Chapter 2
Beach Feast
The traveling Abantu were well up the Indian Ocean coastal belt.
Gone were the steep ravines and difficult river valleys of the south.
Beaches were wide with soft sand, bordered by margins of grass covered bluffs that overlooked healthy savannah, mostly grass with scatterings of bush and trees.
Eku was thrilled by exotic beasts.
New antelope, from diminutive and slender oribi that bounced as though their slender legs were coiled springs, to the magnificent oryx, with mighty, spear-like horns, black-striped faces and a body almost as big as a buffalo.
Even more spectacular were gigantic, spotted giraffes, the most amazing beasts Eku had ever seen; his new favorites.
The elephants, zebras, buffalos, wildebeests, kudus, impalas, bushbucks, baboons, warthogs and bush pigs, Eku was familiar with.
As were the vervet monkeys, aardvarks and aardwolves, genets, meerkats, springhares and ground squirrels, pangolins and porcupines.
Occasionally, trailing the humans from distance were jackals, which surely meant the presence of lions, leopards and hyenas.
Predators, for the most part, knew to avoid Abantu; though, on occasion—especially being in a strange land—hunters killed an occasional hyena or lion, leaving the carcass in a specific location as a clear warning: stay away if you want to live.
The unexpected marula trees were a welcome reminder of home.
Full grown marula seemed like a miracle, at first.
The small copse sprang from the peak of a lone hill with a rocky spire, easy to spot from the beach, but unreachable by elephants and laden with ripened, yellow fruit.
The day was clear and bright and warm; the Abantu moved up the incline through coarse foxtail grasses, brown and yellow, patchy and wind-blown, stripped of all but an occasional seed tuft.
The earth was hard and dry beneath Eku’s toes.
Yathi, walking beside him amidst the center of the procession, said, “Marula. So what?”
“The trees at the top of this hill are from the hands of our ancestors,” his mother, Shona said.
She walked ahead of them, with Krele, her younger sister, along with the other mothers.
Luvu, one of the mothers, added, “The first scouting parties brought pouches of nuts to put in the ground to grow for future scouting parties.”
She pointed at the mature canopy ahead of them. “They have been growing for some time now. This is good, no?”
Yathi grimaced and stuck out his tongue.
He disliked harvest; though, Eku typically looked forward to it.
The two walked amongst waka-waka people, the younger Abantu in the center of the parade while adults led the way and brought up the rear.
Yathi was a robust, young male with a round nose and dimpled chin and the same, laza eyes as his father Lume, whose span of shoulders bespoke the adult Yathi would become.
Unless hungry, Yathi was eternally easy going and happy to follow Eku’s lead.
Astride Eku and Yathi were the brothers Gokuk and Dokuk, whose mother Luvu walked just ahead.
Gokuk was the same age as Eku and Yathi, while Dokuk was a cycle older than Yatyambo (and completely in love with her).
Dokuk was much taller than Goguk, but the brothers had identical, round faces and bright eyes and big ears and flat noses and broad, toothy smiles.
The four young males wore soft-pelted loincloths and had seal skin sacks slung over a shoulder.
Most of the adults wore loincloths of softened skins shorn of hair.
Many wore additional garments, some with fur, some shorn and cured a warm brown, sewn as a vest or a wrap to drape over a shoulder, tied around the waist.
All of the adults carried either grass baskets or turtle shell bowls.
“I’m staying on the ground and watching for squirrels and springhares,” Dokuk announced, glancing at Eku to see if there was a reaction.
Eku kept his eyes to the front, making sure his face betrayed nothing.
He and Dokuk had an unspoken competition of who had more prowess with a keri stick.
Dokuk, older and bigger, could throw much harder, but Eku, despite his youth, had developed an uncanny precision when it came to bringing down live prey.
“I’m climbing,” Gokuk said, pointing at the patch of trees at the peak of the rise. “The big one in the middle looks like a jellyfish.”
Yathi groaned.
He didn’t like anything about harvest.
