In the Beginning (7 page)

Va went to her mother's arms. She did not say anything, either about the bodies or the Village Mother. There was too much to say, and nothing any good. They held each other, quietly crying.

She heard a harsh voice nearby, the voice of one of the savages. Frightened, she turned to look.

All she saw first was the club. Sunlight flashed from it except where blood had dulled the brilliance of the surface. She wondered if the savage would kill her, too, and felt she did not mind. Death might as well come now as later.

But he spoke again and this time there was something different, something in the voice that she knew. She remembered the same voice crying after her as she ran away through the wood. It was Dom. She would not believe it and looked at the
face for evidence that it was another. It could not be Dom that stood there, holding that bloody club.

Yet it was he. Staring, she recognized him more plainly; dropping her eyes she saw the scar, almost healed, of the wound she had cared for. She looked once more at the club, stained with the blood of her people, perhaps of her father and brother, and then with loathing into his face.

He raised the club and, thinking he was about to strike her with it, she cowered away. Instead he put it in his left hand and grasped her arm with his right. He was trying to make her go with him—Va held back, but he dragged her forward.

Another savage, bigger and fiercer than Dom, came up. Dom spoke to him with his hand still on Va's arm, and the big man replied. When Dom spoke again, the other laughed, and the sound, ugly and cruel, made her shiver.

She could see something like fear in Dom's face as well, but he answered back. Then, after they had exchanged more words, he pulled hard on Va's arm, trying to drag her away. The big man roared in fury and struck at Dom with his fist, and Dom let go her arm to dodge the blow. It did not save him: a second
powerful blow smashed against his head and he dropped without a cry.

The big savage took her arm as Dom had done, but far more brutally; his was a strength she had no hope at all of resisting. He dragged her to the door of a nearby hut and threw her in, sending her spinning to the floor. Va lay there helpless, too stunned and wretched even for tears.

• • •

Other women and girls were thrown into the hut. One, a friend of Va's, told her they were killing the cattle, all of them, cruelly and wastefully. She had also seen them killing the older women, and any younger women and girls who got in their way. The more they killed, the more furious and savage they became. At least those in the hut were out of the way of the slaughter; whatever might happen afterward, it was the safest place at the moment.

Va listened to her dully. She supposed that what she said was true, but it did not seem to matter. The rest of their people had been murdered, along with the innocent cattle, and obviously they would be murdered eventually. Death might as well come now as later.

But she stayed in the hut because despair and misery robbed her of any urge to move. She lay ­huddled on a bridal mat, woven in brightly colored strands of cloth, and remembered the wedding for which it had been made and how she and the other girls had helped in the weaving. The woman to whom it had been given was not in the hut; most likely she lay dead somewhere outside. There would be no more mats, no more celebration of weddings, no more of anything. All was ended.

A figure appeared in the doorway: a savage, she saw, and though she had thought she was resigned to being killed felt her stomach contract with new terror. Then she realized it was Dom again, and turned her head to the wall. He called her name, and she did not answer. She heard him moving cautiously about the hut. A hand reached down and moved her head, though not roughly. In the dimness of the hut, Dom's face looked into hers.

He spoke. His tone was urgent—wanting something—but the words in his savage tongue had no meaning. Va stared and did not answer. When he spoke again she shook her head and once more tried to turn away.

Then, haltingly, he used the words she had taught him when they played the naming game in the wood.

“Va . . . Dom . . . water . . . flowers . . . fruit. . . .” His face was twisted, trying to convey meaning. “Dom—Va . . . run!”

She guessed what he wanted. He would help her to get away from the big man; they would escape together. A day ago it might have been what she would have wanted, too—perhaps more than anything else. But that was before the stone crashed through the hedge and the savages came after it, shrieking and killing, killing. . . . Dom still held his club, and even in the shadowy light of the hut she could see the marks on it.

He pulled at her hand, and Va shook her head. The village was destroyed, all her people dead or about to die. She might as well die with them.

