a type he had never seen before.  One felt brittle, and was gray and sparkling in the evening light, while the other was the color of cedar bark, and heavy.  He was distracted by his brother, who was acting strangely (for him).  He continued to bend on one knee, extending his hands, asking for the honor of showing him “the birth of fire.”  It seemed as though he wanted the rocks back, so Peerl offered them, but Numo took only the two smaller ones.

With great deliberation and ceremony, Numo led him to an opening in the bonfire teepee, where shredded bark and smaller sticks had been arranged.  Numo took a small portion of these, and laid them on the ground away from the teepee.  Then, making sure Peerl was watching, he struck the two rocks against each other, and fire jumped from them!  Or the little children of fire flew out, as birds from a tree when startled, and then disappeared.  Once, twice, three times Numo struck the rocks, producing a shower of baby flame-seeds that went nowhere, until one got stuck in the shredded bark and up popped a tiny flame!  His brother averted his eyes and handed the two rocks to Peerl, gesturing at the waiting bonfire, which had gone out.  His uncles and cousins crowded around.  It was clear what he was meant to do.  Peerl struck the rocks together, and dropped them – out of excitement from the lively sparks that sprung forth from his hands!  At the urging of his relatives, he picked them up again, and struck them together in a way that aimed the sparks towards the shredded bark, which smoked profusely, then lit up suddenly.  The small flames licked the pitchy sticks and logs, and within a few minutes the bonfire was alive.  Peerl had to step back from the heat it threw off, amazed at what he had done.

His relatives began to sing: “See the fire the boy has created!  Soon he will be a man!”  They repeated this refrain over and over, and all of them had to move back from the circle of heat and light that emanated from the burning teepee.  They danced in a slow circle around the fire, shuffling their feet over and over in a distinct pattern.  Peerl recognized this was the same as the pattern his mother used when weaving baskets; something he had watched her do for hours as a child.  This fire was not like the small, smoky cooking fires of the village lodges.  There was something spectacularly magical about the purity of heat and light it created, and Peerl felt its connection with The Nameless Thing, whose fire was the creative force for the entire world.  The energy of the earth had been stored in these trees, and was now being released to the night sky, where the smiling faces of his ancestors were beginning to wink in wry conspiracy.

With a sudden impulse, he grabbed Numo’s poking stick from where he had left it leaning up against a tree trunk, and hurled his older brother’s implement of annoyance into the fire as a gesture of defiance.  Numo took a step forward, but was stopped by his uncles and some silent force.  Instead, he knitted his eyebrows in a plot for revenge.  Peerl studiously ignored him, and examined the orange light glowing through his hand as he held it up to the fire.  This really was a bright fire!  He became aware of someone standing next to him, or kneeling.  It was The Old One himself, with the third rock in his hands, extended out to him like a gift.  His great-grandfather, or “Oma” as he called him, was actually kneeling before him!  This was such a shock that he didn’t know what to do.  His uncles were impatiently gesturing as if he should take the rock, so he did, and held it in his hands awkwardly like a live fish.  Oma then took both his hands and formed them firmly around one end of the oblong rock, which was about as long as his outstretched hand.  In this way, Peerl understood that he wanted him to point the thing at his own breast, so he did.  All his relatives bowed on one knee now, including Numo.  Embarrassed, he dropped his hands and held the rock in one hand as if he was trying to hide it.

Oma produced a thick, soft leather pad from somewhere.  It appeared as though it had been made from the hump of a bull elk where the skin was thickest, and had several worn spots on it.  In a casual, friendly way that was totally incongruous with his kneeling uncles, Oma sat on a big log and spread the leather pad on his knees, inviting Peerl to sit beside him.  The light from the fire was hot and bright.  Then Oma produced another object Peerl had never seen before.  It reminded him of the tip of an antler from an elk, but he was not sure.  With a great flair of exhibition, Oma wrested the dark, oblong rock from Peerl’s uncertain hands and put it on the leather pad, with his hand under the pad.  He grasped the antler object purposefully in his other hand.  Making sure Peerl was watching, The Old One pressed the pointed tip of the object hard on the edge of the rock, and a black chip hopped off like a large flea!  Peerl gasped in astonishment, and Oma grinned his toothless grin and nodded at the chip, as if he wanted Peerl to pick it up.  He did, and it cut sharply into his fingertip.

