Chapter 15

She hurried inside and returned with the other two, who smiled encouragingly at John, aware that too much of a show of affection would be inappropriate and revealing.

He bowed to all three women.

“Ladies, I am very honoured that the wives of Shaman Mabana have come out to greet me. Thank you for your kindness.”

This got him giggles and knowing smiles from all the women, and they bowed back to the High Chief before retreating inside. Mabana told John, “I have informed our Headman that should anything fatal happen to me, I want you as a reliable fellow shaman to take charge of my ladies and their children. I have also told the women of this, so that they are aware of it. They are not objects to be traded, but women that I have fondness for, so they should know you will be there for them.”

“I will be proud to take on that responsibility, should it ever be necessary, Shaman Mabana. It is an honour that I will accept, and look after your ladies and children as if they were my own.”

Mabana beamed and clasped forearms with John to cement the agreement.

John made his farewells.

“I now have to walk the shoreline looking for special trees for the sea merchants, Shaman Mabana, so I leave you to make your ladies happy, as you always do. Farewell until the next time.”

John wandered over to the village campfire, to sit in comfort and eat some of his trail food; and hopefully beg a drink from the cook. She recognised her visitor and insisted that he eat a gourd of her fish chowder that she was quite proud of and wanted his opinion, handing him a carved bone spoon. John reckoned all their bone implements would be made from whalebone taken from dead whales washed up on the shore. It was always well utilised in the history of his own time.

He sampled the chowder and licked his lips, saying “Excellent, my dear lady. If I might make a suggestion from one of my wives: sprinkle a touch of parsley on top; that is my name for it. That is if my identification is correct, but it tastes much the same as the herb I knew. One of my ladies who is the herbalist in our tribe, collected it and says it is much the same, but not the true parsley of our youth.”

He dug out a sprig of the herb leaf and offered it to her. She took it, nibbled a leaf, and recognised the herb.

“That is what we call the curly healer. We use it in healing potions. I have not heard of it being used as a food flavouring, but I will try it now. Please thank your wife for that tip.”

“Thank you for your wonderful chowder, dear lady. You are great cook; I hope the tribe recognises your genius with food.”

Her grin widened at this praise. “They do say I am a good cook, Chief. I did not realise how good until you told me.”

He grinned at her, then bade her farewell. He needed to get as far along the coast as he could, before the waning light cut his vision. He was pleasantly surprised to find a mahogany tree every few hundred yards, more frequently than the plant books had suggested; but this was a slightly different world to his own, just as he was sure that parsley was not native to this area in his own earth.

The trees varied in thickness and height, which pleased him. Younger tree trunks would move more easily, so he could perhaps cut younger trees and drag the trunks towards the shoreline, or get some helpers to do this for him.

As he got farther south, the light dimmed and he looked for a place to spend the night. He found a small stream running from the forest, so settled down for the night on the still warm sand. He dropped off to sleep through tiredness, but was woken by a stick being prodded at him.

“What...?”

He came awake and looked around at his assailant. The moon was up, so there was a little light, and he saw there was a young man wielding the stick. The lad had long lanky hair in need of a wash.

“What’s with the stick, youngster?”

In the half-light, John guessed at the age as early teens, probably fourteen or so.

“You got any food?” Came the reply. The high-pitched voice indicated a younger person, perhaps a mere boy of twelve or thirteen.

“Some. Are you hungry? I have some trail food for chewing; nuts and dried berries. Like some?”

“Yes.”

John pulled his pouch round and found his trail mix bag. He offered it to the youngster, saying, “Help yourself. Do you mind if I get back to sleep? I am a powerful Shaman, so no tricks, all right?”

“All right. Thanks.” The bag was swiftly opened and a dirty hand thrust itself into the bag and in moments there was the sound of chewing and crunching. John relaxed and turned over, going back to sleep.