***
Unreachable by elephants, the marula grew full, rounded canopies with branches hung low for easy climbing.
The cluster of trees sat in the middle of the top of a hill, the rocky spire to the side facing the water and surrounded by thick bushes.
All land away from the trees and rocks was coated with yellowed grass.
As the Abantu approached, a flock of tan parrots with orange beaks burst upward to coalesce and whisk away inland.
Another group of birds immediately followed, many of the Abantu crying out at the sight of a new and splendid species.
The wing feathers were light green and the breast shimmered lilac to lavender.
Lingering last were turacos, familiar to the Abantu, with portly bodies and stout wings stained with a splash of red, lazily spiraling into the bushes braced around the base of the rock croppings.
Once atop the hill, the Abantu could observe far northward.
Ahead of them lay a spectacular stretch of low-rising bluffs.
Sandy shores created a yellowish margin between a laza ocean and the coastline, where jumbles of brown-rock battled green vegetation for beachside dominance.
Beyond the beautiful stretch of beach, a dramatic change awaited: the savannah the Abantu had followed for so long was being replaced by the dark bands of a tropical forest.
Approaching the marula, adults dispatched in a geometric pattern.
The main group gathered under a magnificent tree, branches heavy with round, yellow fruit.
Young people, excited at the prospect of climbing, nevertheless moved with the same practiced precision as the adults, knowing which plants had thorns or cutting edges, which bush to never brush up against because of insects, and most important, where to watch for dangerous beasts, large and small.
Hunters carrying ula-konto and wearing a necklace with the talon of a fish eagle, moved to the perimeter of the trees to stand watch.
Gokuk happily ran for the largest marula, where agile youth were already ascending through the lower branches.
Dokuk eyed Eku for a moment, then spotted Odi, his ikanabe, amongst other young people gathered in an area between the trees and rocks—a likely place for springhares to burrow.
He ran off to join them.
Eku and Yathi were considering where to start when Inka separated from the older females.
Inka had only recently cut her hair and was matched with Goagu, a stalwart hunter who all the young females admired, or so Eku often heard.
So he asked Yat, “Is it because Goagu is a good hunter?”
But she only laughed at him and walked away.
Uncle Lume happened to be standing nearby and said (somewhat mockingly, Eku thought), that Goagu being popular with the females had nothing to do with his hunting skills.
Inka was a beauty, with large, soft round eyes and pouty lips.
She moved gracefully, like a leopard Eku thought, smooth and supple as she approached through knee-deep yellow grass, wearing a brown wrap shorn of skin, with a scarf of black and white ferret with colorful feathers attached.
Bracelets of rounded, white ostrich beads adorned each forearm.
Yathi, unabashed, stared, mouth partly open.
“Hello Yathi,” she said with a knowing smile. “Hello Eku, good to see you at harvest.”
Even Inka’s voice was bewitching, sweet and full of flavors Eku couldn’t quite put his finger on; nevertheless, he frowned and said, “I am always at harvest.”
Inka giggled and Yathi let out a kind of whimper, eyes going more vacant, smile broadening.
Still smiling she added, “Yes I know silly. I was wondering if you might do something for me?”
When Inka pointed at the bushes where the turaco had settled, Eku tried not to show his burst of excitement.
Inka was an adult and just gave him permission for a hunt!
Well, maybe not a real hunt, but a chance to use his keri stick for something other than a springhare or squirrel.
Not wanting to appear overeager, Eku put on his most serious look and asked, “The red feathers?”
Inka nodded.
“I will add the flesh to a stew tonight. Or slice it thin and let it cure for the first meal tomorrow. But the feathers, those are for something special.”
She winked, put a hand to the curve of her hip and waited for Eku to respond.
He clicked and said, “Turaco are clever.”
“But the turaco here are not familiar with Abantu. See how the silly birds linger.”
Inka clicked softly and pointed again and Eku had to admit that even the way she gestured with a single finger was somehow attractive.