Dom tugged at her, but less roughly than he had done out in the open, and he kept his voice low. Probably he did not want to attract the attention of the big man and be knocked down again—she saw there was a swelling under his eyes. She said, allowing the loathing to come into her voice:

“I will not go with you. I hate you, who have helped slaughter my people. If you try to make me go I will scream, and the big man will come and strike you. Perhaps this time he will be angry enough to kill you. I would be glad of that.”

Although he did not understand her words, she knew he could tell what her feelings were. He spoke in his own tongue, his voice urgent.

“Go away,” Va said. “You and your kind have destroyed everything. You are a savage, like the others. The Village Mother was right when she said I should have left you to die. Now she is dead herself.”

Tears stung her eyes. She remembered the Village Mother lying in her arms by the spring, and how she had blamed herself for not telling the people to flee while there was time. Her voice echoed in Va's head:

“Get away, child . . . escape into the valley. . . .”

Others might have managed to escape before the savages set a guard over the gap in the hedge. Once clear she might be able to run away from Dom and find them. It had been the last command the Village Mother had given her: to guide them to some place
the savages had not found. She had promised her she would do that.

Va looked at Dom. She said:

“All right—I will come with you.”

He could tell the change in her tone. He tugged at her arm again, and this time Va got to her feet and followed him.

7

W
HEN DOM RECOVERED HIS SENSES
and got unsteadily to his feet, there was no sign of either his father or Va. The killing was still going on, and he could see the hunters in among the cattle, felling them with their clubs. There would be far more meat than the tribe could eat, and most of it would rot. They went on with the clubbing because the cattle simply stood there to be killed, lowing but unable to escape, not really even trying to get away. And also because of the lust which was in the hunters' blood by now, driving them on to further slaughter.

Dom might have felt it in his own blood if he had not been so shaken by what had happened. The blow had been staggering in itself. He had been cuffed often enough as a boy and sometimes knocked down, but this was the first time he had felt the full force of his father's strength. He understood the reason for it: he was no longer a boy but a hunter, and a hunter who offended the chief could not hope to escape with a slap as a boy would.

If he offended again his punishment would be more severe still. His father had wanted a son, but only a son who obeyed him. Any rebellion would provoke his anger even more than a rebellion by one of the other hunters. But to knuckle under meant losing Va; his father had taken her for himself and would never give her back. Dom rubbed his aching face. It was futile to think of fighting him. He was the strongest man in the tribe, Dom the youngest and weakest of the hunters.

On the other hand he could not contemplate giving Va up. If only they had stayed in the wood together. . . .

He looked and saw his father's huge figure among the cattle, flailing with his club. But where
was Va? He heard the moaning of women from inside a nearby tree-cave, and peering in saw girls huddled together. He called “Va” and got no answer, but went in anyway and made them show their faces. One was Va. He spoke to her, telling her that they must go away together, back to the wood. She did not answer: even when he used the words she had taught him, she looked away. She did not speak until he tried to draw her out of the hut, and then her voice was filled with hatred.

He saw it was no good—she would not come with him freely and he could not take her by force. But as he was beginning to despair she spoke again, in a different tone. He did not know what had caused the change and did not care: the change itself was all that mattered. He pulled at her arm and she came, willingly if not eagerly.

• • •

Outside the hut Dom looked to see what was going on in the village. The old ones and the women and children of the tribe had come in also now, and were walking about. They gave small cries—of satisfaction at the sight of the sprawling bodies of the enemy, and of interest at all the things they found:
stone knives and hammers, pots, cloths and woven mats. Some were clustered round the fire, fascinated by the way it was held in and tamed by stones. A piece of wood fell and sparks flew upward, making them draw back in sudden terror.

The hunters were still occupied with the killing of the beasts, except for the two Dom's father had set to guard the gap in the hedge and make sure no one from the village escaped. Dom motioned Va to stay close in the shadow of the hut, and walked toward those two.

“My father sent me,” he told them. “The enemy are all dead and there is no need for you to stay here. You are to go and kill the beasts with the others.”

They went gladly, swinging their clubs and giving the hunting cry. Dom ran to where Va was and took her hand.

“Come quickly!”

Together they ran through the hole the stone had made. That was my doing, Dom thought: if I had not had the idea we would not have been able to get into the village and conquer it. Perhaps the other hunters would have killed my father, as the old women said they once before killed a chief. And yet
he would not let me have this girl, and almost broke my jaw for disputing it.

