Mama say to come here. To escape Tall Ones. Mama say Daga knows Tall Ones’ hearts. Daga wise , Mama say. Daga teach us sunstick arts, spin rod on rock and create little sun in dry grass, ball it up, build fireburn so harsh it cooks flesh on bigger wood. Tie a pelt on a stickend, set in treesap and put to the fire. Fun: swinging sunstick make like nightsky, the hot sun, light spits like sparklelights in the firmament that mark the sunsleep.
Tall Ones have fire. Daga say no trust Tall Ones. Tall Ones with long throwsticks too, can throw longways and pierce hides of big elands. Big, powerful throwsticks, fearfilling. Tall Ones hunt big game, share kill with no one. Tall Ones shout and scream when they bullhit, headquick with blood and wildness. Daga say, Is no good. Tall Ones have big heads. Stay away; hunt meatsmall, eat for selves as need.
It’s dark in here. If no sunsticks we lost, walk among caverocks with closeeyes. Headcrack, ow, spill bodysap, plunge crevasse and die.
I see dead things some moons ago. Dead things are things that are and aren’t. You want pick up and make run, or laugh or be alive, but they lie like pulled reeds, and ants come, eat their eyes. Move away and vultureflocks tear dead flesh.
Daga tell, one Tall One had died one of us. Daga enraged, eyefuls of tear. Old Ones of us sit in circle, Nahbi, and Turdu, Jemma and Nagologi, fireflash lights red and yellow across black faces. Daga enact the dying. Tall Ones attack Jhobi with throwstick. Jhobi throatcut, lie on dirt thrash and sceam. Then Tall Ones beat him with rocks, shriek and rub Jhobi bodysap on big faces til they dark and red and drip.
Then Tall Ones leave him, for yelping dogs. Daga sole: no can stop dogs. Shout to Tall Ones, angry, ‘Why do this? Why die Jhobi?’ Tall One raise throwstick. Daga quickduck Tall One’s throwstick. Daga say it hold windwhistle as it pass. Tall Ones turn towards him, and he flee. Tall Ones, Daga say, don’t care, want this dirt for themselves. Tall Ones greedy. Tall Ones do not want us here.
Old Ones say, Tall Ones come for us. Daga say, Yes they do.
The fire crackle and shoot across Old Ones’ faces. Then much talking. Nahbi stand with armwaves, Nagologi also, the men mighty angry. Turdu say, we stay. Daga say Tall Ones want our dirt. Turdu say he choose be left for dogscrap than give dirt to Tall Ones. I see Turdu club a hog once, pigmother rush to protect cubs, Turdu face her face on, and whack! clubfell her. So crackmighty the strike and club split, and sow scream and writhe then deadfall. We feast with sweet pig flesh for a handful of suns.
Old Ones resolve, we hide, where Tall Ones cannot go. The Warrior Men – Nahbi, Turdu, Jemma, Daga, Nagologi and others – stay to ward off Tall Ones. Men come to us when Tall Ones gone. Two suns, maybe three, less than one handful.
Each of us to carry meat, or wood, and sunstick. You need these, Daga say. Then he lean over me with rock in his hand. Rock thick one end and thin the other. Daga say, This is sharpstone. You hold like this, see? He hold sharpstone in his hand thick end in palm, thin edge point outway. Daga say, Make marks with sharpstone, on cave wall, Daga know where you go, we find you. Make big marks, and clear, so we see them with our sunsticks. Then we come, make you safe, live here again, no Tall Ones.
Daga’s dark eyes drill into me, and his weatherline face; I know this deep duty, that my kin depend on me. I am proud.
I take sharpstone and hold as Daga say. Sharpstone big, but not too big for my hand. I scrape a line on rock at my feet and Daga say, Yes, that’s it, and smile. The dread flow from me then, like water from a hollow. I have sharpstone, the marker of our progress and place.
There are more than two handsful of us. Mama with me, Nadala next to her with bellyswell , others crowd about squat entry to cave. Daga make the sunspin, and firelight our faces in the shade of overhang. Men, women hug, tears flow. Fathers kiss children, say brave be. We light our sunsticks, stoop to enter the dark. The cave where Tall Ones no go.
