Aaron Elkins: The Dark Place

In almost two hours, none of the old Yahi had spoken directly to the saltu, but Gideon’s hangdog expression as he stood holding the unwanted curtains finally broke through the communication barrier. With no preliminaries, Keen Eagle suddenly addressed Gideon at length. Excited at finally making verbal contact, Gideon wanted desperately to understand, but not a single word was intelligible.

"I don’t understand," he said miserably. "Ulisi."

Keen Eagle gestured at the towel and repeated what he had said, this time shouting directly into Gideon’s ear.

"I don’t understand," Gideon repeated with a helpless gesture.

The Indians stared at each other and whispered incredulously. Their meaning was clear: Is it truly possible that a human being might not understand our language? Astounding!

Gray Sparrow also had a try at shouting into Gideon’s ear, but Shy Buffalo solved the problem by spitting on the curtain, taking Gideon’s hand, rubbing it over the wet spot, and gesturing expressively: What good is material that gets wet?

In the rain forest, it was a persuasive point. "Ah, I understand," Gideon said in Yahi.

"Ah, I understand," they repeated to each other, delighted, mimicking Gideon’s outlandish accent but without malice. There was considerable good-natured laughter in which Gideon joined, with the feeling that the ice was broken at last.

When he dipped into the knapsack and fished out Squeekie the Turtle there was more laughter, which increased when he squeezed it to produce its soft bleat.

There was a rough, abrupt movement at his side, and a muscular arm swept down to knock the toy to the ground. Gideon was considerably startled and sprang back; he had almost forgotten about Big Cheese. The young Indian stared at him, fierce and combative, his hand gripping the head of the ax at his belt. In the sudden silence the older Yahi melted back.

Gideon reached behind him and gently pushed Julie away. He didn’t know what had angered Big Cheese, but if his hand so much as began to pull the ax from his waistband, he would spring. He’d go for the ax with his left hand and chop at the Yahi’s throat with his right forearm. His eyes focused on the prominent Adam’s apple in the muscled throat, and his body coiled. It was hardly orthodox behavior for an anthropologist, but that ax had nearly killed him once, and he wasn’t going to give it another chance.

Big Cheese seemed to read his intentions. He dropped his hand casually away from the ax, an Old West gunman whose bluff had been called. His veiled eyes, always hostile, changed their expression perceptibly from bellicosity to mere contempt. The full lips, which had been rigid and pale, reformed into a derisive curl.

The harsh tension in the air eased. Gideon began to breathe again and heard Julie inhale deeply behind him. The four elderly Yahi, once again shrunken into their tight little knot, eased slightly apart. Gideon knew that he had won something, although he wasn’t sure what, and it seemed like a good time to consolidate his gains. With a firm glance at Big Cheese, who watched him without moving, he bent to pick up the rubber toy and walked swiftly to the huddle of Indians. He’d seen Gray Sparrow’s face light up when he’d squeezed the turtle, and he squeezed it again, then placed it in her hand, closing her fingers over it so that it made its little noise.

"Squeekie," Gideon said, and closed her hand over it once more. She tried it herself, and the worn, blind old face shone with pleasure. "Kweekee!" she crowed. "Kweekee!" She squeezed it some more, holding it up to her ear and emitting great peals of laughter, which exhibited a set of gray gums barren but for one nub of a brown molar on each side. Gideon laughed with her, and soon the others were laughing too. Astoundingly, even Big Cheese smiled slightly, and for a moment his feline eyes seemed to glow with something like warmth.

Pleased with their progress, Gideon presented the cigarette lighter. As expected, it brought gasps when he used it to ignite a few twigs at the edge of the fire. Only two of the Yahi could be coaxed to try it, however, and neither Keen Eagle nor Shy Buffalo could get it to work. Their fingers were clumsy on the unfamiliar object, and they held it upside down, or in both hands, or dropped it altogether, in spite of Gideon’s patient guidance. Both grew frustrated and sulky within minutes, and Gideon thought it best to put the lighter in the pocket of his jacket.

This caused a sensation. Pockets, it appeared, were as intriguing as clear plastic wrapping. Gideon was made to take the lighter out of his pocket and put it back in a dozen times, and soon Keen Eagle, Shy Buffalo, and Gray Sparrow were trying it. Startled Mouse hung skittishly back, as usual, and Big Cheese, who had threatened neither action nor speech since the affair of the turtle, was disdainful, miles above this saltu claptrap.

All in all, the presents had been a success. Most of the Yahi now milled about Gideon and even touched him with no apparent fear. Gideon thought it might be time to try to do what he had come to do.

"Chief," he said, using the Yahi honorific to address Big Cheese, "we talk now."

Big Cheese pointed at Shy Buffalo with his chin. "He is the chief," he said surprisingly.

Shy Buffalo smiled diffidently. "Yes, I am the chief." His manner of speaking was halting and slow, and Gideon could follow the intent of it, which was more than he could say for the throaty, rapid speech of the other older Yahi. Before they could talk, Shy Buffalo said, the saltu must also have gifts. He gestured for them to follow, turned, and walked slowly toward the larger of the two huts.

Inside, the hut was about twelve feet in diameter, larger than the ones on Pyrites Creek and tall enough to stand in, but otherwise like them. The curving walls, made of rushes tied over a framework of scouler willow poles, were smoke-blackened and greasy with the fires of many winters. The sweet and pungent smells of smoke, human beings, and not too finically preserved meat were strong, but on the whole it was not unpleasant. Near the low entrance was a pile of baskets, some finished, some incomplete, some with the stepped Yahi design, some plain. There were cooking baskets, sifting baskets, and open-weave carrying baskets; all Gray Sparrow’s handiwork, no doubt.

Along the wall was more basketry: lidded storage hampers. Some were open, showing plentiful supplies of dried, nearly black meat cut in strips, dried whole fish, and seeds and roots Gideon didn’t recognize.

"I can stop worrying about them going hungry," Julie said. "There’s enough right here for them to live on for three months."

Around the ashy fire pit in the center there were three rumpled, comfortable-looking blankets of sewn-together, brown rabbit skins. Other objects were scattered over the floor: a fire drill hearth with the drill upright in its hole, a scruffy deer’s head filled with grass-hunting decoy, probably-two stone hammers, a few spears and harpoons leaning against the wall, stone knives, hand adzes, some unfinished notched wooden hafts. And an atlatl.

"Not exactly shipshape," Julie said. "I’ll bet Gray Sparrow doesn’t live here. It looks like bachelors’ quarters."

"You’re probably right," Gideon said, "but it really isn’t too bad; kind of lived-in. It’d be cozy on a rainy day with the fire going. I could think of worse ways to spend a cold, dreary day than lying on one of those rabbit-skin rugs and munching dried fish around the fire."

Through gestures and words, Shy Buffalo told them that they were welcome to anything the Yahi possessed.

"I suppose we ought to take something to be polite?" Julie asked hopefully.

"Absolutely," Gideon said, smiling. "We wouldn’t want to offend them."

She chose a beautifully woven, richly decorated little basket of the kind referred to by anthropologists as trinket baskets. Gideon asked for one of the stone axes, which greatly pleased Shy Buffalo, who said with hesitant pride that he had made it.