A Glibertarians Exclusive:  Setting Suns, Part IV

 

The cave – 28,000 years ago

Eba sat in the morning sunshine, idle for a few moments, enjoying the warm sun and the cool sea breeze on her face.

Beside her sat Podo.  His mate, Gra, had not survived the journey back to the seaside cave, slipping silently away in her sleep the first night on the trip back home.  But Podo had shown unexpected reserves of strength.  Good food and a dose of hope had revived the old man, and despite the loss of his mate he had stumped along the last day of the journey walking on his own, leaning on a stout stick.  The clan had welcomed him, and Tuk had said the words that made him one of them in the eyes of the spirits.

The one thing he had insisted on bringing from his old home, aside from the shapeless ibex-skin wrap he wore, was his drum.  The drum was like nothing Eba had seen before:  A short length of a hollow birch trunk with scraped deerskin over one end.  Podo had the habit of tapping on it reflectively while thinking, as he was doing now.

The tapping stopped suddenly.  Eba looked over at the old man.

“We are the last, you know,” Podo said.

“The last?”

“Of the People,” Podo said.  “We are all there is.  My children are gone, taken by sickness.  Gra lies in her grave on the plain.  We, here, are all.”

“We cannot be all,” Eba objected.

“We are all,” Podo affirmed.  “The spirits, girl, they talk to me in the night.”

“Tuk talks to the spirits.  He has said nothing of this.”

“The spirits talk for their own reasons,” Podo said.  “They do not tell all they know.”

He began tapping on the drum again, tapping with his thumb on the stretched deerskin, a simple rhythm, a sharp pom followed by three lesser ones, repeated, over and over.  The clan began to gather around, curious, as Podo began to sing, quietly at first, then louder.

In the time before the People,

In the days of wind and ice,

The spirits moved over the land.

Oo-sha, the spirit of wind,

Ee-sha, the spirit of earth,

Rah-sha, the spirit of fire,

Wha-sha, the spirit of water,

Moved over the land.

The spirits softened the land.

They melted the ice.

They brought forth the trees and the grass.

They brought forth the auroch, the reindeer, and the ibex.

They brought forth Thunder Speaker, the great mammoth.

They brought forth the People.

Man and woman, they made the People.

The spirits loved the People and made them strong.

The spirits gave the People speech, so they could talk.

The spirits gave the People fire, so they could cook.

The spirits gave the People minds, so they could hunt.

All this, the spirits did, and all was good.

The People hunted, and ate, and grew strong.

The People had many young and moved freely on the land.

Came the Runners!

The words seemed to flow effortlessly from the old man, as though carried on the wind.

The Runners are many,

They chase the game from forest to mountain.

The People moved away,

Away from the long-legged ones,

Across the mountains.

Across the plains.

The sea now stops their journey.

The spirits speak to them,

The spirits speak to the elders,

The old ways are done.

Podo looked at Eba.  Tears rolled down his face, from his big eyes under the arched, overhanging brow ridges, past his big, broad nose.  “I’m sorry, little one,” he said.  “I can only sing what the spirits whisper to me.”

“I know,” Eba replied.  Her eyes were wet, too.

Tuk stood nearby, looking concerned.  “Podo,” he said.  “Grandfather.  The spirits whispered to you these things?”

“They did,” Podo agreed.  “They do.”

Tuk frowned.  “Why?”

“So I could sing the story to you,” Podo said.

Sensing the clans’ discomfiture, Hoo started talking very rapidly.  “The spirits, yes, they talk to Podo, and to Tuk, and to all of us, and all of us hear them say different things.  But our fire and our stomachs still need tended to.  Gula, Tep, Kleg, Vekk, see to your tools.  Tomorrow, we will hunt!  Eba, Eda, Fu, Pok, take the women this afternoon to gather wood for smoking meat.  Podo, worry no more about listening to spirits.  We have enough to deal with here.”

The clan separated, knowing Hoo was right, and went about their tasks.  But as evening came, they assembled, quietly, on the small shelf of rock overlooking the sea.  As Podo sat, humming to himself, and tapping gently on his drum, the People – the last of the People – sat quietly, close together, looking out over the sea.

***

I remember breezes,

From winds inside your body,

Keep me high.

Like I told you,

I’ll sing to them this story.

And know why.

Note:  This one isn’t a Bob Dylan creation but was in fact written by The Grateful Dead’s Donna Jean Godchaux.  You can hear the original here.