We descend many steps to a rock wall that sag like massive buffalo belly from cave roof; it no touch cave floor. It dwells about knee high from floor. We kneel and crawl beneath , sunsticks smoke the narrow passage, dust in our eyes and mouths. Ahead of me, Intogi’s voice shout, Look!
I emerge from buffalo belly and stand dusty with others in open cavern, tree tall high, with rock overhangs and striations like wings of giant birds. Sunsticks falter at its height, dark recesses elude our eyelength. I hold sharpstone close. Last of us through buffalo belly and we stand in our group.
Mama in dancing light of sunstick say, Is this it?
An elder, Lobu, say, Surely no. Tall Ones find us here easy.
A cry from above us. Hey! Nagolugu, Nagologi’s son, climb a rock incline. His face shine like sheer rock in his sunstick light. Up here, he shout. There is drop. Tall Ones no follow us down there.
We scramble up sharp rock to where Nagolugu crouch, and rock roof come close again; careful no headknock. Clinging to rockhold, we peer down. Sunsticks dance on shadows in narrow pinchwall of crevasse, but cannot reach the depth. I look at Mama. She hold hands up. No, she say. Others say same. It is too far down. It has no floor. We die.
Lobu say, We must. Tall Ones find us here easy. Tall Ones no go down there: too fat. Nagolugu laugh.
A child cries. Its mother closeholds.
Nagolugu say, Watch! He drop sunstick into crevasse. Its light bounce from wall to wall and heatsparks scatter and muddle our eyes, but then, thwack! it stop. I crane my neck and see thin glow of light in the deep. Nagolugu swing leg over the edge and scramble into pinchwall. His mother shriek and pound the wall with her hand, but he disappear into the dark. Our flames float shadows where his head goes.
We sit silent, ears tuned to the deep. His light goes. Where Nagolugu go? We see only dark. Hold bodybreath. Then there is a thumping: a foot on dry earth. Nagolugu shouts, Bottom, bottom! I look, and at the base his sunstick wave red splinters about the abyss. Come! he shout. We be safe here!
We look at each other. I wish Daga here and guide us. I remember his words, go where Tall Ones no go. This is the wise thing. The bravemore clamber into the thin void, and fearmore follow, sunsticks hold by others, meat hand to meat, wood to wood, voiceechoes tell where feet go and what rock hands to hold. Nadala slow, as she bellyround. She groan as she squeeze between the pinchwall of rock. Nagolugu shout, Tall Ones too fat!
I scramble back down to first chamber, and with sunstick I choose spot to signal where we go. I scratch the rock ferociously, to make place clear. Daga, Wise One, we go this way. This way, Daga, climb this hill, descend into deep below.
Knowing I fulfill Daga command, I skip back up to crevasse. The men find us now. I sure. They come. Not Tall Ones though. We safe.
I am last to descend. Beneath me, sunsticks shed some light, but I grope in dark to handfind holds in jagged rock. My knee slip and bodysap slick my leg. Friends shout encouragement; I climb from handhold to foothold slowly through pinchwall to the floor. I grasp sharpstone still.
A hand pulls me up, says, Look.
A vast chamber looms above. Tangled and pock marked rock hang from upperhighs, dark and light in our sunstick flare. Floor dirtflat and dirty; not many rocks stub our feet.
Lobu say, We rest here. Tall Ones no come here. We safe now.
We look about. There no trees, no water, no sounds save those we make, no animals, no light, save what we carry. We are we, alive, yet not among the living. Yet not dead.
We sit and wait, Lobu say. It will be two suns, maybe three.
But there is no sun here, no blue firmament to carry it. Nor moon. Nor skylights.
We sit on the fine earthen floor. We hold our sunsticks upright, a circle of lit suns and skylight sparks beneath rock cavern dark. No sun, no daylight, no nightlight. We have only what we make ourselves: sunstick light, mild chatter and anxious attendance, as if beast stalk us.
Lobu say, You four, I charge you with preserving fire. It must noever go out. There no grass to relight.
