The Thinking Rocks (40 page)

They stopped poling and
let the dugout drift ahead.  The waters stilled as the last of the snakes
vanished below the waters of the Black Bayou.  They scanned the water and
trees for signs of more snakes.  None could be found.

A glimmer of movement
behind the dugout caught Cano's eye.  As he watched he saw a flickering of
shadows under the water, something big was coming.  The surface of the
water broke quietly into a "V".  As he watched, he saw that it
was the giant Gar they had seen earlier.  It glided up along side of the
dugout and then slowed without visible movement.  It floated along beside
them.

Gennos like
everyone else was looking down at the Gar. He murmured, "There is much
Mana here, this is a powerful force. A Gar killed Hopi, which helped us to
escape.  Now Gars save us from the snakes.  The Great Spirit has sent
it as a sign.  It is easy for us to forget the power of the Great
Spirit.  It is times like this that we need to be reminded that we are not
as powerful as we like to think.  I believe that His message to us is,
“Don't Forget.” They all sat quietly looking at the majestic form in the water.
Gennos stood slowly; he put one hand on his chest, and stretched his other arm
out with the palm facing down toward the Gar.  "We thank you for our
lives and for the lesson you have given us."

As if on queue and
without visible movement the Gar glided past the dugout and then out of sight.

Cano heard a bird start to sing and then noticed rays of
sunlight shining down on to the waters.  The dugout was still moving
forward, but no one was poling.  A meager current was moving them. 
It was flowing in the same direction that the Gar had traveled. They were
leaving the Black Bayou.

Hindered Passage

The half submerged
dugout wallowed its way downstream.  There were more islands, and the
trees were tall and ominous.  The dugout contained two men and much pain.

 Morf was
exhausted. His arms kept moving as if in a dream.  He caught himself
nodding off to sleep and then would jerk awake.  The sleep was a welcome
relief from the pain in his back and arms.  There was no pain in his water
soaked legs.  They had no sense of feeling at all.  The hollow pain
in his stomach was a constant call for food.  They had not eaten in two
days.   Lomasi was obsessed and wouldn't stop to eat or rest. 
All Morf could think about was food and rest.  His mind began wandering; I
was such a fool to come on this journey.  Lomasi had been friendly before
they left the clan.  ‘Some had warned me not to go, but I was young and
wanted adventure;’ he said to himself. ‘It all seemed so long ago.  Now I
sit here in the water, with no food, my arms hurt, and all I want is
sleep.  This is not the way that I thought adventures happen.  Death
has come to us, only Lomasi and I are left.  Those we chase have proved
that they aren't the fools we thought.’

As his mind wandered it
caused a smile to steal across is face, as he remembered Lomasi's fall into the
river.  Then the smile faded.  He would never be able to tell anyone
about it.  If he lived and got back to his clan, he wouldn't dare tell of
it.  He was sure that Lomasi would kill him for it.  The more he
thought about this adventure, the less he found himself smiling.  When
they had first stolen the girl and headed home it was fun.  The trouble
began when they captured the others.  We thought that we were smarter then
they were.  It is obvious that we were wrong.  They not only escaped,
but they laughed at us as they did it.  That is what pushed Lomasi to
blindly chase them.  Everyday we are getting closer to the girl's
clan.  We could end up as slaves, or dead.  I am the one that wants
to escape now, but I can't because I'm the hunter.

In the front of the
dugout Lomasi wasn't thinking clearly either.  His mind was thinking in a
loop.  I must catch them.  Then I can show them pain.  I will
take them back to my clan and then they will know pain for the rest of their
lives. Who do they think they are to laugh at me, and then float away?  I
will catch them and they will know pain.  Then his thoughts would repeat
themselves.  He pushed his feeling aside, pain didn't matter, and neither
did food. I will catch them.  Nothing else matters.  We will keep
after them.  Soon I will have them. Then they will know pain. The loop
started again.