He woke up with the first light of dawn coming from the ocean’s horizon. He remembered last night and looked around for his night-time visitor. The figure was lying at the foot of a tree, with a covering of a ragged sheet of leather, but snoring away. By the smell of it, the leather had not been properly tanned, but it would have helped keep the boy’s body heat. John found his trail food bag lying beside him, almost empty except for some hard nuts that had a slightly bitter taste that a youngster might not appreciate. That meant he was a hungry youngster who had eaten all he could manage apart from those nuts with a taste he did not like.

John concluded that he should cease his tree search in the next hour or two and return to the village, unless he could catch his own food supply to replace what had been gobbled up by the starving teen.

He stripped and took himself down to the water’s edge and embarked on a short swim in lieu of bathing. His splashing must have woken his companion, for the figure appeared on the beach, gesticulating with a thick branch, “Over here, if you can make it. Catch hold of this branch!” the youngster threw the branch towards John. It landed not far from him, but he ignored it and continued to swim to the shore.

The youngster gaped in shock as John got to his feet in the shallows, saying, “You weren’t drowning?”

John shook his head, scattering drops of water. “No. I was swimming.”

“What’s that?” the lad asked, while staring fixedly at the naked form of John displayed before him.

“Swimming? Moving through the water under control. I was perfectly safe ... what is your name?”

“Stang ... Stango.”

“Unsure of your own name? Not a good sign; starving as well, from the signs last night. You scoffed all my trail mix. Where did you come from?”

“From the forest. I have been running for weeks from bad men, eating whatever I could find.”

“Bad men? Was that the Invader army? You don’t need to worry any more about them killing you. They have retreated the way they came.”

“No. It was more recent. My mother’s husband, that she married a summer ago, he was trying to do bad things to me, and talked of his friends doing it as well.”

“Oh, dear. A bi-sexual brute, eh? Likes both men and women, and an abusive bully with it? Not a good situation for you; no wonder you ran away!”

“Eh? Oh, yes, I see ... Umm, I didn’t know that word, bi-sexual.”

“You are probably not old enough and experienced enough to have known about such people. Are you a man yet?”

“No, I am not a man.”

“Well, you were man enough to bolt down almost all my scran last night. I am surprised you don’t have a sore belly by now, after eating all that food in a one-er.”

“I was hungry; sorry.”

“How do you feel, then. No sore belly?”

“Slightly uncomfortable, but I am getting used to that.”

“That’s odd. How come you are having that problem? No food, then a sudden glut of food? Not a good way to eat, youngster. It is bad for your health, and so is not washing; you stink of the jungle, from not washing in many days. Come down to the water and clean yourself up. I have some soap in my kit that you can use. I can stay with you if you are afraid of the water.”

The boy looked worried, so John explained, “Soap is a material that one of my tribes makes for washing yourself. It is very good for you that way. Right: strip and get yourself washed.”

“Uhh ... sir, I don’t like people seeing me without clothes. Will you look away while I am washing?”

“Bashful, eh? A common malady of youth. You will have to get used to seeing and being seen as you grow up to be a man.”

“Yes, sir. Can I ask you to put your clothing on? Your exposed body is not something I am used to, and I find it frightening.”

“If nakedness bothers you, okay, I will dress. I will remain with bare feet though, for standing in the shallows. I don’t want my moccasins to get wet. You will also have to stay in the shallows to wash, for without being able to swim, that is essential; keeping safe. Here is my soap; don’t lose it. It is slippery.”

“Thank you. Please turn your back on me, once you make a space for me in the shallows.”

Getting a little fed up with this insistence of avoiding nakedness, John grudgingly acceded to this demand, and stood a little farther out, watching the sparkling water out to sea. He had to shield his eyes from looking directly into the sun, which would be bad for the eyes. He heard some splashing behind him, and hoped that lad would remember to wash his filthy hair.

A few moments later, there was a squeal, and a curse. “Damn, I’ve lost it!”

Realising the soap had slipped into the water, John whirled and started peering into the water for the white lump. He was able to spot it as there were few waves here, reached down and grabbed it tightly. He stood up and offered it back, saying, “Here you are, Stango...” his voice tailed off as he saw Stango standing with a hand covering genitals and arm across nipples. This annoyed John.

“Don’t stand there, boy, acting like a timid girl!”