But he knew that such thoughts were valueless. The tribe was victorious and the victory had set a new seal on his father's authority. His father was the chief and must not be disobeyed—he had said he wanted Va and that was enough. No one must defy him, least of all his son. If they were caught now he would almost certainly be killed.

His father might already have noticed, despite the frenzy of killing, that the guards had come away from the place where he had put them; in which case they would have told of the lie by which they had been tricked. He and Va were out in the clearing and had no cover. He pointed to a small clump of bushes, a hundred yards away, and urged Va to run in that direction. She needed little urging and ran fast at his side.

He did not stop at the clump but keeping this as a screen between them and the village ran on toward denser undergrowth. Not long after they reached it he heard shouting in the distance, and guessed that the chase was on. He told Va: “Run faster,” but she was already doing so.

Gradually the shouts grew fainter. Good hunters though they were, they could not scent their prey as a lion did, and in country like this few marks were left by fleeing feet. They would be fanning out, he guessed, beating through the undergrowth surrounding the clearing. Every moment put a greater distance between them and their pursuers.

They came to the outskirts of the wood as the sun's rim touched the western hill. It had been a long day, Dom thought—morning and the struggle to move the stone seemed an age ago. He realized when they at last stopped running that both his arm and his face were hurting, and the wound in the arm was looking red and angry. He showed it to Va, and said:

“Find the plants to make it better, as you did before.”

She said nothing. He used the words she had taught him. Pointing to the wound, he said:

“Plant . . . arm.”

She still did not speak, but he was sure she knew his meaning. He cuffed her, not too hard but enough to make her wince and shrink away. He said, more threateningly:

“Plant! Arm!”

He watched as she searched among the bushes and found it. She bandaged his arm as she had done before, and Dom realized something else—that he was hungry. He thought of the fresh meat on which the tribe might now be feasting, and saliva ran in his mouth. He would have to make do with what there was here. He said to Va:

“Fruit . . . eat.”

She gathered fruit for him and he ate some while she stood with her head bowed. That was the way it should be, the way a woman should attend a man. He said to her:

“You eat, too.”

She made no reply, so he put one of the fruits in front of her mouth and spoke her words:

“Va . . . fruit . . . eat.”

She shook her head. She was not hungry, he supposed, and ate the rest of the fruit himself. Dusk by this time was growing in the wood; the shadows thickened and birds sang their evening songs. Dom was tired: the day had been arduous as well as long. Va still stood before him with her head hanging, and he thought of the moss-bed she had made for him.
He could not remember the name in her language, so he lay down and then got up again and pointed to the place where he had lain. She either did not understand or pretended not to, but when he had cuffed her she found mosses and leaves and made the bed.

He told her to make another for herself and she shook her head again; if she preferred to sleep on the hard ground, he thought, that was her concern. He himself lay down in the softness of the moss. She squatted nearby, not looking at him. The sound of the birds died away into the quieter noises of the night, and the last flush of daylight gave way, bit by bit, to the softer glow of the moon.

As he lay there Dom reflected on the day which was ending. It was not easy to think clearly because so much had happened, and it had all been so confusing. But one thing he knew, and the reminder of it was like a cold fist clenched about his heart: he could never go back to the tribe.

The thought itself was like death—no one could live away from the tribe, no one ever had. A person who was cast out or abandoned or lost must
perish. That was as certain as anything could be. In panic he wondered if even now there might be a way of avoiding such a disaster. If he were to go back in the morning, and give Va to his father, and bow his head in obedience. . . . It was no good. The die had been cast when he took her away: they would kill him on sight.

Nor even now, for all his fear of loneliness and helplessness, could he contemplate giving her up. She was his: no one, not even his father the chief, must be allowed to take her from him.

And thinking this he wondered if it might not after all be possible to go on living without the support of the tribe. The ones who had died had died in the grasslands, where there was little water and food could be obtained only through the hunting of game, and then only by the combined cunning of all the hunters. This land was different: greener and richer, full of trees which provided sustenance as well as cover. Fruit was not as good as meat, but one could live on it for a time.

