Harry Harrison: Return to Eden

“There are things I wish to tell you, but we must leave,” Enge said.

“Much to say, no time to say it in. Will we meet again, Enge?”

“It is my hope that we can, my belief that we cannot.”

“Mine as well. My friend Nadaske is dead. You are the only other Yilanè I can call friend. I will remember that friendship. But after today, seeing Vaintè dead at last, it is my feeling that I want to forget all Yilanè. I was taken among them by force, lived with violence, ended with death. It is enough, Enge. I am Tanu. I remain Tanu.”

Enge thought to speak to him of Ugunenapsa and of the Spirit of Life that joined them, saw the coldness of his body, thought better of it.

“You are as you are. I am as I am.”

She turned, slid into the water, swam away. He watched as the other joined her and the two of them clambered aboard the waiting uruketo. When it stood out to sea he turned and climbed the dune once again. The three dead Yilanè were as he had left them, although the flies had found them now. He bent and pulled the metal knife from Vaintè’s neck, plunged it into the sand to clean it. The corpses must be buried. And this last embrace of death was not acceptable. He pulled Nadaske’s body from atop Vaintè, closed his sightless eyes and straightened his body out upon the sand. As he turned to leave he remembered the nenitesk.

It was on a little ledge to the rear of Nadaske’s shelter. The metal of the sculpture cool on his fingers, the polished stones gleaming in the sunlight when he held it up.

The sculpture in one hand, his son’s knife in the other, he turned his back on the Yilanè and trudged off to join the Tanu.

These things happened and must be told. That is what the alladjex always says when he speaks of things past. Ashan etcheran wariadith, aur skennast man eis. That is the way it is said in Marbak. I don’t think I could say it any more in Sesek. Armun could, she has always been very good with other languages. In Paramutan it would be long and stretched out, something like Harvaqtangaq netsilikaktuvuk. We still see the Paramutan every year, to trade. The others trade, I go just for the pleasure of being with those strange, friendly people. Though we don’t trade porro with them, not since the first — and last — time. The broken arms and legs mended. But a gouged-out eye can’t grow back.

Armun talks about crossing the ocean with them once again and I say why not? Our daughter, Ysel, has her own hunter now and has gone off with him to the north. At least Arnwheet is still here. He has grown to be a strong and skillful hunter with his own sammad. Like many of the other children who were raised on this island he does not feel the need to trek every season, to follow the hunt wherever it leads. I know that the women are the ones who prefer this most of all. They don’t want to leave their charadis fields, their looms and ovens. They talk of how they miss the snow and cold winters when the weather is very hot here, but it is just talk. But many of the original sammads have left, others have taken their place. Some Tanu die. Ortnar, dragging his bad leg, still lives and complains. But strong Herilak who survived a thousand battles did not wake up one morning, was cold at Merrith’s side, dead during the night. Strange things happen. But she has their son, Terin, to raise. He is growing large and will be very much like his father.

These things happened and must be told. Easy enough to say in Yilanè: lulukhesnii igikurunke, marikulugul marikakotkuru. With a tail lift that I never could do. I must go to the city soon, to Alpèasak, talk to them there. I wonder if Lanefenuu is still Eistaa? She certainly is if she is still alive. It would not be easy to push her out. I must talk to her. I have tried to talk to Arnwheet, but he says that he does not speak Yilanè any more. Marbak is good enough for him. I don’t argue. I wonder if he still remembers his friend Nadaske, who killed Vaintè with his knife, then was killed himself, right before our eyes. He used to dream about it, wake up crying in the dark, he did that for a long time. I think that I agree with him. There is no reason now for him to remember how to speak Yilanè. He wouldn’t take the knife back, even after I scrubbed it clean. But his son wears it now about his neck, and Arnwheet wears mine. Father and son, the way it should be.

I miss its presence some times, cool against the skin of my chest. But the shining metal ring is still there, will always be there. Grown in place by Vaintè to keep me prisoner. She is long dead — but it was never soon enough. There is no counting the number dead because of her. I must go to Alpèasak soon. Tell them they must be more cautious, strengthen their wall, maybe move their birth beaches. The young hunters brought the head to me so I could tell them if this was the killing marag. It was not very deadly, the eyes bulged, the jaw hung limp. Just a fargi fresh from the sea. I said that it was, but they must not kill any more of them. They laughed at that. They still respect me, I think, but they do not obey.

What was it that Enge said before she left, that distant day? That it would not always be a Yilanè world. I did not believe her then. I think I do now. There seem to be more and more Tanu about, more sammads than I could ever count. Many have left this island. I can see a time, not soon, not tomorrow, certainly not in my lifetime, when there might be so many Tanu that would want to hunt the land where Alpèasak now grows. Want to hunt the herds there. I can see that happening.

I would like to see the valley of the Sasku again, but it is a very long way away. Two hunters went there, came back, they said everything there was the same. It will probably always stay the same, that’s the kind of people they are. They said that Sanone was dead, he was very old, otherwise everything was the same.

I think I will visit Alpèasak. Warn them to guard their beaches better or more fargi will be slain. I see their uruketo in the distance sometimes, so they will know what is happening in the other cities of the Yilanè world. I wonder if they will know of Enge and her new city far to the south? Although she explained it, I could never understand the Daughters of Life. Enge and Vaintè, as different as night and day. Well, Tanu can be like that so why not Yilanè? It is a strange world we live in.

Strange. I heard someone talk about the alladjex and they called him old Fraken. He is going bald, perhaps that is it. But I remember when he was just the boy-without-a-name. Things change I guess.

It is going to rain, I know. My hip always hurts when it is going to rain. I think I will go hunting today. Though we have enough meat. Or perhaps I will go to the island where Nadaske used to live. Poor, lonely creature. Though I shouldn’t say that. He left the hanalè, lived on his own, learned to hunt and fish. Learned to kill doing it, something that the Yilanè males never do. It was well learned, a blow well struck. I will never forget him.

Others have of course. Everyone has. I haven’t. Ermanpadar never had a braver tharm in his belt of stars. Though I suppose that Yilanè don’t have tharms. I wouldn’t know about anything like that.

I was born Tanu, lived Yilanè, and am Tanu once again.

Or both really. I don’t mind. Although I feel a strange loneliness at times. I have Armun, so it is not that kind of loneliness.

I must go to Alpèasak and talk to the eistaa, others there. I should have done it years ago. So perhaps it is too late. I am afraid that it is. Too late.

Nevertheless these things happened and they must be told.