The four boys he command lay wood in the centre of group and then place sunstick below. Wood flares, firelight and fades to ember-red, glows sunset beneath burnblack. We place meat on and watch flesh and fat spit and twist til toothsoft. Fear and the hardbody getting here give us crybelly. We share the hotmeat and eat voraciously. After, we sit. Some chat, boys play, voices rebound off solid walls. Others thinksilent, alone, hug children or each other.
Handsful of time, the cave quieten. Children ask when we return. Mothers hush them. Soon, they say, when warrior men say is safe.
Lobu say, We dig pits in the ground for us to sleep in, and cover ourselves with dirt. That way, if Tall Ones do come with sunsticks, they see only the flat floor of the cave, and go away, no see us.
That is a wise saying.
I dig pits with sharpstone. One for each person, or maybe big enough for mother and child. Nadala lies with a sigh, with legcurls up round her bulbous stomach. Mama stroke my face, lies down. Proud, she say.
Then all quiet. The breathing of the group stopped by rock, fireglow dart about stonefolds above. It is dark; only dimlight now.
I do not know how long we here. No sun to measure darkness, no birdsong tell sun to rise. No rain, no shine. Daga say two suns, maybe three, they return. I no tell when two suns, or three. But meat runs out, and sunsticks smallen. We lay them on the fires, to keep warm, to remember.
I say, Mama, what if warrior men do not return?’
She hug me, eyesful of tear.
Nagolugu say, I go check on Warrior Men.
His mother say, No, Nagolugu, but he go, legs last up crevasse, til no hear him more.
We wait. Nagolugu’s mother cry, women cry, babies cry. Light dim now, only one sunstick on small fire. We wait how long, not know. No Nagolugu, no sound but breath of group around, not soft.
I say, Mama, what if Nagolugu no return? She hush.
But what if Tall Ones kill Daga, Nahbi, Turdu, Jemma, Nagologi and the others, Nagolugu too, he is only a boy. What if they come no ever?
Maybe it is sunturn outside the cave, may be sunsleep. What become of Warrior Men? I say to Mama, I go too.
She say, No, you stay, Nagolugu no return.
But fire thin, I say, only single sunstick, and small. We need more firefuel, more sunsticks.
Lobu say, we stay here, go out too dangerous. Nagolugu no return.
But we sightblind, I say, no fire, no sunstick, no food. Dark and hunger claw us.
Son, say Mama, stay.
I want to no go, but no want to stay too. Where are Warrior Men? Dead of Tall Ones, in grass, food for spotcats and peckbirds? Or battle still, come to us soon?
I go, I say.
Mama say, No, with eyesful tears. I step foot one back and can no see her. Her hand touch me; she say, You there?
Yes, I say.
You good boy, she say. Her hand release. Hunger growls like a cat in the gut, someone sobs in dark. We need food, fire, to know.
I clutch sharpstone and climb pinchwall. The darkness trick my hand, I cut and bump my head, and hand and toes and knees. But I no slip, no cry out, no wake Mama. Hotbreathed I reach top and shimmy down to first chamber, one hand above my head to stop rock roof from leaping at me. Flat ground again; the first cavern. I stand, the air soft and large. I am eyeblind like no moon night. Darker even. I fingerfeel slowway on the rock , keep one hand high for head clout. Where is buffalo belly we undercrawled?
I search and search longtime, sightless, sound only my footfall and scrape of hand on stone, my breath scouring my nostrils. Then I find. Yes!
I bellyslide on dirt and crawl under buffalo belly, head hit once with weteye and eyes close while I cope. But I see light, the edge of light, a promise of the entrance. I stand. I can see the cave floor now, the roof and the light grow as I climb the path to the entrance. Rocks to climb, stonetrips everywhere and the shriek of bats. Then I am at the opening, where we come down, how many suns?
My eyes lightblind, but I hide behind large rock to wait for them to lighten. It is good to see the sky again, to see. I blink and smile. But I know, no safe now. Spotcats, large beasts, Tall Ones. I crouch behind rock, look out, careful, careful. Quiet, stay no seen. I see footsteps on dirt where we enter, one set leaving: Nagolugu. I peer smarteye into trees and grass, searching for foe, for danger. None. I see sky, no wind, trees still, leaves moveless.