He eyed the bushes clustered with brightly colored birds and said, “I will try for a throw, but I might miss.”
“Yes, but I picked you for a reason.”
Eku smiled and clicked yes.
Inka gave him an affectionate pat on the head and walked gracefully back to where the adults were organizing the fruit husking.
Yathi, staring after, breathed, “How can she be so beautiful.”
“I do not know,” Eku said. “She just is.”
“You have to get one.”
“I might miss.”
“Well, if you do get one, make sure I am there when you give it to her.”
***
The tribe settled into a familiar routine.
The Abantu formed stations to the side of the main canopy.
First, a place to drop off the fruit where it would be stripped of the outer skin.
Next, a station to cut out the inner core for later use while placing pulp in turtle shells for draining into bladders.
Finally, squeeze the pulp to extract the last of the nectar and twist the stringy remains into strips to set out to dry and carry as travel food.
Eku and Yathi had to choose between climbing or gathering the fruit.
Deciding to stay on the ground, Eku took care of his share quickly as possible, remaining bent over to snatch fruit off the ground, while keeping one eye upward.
Eku, Yathi and everyone else on the ground engaged those climbing above with playful banter, the two sides hollering back and forth as the climbers rained down a bounty and those on the ground dodged and gathered.
Eku deposited a full sack with the adults at the de-husk station and paced to the edge of the canopy, knowing that he was already running out of time.
Checked the keri stick at his waistline and eyed where the turaco were waiting for the humans to leave, settled in tall bushes with vertical branches heavy with waxy green leaves.
Were it not for the scarlet on their wings, the birds would blend perfectly; though, Eku knew that come lobo-yaka—the hot and rainy cycle—that same bush would be loaded with bright red flowers.
Depending on the type of harvest, aspiring hunters were always on the watch for small game and constantly contested amongst themselves.
For most beasts, birds especially, permission was required from an adult; whereas, prey such as springhare or squirrel are always valued for their meat, skin and sinew; thus, were always a target for a keri stick.
When the tribe next harvested fantail grasses, valuable for cordage and weaving baskets, Eku looked forward to bringing his ula-konto, where he would have more options; such as fish, ducks and fat frogs with legs thick as his forearm.
Eku’s favorite subject was to watch beasts. Of all kinds.
Use his mind to slow things down.
Study the individual parts: eyes, ears, nose, whiskers, legs, feet and tail.
Understanding the way a beast behaved was critical.
A hunter needed to recognize the meaning behind any change in posture, whether a ripple of fur, the flick of a whisker, a shift of feathers.
Eku knew how bodies worked.
Well, maybe not as expertly as his mother and father and Yat, but Eku always paid attention.
Even at a young age, Eku had already participated in waka-waka harvests, which often included butcherings, from giant seals to baboons to hagu and antelope of all sizes, fish and birds, even an occasional, rogue male elephant, killed by hunters out of necessity.
He knew of the many important body parts.
And Eku understood that all beasts—even humans, share those same parts.
He also knew the different parts of a body worked together because of the mind.
The mind was inside the skull, which Eku and Yathi liked to laugh about, because inside skulls were the brains they used to soften hides for loincloths.
The two of them couldn’t figure out why saying brains and loincloths together made them laugh, it just did.
But joking was set aside when it came to hunting.
Eku knew that to fool the beast, you had to fool the mind of the beast.
Stealth and patience were vital.
Eku looked once more at the bushes where the turaco settled, like so many dark fruits with bright red spots.
Nothing but tall grass between where he was standing and where the birds were roosting.
Cicadas and locusts were a high pitched current of sound, rising and lulling.
Eku sometimes thought he could feel the vibrations of the waka-waka wing rubbers through the soft spots on his feet.
He knew insects were part of Umawa’s hosting of infinite beasts and plants, a vast web of life multilayered and complex.
Since he was weaned, Eku had been trained by his father on how to enter that world, without the slightest disturbance.
A hunter’s greatest asset was becoming ibe-bonakalio—invisible to the rest of the world.
