Lily King: Euphoria

I could see the arrow wounds: one in the temple, one in the chest. Clean, precise shots.

More and more people were coming onto the beach, encircling us, pressing in to see Xambun. I could barely breathe. From somewhere behind us a slit drum started up, awful, powerful, drawn-out knells loud enough for every person and spirit on the lake to hear. The sound shook through me.

I crouched next to Fen. ‘Did they see it was you?’ I said.

He lifted his mess of a face to me and seemed to break into a smile. ‘No! No one saw me. I was invisible.’ He turned to Nell. ‘I used the spell and I was invisible.’

But Nell was still trying to hold Malun, trying to reach her and comfort her in her hysteria.

‘Did they see you leave with the flute?’ I asked Fen.

‘They couldn’t see me. Only Xambun.’

‘If they saw you, they’ll come after you.’

‘They didn’t see me, Bankson. Nellie.’ He grabbed Nell’s face and turned it to his. ‘Nellie, I’m sorry.’ His head lurched and fell against her chest and he heaved up sobs that no one could hear in the chaos.

I broke out of the circle and fetched my boat, which had drifted downshore. I pulled it back toward the path that led to their house. The flute was wrapped in towels and tied up with the twine from Helen’s manuscript. It was as thick as a man’s thigh. I took it out then flipped the boat. Blood and water funneled out into the sand. I set it to rights, and as I straightened up I felt light-headed and sat down. All around me people had given over to grief, weeping and keening and singing in groups in the sand, the women’s skin still glistening with oil from the day before.

Several men I didn’t recognize, older men who had already covered themselves with funereal mud, approached the canoe. One examined the engine without touching it, keeping his distance in case it roared to life, but the other two went straight for the flute and began plucking at the twine.

Fen called out something and came running.

‘Jesus, Bankson, don’t let them touch it.’ He reached out for the tall bundle but the two men pulled it away. Fen lunged for it, seized it with one arm and shoved off the men with the other.

‘Be careful, Fen. Be very careful right now,’ I said quietly.

The largest man began asking questions, one after the other, urgent but precise. Fen answered solemnly. At one point he broke down, and seemed to be offering a long apology. The large man had no patience for this. He held up his hand then pointed to the flute. Fen told him no. He asked again and Fen said no more sharply, which put an end to the conversation.

After they walked away Fen said, ‘They want to bury the flute with Xambun.’

‘Seems the least you could do for them, given—’

‘Stick it in the ground to rot? After everything I went through?’

‘Now is not the time to upset them.’

‘Oh, is now not the time?’ he mimicked bitterly. ‘Are you an expert on my tribe, too?’

‘A man has been murdered, Fen.’

‘Just stay out of it, Bankson, all right? Will you do that for once?’ He lifted the flute and carried it awkwardly away.

The three men had moved down the beach to where a larger group of men gathered around the slit drum. But the drumming had stopped as the players listened to what the mud-painted men had to say.

I knew what was happening. They were all realizing that it had not been a hunt but a raid Fen had taken Xambun on, and that now Fen was unwilling to share the spoils with Xambun’s spirit. Without the flute, Xambun would be restless, would make trouble for them all. They had to get it. I could see it in their eyes. It was perhaps just the beginning of what they would need to avenge Xambun’s death.

I pushed my way back in to Nell.

Her eyes were shut. Malun was calmer and letting Nell stroke her back.

‘We need to go. We need to leave here now.’ I pressed my cheek to her temple, her hair against my lips. ‘We do. We need to go.’

Without opening her eyes, she said, ‘We can’t. Not now. Not like this.’

‘Listen to me.’ I took both her arms. ‘We need to get in my boat and go.’

She yanked herself out of my grip. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving her.’

‘It’s not safe, Nell. No one is safe.’

‘I know them. They won’t hurt us. They’re not like your Kiona.’

‘They want the flute.’

‘Let them have the flute.’

‘He’ll never give it to them, Nell. He’ll die before he does.’

‘We can’t go. These are my people.’ Her voice broke. She understood. She understood about their gods and amends — and Fen’s brutal possessiveness.

Her small face was smeared with blood and sand and she looked as if she’d never resented someone more than she resented me and my good sense. She resisted a little while longer then I guided her out and up the beach.

People were still streaming onto the sand from the road. I saw Chanta and Kanup and little Luquo, who was screaming for his brother. But no one stopped us. The men by the drums watched us move away but they did not come after us.

Fen was in a chair, the flute leaning up beside him. Nell went straight to her bedroom. He jumped up and followed her.

‘Don’t come in here.’

‘Nell, I need to tell you something.’

‘No.’

‘I talked to Abapenamo. They did give it to me. The flute was a gift. It’s rightfully mine.’

‘You think I care who owns it now? You got a man killed for it, Fen. Xambun is dead. ’

‘I know, Nellie. I know.’ He slid to the ground and wrapped his arms around her legs.

A raw loathing coursed through me. ‘Get up, Fen,’ I said through the netting. ‘Pack your bags. We’re leaving.’

I got the canoe and brought it around to a smaller beach where they met me. We loaded it up with my suitcases, their duffels, and the small trunk. I’d found her specs by my mat and handed them to her when Fen wasn’t looking. She put them on without acknowledgment of anything else and turned back to the other beach, the entire village gathered there now.

‘Don’t call attention to anything,’ I said quietly. ‘Just get in the boat.’

Fen and his flute got in. ‘It’s out of petrol, you know,’ he said, as if that were my fault. ‘I had to paddle most of the way back.’

Good, I thought. Gave me more time with your wife.

‘I’ve another jug right here,’ I said. ‘You left it when you stole my boat.’

I affixed the petrol line to the new jug and gave it a pump. The motor turned over on the first try. A few small heads lifted and turned. Only the children playing in the water heard the sound of the engine.

‘Baya ban!’ little Amini hollered from the shallows.

Nell raised herself up and in a low cracked voice called out, ‘Baya ban!’

‘Baya ban!’

‘Baya ban!’ Nell called. I wanted to tell her to stop, but the men by the drums on the far side of the beach seemed not to hear her in the tumult.

Nell warbled out every long name of each child waving to her, complete with clan and maternal and paternal ancestor names, until her words gave out and her wailing became incoherent. The children waded deeper into the water as we pulled away and splashed madly at our boat, screaming out things I couldn’t understand.

Go. Go to your beautiful dances, your beautiful ceremonies. And we will bury our dead.

The sky seemed so low, so bleak. For a moment I lost my bearings entirely, and I wasn’t even sure where to point the boat, how to get back to the river. Then I remembered the canal between the hills and I pushed up the throttle and the motor drowned out all their voices. The canoe lifted, lurched, then skimmed fast across the black lake.