I clutch sharpstone and slowstand. Quiet still, fear heart pounding. No thing move. I step out from rock and into full sun. It warms my head. I smile again. Cave awful, good to be out, but need care. I walk careful steps out of cave, ears alert, eyes alert, whole me alert. I twist to see above cave. Trees overhang, finger roots in grey rock. Blue sunsky above, a smallbird in leaves squarks and flightjumps. Tree branch shortswings as it leaps.
I walk tenderfoot and slow on dirt, grass and leaves under my feet. I sense, and no senses signal. I sigh and tightgrip sharpstone. Still no safe. If all safe then Warrior Men come to get us. They no come. They fight or dead. I alone though. I think of Mama, and Lobu and Nigalo and the others.
We need firefuel and food. Firefuel easy. I hurry and collect treefall and logs in handful of trips, leave piles in cave entrance. Keep all eye on for wild things or Tall Ones. In cave I make sunstick. I have no pelt, but use grass for burn-end, and tie with strands of vine. With sharpstone I cut tree and roll burn-end in treesap. I am in shade, sun peeking through like child.
I cut grass to make bed for little sun on spin rod, to make fire and light sunstick when ready. Sunstick, firefuel, grass bed I lay in cave entrance, some little way down, no see from outside.
Food is harder. I have no throwsticks, only sharpstone. I see no creatures. I must hunt. Hunt hard.
I creep beneath trees, careful no spike me, careful no eat me beasts. Look up, so see no spot cats, look out, see no land cats or dogs, or the laughing teethbeasts. Quiet, I creep, footfall soundless, seeking groundbird or snake, maybe small deer. Quiet step, silent foot, no see me in trees.
I hear squabbling. Peer through trees and see mass of peck birds fight over carcass in tall grass. I no see what they eat. A mound of grey feathers covers their prey, bald heads rise and fall, their scrawny stretch necks and beaks red with bodysap. Maybe I scare them and take food.
I leap out, scream at peck birds who scatter, not far but far enough. I see deer, dead, most bone now, but flesh still, enough to slake hunger of those in cave. I bend to pick it up and hear windwhistle. A throwstick overs my bent back and thumps in the dirt. I turn. A Tall One is near, long and thin and screaming, wild hair with howlface. He raise another throwstick. I run, twist into trees and throwstick whistles past. I run, hear Tall One’s steps behind. He shout, maybe for kin, but I run, fast as stream fast as river fast as hunting cat.
I run to cave, he follow. I skip over firefuel and rocks, down to buffalo belly. Throwstick clatters on rock near me and I dive beneath rock belly, scramble through, head hits rock but I hurry. The air is suddenly dark above me, I am in the first chamber. I stand and listen, all black, bodysap on cheek from head cut, clutching sharpstone for fight with Tall One, breath hard and fast.
I hear voices, Tall One with others, maybe one, maybe two. They no have sunsticks, so dark there, dark here. Maybe they no see buffalo belly. I open mouth to let breath leave and enter slowly, no make sound, no tempt Tall One to find me. Tall Ones ugly, savage, want my bodysap, want my dead.
Silence now. Are they there? Do they wait for me? I crouch on dirt, slip very slowly beneath buffalo rock, silent as snake, sharpstone in hand. At end, I emerge, rock hidden, slowly slowly, see light rim beyond. I creep up, quiet, soft foot, no see me, no noise now. I stop, light at cave brighter here, even dance a little. I chance look.
Tall Ones have fire, burn my firefuel. Deer leg on fire. Tall Ones dark in cave sun, like standing shadows. One turns and I duck, no be seen.
I crouch, and all body listen. They no come, they no see me. But I no leave. No safe here. Silent I slip down the rocks water like and crawl beneath buffalo belly. Nor safe here. Tall Ones can come. Safe only with people. I start weteyes, no food, no fire, in deep dark, howling hungry, sore head, weteyes fall on my skin and shoulders shake I feel shame, I feel loss, I feel despair.