“This brought an unexpected reaction.

“I am not a boy!”

Exasperated, John automatically responded, “You said you were not a man, so you must be a boy, unless ... you are a girl?”

“I am not a girl, I am a woman!”

John’s face reddened.

“Oops, sorry, Stango. You got me confused for a while.”

“You said, sorry. Really?”

“Of course. It is the polite thing to say in the circumstances. Whyever not?”

“I thought that, you are a man, and you would act like a man towards a woman.”

“Stango, I AM acting like a man towards a woman!”

“But, all my life, I have seen men treating women as people to be ordered around, and used as it suited them, specially for sex.”

“You poor woman. That is abuse, not correct treatment of others.”

She shivered.

“I am getting cold. Can I finish washing, please?”

“No. I am going to help you. Bend your head down in my direction, and I will wash your hair, and then do your back. You can wash your front by yourself.”

She obediently bent her head to almost the surface of the water, and John carefully washed her hair with the soap and rinsed it. “Stay as you are; this mess needs a second wash.” He repeated the procedure, and by now the hair was becoming as he expected a woman’s hair to feel.

“There; much better. That should do it. Now stand up and turn around, and I will give your back a scrub.”

She automatically stood up in order to turn, and John saw she had small pert breasts and hard nipples due to the cold. She quickly whipped around so her back was to him, and he used his soapy hands to wipe all the ingrained dirt off her back.

“Damn, woman, your back is filthy. You can’t have washed it since you left home.”

She angrily retorted, “I can’t get to my back, and I was alone.”

“Oh, yes. That is a fact I had forgotten. It is no wonder you couldn’t wash it. If you stay with me, I can help with that any other time.”

“You mean, if you can get me naked again. I saw your big man member, earlier.”

“No threat, woman. I have plenty of wives who love me., so I have no need of extra women. Anyway, you are too skinny to be sexually attractive just now. If you come with me, it will be because you and I want to be friends; nothing more. Would you like to be friends with me?”

“I have not had a friend for a long time. Do I have to do anything to be friends with you?”

“Friends don’t need to do anything to be friends. Anything they do is because they want to do it, not because they have to. You do things for a friend out of friendship, expecting nothing back. You needed food, and I had food, so I gave it to you, as an offer of friendship. You trusted me and stayed to sleep nearby, treating me as a friend and not an enemy.

We have made a start; this is another step in the dance of friendship.”

“Wow. I had not thought of all that; just reacted to you. You are right; we have acted as friends so far. I am willing to trust you further. You will not take advantage of me, as a woman?”

“I will not do any such thing, Stango. Is it really Stango?”

“Stanga. I just changed the ending, to make it seem I was a male.”

“Stanga, then. A nice name. My own name is John Hunter, but I am Chief John of the Mountain Tribe, and High Chief of two other tribes that have their own Chiefs. I act as their guide when they ask for guidance.”

“What? You are an important Chief? Why then are you here on your own, talking to me of friendship?”

“A job I needed to do; one that could be done by no-one else. I have to go back to the fisher village to the north of here. Did you have your troubles at that village?”

“No. My tribe was a long way from the sea. That is why I didn’t know about your swimming thing, and thought you were in trouble.”

“Your actions showed another aspect of friendship: trying to help someone in trouble. That was a brave thing to do, Stanga.”

The young woman went to pick up her clothes that she had been wearing all the time she had been on the run, but John stopped her.

“No, we’ll dispose of these clothes, and get you new ones elsewhere. I have a spare set of clothing in my pack, so you can wear that for now. Alternatively, you can remain unclothed if you prefer.”

“Will it fit me, and make me look like a man?”

“Now she worries about looking like a man! Stanga, my clothing will be very loose on you, but it is that choice or the grotty stuff you had on until now. It is a no-brainer, to me. Now, what do you choose?”

She thought, then shrugged.

“Any clothes will be better that my old stinky stuff. I didn’t even have anything to use while on my monthlies.”

“Ah, that explains your comment about being used to being uncomfortable in your belly. You were referring to your monthlies. Do you get a lot of pain then? Some women have it worse than others.”

