Burying the Shadow (31 page)

At first, the
girl seemed reluctant to pierce herself and my heart went out to
her. She must have been horribly conscious of how everyone was
watching her intently. Did she feel humiliation, shame, or fear?
And yet, she must have been aware of how she had no choice but to
complete the ritual; there was no other way she could become a
fully-fledged member of the tribe.

I saw her
close her eyes, screw up her face with the fear of pain, and press
the tip of the phallus against herself. To me, a man of flesh and
blood would have been less of trial. All the women began to sing,
swaying slowly, building up a rhythm of power. I realised they were
actually invoking Helat, calling down the spirit of their god into
the flesh of the girl before them. The rite was symbolic of the
androgyne; Helat impregnating itself. The girl had also adopted the
traditional position of giving birth among these people. I was
quite moved, despite the barbaric aspects of the rite. The girl’s
face was changing, becoming enraptured. The support of her people
entered into her and she took the plunge, abandoning nervous
pokings, and thrust the phallus inside her. It must have hurt her
horribly, but I could see she was beyond pain. She slithered
upwards into a standing position, barely shaking, and I could
almost feel the thunder of her heart. So mystical a thing is
sexuality; it made me realise that we Taps, with our scientific
cool, sometimes missed the intention of its power. Before me, stood
a trembling girl who had been deflowered by a god, and the god was
herself. Maybe I would be able to use this symbolism during my work
sometime. Not all of my commissions involving expunging Fear or
mental sickness. Sometimes, I am called upon for lesser maladies -
anxiety about sexuality can be one of them.

The following
rites - eight girls in all - did not seem as powerful to me. The
initial image was the one that stayed with me. I was looking
forward to discussing it all with Aniti later; I was glad that
another of my kind was present.

The rite was
ended by a circle dance; all the newly initiated girls skipping
around in the centre, joyous because the trial was passed. Their
blood had mingled in the sacred waters of Helat. The over-spilling
pool would eventually instil their essence into the earth beneath,
flowing over the damp steps. All the women had become excited,
laughing shrilly. When the circle broke, I noticed most of them
only gathered up their clothes in their arms before running off
between the trees. Aniti and I, left alone because Sah’ray had
scampered away somewhere, solemnly began to dress ourselves.

‘It was very
powerful,’ Aniti said lamely.

I nodded.
‘Yes, very.’ I realised I had become quite aroused by the rituals
and, thinking Aniti must feel the same, asked her if she would like
to slip off somewhere and make love with me. ‘I do not feel this is
a time for men,’ I said.

She smiled.
‘No, it is not. Why don’t we stay here? Everyone else seems to have
gone.’

We sat down
beneath one of the trees and I began to undo her fastenings once
more. She giggled, complaining of being tickled. I was thinking of
the impassive idol at the other end of the glade; at that moment, I
envied Helat’s androgynous form. I would have liked to have had a
phallus myself, to plunge into this young and willing body and, in
turn, would have appreciated Aniti being similarly blessed. The
strength of the rite was insidious. I was quite surprised at how it
had affected me. I think Aniti must have felt the same for we
didn’t even bother to undress fully; we simply groped for each
other. I squeezed Aniti’s breast with my free hand. ‘Not so fast,
lovely. Let’s take our time.’

‘I feel so
strange,’ she said, wistfully. ‘So hungry.’

‘I’m glad we
witnessed their mysteries,’ I said. ‘It will be useful.’

Aniti laughed.
‘Rayojini, you seem so cold, so analytical all the time. Can’t you
just feel what has happened and accept it?’ She made a scoffing
sound. ‘Useful! Really!’

Her skin looked like
dark, polished wood in the dappled moonlight; I stroked the smooth
planes of her generous hips. Her pubic hair was a shadowed,
impudent bush. Perhaps she was right about me; perhaps I was too
cynical.

‘Do you still
want us to enter the tribal soulscape?’ Aniti asked.

I really
didn’t feel like discussing it. ‘To be honest, I wonder whether
there is any point,’ I said.

‘You have
changed your mind, then.’

‘I don’t know.
At the moment, I don’t care!’ I lowered my lips to her breast. This
was not a time to worry about work. Aniti moaned sweetly and ran
her nails lightly over my back. It felt exquisite.