I fingerfeel slowway on the rock wall to slope, climb with weteyes. I feel to edge of pinchwall, turn slow so feet lead my descent. Hand to foot to hand and weteyes and hand to foot to hand and foot. In the blind dark, the no see no sun, the no light, weteyes wet, sharpstone in hand.
I arrive at bottom, eyes wipe and enter silence. I stand. Mama? I say.
A voice says, Son?
Over here, I say.
I stumble in her direction, hit toe on body. Mama?
Here, son.
I put arms out, sightless in the black. Mama?
Son.
She is closer. I call, Mama?
Her hand touches my knee; she is lying down. I drop and hug her. Mama!
She no can sit, but weteyes hugs me, saying son, my boy, son. I weteye too. Her hand sits feebly on my shoulder. I shut eye in the dark as out squeeze tear. Mama, I say.
I hear her breathe, breath not strong, like tired one. Son, she whispers.
I kneel and look around but no see. I reach out and no touch.
Mama, I say, who is here?
I hear Mama draw in hard breath.
Nadala is first to go, she say. Maybe trek too arduous. Or maybe child within steal all her bellyfood. She is cold and stiff. Then Lobu. He is old, and withery. She stop.
I know her words, we no count Lobu’s moons, there no moon count in here. Others too, young ones, too hungerweak to walk. Food go, firefuel go, sunsticks go. Our kin die in their bedpits, in protective layer of dirt, unseen by Tall Ones, unseen by dark and bleak.
I lie in the dark. I hear breath of loves dwindle and stall. I hold sharpstone, I weteye over firefuel I collect, deer I collect, and Tall Ones who take.
I no go out again. Tall Ones take me. I know, Tall Ones kill Daga, Nahbi, and Turdu, Jemma, Nagologi, the Warrior Men. Tall Ones kill Nagolugu. We die here, we die there. Better here, no let Tall Ones kill you.
It’s dark in here. No light enters, my eyes see nothing. Not even my hand before my face, or rock above my head. It silent too. Silent as death, silent like world never is, even at sunsleep when sun bows to moon and sparklelights fill the firmament. Silent as stopheart.
Mama say we should come here. To escape Tall Ones. Daga the Wise knows Tall Ones’ heart. Tall Ones are greedy and want all for themselves. Tall Ones are violent, and beat each other, and kill animals like no other animal can kill, with long throwsticks and sharprocks. Tall Ones kill, and laugh when they kill. Tall Ones kill us.
Daga and Nahbi and Turdu and Jemma and Nagologi and other men fight them, but they not come for us. I make scratchings clear, as Daga command. He give me sharpstone.
Hunger wrings my stomach. My head feebles. Even if climb out to world again, have no strength to fight Tall Ones, or spotcat or land cats or dogs, who leap from trees and grass and sink jaws into neck.
I lie in still dark. I touch rock. I touch my face. I touch dirt. I touch haggard lines of my bones. My throat parch. My head spin. I curl sharpstone in my hand, if Tall Ones come. Tall Ones stupid. Tall Ones fat. Tall Ones no come. Only Daga come. Only men come, Nahbi and Turdu and others. I lapse into sleep. I dream of sparklelights in purply firmament watching sunsleep. I dream of shadowtrees where spotcats sleep and birds nest. I dream of grasses where herds of elands graze, teethlaughing packs, striped zebra and the dirt tipping low to the sun as birdcall summons it wake. I dream of no more Tall Ones. No fear. I sleep. No more.
* * * * * * * *
The early hominid species found in 2013, Homo Naledi, was discovered over 1,450m deep in the Rising Star Cave complex about 58kms north west of Johannesburg, South Africa. Subsequent research, led by Dr Lee Berger of the Evolutionary Sciences Institute at the University of the Witwatersrand, suggests they may have buried their dead, made fire and scratched primitive carvings into the rock, denying their taller and larger brained contemporaries – the emergent homo sapiens, ie you and me – the claim to exclusive command of those three arts. Among the many skeletons found, one may have been an unborn child (or very early neonate) and another was that of a child, holding what appears to be a stone sharpened for cutting.
