Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure (3 page)

 

What followed was not merely celebration and excitement; it was hysteria, a wild overflow of cheer that attends a difficult conquest—that bursts forth when endangered men overcome great challenge and peril. Zan's kindred gathered around him and he was raised aloft, still bleeding, onto the shoulders of his father and his huge, hairy uncle—men of known strength and honor. From his mighty chest Zan's uncle, Chul, sent forth a cry of triumph which was seconded by Thal and by every man. Their gravel voices vented their exultation with a sound so leaden that heard far off it was like a moan or a lament. The women, who had been left behind when the hunt began, heard it and knew that it was no moan but a signal of success. The lion had been killed. And they too sent up shrill cheers and ululation.

The drums began to clamor again and the hunters sang a deep-throated hymn of manly victory. Zan, still on the shoulders of his kin, was the center of their celebration. He was greeted by all, and clapped on his thighs by their friendly hands. Had the strongest warrior of the tribe brought the great beast down, he would have been
honored in the same way; but that it was accomplished, unaided, by a mere boy struck the multitude with wonder, and moved all hearts in his favor.

Now, the great elder of the northern clan came forward, and all were silent. Aniah was his name. Of all the men in the five clans, he was acknowledged as the greatest—an old warrior covered with scars, his white hair flying in the wind. Because he was not of Zan's people, his notice was doubly to be valued, and Zan was filled with pride. Aniah made no speech. He simply struck Zan roughly on the thigh with his sinewy hand and said
“Zan-Gah.”
Zan of the Rock! Zan who began his trial of manhood at the great rock, Gah, and who stood like a rock, immovable in the face of overwhelming danger!

The tribes took up the new name as if it were a cry of battle, and with it hallooed their regard.
Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah!
It was the raw release of gruff, brute men whose roaring rose from their hearts and stomachs. They bellowed and chanted in ecstasy, dancing and thumping their weapons and hollow drums.
Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah! Zan-Gah!
and so carried the boy all the way to his cave dwelling where his mother, Wumna, awaited his return with tears of gladness and no little astonishment. Several men had tied the lion's legs to two poles to carry it away on their shoulders. The prized skin would be Zan's.

The heavy carcass was given to the women of the tribe because it was female. Had it been a male, the men would have skinned it themselves and removed its insides, but they were not allowed to violate the secrets of a lioness. It
was a matter of respect. Zan was permitted to recover his spear from its mouth, and he had a chance to examine the huge head and jaws. A tremor passed through him as he touched them. The large, dead eyes were still open, and the beast did not respond as he pulled the lips aside to look at the terrible fangs. With a frown he placed his foot on the lion's great muzzle and wrenched the spear, all bloody, from the animal's mouth. He held it aloft and the women resumed their high-pitched ululation.

They rubbed Zan's wounds with an inky substance which would aid the healing, but leave dark marks when the wounds closed. Having earned his scars, Zan had no wish for them to disappear. Then the women hung the animal by its forelegs, cut it open so that its entrails spilled onto the ground, and carefully stripped off the tawny pelt. The body was hewn apart to be roasted, for everybody would want to taste it—not because it was good to eat, but because the eaters hoped and expected to benefit by doing so. A taste of the lion's flesh would give them some of its strength, speed, and ferocity, and it would continue to live in them. That too was a matter of respect.

Deep into the night the celebration continued. The heart of the lion was given to Zan to share with his friends, while the men passed around lion parts and gnawed on the bones. The women joined in too, tasted the flesh, and participated in the dance. Large logs, carved with brute images, were used as pounders, beating out rhythms on the ground to encourage the dance and awaken the spirits of the earth. They sang and chanted old stories of mighty hunters and warriors of the past. They re-enacted the scene of the hunt, showing how Zan had held his
spear and stood his ground, wielding their weapons in dance, with every man acting as if he himself had struck the fatal blow. Imitating the lioness too, they play-acted her ferocity and re-enacted her death-throes. Some even lifted a spear to their own mouths to show how it had entered and how the lion had howled and rolled in agony. All rejoiced until they were exhausted. Then, one by one bidding Zan farewell with gestures of regard, they went to their rude homes and frozen beds.

