13. A BABY CRIES

After making life hard for Fart-fart Owongo returns home to find Mirumda gone

Owongo and Gondut were leading the way past the outer fringes of the hunting grounds and its forest border.

It was three days since Owongo had seen the dreadful orange man haranguing his very much depleted army of followers in the forest, and Gondut had decided that it was time for as many hunters as could spare the time to disperse in the woodland that surrounded the marked tree and make identical marks, and do it for miles around for miles around so that as a mark to be followed it was useless. That, thought Owongo, would fool the dangerous orange creature. It would throw his expected army of the great unwashed off the scent and make defeating them all the easier.

“This isn’t so easy!” gasped Owongo as he hacked at the bark of a great deciduous tree and barely made a mark with the blade of his stone axe, which, though sharp, was in need of some kind of handle to give it extra power. As it was, it was no more than a wedge of flint with a carefully knapped edge.

“But worthwhile,” muttered Binflo, who had chosen to work with Owongo. The hunters had opted to go in pairs, for the implements they had were far from sharp even though edges had been knapped in the finest flint they could find and were of the highest quality. But green wood of the trees, once the outer bark has been dislodged, was a tough material, and it being spring time of the year was moist and unforgiving, and even the best tools their technology could produce were barely adequate. The hunters might have yearned for something hardier, like metal, but the discovery of bronze still lay well in the future and he had to make do with what they had.

“Mirumda with child,” said Owongo casually, needing conversation to help him forget his personal discomfort.

“I noticed,” nodded Binflo, “Gold-eye tell me, says soon.”

Their speech was in short bursts as a consequence of the effort they were putting into their labour. Hunting was one thing, and came easily to them, but this hacking at green wood was something else.

“Gold-eye beautiful,” murmured Owongo, knowing that when good looks were distributed by whatever force distributes good looks Mirumda rather than Gold-eye got the lion’s share. But he was a kindly if rough and ready hunter, and didn’t want to boast or brag about the finer qualities of his own woman, so he praised Gold-eye instead.

“Gold-eye the best,” acknowledged Bin-flo, and to him she was. Back in those primeval times beauty was as much in the eye of the beholder as it is now. Anyway, Gold-eye had already produced two healthy chidlings, a boy and a girl, and it was widely said that the pretty girl was the exact image of her mother at that age whilst the boy was tough and sturdy.

“Mirumda want a boy, but I’m not so sure,” grinned Owongo. “Boy might grow into competition!”

“Maybe, but boy might provide strength for Owongo in his old age, and hunt for him, and wipe his bum when his own arms grow weak!” laughed Bin-flo.

“And a girl might clean his furs when they stink!” suggested Owongo, his eyes twinkling. “A girl might do all sorts of things.”

“Aye, she might run off with stranger’s son and that be that, no more cleaning stinky skins, no more chattering lass about the cave, just lonely old age,” mooted Bin-flo.

And for hours this kind of conversation went on and on, going nowhere, just words between friends and neighbours as they hacked away at their allotted trees and gave them all marks that would be hard for even the originator of the first mark to distinguish from it. It was the chatter that kept them going, and when they had marked as many trees as could be reasonably expected for two hardy hunters to mark they drifted back to the River Bank, and home.

“Owongo home!” shouted the hunter, and he wearily stomped into his home cave expecting Mirumda to be up and about and working at woman’s work.

But inside was silence. Inside was not even the movement a flea might make as it leapt from fur to fur in its insectish bid for the big outdoors and freedom. And Mirumda should have been there, Mirumda the heavy, Mirumda the very pregnant scrubbing this or wiping that.

Owongo took the emptiness of his cave in at a glance. After all, it was small and there were no corners in which a teasing Mirumda could have been hiding even if she was the sort of woman to distress her man in that way, which he was sure she wasn’t.

Distressed suddenly, he rushed to Bin-flo’s cave and barged in without coughing, which was the usual signal for neighbours to announce themselves before rushing in.

“Mirumda gone!” he wailed, “Cave empty and Mirumda gone!”

“I know, Owongo,” said Gold-eye, smiling, “I took her.”

“You took her?” queried a confused Owongo. “You took her where?”

Before Gold-eye could answer a mighty scream split the air, one filled with deep pain and monstrous agony, and Owongo was sure it must be Mirumda. But what was wrong? She had been filled with joy and happiness when he had set out to mark the trees with Bin-flo, and something dreadful must have happened whilst he was away. What was it? Had Fart-fart returned from the wilds and had his evil way with the lovely woman?

Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself, and shamefully he wept..

“Where Mirumda?” he asked, huskily.

Gold eye put an arm on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“She with wise woman. She with Sappo,” she said quietly, “she having baby! Pains came on whilst Owongo was away marking trees.”

“Son? Daughter? How come?” spluttered Owongo.

“Surely you know by now, my friend!” laughed Bin-flo, “for you have the cave next to here and we often hear the sounds you make when you snuggle up together and play your games! You don’t do it quietly, Owongo, and we hear a great deal!”

“But … but … but….” Owongo was lost for words.

“Go to Sappo,” suggested Gold-eye.”She will be helping Mirumda and with a bit of luck all will go right.”

“Go to Sappo…?” Owongo was still confused. “Why Sappo?”

“Sappo help her. Sappo the wise woman do the right things...” murmured Bin-flo.

“You come with me?” begged Owongo, suddenly frightened of facing reality on his own.

“Owongo go alone,” said Gold-eye. “Mirumda not want a great big audience at this time!”

Owongo nodded, then turned and almost raced out of the cave and down the row of rocks and scattered caves until he came to Sappo’s.

And when he got there and coughed and Sappo called him in, her face one big smile, Owongo got the shock of his life when, seeing Mirumda lying there, her face flushed but clearly she was well, he heard the sweetest of sounds, a tiny baby crying for its very first feed.

“A son,” murmured Sappo, “Owongo has a son!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

© Peter Rogerson 22.04.17