“Ay!” he said involuntarily, and his uncles all chuckled, still on their knees with their eyes averted.  He looked back in surprise at Oma, who was laughing silently.  Now he felt like the butt of a joke, and pride welled inside him as he sucked his finger and glared at Numo, who was leering at him with an air of unconditional superiority.

Then Oma nudged him in a friendly way, and flaked off a few more pieces demonstratively.  He handed the rock and antler to Peerl, and took the leather pad off his bony knees; placing it on top of Peerl’s thighs, which were glistening with sweat in the firelight.  With an obvious gesture, he meant for him to give it a try, so he did.  Nothing happened.  The tip of the antler skidded clumsily off the edge, and buried itself in the leather pad over and over.  Oma took it back, and deftly flaked off a few more chips.  Snap!  Snap!  It looked so easy.  Peerl grabbed the objects back, and settled the pad on his knees the way Oma had done.  Just when he got ready to try again, Oma quickly seized the back of his thumb and pressed down hard, and a cry of pain slipped through his lips.  He caught Numo smiling sadistically at him, and scrunched his eyebrows in concentration.  Oma paused and looked at him deeply, and he understood that he must relax and let the old man show him.  His great-grandfather pushed down firmly again on the back of Peerl’s thumb, still holding the antler, and a chip popped off the rock!

“Aiii-yay!” Oma cried in exultation, and his relatives echoed the cry: “Aiii-yay!!”  The sound echoed off the rock wall behind the lake.  Oma picked up the chip deftly in his bony hands, and asked for Peerl’s hand – the one that had not yet been cut – and he poked the pointed chip hard, right into the tip of his thumb!  Peerl tried not to cry out, or to show the tears that Numo was looking for.  Oma gazed into his eyes for a few moments, and, satisfied that Peerl had gotten the message, he took the objects back and started working with great skill and alacrity.  Snap!  Snap!  Snap!  Peerl watched intently, and began to see a pattern.  He saw how the chips flaked off in a uniform direction when the antler was pressed in a way that leveraged the “life” inside the rock.  He reached for the objects, and repeated what Oma had done. The old man beamed at him with great pride and joy, as Peerl clumsily shaped the rock into what he now realized it was: a spearhead sleeping inside a rock.  He was careful not to touch the chips accumulating on the pad, until there were many of them, and he looked at his great-grandfather for guidance.  Oma pointed his lips at the heat, and Peerl knew what to do.  He released the seeds of the rock back into the fire whence they had come.

His relatives were beginning to shift uncomfortably on their one knee.  One by one, they rose unceremoniously to their feet and stood, stretching and muttering among themselves.  Numo lurked off to one side, partially out of the firelight, with dark shadows casting his face in a reddish glow.  Peerl worked on his spearhead with a purpose, but without much skill, and The Old One let him be.  He was now a man; he could do this.  Or so he thought!

After he had something that vaguely resembled a thick and lumpy spearhead, he shook the sharp chips off the leather pad one last time and looked at Oma expectantly, the way the dogs around camp pine for a small token of recognition.  He got none.  Instead, Oma took the spearhead-rock from Peerl abruptly, and made harsh, insistent gestures to the ground.  “Alima-ke!”  The meaning was clear, and Peerl obediently lay on his back with his head towards the fire, wondering what would happen next.  The Old One held the spearhead-rock high in the firelight, and uttered a long prayer that Peerl could not understand.  Then his great-grandfather lowered the sharp edge suddenly onto Peerl’s forehead!  This was the part Peerl knew was coming.  All the men in his village had a deep vertical scar in the center of their foreheads where the eyebrows met, and he knew he would have the same mark someday.  Before now, he hadn’t known how it was done, for nobody ever answered him when he asked.  He closed his eyes involuntarily as the rough edge dug into his skin.  “Aiii-yah!”  His relatives made an exuberant cry in unison, and The Old One stepped back, deftly putting himself out of the range of retaliation.

The pain between Peerl’s eyes was intense, and a film covered his eyes, as if something were flowing.  Blood!  He raised a hand to his forehead, and it came away red and glistening in the firelight.  Before he knew what was happening, The Old One swiftly grabbed a charred branch from the fire, and rubbed it briefly on the spot between Peerl’s eyebrows.  Oh, how it burned!!  Peerl knew he must hold still; that to cry out would be like a woman, and he must be a man!  His jaw muscles bulged in restraint.  His teeth felt like they would break from being pressed together so hard.  He fought to keep his eyes open, and could feel the tears streaming down to his ears.  He saw Oma produce a large acorn with a carved plug, which he removed and dabbed the tip of his finger inside.  He smeared something wonderfully soothing on Peerl’s forehead, and within a few seconds it was numb.

