hunters to eat what they kill.
They feel no connection between themselves and their victims, no common humanity. They are the hunters; the others are the others —only things for them to stalk for amusement, kill for pleasure, eat for food. The greater the victims’ fear and surprise, the greater the hunters’ satisfaction and pleasure. Every display of weakness makes them stronger, more superior, more contemptuous. They stand over their fallen victims, yelling at the corpses, cursing them, kicking them, spitting on them, dancing in triumph over the bodies.
They are the hunters. They kill men to live. They live to kill men.
Meg is near the end of her pregnancy. She is hugely bloated and moves with difficulty. Her breasts are swollen and tender to the touch. Sawney Beane knows that she will soon give birth, but he does not understand the mysterious process, and it disturbs him. From the time her body began to change visibly, he became increasingly uneasy.
It is evening in the cave, though that has little significance in a place that is always dark. Meg places a lit candle on a ledge, then groans suddenly and clutches at her protruding belly. The sound startles Sawney Beane; his face is puzzled as she moves slowly to her straw pallet and lies down. He backs away from her and stands in the shadows.
Eventually it begins. He does not want to watch, but is compelled to do so. In mounting disbelief and horror, he hears Meg’s groans and labored breathing, then sees a small blood- covered, compressed thing emerge from the juncture of her legs. He turns away.
“Help me. Cut the cord.”
Not looking at her, he shakes his head.
“Never mind. I’ll do it... There!” She laughs. “It’s over now. You can look.”
Reluctantly, he turns. Meg wraps a rag around the baby and holds it out to him. He refuses to take it.
“It will not hurt you. Hold your son.”
He takes the baby and holds it awkwardly. At first he will not look at it, but then the baby draws his attention. As he begins to study it, the significance of the event dawns on him. He speaks haltingly, more to himself than to Meg.
“A boy... a boy... we will continue to grow... our numbers will increase... we will become stronger...” Kneeling by Meg, he speaks with more assurance. “We will make more babies... grow more and more strong. So strong we will never be afraid. They will fear us. Aye. You watch. We have only begun. They will fear us. And we will hunt.”
Eight years have passed, and there are now eight children of varying ages.
A crude tribal structure has evolved. Life in the cave has acquired rhythms, routines. There are things to do, and there are established times and ways to do them. This manner of existence has not been seen for thousands of years, but Sawney Beane and Meg have surely and unerringly accustomed themselves to it. It is as if they themselves had been raised in an isolated cave and guided from birth by tribal lore.
Hunting is always the major activity. Sawney Beane and Meg hunt together, except when she is in the last stages of pregnancy and lacks sufficient mobility. Then he hunts alone, but this is difficult and dangerous, so when Meg is able to hunt they try to put away enough food to minimize the need for solitary endeavors. As the family grows, so do the requirements for food, but there is never a shortage of prey on the road. Obtaining it is more a pleasure than a burden.
Initially the children are Meg’s responsibility, and Sawney Beane pays no attention except to kick them away when they are under foot. But as they grow older, he takes a greater interest—they are the means by which the family will grow strong and prosper. Sawney Beane’s instincts make him the tribal elder responsible for the training of the young. He teaches them about survival and discipline—and, most important, about “the hunt.” When they are old enough, the children are taken from the cave and hidden in the bushes
They feel no connection between themselves and their victims, no common humanity. They are the hunters; the others are the others —only things for them to stalk for amusement, kill for pleasure, eat for food. The greater the victims’ fear and surprise, the greater the hunters’ satisfaction and pleasure. Every display of weakness makes them stronger, more superior, more contemptuous. They stand over their fallen victims, yelling at the corpses, cursing them, kicking them, spitting on them, dancing in triumph over the bodies.
They are the hunters. They kill men to live. They live to kill men.
Meg is near the end of her pregnancy. She is hugely bloated and moves with difficulty. Her breasts are swollen and tender to the touch. Sawney Beane knows that she will soon give birth, but he does not understand the mysterious process, and it disturbs him. From the time her body began to change visibly, he became increasingly uneasy.
It is evening in the cave, though that has little significance in a place that is always dark. Meg places a lit candle on a ledge, then groans suddenly and clutches at her protruding belly. The sound startles Sawney Beane; his face is puzzled as she moves slowly to her straw pallet and lies down. He backs away from her and stands in the shadows.
Eventually it begins. He does not want to watch, but is compelled to do so. In mounting disbelief and horror, he hears Meg’s groans and labored breathing, then sees a small blood- covered, compressed thing emerge from the juncture of her legs. He turns away.
“Help me. Cut the cord.”
Not looking at her, he shakes his head.
“Never mind. I’ll do it... There!” She laughs. “It’s over now. You can look.”
Reluctantly, he turns. Meg wraps a rag around the baby and holds it out to him. He refuses to take it.
“It will not hurt you. Hold your son.”
He takes the baby and holds it awkwardly. At first he will not look at it, but then the baby draws his attention. As he begins to study it, the significance of the event dawns on him. He speaks haltingly, more to himself than to Meg.
“A boy... a boy... we will continue to grow... our numbers will increase... we will become stronger...” Kneeling by Meg, he speaks with more assurance. “We will make more babies... grow more and more strong. So strong we will never be afraid. They will fear us. Aye. You watch. We have only begun. They will fear us. And we will hunt.”
Eight years have passed, and there are now eight children of varying ages.
A crude tribal structure has evolved. Life in the cave has acquired rhythms, routines. There are things to do, and there are established times and ways to do them. This manner of existence has not been seen for thousands of years, but Sawney Beane and Meg have surely and unerringly accustomed themselves to it. It is as if they themselves had been raised in an isolated cave and guided from birth by tribal lore.
Hunting is always the major activity. Sawney Beane and Meg hunt together, except when she is in the last stages of pregnancy and lacks sufficient mobility. Then he hunts alone, but this is difficult and dangerous, so when Meg is able to hunt they try to put away enough food to minimize the need for solitary endeavors. As the family grows, so do the requirements for food, but there is never a shortage of prey on the road. Obtaining it is more a pleasure than a burden.
Initially the children are Meg’s responsibility, and Sawney Beane pays no attention except to kick them away when they are under foot. But as they grow older, he takes a greater interest—they are the means by which the family will grow strong and prosper. Sawney Beane’s instincts make him the tribal elder responsible for the training of the young. He teaches them about survival and discipline—and, most important, about “the hunt.” When they are old enough, the children are taken from the cave and hidden in the bushes
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