“A fair bit of pain, and a lot of bleeding sometimes. Why should a man ask me about women’s troubles?”

“My wives all have their monthlies, except if they are pregnant, so I know about these troubles. Two had their babies in the last few weeks, but it will be a little while before we have more babies.”

“The way you talk, it sounds like you have a number of wives. Is that so?”

“True. It was eight wives up until I took over the Mountain Tribe. The former chief had been abusive, raping a number of teenage women, so when I rescued them, I offered to let them go home to their parents. They all chose to be my wives instead. Two were now orphans, others said they would be rejected by their families now, and a couple did not feel safer at home than where they were with me. I had to cure them of their ailments and bruises, and one broken arm, and then took them back to meet Chief Numa for her to approve as wives.”

“Eh? A woman Chief? I have never heard of a woman being a Chief.”

“You have heard of it now, Stanga. She is my First Wife and rules our family. I am also married to Chief Maranga of the Farfarers Tribe: another female Chief. Your world is changing, Stanga, changing rapidly, and may change even more.

Right. Here is my second set of clothes for you to use. I will continue with this set until we get back to Chief Numa’s tribe.”

Stanga accepted the clothing, but looked enquiringly at John, as if expecting him to turn his back while she dressed. Instead, he gave a short laugh.

“Stanga, I have been seeing your naked body for the last few minutes, and you have got used to it; so as I have seen all of you, why should I turn my back while you dress? What would be the point?”

“Just habit, I suppose. I had to hide myself from my new father all the time, for fear of him.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, Stanga. Accept that and we shall be fine.”

She shook out the sections of clothing, and donned them as best she could. She was thankful for the long belt that she drew round her middle, as it helped to pull things together, but she halted, staring at the ends. John noticed and asked,”What’s your problem?”

“I don’t know how to tie this round me so that it will stay,” she revealed.

“Use a slip knot. Do you know that one?”

“The words don’t mean anything to me, Chief John Hunter.”

“Just Chief John, will do. Let me show you how it is done.”

He took the ends of the belt, wrapped the ends into a slip knot, going slowly so she could watch the way it was done. “Now, to release the belt, you just pull from this end, and it will come apart. Got it?”

She asked, “Please do it again.”

He did so, and she sighed.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just liked your smell when you were close to me. Is that your normal smell?”

“I suppose so, as I washed not long ago and the soap I used does not have a fragrance to it. Other versions of the soap that women like; these have fragrances.”

“I think I see it now,” she said, and tied the knot by herself. It was her way of changing the subject from body aromas. She was afraid he might comment on her newly washed womanly smell. It was lucky that she was not at the time of her monthlies.

“That looks good,” said John. “Ready to come with me to the fisher village? That is my first stop, but to get you decent clothing, I suggest we go to my old tribe and ask Chief Numa to provide you with proper women’s clothing.”

“Why should a Chief give me anything, Chief John?”

“A Chief has duties and responsibilities as well as power, Stanga. One of the responsibilities of a Chief is to provide for the members of the tribe. If someone lacks any essential, the Chief should arrange that the essential is provided, one way or another. Clothing is one of these essentials, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, but I am not one of her tribe.”

“Our tribe started with just her and me, and her younger sister. It grew quickly as more people joined us, until it is a powerful tribe today. You are simply another person joining the tribe; it is that straightforward: you will be one of her tribe when you arrive there; that’s it.”

“Oh. All right then.”

They prepared to set off once John had retrieved his crossbow and bolts that were stashed inside a bush as a precaution. Stanga stared at this object, not seeing it as a weapon.

“What is that, Chief John?”

“It is a weapon, Stanga; a version of the longbow that you may have seen.”

She accepted this as fact, and made no more comment other than a muttered, “Very short arrows!”

John checked that he had his tree diagram completed. It was drawn on a sheet of bark that he stored inside his leather shirt, and told him how far each tree was from the last one, starting from the village. He used a height for each tree drawing to indicate its maturity.

Their tramp back to the village was uneventful, and John was welcomed back, but with puzzled looks at his companion. They encountered Mabana on the way through the village, and he commented, “Do you always collect people on your travels, Shaman John?”

