bristle of his upper lip to his mouth. He would pull her to him then and she would feel him firm and solid in her arms, and the parts of her that without him were rough and broken off and shameful would once again become smooth and whole and true.
Hurry home , she whispered, and beyond the blind window the birds screamed, their throats raw with longing.
M any weeks were to pass before the boy was able to approach the bayou without straining for a glimpse of the expedition. Then winter came. There would be few travellers in winter, the savages told him. In winter the big river froze in the north and the white men waited by their firesides. He was not hungry. The harvests had been good and much food stored for the lean months. Besides, the savage hunters were skilful. There was always meat.
The boy grew taller. The bones of his face sharpened and his red hands hung from the poles of his arms like flags. To put on his boots became an agony. Though he endured the torture of them for as long as he was able, he was at last obliged to abandon them for shoes of the savage style that they called moccasins, fashioned from deerskin and ornamented with a pattern of tiny coloured beads. The moccasins were warm and well-fitting, but he hacked off the beads with the tip of his knife. As for his coat, he refused to give it up, though the pinch of it pulled at his shoulders and chafed the skin beneath his arms. The cuffs kinked, pale stripes marking the old seams. Even then they hardly grazed his wrists.
He lodged with a warrior and his wife, a quiet round-faced creature who treated him with the same glancing affection that she accorded her own half-grown litter of infants. A quick study, it was not long before he had picked up the rudiments of their tongue but, favouring the isolation accorded to the uncomprehending, he spoke little. In La Rochelle as a boy, he had lain for hours upon his stomach when it rained, watching the insects with whom he shared his quarters. He had observed that the spider held her silk upon a reel inside her own body and that she lived not upon her web but in a silken tunnel that she spun alongside it and in which she ate her prey; that in the winter, when the ice came, the flies by his pallet grew feeble and could barely crawl, but those close to the fire remained vigorous, rubbing their hands together like conspirators. The cold ones were easy to catch. The boy had peered at them through the cracks in his fingers, noting the great red eyes, the transparent wings, the four black stripes on their backs, and then he had crushed them, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into his palm.
Now the boy watched the savages, and he saw that many things that the men had told him were true. He saw that the Ouma men wore bracelets and necklaces of bone and feathers in their hair as if they were women and that some even carried fans. He saw that they ate untidily and seldom used spoons, that they worshipped fire and water and trees, that they feared owls above all creatures, for their cries foretold the death of a child. He saw how they made magic with the straw-filled corpse of a dead otter and listened to their dreams, for they believed that their guardian spirits came to them in visions to advise and warn them of danger. He saw that not one among them, not even the chief, thought it possible that a man might capture words in his hands and fix them to a page. Not for the first time the boy wished he knew how writing was done.
He saw all these things, and his scorn tasted pleasantly sharp upon his tongue. But the boy’s eyes were sharp and he saw other things too, things that no one had troubled to tell him. He saw that the greatest possible care was bestowed upon the children of the savages by their mothers. He saw how those with surplus wealth were expected to distribute it generously. He saw that far from being raised as warlike, boys were taught never to fight among themselves and those that breached this commandment
Hurry home , she whispered, and beyond the blind window the birds screamed, their throats raw with longing.
M any weeks were to pass before the boy was able to approach the bayou without straining for a glimpse of the expedition. Then winter came. There would be few travellers in winter, the savages told him. In winter the big river froze in the north and the white men waited by their firesides. He was not hungry. The harvests had been good and much food stored for the lean months. Besides, the savage hunters were skilful. There was always meat.
The boy grew taller. The bones of his face sharpened and his red hands hung from the poles of his arms like flags. To put on his boots became an agony. Though he endured the torture of them for as long as he was able, he was at last obliged to abandon them for shoes of the savage style that they called moccasins, fashioned from deerskin and ornamented with a pattern of tiny coloured beads. The moccasins were warm and well-fitting, but he hacked off the beads with the tip of his knife. As for his coat, he refused to give it up, though the pinch of it pulled at his shoulders and chafed the skin beneath his arms. The cuffs kinked, pale stripes marking the old seams. Even then they hardly grazed his wrists.
He lodged with a warrior and his wife, a quiet round-faced creature who treated him with the same glancing affection that she accorded her own half-grown litter of infants. A quick study, it was not long before he had picked up the rudiments of their tongue but, favouring the isolation accorded to the uncomprehending, he spoke little. In La Rochelle as a boy, he had lain for hours upon his stomach when it rained, watching the insects with whom he shared his quarters. He had observed that the spider held her silk upon a reel inside her own body and that she lived not upon her web but in a silken tunnel that she spun alongside it and in which she ate her prey; that in the winter, when the ice came, the flies by his pallet grew feeble and could barely crawl, but those close to the fire remained vigorous, rubbing their hands together like conspirators. The cold ones were easy to catch. The boy had peered at them through the cracks in his fingers, noting the great red eyes, the transparent wings, the four black stripes on their backs, and then he had crushed them, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into his palm.
Now the boy watched the savages, and he saw that many things that the men had told him were true. He saw that the Ouma men wore bracelets and necklaces of bone and feathers in their hair as if they were women and that some even carried fans. He saw that they ate untidily and seldom used spoons, that they worshipped fire and water and trees, that they feared owls above all creatures, for their cries foretold the death of a child. He saw how they made magic with the straw-filled corpse of a dead otter and listened to their dreams, for they believed that their guardian spirits came to them in visions to advise and warn them of danger. He saw that not one among them, not even the chief, thought it possible that a man might capture words in his hands and fix them to a page. Not for the first time the boy wished he knew how writing was done.
He saw all these things, and his scorn tasted pleasantly sharp upon his tongue. But the boy’s eyes were sharp and he saw other things too, things that no one had troubled to tell him. He saw that the greatest possible care was bestowed upon the children of the savages by their mothers. He saw how those with surplus wealth were expected to distribute it generously. He saw that far from being raised as warlike, boys were taught never to fight among themselves and those that breached this commandment
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