Birds were difficult prey, like antelope, watching individually in all directions and reacting as a group.
Eku moved from beneath the shade of the marula, continuing to bend over and reach, as though picking up fruit.
Not looking directly at the roosting turaco, he watched using the periphery of his vision, while his feet acted as a second set of eyes, toes poking through stems of tall grass to find proper footing.
Bend over.
Extend the arm.
Step forward and slowly straighten.
Repeat.
The day was still young and Ulanga was high and bright.
Eku was warm and loose.
Probably already close enough for a long throw.
Plus, he was running out of time.
But, while turacos were chubby, with pigeon-like bodies, they were very fast.
It would be a wasted effort.
Patience.
The grass was long enough to occasionally tickle Eku’s stomach, but would not interfere with a throw.
That was good.
He just had to get closer.
A long-winged fly glided gracefully by.
A clumsy flying beetle rammed itself into a shoot in front of Eku, frantically clinging as the grass tail-wagged back and forth.
Bend over.
Extend the arm.
Step forward and slowly straighten.
Repeat.
Some of the birds adjusted their claws on the branches and Eku knew his proximity was making them nervous.
Spread his feet for balance.
Breathed.
Gripped the earth of Umawa with his toes while his right hand retrieved the keri stick at his waist.
Focused on a plump turaco at the end of a branch, darkly green upper body, purplish lower body, bright red wings, the pupil of the bird’s observing eye locked on his human form.
Eku turned his hips and shifted weight to his back foot as he pulled back his arm to begin a muscular chain of events that he had practiced waka-waka-waka times.
Using the strength of both legs, Eku pivoted hard and shifted weight forward while twisting his torso, channeling all the energy of his young body into his right arm as it whipped forward in a throwing motion.
The keri stick flew from his hand at a remarkable speed.
As always, there was a micro-instant netherworld between triumph and failure.
The turaco reacted like lightning, but the spinning stick caught the target flush as it leaped from the branch, the bird’s light and hollow bones caving under the impact so that death was instant, the body falling as the others exploded upward with flashes of crimson and much squawking.
The commotion attracted the attention of all the young Abantu, but only a casual glance from the adults.
Eku moved quickly through the grass.
Found his keri stick and picked up the bird, holding the warm and soft body close to his side.
Dokuk and several other young males were instantly upon him; the tallest named Tuve, already with an adult's deep voice, demanded, “Who gave you permission?”
Tuve sidled up aggressively, but Eku held his ground and was grateful when Dokuk quickly stepped forward.
Stone faced, Eku snapped, “Inka.”
All of the males groaned in envy and moved away, but Dokuk hesitated; smiled.
There was something about Eku that made it impossible to be jealous.
He slapped Eku’s shoulder with affection and followed after the others, still hopeful for one last throw at a springhare.
Eku fought down his exhilaration.
At moments like this, he could almost believe himself a hunter.
Could imagine the feel of a fish eagle talon on his chest.
But there was still so much to learn.
He looked under the marula canopy and observed Goguk amongst other young people descending from the branches.
Saw the adults had finished skinning fruit and extracting the nuts and were now focused on separating pulp from sweet nectar.
Noted where Inka was working and went to get Yathi.
***
All of the Abantu came down the hill carrying something.
Eku had a bladder of nectar slung over his back; a satchel hung from the opposite shoulder, crammed full of cores.
Burly Yathi steadied a basket of pulp on his shoulder.
The rich rewards of their labor were evenly dispersed among the travois and the tribe was soon on its way for the day’s march.
Eku and Yathi paced stride for stride, each with the strap of a travois handle hooked over their inside shoulder.
Being young, the netting of supplies hung between the poles wasn’t heavy and pulling while hiking would only leave them extra hungry.
The heels of the travois hissed through the sand and Eku felt strong, in a terrific mood from his exhilarating success at harvest.
How fortunate that Inka picked him!
Eku reminded himself to keep practicing with his keri stick—and with the ula-konto!