The waterlogged dugout
continued to flounder along downstream.  The islands in the river became
more numerous and the trees became taller.  The land was flat and the
banks of the river were covered in tall grasses.   It was hot and
there was no wind.  The smell of the river mingled with that of rotting
vegetation. The only companion to the strange craft was an occasional vulture.

The river’s current
seemed to slow as they advanced into the tall trees that grew in the
water.  Soon the water was flat and still. The silent sentinels stood
ominously with their moss-covered arms drooping toward the advancing dugout.
The trees not only blocked the sunlight, but they also seemed to cast a
warning; this is our domain, intruders are not welcome here.

Lomasi attempted
to guide the dugout through the brownish tinted waters. But it was
difficult.  There was a strange sameness about the bayou. The silent
trees, the lack of current, and not being able to see the sun, all contributed
to the feeling of being lost.  The moss hung almost to the water in places
and they had to push it away with their poles.  A large spider dropped
from its web and raced across the dugout looking for escape. It scrambled onto
Morf's arm, and he slapped at and killed it, but not before it sank its venom
rich fangs into his forearm.  He brushed the smashed body into the water
and then splashed the twin punctures with water from the bayou.  He was so
tired that he didn't notice the change in skin color around the bite, or the
start of the swelling.

The dugout continued on
until trees and fallen brush surrounded it on all sides except where they had
come in. They reversed their course and pushed back through large patches of
floating plants, which opened and then closed as they past.  Not a sign
was visible to indicate how they came to this dreaded place.  Lomasi kept
searching for some indication of a current. He watched for movement of leaves
and twigs in the water, nothing.  He looked for some hints under the
water, vegetation that grew in a pattern that indicated a current, or some clue
to which way to go, still nothing.  He found an opening that seemed to be
a water trail through the ominous trees and the strange stumps that grew near
them.  They followed the trail most of the day only to find that it lead
to a bayou within a bayou, and still no outlet.

They had to retrace
their path in the slowly sinking dugout.  The water was soaking the wood
of the dugout from the inside and outside.  The dugout was slowly and
surely becoming water logged.  The days of travel on the river had written
the death notice for the craft.  Soon it would have to be abandoned. 
They had to get out of this vast swamp before that happened or they would die
here.  There was no way that they could repair the dugout or build another
raft until they escaped this dark place.

Lomasi couldn't see the
sun and the more they moved through the bayou, the more everything looked the
same.  Finally they were exhausted and could go no further.  They sat
in the silent dugout and hung their heads in exhaustion.  The swamp, and
no food or rest had sucked them dry.  And now, the realization that they
were utterly lost.  They could go no farther and night was falling. They
fell into a stupefied sleep.

A throbbing pain
awakened Morf; the spider bite was swollen and discolored. His mind was clouded
by pain and exhaustion and he was slow to awake. He felt a soft bump on the
dugout and looked down into the water.  He was slow to comprehend what he
was seeing.  It was a poling stick floating next to the dugout.  His
mind was still working slowly and he looked at the poling stick in his
hands.  Then he looked back into the water at the other poling
stick.  Next he looked to where Lomasi sat; he had his poling stick,
too.  Morf realized as he came fully awake that this was a poling stick
and must have come from the other dugout.

He called to Lomasi,
"Look what I have found."

Lomasi's head jerked up
as he awoke.  He turned to see Morf pointing at the floating pole. 
It took him a few moments for him to realize what it was.  Don't just sit
there. Bring it into the dugout."  A faraway look came in to his
eyes, "They are near, and they will know pain soon."

After Morf retrieved the
pole he noticed that the dugout was moving with the current.  He looked
around, it was getting darker, but they were moving out of the Black Bayou.

They drifted and poled until it was almost dark. 
They were back on the river and when a small island appeared in the gloom,
Lomasi directed the dugout to shore. They stumbled in to the brush and
collapsed.