John giggled as he blushed. “Seems that way at times, Shaman Mabana. This one is a refugee from an abusive new father.”

“Ah. You have done well for her, John. It looks like a ‘her’ from the long hair. What are your plans for her?”

“No plans, yet. We’ll see what she wants to do with her life. Not all women want to be a wife and mother, unlike your women.”

“Hah! You fail to mention all the pregnant wives that you are noted for, my friend.”

Stanga’s eyes widened at this comment. She asked Mabana, “Really? Many pregnant wives?”

He viewed her clothing and murmured, “You have already accepted his clothing; that’s the first step.”

As she recoiled at the remark, John laughed, “Ignore the Shaman, Stanga. He is just trying to scare you. You are under no obligation to me, just because I gave you my spare clothes to wear.”

“But I also took your food supply, last night.”

“I willingly offered it to a starving teenager, nothing more.”

Mabana told her, “I was teasing you, girl; like your hair, by the way! John is a reliable man, Shaman, Chief, and High Chief. You can be sure of anything he tells you being the truth. He is good at using words to convey an exact meaning.”

Stanga frowned at this remark, having no idea what it was meant to convey.

“He says he will take me to his tribe and Chief Numa will get me some womanly clothes, and I will be part of the tribe.”

Mabana beamed.

“Then that is what will happen. My own words were to let you know that he has an ability to make women fall in love with him very easily. That was the warning. He will never force you to do anything, but you might make your own decision in a way you did not expect.”

John grinned, “There speaks a Shaman. You can never be sure of the meaning behind a Shaman’s words; the meaning is sometimes hidden in plain sight.

There is an ancient tale of a leader of a powerful nation who consulted the equivalent of a great Shaman and asked, “What will happen if I attack this great nation?” The Shaman’s reply was, “A great nation will fall,” and he was happy. He attacked, but was defeated and lost his throne; the Shaman’s words came true.”

Stanga blurted out, “But he was defeated!”

John nodded, telling her, “That is so. The prophecy was that a great nation would fall, an it did: his own!”

Mabana said to her, “That shows you how words matter. You must listen to what is actually said, what the words used really mean; not to what you THINK they were intended to mean.”

Stanga said wonderingly, “This is the sort of learning I did not get while I was younger. It is learning about real life, and not just about food gathering and preparing.”

John disabused her with his next words.

“Real life INCLUDES food gathering and preparation. Hunters are food gatherers, and cooks are food preparers; both are vital to a tribe, but you also need to be able to understand what is going on around you, Stanga. If a man says you are pretty, that can be a first step towards becoming a mate, but could also be a first step towards being ruined, depending on what is said after that. It is a guide to your future, knowing what is actually intended by the words you hear. The intonation might be a clue, but not always, so you must be on your guard.”

“I like you, Chief John.”

“Thank you. I like you too, Stanga.”

“That doesn’t mean I am going to become one of your women.”

“What a horrible idea!” John retorted.

“Which is horrible?: Becoming one of your women, or not becoming one?”

“I have no idea; I am just confused that anyone else would even think of becoming one of my women. I have enough of them as it is!”

“How many do you have, exactly?” Stanga want to know.

“Let me see; eight and six is fourteen, plus the other two: uhh ... two hands plus four fingers of wives, plus two concubines.”

“That is ridiculous!”

“I agree, but it just seemed to happen around me.”

Wordlessly, Stanga just shook her head in amazement, so John suggested, “We should get on our way, as soon as we can beg a meal to keep us going.”

“We should beg from strangers?”

“If you don’t ask, you don’t get. Anyway, this tribe are not strangers to me; they are friends. We help each other.”

“Friends everywhere? You seem to live in a different world from what I am used to.”

“We all live in different worlds, through our experiences. That is life. I try to adjust my world to be a bit more accommodating of radical concepts, making my tribes more resilient to the vagaries of life.”

“I don’t understand what that means, Shaman or whatever. It sounds like a magic incantation.”

