saved his life. The page was passed around to the chief, who balled it up, put it in his mouth, and started chewing.
The old man now indicated that the hunter should read the next page, and he did. Again they held their breath, and when he came to the end, he, himself, ripped the page out and passed it over to the young woman, who he guessed to be the chiefâs wife. She crumpled it and put it in her mouth. This process was repeated so that the old man and the other fellow next to the chief each also were given something to chew on.
To Cleyâs bafflement, they chewed the wadded paper for the longest time. He smiled at them every now and then, and they mechanically returned his smile. Finally, the chief swallowed and the others followed his lead. Cley nodded to them all as if to say he hoped they enjoyed it, but then he saw that they were not finished. The chief, his wife, the old man, and the one to the left of the chief moved from their sitting positions in order to get on all fours. They did this slowly, and each movement of their limbs was like some part of a ritual.
When all of their heads were facing in toward the fire, they suddenly spit in unison. Cley jerked back, partially at the abruptness of the coordinated act, but more because their expectorations had a luminosity about them, like copious gobs of quicksilver. The instant the spittle hit the fire, there was a sizzling noise, and smoke began to rise. It did not trail upward as before like a twisting, turning, blue-gray vine. Now it rose in a wide, undulating sheet. Within this living veil of smoke, an image began to appear.
Cley leaned back in awe at what he witnessed, but his wonder turned quickly to fear when he recognized that the figure in the smoke was that of the eyeless ghost woman who had visited him on the rock island in the midst of his fever. He saw her open her mouth to cry out as he had in his delusion. There was no sound, but the clarity of her image made him believe there would be. He sat stunned, with his own mouth open. Then, as before, without warning, a perfect miniature of the red bird darted from her mouth toward his ear. Cley screamed, but fast as a snake striking, the old man reached out and caught the terrible creature in his hand. As his fingers closed around it, the bird, the sheet of smoke, the apparition, all disintegrated into nothing.
The chief stood up, and the others of the tribe followed. The young woman had to help Cley to his feet, for he was still sitting motionless with an expression of terror on his face. He rose slowly and was led out into the sunlight. The chief, the woman, and the other man each touched the hunter lightly on the forehead before they walked away. The old man remained and led him back, with Wood following, to the hut in which he had recovered. Before departing, his guide also touched his forehead. Although he was shaken, Cley nodded in thanks. The old man turned away, and the hunter noticed that the venerable fellow now had both ears intact.
He came to think of them as the Silent Ones, for they neither spoke nor sighed, laughed nor sang. When the children cried, the tears rolled down their faces, but they voiced not the slightest peep of anguish. At times, he was convinced that they were physically unable to utter a sound, and at others, he wondered if he was witnessing the greatest collective act of stoicism ever encountered. His own voice often seemed to disturb them, but there were times, especially when he read from the book, that he could tell they were listening carefully, almost entranced by the cadence of his words.
Every day that passed in the village, Cley pledged would be his last. He did not forget his destination, which lay somewhere far ahead, an eternity or so away, but the silence of his rescuers was an enigma that sparked his curiosity. They proved themselves to be such a gentle people, such a calm and content society, that he saw something in them that he knew he would need if he
The old man now indicated that the hunter should read the next page, and he did. Again they held their breath, and when he came to the end, he, himself, ripped the page out and passed it over to the young woman, who he guessed to be the chiefâs wife. She crumpled it and put it in her mouth. This process was repeated so that the old man and the other fellow next to the chief each also were given something to chew on.
To Cleyâs bafflement, they chewed the wadded paper for the longest time. He smiled at them every now and then, and they mechanically returned his smile. Finally, the chief swallowed and the others followed his lead. Cley nodded to them all as if to say he hoped they enjoyed it, but then he saw that they were not finished. The chief, his wife, the old man, and the one to the left of the chief moved from their sitting positions in order to get on all fours. They did this slowly, and each movement of their limbs was like some part of a ritual.
When all of their heads were facing in toward the fire, they suddenly spit in unison. Cley jerked back, partially at the abruptness of the coordinated act, but more because their expectorations had a luminosity about them, like copious gobs of quicksilver. The instant the spittle hit the fire, there was a sizzling noise, and smoke began to rise. It did not trail upward as before like a twisting, turning, blue-gray vine. Now it rose in a wide, undulating sheet. Within this living veil of smoke, an image began to appear.
Cley leaned back in awe at what he witnessed, but his wonder turned quickly to fear when he recognized that the figure in the smoke was that of the eyeless ghost woman who had visited him on the rock island in the midst of his fever. He saw her open her mouth to cry out as he had in his delusion. There was no sound, but the clarity of her image made him believe there would be. He sat stunned, with his own mouth open. Then, as before, without warning, a perfect miniature of the red bird darted from her mouth toward his ear. Cley screamed, but fast as a snake striking, the old man reached out and caught the terrible creature in his hand. As his fingers closed around it, the bird, the sheet of smoke, the apparition, all disintegrated into nothing.
The chief stood up, and the others of the tribe followed. The young woman had to help Cley to his feet, for he was still sitting motionless with an expression of terror on his face. He rose slowly and was led out into the sunlight. The chief, the woman, and the other man each touched the hunter lightly on the forehead before they walked away. The old man remained and led him back, with Wood following, to the hut in which he had recovered. Before departing, his guide also touched his forehead. Although he was shaken, Cley nodded in thanks. The old man turned away, and the hunter noticed that the venerable fellow now had both ears intact.
He came to think of them as the Silent Ones, for they neither spoke nor sighed, laughed nor sang. When the children cried, the tears rolled down their faces, but they voiced not the slightest peep of anguish. At times, he was convinced that they were physically unable to utter a sound, and at others, he wondered if he was witnessing the greatest collective act of stoicism ever encountered. His own voice often seemed to disturb them, but there were times, especially when he read from the book, that he could tell they were listening carefully, almost entranced by the cadence of his words.
Every day that passed in the village, Cley pledged would be his last. He did not forget his destination, which lay somewhere far ahead, an eternity or so away, but the silence of his rescuers was an enigma that sparked his curiosity. They proved themselves to be such a gentle people, such a calm and content society, that he saw something in them that he knew he would need if he
Similar Books
