Chapter 8: Friends

I’ll skip the blow-by-blow account over the next few days. For me, they were filled with lots of rest, surprisingly good food, Neta’s mothering, and disapproving looks from Khea. Once the three of us fell into a rhythm, the daily details were pretty boring. There were some highlights, however.

The first evening’s sleeping arrangements were the source of some awkwardness. While the nights were chilly, it was still mid-summer by my reckoning, and the fire kept the cave quite cozy. I decided to sleep in my undershorts, which the ladies found curious but hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask about. I didn’t give my (un)dress a lot of thought as I had woken up naked, but that turned out not to be the awkward part. Maybe it was the warmth, or maybe it was just cultural, but the girls both decided to sleep in the nude. Their casual approach to nudity was distracting in several ways.

First, both were young women who got plenty of exercise, sun, and no processed foods, so yeah ... distracting. I tried to keep my eyes to myself and was mostly successful, but their regular, silent inspections of my underwear weren’t simplifying things.

The other distraction was something we would need to deal with, but it wasn’t an immediate issue. Despite their fait accompli approach to nudity, they were obviously very nervous around me while unclothed. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem at all—they had all the privacy they wanted. But the change was noticeable with them sleeping as far away from my bedroll as possible, and any time I needed to get up in the middle of the night, I was followed by two pairs of extremely focused eyes.

I had no idea how to resolve that particular issue. Well, I had one idea, but it involved a gift of nightclothes to a pair of not-quite-acquaintances—one of whom I’m sure had a list of very practical and achievable ways to kill me. So I filed that idea under “over my dead body ... literally”.

Both of the women were far better cooks than I was—or at least had a much stronger grasp of the local ingredients (almost certainly both). So, when they maintained complete control over that chore, I didn’t complain. It wasn’t out of deference as they (mostly Khea) had no problem giving me chores once I was medically cleared. However, they were far more enthused about the surplus of bear meat than I was. They were able to do some amazing things with the local vegetation, but “bear chunks in liquid” was getting old, no matter how flavorful that liquid was. This pushed me to introduce variety whenever I could.

The first cultural collision came when I tried to teach the girls how to fish. I would have figured that the presence of the nearby river would mean fish was a large part of their diet, but neither showed any signs of trying to add fish to our larder or even cook pot. In my brief time on New Terra, fishing provided some precious relaxation time while still being productive. So I decided that a few hours one afternoon would be spent on the river catching dinner.

The girls weren’t enthusiastic, but their curiosity earned their participation. They understood we were going out to get fish but were curious how I could do that without a boat and net. So we took a hike upstream for a bit, where I knew of a nice rock over a deep hole. I showed them how to tie and bait the hooks. It was a novel experience having to explain something as simple as a hook on a string, but no squeamishness whatsoever to digging up and skewering grubs. It was shaping up to be an enjoyable afternoon right up until Neta got the first bite. She set the hook and pulled in, as I had explained, but as soon as the fish broached the surface, she quite literally freaked out. Khea was no help, being just as fish-averse as Neta. It was only by sheer luck that I was able to grab the line from Neta before she dropped it and brought the fish on land.

They were happy to clean the fish once I had taken it off the hook, and after the confusion was past, I landed the rest of dinner by myself in their company. I tried to talk about the fish freak-out that evening, but while we spoke the same language, we didn’t have the cultural basis to share some ideas. It was months later before I really understood what had happened. Catching a single fish was too close to hunting—an activity reserved for the men in the tribe. I never did figure out why fishing would be prohibited, but trapping was allowed—but I chalked that one up to gender roles never really making any logical sense.

Despite my plans, the fish didn’t rescue me from bear meat entirely; for dinner, we had bear-stuffed trout. I admit, however, it was delicious.

Once I was walking around regularly and easily, Neta didn’t feel it was necessary to keep a pot of broth ready at all times. That meant our meals included more dried or cold cuts, especially in the mornings. It seems they did not have a culture of breakfast food—a clear sin that needed to be remedied. So, one morning, I took it upon myself to experiment with bear bacon.

Again, the girls wore their looks of apprehensive curiosity as I selected a cut of meat from the cooler, borrowed back Khea’s knife, and laid the pot upside-down over the newly rekindled coals. Nothing is ever going to rival the flavor of cured, American pork-belly bacon, but once I got them thin enough, the bear strips crisped up pretty well. The “bacon” was a big hit with the girls, too, and made for a memorable breakfast, although it was almost overshadowed by my use of the pot as a skillet. I can only assume that a flat, conductive cooking surface wasn’t easy to come by.

After the novelty of the bacon and it’s cooking method, I was unceremoniously shoved off the cooking log, and the two women finished the meal. Neta watched the meat on the fire like it was going to burst into flame at any moment while Khea was happy to find another use for “her” knife. Just like fishing was a “boy job”, cooking was a “girl job”, so I was capable of introducing them to the new method, but clearly inadequate to actually employ it. I’m not at all ashamed to say this was one of those cultural clashes I was more than willing to accept without argument.

The final incident of note involved—thankfully—Khea. I’ve mentioned that she wore my utility knife constantly, to the point that I never saw her without it. I’m fairly sure she slept with it under her head. At first, I thought it was just an attachment to a superior tool. The tools I had seen them use were mostly “whatever rock I could find”; I’m sure in an established camp, they would hang on to quality examples, but there is no way they would have planned an overland trip without some sort of iron or steel tool if they existed.