The thoughts comforted him a little. Although he had cut himself off from the tribe he was alive,
and he had Va. They would find a way of living; all the things she knew would help.

Drifting into sleep his ears, tuned by hunting skill to catch the least whisper of a movement through grass, caught a sound that was neither the distant passage of an animal nor a cat's faraway yowling. It was nearer, much nearer. At once, alerted, he came back from sleep, but he did not move. He peered instead through low-lidded eyes as Va, all the time watching his unmoving figure, got stealthily to her feet and began to steal away.

When she was a few yards from him she turned her back, and Dom rose to his feet. She heard him and started to run, but he ran after her with all his strength. She was his—he had given up the tribe to get her and he was determined not to lose her now. He brought her down, gasping and struggling, crashing into a bush.

Then, in the moonlight, he beat her, as all his life he had seen hunters beat women who dared disobey a man's command. He did it more coldly than in anger: she must learn, as all women must, that a man was her master, and that he, Dom, was that man. She
did not struggle or cry out, only moaned softly as the blows landed. When he had finished she lay sobbing quietly, almost under her breath.

She might still try to run away, Dom thought, and he could not stay awake all night to watch her. So he took the belt she had around her waist, and tied one end round her neck and the other to his own belt. He went back to bed, dragging her roughly after him, and when he lay down she was forced to lie at his side. Tiredness soon overcame him after that, and he slept.

• • •

In the morning he made her find more fruit. When they were in the wood before they had done this together—now he must show her that he was the master, so he stood and watched her and took the fruit she gathered for him. He offered her some again, after his own hunger was satisfied, and as before she shook her head. He shrugged—when she was hungry enough she would eat.

She did whatever he told her, only nodding or shaking her head in response to his commands. When they went on he made her follow a few paces
in the rear; far enough behind not to be able to attack him unexpectedly—though he did not think she would do anything so foolish—and near enough for him to catch her easily if she tried to get away. Occasionally he looked back and saw her walking there, with bowed head and closed unhappy face.

His arm was feeling better but he got her to replace the bandage. Watching her do this, with the hot sun bursting through the leafy cover and birds singing all round them, Dom felt a surge of confidence. She knew so many things which women in the tribe had not known. Even now, when she was being sullen and silent, she was useful to him, and when she realized that she could not run away and accepted him as her master, everything would be so much easier. Life would be as it had been the other time in the wood—all playing and smiles and laughter.

He led the way to the pool, and when they reached it pointed to the water and made swimming motions with his arms. She looked at him dumbly. He did the movements again, pointing at her and then at the pool. She shook her head.

The thought of the coolness of the water was
tempting, but he knew that if he went in himself and left her standing on the bank she might seize the chance to run away. He pointed once more to her and the pool and nodded his head vigorously, but she still shook hers. Then, with a flail of his arm, he pushed her so that she fell in. He thought of the time he had put his hand down to her and she had pulled him in. Afterward they had laughed about it, but there would be no laughing today.

As she stood up he jumped in beside her, glad of the liquid freshness flowing against his skin. He thought again: this is a good land. He did the clumsy swimming strokes she had taught him, moving out into deeper water. Va followed him as she had done on land, but here more smoothly and powerfully.

Dom was looking ahead as he swam doggedly toward the far bank, where the stream splashed into the pool over its ledge of rock. Then something caught his leg, dragging him down—a water-beast, he thought, as he floundered in panic and felt the water close over his head. He opened his mouth to cry out and choked instead. He kicked out his legs against that which was holding him just above the
ankle but could not break the grip. He knew what it was, though: no water-beast, but Va. Her hand was grasping him—she was pulling him down to make him drown.

When he realized that, he stopped trying to rise to the surface, and instead plunged deeper and struck out with his fist at the place where she must be. The yielding element of the water confused him, but he felt his fist make impact with less yielding flesh. He was choking still and his ears were roaring but he punched a second time, savagely, and felt the hold on his leg break.

He came up, gasping and spluttering, vomiting water, and it was a moment or two before he was sufficiently recovered to look for Va. He saw her swimming strongly away from him, almost at the far side of the pool. Having failed to kill him, she was trying to escape again.