“In a way, it probably is, Stanga. Magic can change the world. It all depends on how you define magic.”

“Another word that is strange to me: define.”

“The term means the meaning that lies behind the word. If I say paramool, what comes into your mind?”

“An animal found in the forest. It’s meat makes good eating.”

“Right; so you have just defined what paramool means. Get the idea?”

“Ah, yes, so the picture that comes into your mind for the word ‘magic’ can be different for other tribes?”

“Yes. Sometimes even different for each individual person, like the word ‘food’ can produce all sorts of images of specific food, or food cooked in a particular way; anything that your mind sees as food.”

“This has been a day of wonder for me, Shaman. Or should it be Chief, or High Chief?”

“Any of these will do, Stanga. I am Shaman for Chief Numa’s tribe, Chief for the Mountain tribe, and High Chief for the Farfarers and also for Numa’s tribe.”

“You are truly a powerful man, High Chief John.”

“Stanga, I keep trying to avoid power. That is why I am a High Chief, acting more as an adviser than a wielder of power. As soon as I can find the right person, I shall hand over the Mountain tribe to a new Chief. All I intend is to radically change their society before I depart and leave them to it. At every tribe I control, I insist on parity of the sexes. That word, parity, means ‘the same’ or ‘equal’, so what it means is that men and women should be treated as the same, for any task in the tribe – except of course for unique matters of gender like birthing your own baby! By the way, the word ‘unique’ means one, and only one, so that there is no comparison involved. You can’t be slightly or very unique, just as you can’t be slightly Stanga or very Stanga. You are a unique person; the one and only Stanga!”

“Does that make me special?”

“It does. Every person is special. We all have talents and abilities that are special. That is why one of my wives is the Maker of our tribe, for that is the talent she has; the talent to make new things. You can also develop new abilities in a person, so that many of the women in my tribe are also warriors as well as their normal jobs in the tribe.”

“Women as warriors? That is impossible!”

“That is an example of the difference between your world thinking and my world thinking. In my world, a warrior is not the name for a man, it is the name for a performer of the task of defending the tribe. The meaning is the job, not the sex of the person doing the job. In my tribes, a man with cooking talent can be a cook if he wants to be. In my home world, some of the best cooks were men, and they had the title of ‘chef’, which was the word in one of our languages for ‘chief’ or head man. He was the head of food preparation. He was that good at the job.”

“Wow,” was all that Stanga could say to that.

The same cook was on duty when John and Stanga arrived at the cook-fires, and the woman nodded to John.

“Who’s the stranger?”

“She is not a stranger; she is Stanga, a woman threatened in her own tribe. I have taken her under my wing, and she is coming with me to meet Chief Numa. Can we implore you for a bite to eat before we depart on our journey?”

“We have a standing instruction to feed you when you come, High Chief. Do you still like the fish chowder, or have you changed your mind about what you want?”

“I liked it; I still do. I am sure Stanga would like to try your cooking.”

Two gourds of the chowder were thrust into their hands almost immediately, along with two spoons.

They tucked in, and Stanga gasped, “It is hot, but it tastes wonderful!”

The cook grinned and commented, “You have my permission to come back to eat, any time, young Stanga.”

She turned to John. “You have a woman of good taste, Shaman. One to keep, I would think.”

John waved that aside. “She is her own woman, cook. She will decide what she wants to do with her life. No-one else makes that decision. I hope you decide to remain a cook.”

She smiled back. “My husband thinks the same way, but as long as he is well fed, he is happy. He is always keen to go to sea and fish, so he brings me things to see if I can turn them into good meals. I am not so good with things like squid but I cope with most things.”

John suggested, “I heard that squid ink is good as an additive in sauces but only in small amounts. I was also told that cooking of squid, cut into rings, should be either for a very short time, or for a long time. Between the two extremes, the squid is rubbery – not good.”

The cook stared at John. “You know about cooking squid?”

John explained, “When I was in a special army group, we learned to live off the country and not have to depend on an army kitchen. The teaching included how to cook shellfish, squid, and other sea animals to make them edible. I never thought it would stick in my mind for so long!”