They all stood back now, expectantly, as if he was supposed to get up, so he did.  His uncles clustered around him in a familiar way, indicating he was now one of them and not just a nephew.  They brushed the dirt off his back obligingly, and examined with approval the mark on his forehead.  Peerl wondered what it must look like – he would have to wait until morning to see his reflection in the water.  He was suddenly very tired, as if the numbness of his forehead had spread throughout his entire head like ice.  His uncles were leading him somewhere, in a very friendly and insistent way.  By torchlight, they wandered in amongst the pile of white rocks that still flickered with reflected ochre tones from the fading bonfire.  Peerl had to watch where his feet were stepping – he was so exhausted – and suddenly, he was at a small cave entrance!  His uncles were pushing and urging him inside, where a dim light beckoned.

None of his uncles followed him, but they pushed him inside and blocked the entrance with their peering faces.  Peerl was surprised to see Oma again – he thought he was back at the fire!  Once again, his entire face smiled at him long and lovingly, with no teeth.  The Old One was sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small cave formed by several huge boulders.  A cheery fire danced in one of the cracks, as high as his breast.  It pulsed, as if it were actually inside the rock; a type of fire that Peerl had never seen before!  He wanted to examine it closer, but his body was so tired, and he lay down next to Oma on some soft elk skins.  So many amazing things had happened to him today, from his first look at The Nameless Thing, to his entrance into manhood, and now a fire inside a rock, and…

He woke up in the cave alone.  It was cold, and a dull gray light lit the cave dimly.  The fire was out, and he examined where it had been.  The soft, snow-like ashes were more magic than he could understand, so he gathered the elk skins and crawled outside, blinking in the dawn.

Numo leaned against a tree, waiting for him.

“They all left,” he said, unfolding his arms and walking toward him sternly.

He will surely beat me now, Peerl thought, and glanced anxiously in the direction where the bonfire had been the night before.

“There’s nobody to help you.” Numo said.  Then he added, in a surprisingly kind tone, “…but me.  Come, I am taking you home.”  He put his muscular arm around Peerl’s shoulders.

Peerl couldn’t have been more astonished, for his older brother had never been nice to him before!  He stepped out of the arm.  “What is this?”

Numo looked at him thoughtfully, as an equal.  “I am sorry I was so mean to you all the time.  You were an annoying and foolish young boy!  Now you are a man, and we are of the same village.  Come, brother, I will take you there.”

Cautiously, as if expecting a trick, Peerl let him take his arm and lead him down to the small lake.  Numo stopped at the edge of the forest and stared at him earnestly; with great seriousness.  “I must caution you not to be a foolish boy on the way down the trail.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peerl, with a resentful little-brother edge to his voice.

“The Nameless Thing.  You must not look at it.” Numo was shaking him and squeezing his arm to convince him.

Peerl resisted the temptation to cry out, and shook out of his grip defiantly; eyes flashing.

“No, I am serious, do not look!  Those who look are turned to stone.  See this one?”  He pointed to a huge, twisted boulder.  “And that one over there?  They are cursed.”  He went on to explain that the odd rock formations are those who looked at The Nameless Thing on the way down, after they had become a Man.  He urged Peerl to understand that things are now different from childhood, and he must act like a man.  Those who do not obey are forever frozen in their disrespectful poses, and the only outlet for their eternal despair is to torment those who ascend every year for the initiation ceremony.

They walked back down the trail in silence, with Peerl reviewing so many things in his mind that he forgot to avoid looking at The Nameless Thing.  It bulked blue and purple on the eastern horizon, with its now-familiar thin plume of smoke still staining the sky.  Peerl did not turn to stone, but he often had strange dreams about the volcano for the rest of his life.  When they got back to the village, the people all craned their necks his way curiously, and he stuck his chest out and turned his face proudly to all, so they could see the marks of a man on his forehead.  He approached his own shelter, and saw his mother grinding acorns into mush.  “How was it?” she asked coyly.

Peerl shrugged.  “It was okay, I guess.”