Krele was suddenly beside him, Eku noting gratefully that his mother had folded skins in a basket over her back that probably should have gone into the travois that he and Yathi were pulling.
Krele saw Eku smiling, despite the labor.
Clicked to get his attention and said, “Must have been a good throw.”
Eku’s smile broadened.
“I knew the turaco had only one direction to rise from the branch, so I threw where it would leap.”
“You made Inka happy. The feathers are bright red. Very beautiful, like she is, no?”
Yathi moaned loudly and said, “Inka is sooo beautiful.”
Eku said nothing, but the darkening wave across his face was all too apparent.
Krele grinned, but turned away to hide it, knowing her sweet male child didn’t understand why he blushed; though, he would soon enough.
The entire tribe walked as one group, something that rarely happened.
Eku was thrilled to see everyone together, especially his father, but wondered: the more experienced hunters normally moved ahead of the main pack in staggered groups, to establish a safe path for all to follow.
Why weren’t they doing that now?
***
The Abantu hiked one beautiful beach after another through the remainder of the day and part of the next before arriving at a promontory that curved gracefully into Uwama, a long and wide swath of bleached sand that abruptly ended at a barrier of mangroves.
Eku was startled by the sharp contrast: smooth sand, almost yellow, expanding before them only to end at a green wall, where dark roots jammed into the water like interwoven fingers to hold up an impenetrable mass across a vast, intertidal zone.
The Abantu would replenish here and prepare for the next stage of the pilgrimage.
The adults and young people immediately began gathering driftwood.
Hunters buried bladders of nectar into the hot sand and then disappeared into the forest to later return with hagu and duiker.
A great amount of food was prepared.
Cores gathered from the marula the day before yielded nuts to grind and mix with nectar to make delicious, hearty cakes.
Melon nuts were seasoned and spread across skins to dry.
Sika-yaka was only just beginning and rain remained periodic.
The encampment was simple: just a few shelters using poles and skins.
Many familial groups simply arranged bed mats and supplies around fire pits.
Eku and Yathi joined the harvest of ubhak-unda, the Abantu word for shellfish that were good to eat; first, cutting mussels from submerged rocks at one end of the beach, before trooping down to the other end of the beach to have fun climbing and diving amongst the mangroves to root out oysters.
There was the never-ending gathering of fuel for fire, during which Eku and Yathi got a closer look at the jungle.
Where the sand ended opposite Uwama, a veritable mountain of greenery rose, branches wreathed with flat leaves drooped in a weeping pattern to the sand; equally dense boughs rose in successive layers to a tremendous height.
None of the young Abantu had ever seen such a labyrinth of tall trees and vines.
As though expelled in disgust from the vibrant growth were dead branches, stripped of bark and whitened, lying in clusters along the shaded fringe between forest and sand.
Eku and Yathi—all of the young people, took turns dragging heaps of the potent fuel to where a bonfire was taking form, just beyond the reach of high tide.
Uwama was calm, a brilliant shade of laza and green, when they dropped off their latest collection.
Eku was surprised to see many of the long poles used for shelters and travois, as well as cured skins amidst the tangle of the fast-growing bonfire.
Yathi asked, “Why are we burning those?”
Confused, Eku looked around for Yat because Yat always knew what was going on.
There were many people all around, and he needed a moment to spot her down the beach, with her female friends Tar and Maz, their three poofs catching Ulayo’s breath to swing over the same shoulder.
There were too many people close by to shout and Eku did not feel like chasing after the older females, who would probably tease him for not knowing.
He shrugged and guessed, “Maybe we are going to make new skins and poles?”
Yathi said, “This is the sika-yaka. We would be cold at home without skins. But here, we are not.”
Startled, Eku realized how correct Yathi was.
They were comfortable in only loincloths; whereas, at home, they would be wearing vests, for sure.
He wondered why it was warmer.
“I do not want to go in there.”
Still glancing toward his sister and the females, Eku looked at Yathi, who gazed back across the sand, at the dark wall of the jungle.
