55

Introductory Text

Mother River
The Watcher Narrative Part 01 55th Post Posted 15 May 2016 at 21:04:25 EDT Link to original

The people were moving along the river, as the people do in the gentle days, moving from one fruitful place to another. Maed played the flute, first a river song, then a berry song, then both mixed together, and it was so flowing that the people began to laugh and shout. Resh slapped his chest and called out the names of the Fathers and the Deeds, and it all flowed so well that we almost didn't see the old woman in the thorn-flower bushes.

She was an old crone, huddled up in the bushes, naked and covered with cuts. All the music fell away at once, and the people gathered around to take a look. She was very old, far into the barren years, maybe even into the years of being carried. I did not like the look of her right away. She did not have a face of the Fathers and the people, but rather the hungry, untrusting face of one of the wandering strangers that we sometimes met along the river.

Even when strangers were friendly, they did not know the names of the Fathers or the Deeds, except for maybe a few, but they did not say them properly or with respect. Other times, they set upon the people, killing and raping and committing all manner of hideousness. I was always glad to see them go on their way, leaving us alone with the Mother River.

Some of the older people tried to talk to the crone. She knew some of the names of things, but said them wrong. I went away from the crowd and looked out into the rocky land. I had a feeling that maybe she was not alone, that there were other strangers with her, ready to set upon us. The land seemed to be empty. Some of our cats were with us, crouching and sniffing around, and they seemed unworried. Still, I showed my chest and made signs of war in case anybody was among the rocks, watching us.

Rima saw me making the signs and laughed at me, saying that she saw some lizards making signs of surrender. I made a few signs of courtship towards her, but with a snarling face, and she ran off giggling. Somebody called my name. I came back to where the people were gathered. Somebody had given the crone a cloth to cover herself, and some of the women were putting good, lucky mud on her cuts. I didn't like this. Why should we waste anything on a barren old woman?

Somebody had called me because I was the son of Araed, one of the great men of the people. The crone had called on all the great people, the leaders of the people. She wanted to show us something. I didn't like this either. Who was this useless crone to call on all the great people?

The crone was talking to the great people. The way she said the names was all wrong, but her voice was like a strong music, and her eyes were very large and powerful, and she moved her hands, making all sorts of unknown signs. The people listened to her closely, and I found myself listening with them. She said that she was the daughter of the river. She did not have a mother and father of the flesh, but her mother was the river alone. I scoffed at this. The stories of the Deeds tell us that the ancient people came from the river, but this was long ago, and they were not strangers, who came from the rocky lands alongside the lizards.

She went on talking, saying that she was living with the Painted Backs, a friendly group of strangers we had met before, but that they had all been set upon by another group of strangers. The other strangers were powerful and cruel, and they carried all the Painted Backs off except her. This was how she ended up naked in the thorn bush. The people murmured at this. When had it happened? Just the night before. This was worrying. Maybe the other strangers were still around, waiting to set upon us.

The crone asked the people to take her with us. This started more murmuring. She was a stranger, not a person, and she was an old crone. She could never become a person by birthing one of the people, nor could she work hard for the people. She was useless. Maed, the flute player, spoke up and said that we should show her the kindness of the people, the same kindness that Mother River shows to us. Are we not useless to the river who was here before us, and would be here forever?

I liked Maed, who was close kin, but he liked talking and impressing people too much. Now we were in the gentle days and things were easy, but what would happen in the dry days when everything needed to be saved? And who would carry the crone when she could no longer walk? The Fathers did not perform the Deeds so that we could carry old crones around. But I did not say this because I am not good at talking, and my words would seem weak compared to Maed's, which glittered and flowed.

The woman began talking in her strange way again, saying that we should take her with us because the Mother River would bless us with many things, as she was the Mother's daughter. Now some of the people began to scoff like I did, saying that this was not according to the Deeds. The crone agreed with this, calling these people wise, and saying that some of the Deeds were secret. This started more talk which started to lead toward argument, when the old crone suddenly strode right into the river and held her hands up and called for everybody to watch.

The people became silent. The woman reached into the river, searching for something. After a moment, she pulled her hands out and showed us, dripping and shining in the sun, three very large river clams. Waving the clams around for us to see, the old crone claimed that this was proof that she was the blessed daughter of Mother River. Many of the people snickered and muttered the names of the Fathers. Everyone knew that these were the gentle days, and it was easy enough to reach into the river and pull out clams. The woman was just a filthy old trickster. We should leave her and move on.

"Look!" the woman cried, and she handed the clams to the great men. "Look inside!"

Our uncle Kell slipped his thick yellow thumbnail into a clam's mouth and pulled it open. The people pressed around him to get a look. It was a nice clam with healthy meat, but clinging to the shell was a large, perfect pearl. The women all let out little sighs, and the men murmured. Other great men pulled open the other two clams, and they both held even larger pearls, all three perfectly round. At this, people gasped and shouted, and everybody began talking at once. A man might go a whole lifetime only seeing one perfect pearl pulled from the river. Three was a thing that had never happened before. Three was a thing which would live among the Deeds.

"Take her with us!" one of the women cried, and soon most of the people were saying this. I found myself saying it as well. The woman was surely part of a powerful flow, and it was best not to swim against her. But even as the great men agreed that this woman would become a part of the people, and we all cheered and shouted out the names of the Fathers and the Deeds, I found myself looking at her strange, hungry face and wondering if she had not somehow slipped those pearls into the clams herself.