Then, she
tensed. ‘What was that?’ she hissed.

‘What?’

‘Listen!’

There was a
sound among the trees behind us; just a slight sound, but enough to
alert us that it wasn’t an animal. I sat up and tried to peer into
the darkness. ‘Is someone there?’ Aniti asked nervously.

‘I don’t...’
Before I could finish speaking, a man stumbled out of the shadows.
He looked like a hunted animal; his naked flesh was scratched and
bleeding, and his eyes were wild and round. Matted hair fell onto
his chest, tangled with twigs and leaves. It was Q’orveh.

I guessed his
condition must be the aftermath of the men’s ritual and that he had
not intended to come across any women. I had a feeling someone was
chasing him, but perhaps I was wrong. He leaned down, panting, his
hands braced on his knees. Then, he looked up and seemed to see us
for the first time.

‘Soulscapers,’
he said. I could not interpret the emotionless tone of that single
word.

I became aware of my
dishevelled condition, my shirt hanging open, my trousers unlaced.
‘What do you want?’ I demanded, expecting him to flee.

He did not
speak, however, but limped over and squatted down beside us. Aniti
was still lying down, her breasts exposed, her trousers round her
knees, lips all full with passion. She was looking at Q’orveh with
hooded eyes. Aniti, little wild thing; so easy for her to let go,
become one with these people.

‘We are busy,
shaman,’ I said. ‘I thought men respected the women’s rites.’

‘The women’s,
and the men’s, rites are over,’ he replied. ’Don’t you know
that?’

‘Well...’

He flopped
down and lay on his side, supporting his head on his hand. I felt a
familiar longing flash through my mind. Q’orveh: beauty; the words
were really inseparable. Had he been looking for me?

‘Rayo, he’s
ours,’ Aniti said. ‘Lay him down.’

I was amused,
more than shocked, by her words. Perhaps, at that moment, I wished
she wasn’t there. ‘Do we need this?’ I asked, rather sharply.

‘Need it? No.
But he needs us, I’m sure. This is still part of it, Rayo. He’s
lying; the rites haven’t ended.’

She sat up and
Q’orveh rolled onto his back. Aniti looked splendid; a satiny black
spirit, her braids lovingly accentuating the curve of her full
breasts. What a little goddess she was! Her eyes were those of the
primeval huntress; she slithered towards the shaman like an oiled
serpent, kicking off her trousers, intent on seizing what she
considered to be her prey. I was older than Aniti; sometimes it is
necessary to claim the privilege of age. The older huntress would
have to take prevalence.

I playfully
pushed her away. ‘Mine first,’ I said.

Aniti grunted
and then laughed a little. Q’orveh had closed his eyes; his arms
were spread out in the wiry grass. He knew what to expect. As he
was both priest and priestess, he knew all about submission. I
kissed his body, tasting salt and clay, and ran my hands over the
ripple of his ribs. Just to let him know I understood more about
him than he thought, I used my hands in a way he probably didn’t
expect. An androgynous deity has many ways of manifesting. He
arched his back in pleasure, and my ministrations made him ready
for us.

So much for
Keea’s words, I thought, as I took Q’orveh inside me. Little
creeping liar. Jealous snake.

Tomorrow, I
might be wryly appalled at my behaviour, but for now... It felt too
glorious for words. Q’orveh was a sacrificed king beneath me; I
couldn’t stop looking at his face. I realise now we really should
have had those moments to ourselves.

Then, Aniti
became impatient, and threw herself on my back, her nails digging
into my shoulders. We fought over the slippery phallus, passing it
between us, a tangle of fingers and moist folds. Once, I looked
down, almost oblivious of the man but for his sex, and it seemed
the face of Keea was looking back at me, smiling triumphantly. Why
had my mind projected him in this way? Who, or what, was this boy?
Perhaps my own soulscape was trying to give me a message, but the
illusion made me uncomfortable, and I closed my eyes to banish it.
For a while, at least, Keea did not exist.

Rayojini

‘
Roaming to seek
their prey on earth… And when night darkens the streets, then
wander forth the sons of Belial…
’

Paradise Lost,
Book I

We awoke, lying in the
dew, with mellow autumn sunlight coming down through the trees. By
daylight, it was possible to see how the leaves were turning, all
nourishment seeping back into the branches, so that energy would be
conserved until the spring. There was little chill, however,
although we shivered because our clothes were damp.