Zan was left alone at last, staring deeply into the waning fire and thinking on the day's events. Now, with the sounds of applause and congratulation dying in his ears, something strange happened. Suddenly he was convulsed by a shudder of fear as real as if the terrible beast had reappeared alive before him. He was shaking uncontrollably. His breath left him and his heart started to pound audibly in his chest. He told his body to stop but it would not obey. It just shook more until his teeth chattered. This would pass. Zan knew what was happening. All of his fears had returned to take revenge on him because he had dared that day to stand up to them.

 

 

 

 

Zan was not handsome. He squinted as if he were constantly watching for something on the horizon, and only at times did his narrowed eyes open wide in happiness or surprise—upon seeing a large hill of ants, a slithering snake, or the unexpected hop of a tiny toad. If he saw a friend approaching he would smile, but he might have smiled more often than he did. His strong white teeth would lighten up his dark face, and it was as if the entire landscape had brightened. Then suddenly the sunny smile would vanish and the grimace would come out of its hiding place—and he would be watching the horizon again.

He was a little short for his age. Other boys no older than he were as much as a head taller, but his body was as hard and wiry as theirs, and had no fat on it. Zan could throw a spear or a rock as well as his friends, and could beat them at wrestling despite their greater size because he was fast, and he knew when and where to use his strength. Zan's impressive scars also made up some for his height, and he had a great bush of curls crowning his head, which made him seem taller than he was. Some day he might lose most of his wild hair as his father and
uncle had, and be as bald as they. By then he hoped he would be taller, though he would never be as big as his father, much less his gigantic uncle, Chul.

Although small, Zan had acquired a new sense of sureness since he had killed the lion, a confidence that was seen in his bearing and confirmed by the double name everyone gave him, Zan-Gah. His father now treated him more as an equal. In fact Thal sometimes sought his opinion on matters as well as giving his own, so that the two, father and son, almost became friends. As the season moved toward spring, they hunted and worked together more than ever before, and Thal carefully taught him the skills that he had.

 

Zan had a twin. Born an hour after Zan, Dael looked exactly like him, and yet in time everybody had been able to tell them apart by their marked differences in character. Zan was serious and talked little, while Dael loved to talk and chatter. Dael was an affectionate child, his arm always around his brother or his father, but Zan was reserved and intense, lacking his twin's happy optimism, and looking inward as much as outward. Smiles visited Zan but seldom while Dael rarely frowned. Although only an hour apart, Zan was like an older brother, stoutly protective of his milder twin.

They were inseparable. Whether hunting or spearing fish, playing or working or climbing a tree to gather the topmost fruit, they were rarely apart. When they were separated even for a few minutes they missed each other. They raced and wrestled like puppies during the day,
and slept side by side at night. Dael would tease and joke while Zan mostly listened and sometimes laughed in spite of himself. Once Zan almost fell out of a tree laughing at something his brother said, startling Dael into seriousness. If they played tag, Dael could never catch Zan, but seemed not to care. He was proud of his brother, recognized his physical superiority, and tried to tease Zan's seriousness away. Zan loved and respected Dael for his warm and unique nature, considering him not only his twin but almost his better self.

It was hard to think of them apart. As they roamed or played, their two figures were recognizable from a distance, curls springing like snakes from their heads to form two round globes—seldom one alone. People could never meet with one without asking where the other was, and they were hardly ever spoken of separately.