“We must,” Eku said.
“I like it here. We can go swimming whenever we want. This is almost like home. I hope you are right and we stay here and make new poles and skins.”
Eku said nothing, realizing how different things had finally become.
Not just the birds and beasts, but the land and even the strength of Ulanga’s fire.
What would they encounter in a jungle?
***
Fasting was the rule for the final day of their stay on the beautiful beach.
Eku and Yathi began the day following Lume and the other izik-kosa to the mangroves.
Some of the tool makers waded into the warm and shallow water to use knives and axes to cut away thick branches.
Eku and Yathi waded and swam to help pass the logs to others, who used sharp blades to strip the outer bark and then carefully scraped away a layer of moist, pear-colored inner bark, which was stuffed into bowls with a mix of greasy clay and seawater.
The full bowls were left to bake under Ulanga.
Throughout the day, all available awls and cordage weaving tools were in high demand.
Many of the adults spent time weaving strings of plant fiber and sinew for more sewing.
When darkness fell, the tribe gathered around a cone of wood that had risen to over the height of three adults standing on top of the other.
The bonfire was lit and the flames started slowly, smoke billowing down the beach like a great gray cloud.
The smoke all but disappeared once the flames grew hot and began shooting upward, great spouts of yellow and orange erupting against the fast darkening sky.
Drums of hollowed logs and bound skin were brought forth.
A steady beat boomed.
Young people became too excited to sit around and wait for the food and rushed about the beach while the bonfire blazed.
Eku saw Yanga, an enormous pale ball rising from Uwama, as always, plump when first appearing, but shrinking as he moved higher into the night sky.
“Yanga follows the path set by Ulanga,” Tiuti told Eku.
“Yanga may stray a bit and he spins to change his face, but he always follows the footsteps of his father.”
The sand was pale and crisp beneath Eku’s feet and visibility became almost as good as during the day.
The bonfire was a flaming beacon between a slate ocean striated with white caps, pale sand and the impenetrable black wall of the jungle.
Young people raced madly about in games of tag and chase.
After burning off enough excess energy, Eku and Yathi cooled with a swim in Uwama and returned to the bonfire.
***
Yat, Tar, Maz and other young females brought forth shakers and rattles to dance together and sing songs.
Amongst the young females there was much laughing and smiling.
Often, one of the females afforded a glance at Dokuk, Odi, Tuve or any one of the other young males orbiting their group like moths to a flame.
The drummers stopped.
Food was ready.
Heaps of roasted hagu and duiker were piled on palm leaves; oysters and sweet berries heaped in turtle shells; fruit cakes of marula nuts and pounded tubers mixed with sweet nectar and melon nuts were placed on grass mats.
There were piles of mussels and heaps of other ubhak-unda.
Fish and bowls of fig and plum.
The people filled melon-shell bowls or woven mats of grass and settled on the sand around the bonfire.
After stuffing themselves, Eku and Yathi worked their way close to the fire, where Krele and Shona and Yat sat on grass mats placed specially for the mothers.
Maz and Tar sat with their mothers and siblings the next mat over.
Eku clicked softly at Yat, who made a face at him, but moved her butt enough for Eku and Yathi to squeeze into place.
All of the people gathered around the bonfire, now a mound of hot coals.
Ulayo blew down the beach, pulling orange and laza-tinged flames in the direction from which they hiked.
Because of the heat, the closest anyone sat to the fire was waka paces away.
Eku proudly watched his father walk into the area between the fire and where the people were seated.
Kaleni was to perform a song from his time in the land of legend.
Songs were the way the Abantu told stories.
The people used songs to recite history and soliloquize heroic deeds.
There were songs for harvest and the hunt and for most any daily task.
Songs were for formal occasions, such as the grieving of loss, as well as for celebrations and births.
Kaleni looked impressive with a loincloth of spotted genet.
Every Abantu could not help but admire his necklace—four pale talons, the full claw of the fish eagle, stood out sharply against the muscles of his chest.
