A NOVEL SET IN PREHISTORY
The Oak People
Chapter 2: The Feast of Balqa
Ansa
Night has come and the plain is basking in a pale light, reflected back by the Crocodile River, as it slides smoothly towards the Salt Water. In the space between the shelters, the men sit in a circle, to watch the women dance. Huddling close together, the women spring up and down, competing to see who can jump the highest. They form a gliding snake of bodies, pulsing in and out of the ring of men and boys. The men’s singing, a low murmur at first, grows louder.
Ansa watches from beside her father’s tent, the sick fear in the pit of her belly turning to excitement as the rhythm of the drums becomes more insistent. The coiling snake twists in and out, curving back on itself, the women’s legs shining in the light of the flames. The men are clapping their knees, swaying in time to the drums. Ansa’s mouth waters as the aroma of roasting meat reaches her.
Dragging her eyes away from the dance, Ansa stares up at Balqa, so huge and bright on this magic night that even the Nose of the Antelope seems small beneath him. The singing and the drumming drop away and she is alone. The ripe, fat face of Balqa seems to swell, drawing her up through the darkness. She sucks comfort from him greedily, as if he were the breast of her mother. Longing to be able to gaze at the luminous face forever, she traces every shadow, every feature, until the old, nameless terror creeps up on her once more.
Trembling, Ansa brings her eyes back to the plain. The drum beat is faster still, more insistent. Alone by the shelters, she springs to her feet. Fever crackles like lightning on the evening air as the women whirl more wildly, till Balqa reaches the highest point in his night’s journey and a voice rises above the others, calling out the words they have been waiting for. One after another the men get to their feet, their voices shivering away into silence. The dancing snake glides to a halt. Only the one, big drum is left now, sounding a slow, steady beat. Each face is turned up to the sky. Ansa feels the magic ripple the length of her neck and over her scalp as, one with all the others, she lifts her arms to the light above. The roar of greeting goes up then fades away, leaving the plain still and silent, as if the world were holding its breath.
Now it is over, the children squeal and run in circles, their hands in the air. People are gathering around the big cooking fire, the sweet smell of boar meat everywhere. When the hunters came back this morning with a fat male boar, everyone said it was a good omen for the joining. Ansa begins to tremble. They will come for her soon.
She crawls back into the tent, her skin stiff with paint, and watches through a gap in the goatskin. The people are sitting now in a big circle and becoming quiet — even the children are still. A figure emerges from the shadows on the far side and walks into the centre of the circle. When the light from the flames falls on his face, Ansa sees that it is Bidari and her belly tightens with fear. The blood seems to drain from her head and she feels light and strong, as if she could spring away like a goat into the safe darkness of the vast plain. She could run all night, like the wild men with the flat faces. They would never catch her.
But no, she is still crouching in the stuffy heat of the shelter, her eyes on the figure by the hearth. Another man gets to his feet and she recognizes the slope of his shoulders — her father. He leaves the circle and walks towards the tent where she is cowering. The soft white light of Balqa falls now on his face, now on his hair. The night itself seems to hang, waiting with her, still and full of dread. Ita bends down, pulling back the goat hide. In the darkness, Ansa cannot see his face. He reaches in to help her up and tears come to her eyes at his touch but when he speaks, it is only to grumble, as always.
‘What are you hiding for? Don’t bring shame on me.’
As she follows him towards the waiting circle a thought lands on her like a fly, almost unnoticed. Tomorrow is the last time I will see my father. She waits but no sting of pain comes and she brushes the thought away.
Bidari
Passing inside the circle, Bidari feels a slap on the calf and looks down to see his brother, Nuno, grinning and gesturing with his middle finger. The men sitting nearby laugh and Bidari laughs with them. For once, they are all watching him, even Koldo, his older brother. He searches among the women for the face of his mother. There she is, looking small among them but holding herself upright.
Ansa is walking into the firelight behind her father and Bidari gasps at the beauty of the girl’s taut, smooth skin, with its tracery of red. Amid clapping and calling, he goes to stand beside her. He finds Koldo’s face in the circle and is gratified to see the lust in his brother’s eyes, as he stares at the bride.
The people are impatient for the succulent meat, but when Bidari’s mother gets up and walks stiffly over to the hearth, they fall silent. Remembering the other joinings he has witnessed, Bidari clasps his hands behind his back but Ansa stands motionless, like a cornered antelope, and her father has to pull her into place. Turning them to face each other, the parents take the hands of the couple and bring them together. A din of calling starts up. It is the first time Bidari has touched Ansa. Her hands feel small in his, like those of a child. She is shaking. He smiles, eager to show her there is nothing to fear.
A long strip of the boar meat is brought to Bidari, dripping with fat. Hot from the fire, he juggles it from hand to hand to make everyone laugh. Someone shouts out for him to get on with it because the others can’t eat till he and Ansa have eaten. Bidari tears off some meat to give her, then bites into the rest. Fat trickles down his chin and he grins at Ansa, pale beneath the kho and trembling. Her throat is working as she swallows the food and he feels himself become hard, aching to be inside her.
The Oak People and the Desert People crowd around the cooking hearth, children pushing their way to the front. The men gather round Bidari, laughing and cuffing the top of his head and wishing him fruit from Ansa. Both his brothers, Koldo and Nuno, already have wives and Koldo’s wife has given birth four times. Bidari glances over at Ansa. She is tall but very thin. Is she too young to become a mother? He likes to think of her flat belly swelling with the child he will place there.
The women will be busy with Ansa for a time yet. He goes to find his mother and squats down in front of her. She looks tired but he can tell that she is happy.
She puts out her hand and touches his face. ‘Bidari — be patient with her.’
He waits, puzzled, but she says nothing else. A solitary male voice rises above the hubbub and the drums — the men are starting the goat song. He brushes the top of his mother’s head with his lips and leaps up to join them.
Thank you for reading.
Chapter 3 of The Oak People is here:
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