Then one day Dael disappeared—no one knew where. That had been about a year before. Zan and he had argued over a piece of meat (unworthy quarrel) and Dael had stalked off by himself. That was how they punished each other on the rare occasions that they quarreled, for each knew that the other would miss him, so infrequently were they apart. Zan saw him going and knew that he was angry, but he sullenly took up the stone blade he had been working on and chipped at it with another rock, refusing to speak or even look up until Dael was gone. A while after, he felt some remorse at his stinginess and for letting his brother depart without a word. Dael so seldom asked him for anything, and always shared whatever he had with careless generosity. Awaiting his return, Zan began to wonder that his brother, who never nourished
his anger for long, could be so long away. Night came and their parents began to be concerned. When the moon was high overhead Thal, seriously alarmed, left his fire to seek him, spear in hand. Thal was gone for two nights and a morning. He came back alone. He had visited each of the five clans without any luck. Now he returned discouraged, famished (for none had offered him food), and full of care.

Wumna's tearful face was twisted with fear and grief. Wild animals were everywhere, and marauding warriors too—ferocious and savage men, strange in their ways—were known to carry off people to be their slaves, or even to take them for food. She shook her husband desperately for any bit of good news, but his grim and troubled face told her that he had none.

No body was found. A year afterwards, when the remains of young Rias were discovered, it was supposed that the same lioness had pounced on Dael too, but before that no one had known of the beast's existence. Dael's disappearance had been at that time a painful mystery, and in truth it still was. The mangled corpse of poor Rias had been brought home, but nothing of Dael or his possessions. A larger search was begun, enlisting the less than eager aid of the other clans, but although they looked far and wide for a month, Dael was not to be traced.

Dael's mother was crushed with sorrow. She would walk listlessly around the cave dwelling speaking to no one, and looking up suddenly at any sound of approach. Thal, also shaken with grief, watched her and said nothing. Later, when Zan had taken part in the lion hunt,
Wumna was in an agony of fear. She had not gotten over her terrible loss—as if she ever could! A whole year later, she still started when she heard anyone coming, and she became unhealthily protective of her remaining son, wearing a look of sore anxiety whenever he went away even a short distance, and embracing him passionately when he returned.

Zan secretly blamed himself for Dael's disappearance. His grief struck him, not all at once, but little by little until it was a great weight on his heart. Dael was truly gone, and it seemed that Zan, like his mother, would never again be happy. It was as if an important part of himself were lost and he did not know where to look for it. Like Wumna he turned toward the sound of footsteps in hopeful expectation. Sometimes the brush of rustling leaves was enough to arrest his attention and make him look around, ready to rise in joy to receive someone—who was not there. Zan longed to share the story of the lion hunt with his brother—to show him the beautiful pelt and the spear still dark with blood. Dael did not yet know how staunchly he had faced the lioness, nor had he seen the scars of honor that were a record of Zan's bravery. He longed to tell Dael his new name, Zan-Gah, and how the great northern elder had given it to him. But mostly he wished he could throw his arm around Dael's shoulder and tell him that he was sorry.

Zan began to have bad dreams. Some nights he dreamed of the lion and sometimes of his twin—or both. More than once the lion was chasing Dael, and Zan was somehow unable to help because he could not find his spear—and Zan would awaken with his body shaking
and his heart pounding as it had the night of the lion hunt. Or Dael would appear to Zan laughing and inviting him to play. Zan, overjoyed to see him, would start to tell Dael about his adventure, only to have the very same lion spring suddenly out of the tall grass and come between them. He often dreamed that he was looking for Dael, but all he ever found was the lioness he sought to avoid. One time, searching where his mother pointed, he found the animal dead and swarming with flies—and for some reason he felt overwhelming pity for it. Then Zan dreamed that Dael, smirking as though he had just played one of his tricks, sang out with a child's bright smile that he had never gone away at all, but that their mother had hidden him deep in the secret part of the cave where he would be safe. And he laughed.

Zan spoke one afternoon to his uncle, Chul, to whom he described these disquieting visions. Chul listened, scratched his bald head, and with open mouth gazed stupidly at the air. Then, slow of speech, he said something he could not know: that Dael was alive. Had he died, Chul said, Zan-Gah would feel it inside. Dael was in some trouble, he thought, and his call for help was reaching Zan-Gah because twins shared a single spirit and were never really apart. This was surely the reason Zan-Gah so often dreamed of him.