Close to the fire, Kaleni sweated.
While Eku knew his father was the greatest of hunters, he was not a particularly good singer.
Not that Eku was either.
Yat and Yathi, on the other hand, were beautiful singers.
But Eku knew that for songs such as his father was about to perform, the beauty of one’s voice did not matter.
Only the proper telling.
Kaleni leaped and gestured with extravagance, so that sweat sprayed as he sang of their struggles through fetid swamp lands, when suddenly, the hunters came face to face with the largest water buffalo they had ever seen.
Water buffalo were notoriously angry and the crowd murmured in apprehension.
Encouraged, Kaleni sang out the beast was twice the size of a buffalo found in their homeland, with a body as long as an elephant and a magnificent spread of horns; the horns starting thick and spreading wider than an Abantu was tall, while curving forward and tapering to a sharp point.
There was much clicking and enthusiastic oohs and ahhs.
Kaleni dramatically sang how the elephant-sized buffalo unexpectedly retreated from their group, snorting loudly, massive horns lowered dangerously, but backing steadily away, as though considering them a threat, despite their diminutive size.
Eku wondered what would make a formidable beast behave in such a manner?
Kaleni finished the song and the drummers resumed pounding.
The adults brought forth bladders of fermented nectar and the feasting and dancing continued.
***
When the adults suddenly vacated the area around the bonfire, all of the young people danced madly.
Dokuk, Odi and Tuve took up the drumming and pounded faster and faster until the young people collapsed onto the sand in sweating laughter.
The adults returned.
Females first, wearing beautiful robes of feathers, arranged to hang like the pinnacles of a palm.
Red and pink flamingo, yellow pelican and gray heron.
Some of the robes were highlighted with accent feathers.
Parakeets and song birds of orange and red.
Eku was excited to spot Inka, wearing a spectacular robe of pink flamingo, a cap of scarlet turaco feathers undulated over her head with each graceful move.
The males returned, some wearing leopard loincloths, others with masks decorated to look like elephants, baboons and lions.
The drummers pounded and shakers were brought forth.
The adults formed alternating lines to circle the fire in opposite directions and the young Abantu joined in.
The drumming and the shakers grew louder and faster and soon, everyone, even Tiuti, was dancing.
Interwoven lines of movement.
Females in feathered robes like great birds; the males leaping like cats.
Eku and Yathi fit themselves into a line and circled the fire; hollering and laughing with joy, switching from one line and one direction to the other.
To the horror of the young Abantu, the males began tearing off their masks and painstakingly cured pelts and heaved them onto the hot coals where they burst into flame.
The females stripped next, removing the special robes, some of which had been lovingly maintained for generations, the dry feathers exploding into showers of sparks.
Eku and Yathi—all of the young people, moved away, stunned by the behavior of the adults.
The drumming and dancing began again, with greater fervor.
Yathi and Eku stood together, staring at the females writhing naked, sweat spraying from their bodies.
Eku saw Inka one last time, wearing only the halo of red feathers, lithe body glistening in the firelight.
The erection under his loincloth was in a painful state, but neither he or Yathi could look away.
The flames died down.
Adults paired off and disappeared to dark areas of the beach.
The young people brought forth bed mats to arrange themselves around the smoldering fire.
Magic had entered Eku’s world.
The magic of beachside song and dance.
And because he was here, at this place, at this moment, Eku knew that future Abantu would feast and sing songs about them being there.
Someday.
He fell into a deep sleep.
Awoke and shuffled through rows of slumbering bodies to pee where Uwama kissed the sand.
Looked up to see Yanga had disappeared, leaving a spread of stars bright enough to purple the sky.
The sound of the surf soothed and encouraged more sleep as Eku paced back to his bed mat, warm between Yat and Yathi.
The fire was a mound of glowing embers from which ripples of Abantu slept all around.
Eku’s last thought before the surf lulled him back to sleep was there were no more travois to pull.