Q’orveh had
left us during the night, a fact which surprised neither Aniti nor
me. ‘I thought he was a eunuch,’ she said to me, and then laughed.
‘Perhaps he is - normally!’

Although we
were hungry and wanted to bathe, we sat for a few moments in the
privacy of the trees, feeling meditative and weary. ‘I feel better
today,’ Aniti said. ‘Not so apprehensive. What an experience! It
feels like a dream.’

‘Most
primitive cultures involve sexuality in their rites,’ I said.

Aniti scoffed.
‘There you go again! Rayo, these people aren’t primitive. In a
sense, I feel we are underdeveloped in comparison.’

I shrugged. In
truth, I was feeling edgy because the power of the previous night’s
rituals had affected me so deeply. I hate to lose control of
myself, and the abandonment of our communion with Q’orveh had been
nothing if uncontrolled. I believed the act of love should be a
measured and gentle practice.

Eventually, we
wandered back to the campsite. Surprisingly, there was little
activity; only children hurried between the tents, carrying water
or preparing food. I supposed the adults to be wrapped in blankets,
recovering from their excesses. It was also possible most of them
were still asleep in the forest. Aniti wanted to stay with me and
suggested we should go and bathe together, but I needed time alone
and also wanted to discourage any attachment with the girl. Last
night, was last night. Rayojini was a loner; she did not thirst for
a satellite.

Rather
crestfallen, Aniti went away to find her brother, and I strolled
back to where Sah’ray had erected her tent. As I had expected, it
was empty. Inside, I sat on the rolled bed mats and took a drink
from the pitcher of water Sah’ray had drawn the night before.

Some time,
perhaps on the way back from the sacred glade, a decision had
formed within me, which now surfaced in my mind. It was time for me
to part company with the nomads. Perhaps, all along, I had only
wanted to have sex with Q’orveh. Now this had been achieved, I felt
restless. Clues to the mysteries I had encountered must litter the
grass-lanes of the Kahra Flats, crowd the minds of its natives; I
was eager to discover them, and knew I could travel faster alone.
There was little more to be learned among the Halmanes, I was sure.
I had catalogued all the information I’d acquired in their company,
clearly marking in my notes all the accounts that I considered had
been exaggerated by hysteria - such as the idea of walking dead. As
for the virgin births, this was bizarre and, biologically,
inexplicable, but it seemed unequivocal to me that the girls
concerned had somehow impregnated themselves, through the power of
unconscious thought. At least, they had
mimicked
the
formation of life. I strongly doubted whether these self-generated
offspring could survive beyond their mothers’ bodies. It was
Helat’s privilege to create life by itself; perhaps a symbol that
the nomads, panicked by fear of what (they thought) they’d seen and
heard, had interpreted too literally.

I also
considered the possibility that recent events presaged only the
imminence of yet another new faith; one characterised by miracles
and bizarre occurrences. New religions, Host of Helat, Holy Deaths,
non-deaths, walking dead; what was the connection? It was a puzzle,
which I was frantic to solve. The nomads, while being peripatetic
in their lifestyles, were static in their beliefs; the religion of
Helat had been theirs for centuries. There was evidence too that
Helat was a deity that predated the nomads themselves. It had great
power and had carved for itself an exclusive territory, where other
god-forms held no sway. This was rare. I was juggling these ideas
in my mind, scribbling as I thought. There had to be a connection,
surely? All questions. No answers.

I decided I
would stay with the nomads for the festivities that night, and then
move on in the morning. If the Halmanes felt they had a claim over
me, they could think again, but for convenience’s sake, I would
slip away without advertising my departure.

Just as I was
tidying away my notes, Sah’ray came rampaging through the tent
flap, destroying my contemplations. ‘Oh, Rayo!’ she cried, ‘I’m so
glad you’re here! I have to talk to someone!’

She smelled
strongly of earth and sex; her flesh muddied, her clothes in
disarray. I fastidiously drew away. ‘It seems you’ve been enjoying
yourself,’ I said diplomatically.