A
Circle Closes

A relatively short
distance away on the same island Na'pe was preparing food and getting ready for
the last part of their journey.  She would be home and with her clan when
the sun was high on the next day.

Last night Dola had
found and killed a small turtle; it was the size of a man's head and had a
brightly colored shell. Na'pe wanted to present it to her father when she
returned.  She had cleaned the turtle after separating the shell. 
She had given the shell to Cano this morning and asked him to look for an
anthill.  When a shell is left on an anthill, the ants will attack and
clean all of the scraps of meat from it in a short time.

Cano had left early to
hunt and had taken the shell with him in a grass bag that she had woven. She
had made a strap for the bag so that he could carry it over his shoulder and
still have his hands free to use his weapons.  He was fortunate and had
found an anthill near the end of the island.  When he left it, small red
ants covered it.  It was amazing how quickly they came and how many of
them there were. The shell soon looked as though it was alive and pulsating.

Soon after leaving the
anthill, he heard a noise in the brush.  He moved forward as silently as
he could and came upon a flock of turkeys feeding. As soon as they saw him they
scattered. Some took to the air and others rushed into the brush. One large
turkey took to the air, but got caught in some tree branches as he tried to
turn and climb at the same time.  Before he could struggle free, one of
Cano's short spears had found its mark.  Cano waited until he was sure the
turkey was dead before picking him up. One thing a hunter learns early in his
life is never to grab a live turkey. 

He prodded it first with
a spear, and then he picked him up.  He remembered his old clan and the
meeting where Bana had told of their turkey hunt.  He smiled as he thought
about Lork's attempt to get a turkey.  It all seemed so long ago.  It
was a different life.  His new life was here and now.  But what of
Ceola? Was she of the old life only? Would he ever see her again?  He
missed her.  He shook his head to clear it and then moved off to see if
the ants were through feeding on the turtle shell.

When he came to the
anthill he found they had cleaned the shell and no longer swarmed over
it.  He used a stick to flip the shell away from the anthill.  After
checking it carefully to make sure no ants remained, he picked it up and put it
is his grass-carrying bag.  It didn't feel comfortable; the sharp edges of
the shell poked and scraped his side.  It was then that he did something
that would affect the rest of his life.  He took out the shell and turned
it over and put it back in the bag.  It was much more comfortable with the
round part of the shell against hip, and it left room in the bag for the
turkey.  He shifted the bag so that it rode in front of his stomach, and
then headed back to the campsite.

It was a beautiful day,
but Cano was apprehensive. The next day they would meet Na'pe's people.  They
would be happy to have her back, but what of us?  They may let us stay,
but would we want to?  Where can we go and what can we do if we don't
stay? He shook his head again.  There was no sense in worrying.  We
will know more tomorrow, then we know today.  With this thought he
continued to move toward the campsite.

Back up the river on the
same island, Morf was the first to awaken.  As he started to get up he
felt a searing pain in his arm.  It was swollen and discolored; he had
difficulty moving his fingers.  The spider bite was swollen and was
leaking a clear fluid.  As sore as his arm was, the pangs of hunger were
worse.

The sun was well up and
he knew that he had to have something to eat.  He blinked his eyes and
looked around for something to eat.  He noticed a slight smell of
smoke.  This caused him to come fully awake.  He listened quietly,
but could only hear the wind rustling the leaves, and the soft stillness of the
tall grass.

Lomasi awoke and then
looked around.  He saw Morf staring at him.

Morf raised
his chin slightly and made a sniffing motion toward Lomasi.

Lomasi
hesitated a moment and then sniffed the air.  He caught the smell of the
smoke instantly.  Almost always smoke meant people.  He reached over
and picked up his weapons and rose to his feet.  He swayed unsteadily for
a moment or two and then winced at the pain in his sore leg.  The wound
was open and running.  It smelled like rotten meat. Ignoring the pain he
motioned Morf to follow as he limped into the brush in the direction the smoke
was coming from.