Peter Dickinson - A Bone From a Dry Sea

He was telling the tribe that he, Presh, Leader, had sent his niece Li out to ride in deep water with the dolphins, and now they were to welcome her home. So he made her triumph into his triumph, telling them to praise both Li and himself as bringers of wonders.

Now they knew what to do. As Presh moved with a dance-like strut along the shore, turning and stamping on the rocks and punching the air with his hand, they answered with cries of Praise! and as he passed they struck the water with their palms, shooting arches of spray over the pair of them, a salute of glittering foam through which their shining black bodies moved in glory. Li kept her grip on Presh’s hair but with her free hand punched the air, copying his gesture, timing her movements to his, so that the parade was for her like a continuation of the dance with the dolphin, as she moved with a big strong creature through its element. It struck no-one as strange or wrong that she should share in a Leader-triumph, though nothing like this had ever happened before.

Normally the tribe would have stayed for at least one more day at that bay, but as the sun lost its heat Presh gave signals for a move and took them off northwards under a waxing moon. Perhaps he felt that he couldn’t afford to let Li dance again with the dolphin and not be allowed to join in himself. Or perhaps it was a vaguer feeling, that the bay was for the moment awesome, and that it would be easier for the tribe to go elsewhere until they had come to terms with what had happened.

Next morning Riff’s family cornered a large eel. It took several adults to heave aside the boulder under which it had hidden and to wrestle it ashore, so Presh had time to take charge, and then to control the share-out. Eels being slow to die and too rubbery to tear apart, this meant passing the squirming body round and letting the favoured ones gnaw what they could from it. Presh spat out his first mouthful and gave it to Li, an extraordinary honour for a child.

That night Ma-ma started her labour. The females gave birth in water, usually just before dawn. The mother would leave the sleeping tribe and go with one close friend down into the shallows, where the friend would help with the birth and lift the baby to the surface for its first breath of air. Sometimes a younger female, not quite ready for mating, would go and watch, to learn how the thing was done. It would be a year before Li reached that age but Ma-ma took her all the same, and clutched her to her side as she pushed the infant out of her body, while Hooa caught him and guided him to the surface to wail in the dawn air. His birth-fur was sleek as a seal-skin. His mouth in the bare wrinkled face whimpered and sucked and his hands grasped and grasped at emptiness.

Ma-ma took him as soon as she was ready and put him to her nipple. As he started to suck, she placed a tress of her hair against each tiny pink palm. Immediately the fingers closed and held. That was right. It was a good birth, all that a birth should be. Hooa was muttering Joy, Praise and Li was doing so too, without noticing, entranced with happiness and wonder. She had never seen a birth close to. The child was inside the mother – all the tribe knew that – and when her time came she went into the sea and pushed it out of her and there it was. This had seemed no more strange or surprising than the swarming of the shrimps at full moon. It happened. There was no need to explain it.

But now Li stared at the baby as if it had been she herself who’d just been thrust into the world. Where had he come from? The mystery wasn’t the neat body, with fur to keep it warm through the chill of night. Ma-ma had somehow made that inside herself after mating with Tong. (The tribe were aware that females like Liai who refused to mate had no children.) The mystery was the person. This new other. Himself. How could he be made? If he wasn’t made, where had he been? How did the lips know to suck, the fingers to grasp Ma-ma’s locks so that when she was foraging in the water, using both hands, the baby would float safely beside her?

The baby sucked, then slept. Ma-ma crooned. Li squatted beside her, still as a rock in the trance of wonder. Perhaps he had come out of the sea. Yes, perhaps the dolphins had brought him from the place where the sun rose, and when Ma-ma had pushed the body out of her he had slid, transparent as a shrimp, under the water and in through the mouth, to make its home in the body like a hermit-crab taking over a new shell. Perhaps.

Carrying a baby with its birth-fur still on it brought Ma-ma great prestige. She was already one of the senior females, but now for a while she became the second most respected person in the tribe, after Presh. Females, and some males, competed to hold the baby. Tong brought food and a birth-present, a shining shell. The shell had a hole in it so Li threaded some of Ma-ma’s hairs through it and tied them so that it dangled against her shoulder. The hairs soon wore through, but Li experimented and invented a form of plaiting which lasted well. The ornament was much admired and added to Ma-ma’s prestige.

The next child was born in a family not close to Li’s but still she was woken and went down to watch over the birth. The father had already found a piece of shell with a hole in it for Li to make into a neck-ornament like Ma-ma’s. Over the months this became a custom in the tribe, something they did because it felt right, as though it had always been done. The plaits tended to wear through at about the time the babies lost their birth-fur, which added to the feeling of rightness.

Probably Li was the only one who ever thought back to how the custom had started.

NOW: MONDAY MORNING

MRS HAMISKA WAS a small quiet woman with a flat face and pale blue eyes. Her skin looked like soft leather. She said nothing the whole journey, but she didn’t get much chance because Dr Hamiska barely stopped talking. The landscape reeled by, grey-brown, flat, battered with heat, with hardly a tree, hardly a tussock of grass, just here and there patches of low thorny scrub which looked dead but in fact had tiny leaves like fish-scales. These were the badlands Dad had talked about, and the scrub was almost the only plant able to grow there. Again, it wasn’t the Africa you saw on TV.

Vinny sat in the back of the jeep, craning forward to listen to Dr Hamiska explaining about the badlands. This was where they had found most of their fossils. When the plain which you saw from the camp had been sea, and the hills where the camp was had been an island, this had been the channel between the island and the mainland. Then, slowly, the land had risen, and it had become a great marsh, and creatures had lived and died there leaving their bones in the marsh. Rivers had fed the marsh, bringing down silt from the hills, layer after layer after layer, covering the bones. Then the coastline had risen, cutting the marsh off from the sea, and slowly it had dried out, evaporated, becoming saltier and saltier as it did so. It was badlands still because of the salt. The plates of the earth had ground against each other and there had been earthquakes, tilting the edges of the plain into new young hills, where the layers of silt compacted into clay and fresh soft rock, while the buried bones became fossils within them.

Time had streamed by, hundreds of thousands of seasons, wet, dry, wet, dry, wet, dry, each wet softening the surface of the earth and each dry baking it hard again. Sometimes rain washed whole mountainsides away. Sometimes things barely changed at all.

‘I’ve seen sites which were explored thirty years before,’ said Dr Hamiska. ‘You could still see the old beer-cans. But not one new fossil had been exposed – barely a millimetre of erosion in thirty years. But then a man I know was digging out a dinosaur from the side of a gully. Tanzania, this was. A dinosaur can be a big thing – you don’t get it done in a day. He’d got it half done when there was a thunderstorm and a flash flood down the gully, and the whole dinosaur was washed away. He’d lost it completely.’