The Little Robbin and the Falling Light
She loved to hide and listen as her mother called her name.
It was something she had been doing for as long as she could remember, and it was a game that made her feel close to her mother. Her father and her brothers might not particularly notice her, and they very rarely spoke to her other than to call her "little raven" and chide her for being in the way, but for her mother, it mattered whether she was there or not. Her mother might get annoyed with her from time to time, and might hold out a sharp word for her, but most of the time, as busy as she was, she knew when her daughter was in a playful mood, and indulged her.
The little girl's favorite hiding place was the storage
pit. Every dwelling had one, for they needed to protect their food from the dust and the heat of the plains, and they needed to find a place where the flies and other insects couldn't get to it. Almost as soon as a dwelling was set up, in their summer or winter camps, they would dig out a small pit, of almost three feet in depth, and line it with sacks that they had woven, then place their wrapped food inside. Whether it was dried fish or smoked meat or grains and nuts, they found a place for it, and then the covered up the pit with another sack, and placed a sturdy lid of woven branches, and then a few heavy rocks on top of the lid. This usually did the trick, and when they didn't have fresh food, such as a fresh kill brought by the men from their hunting expeditions, they could dip in to their supplies. It was a pit that might be more tempting to rodents if it weren't for the precautions that were taken to keep it contained, and for the fact that it was inside the dwelling, where food smells were mixed with people smells, the latter being a repellent for most rodents.
The pit was never very big to begin with, and then
again, the little girl was very small. She would set the lid off to the side, and lie down on top of the wrapped items, then cover herself up with a sack and put the woven lid of branches on top. This was never an easy task, for the lid was heavier than it might seem, and she certainly couldn't manage to put the heavy rocks on top either, so the settled for the lid, and made sure her face was partially uncovered, so she could breath.
Mayalin, where are you?, she would hear her mother call from outside. Where have you flown to this time?
She would hear her mother call out with an exaggerated voice, and she would hear some of the neighbors chuckle out, and call to her mom, Has the robin flown away again? You will need a better cage to keep that one, she is a robin, but she fancies herself an eagle, and doesn't know the difference. Little Mayalin would grumble from her hiding place, and think to herself that she did know the difference, and she could be what she wanted to be, even if her father and her brothers thought she was little more than a silly squirrel.
Her mother would then make a show of entering the dwelling, peeling back one of the flaps of the ten, and call out again, Mayalin, where are you? The little girl would squirm and suppress a giggle, and would try to stay absolutely still as she hear her mother walking around the tent, talking to herself in a tone of mock sadness, where is my robin, her wings aren't strong enough, I hope she isn't hungry, for flying is hard work, and if she gets hungry, she might not be able to stay up in the air, and then, what will happen to her? Where will I find another robin?
It always made Mayalin feel elated to hear her mother talking about her this way, for then she knew she mattered to someone, at least to her mother, and she would relish the feeling for as long as she could, although deep down inside she also felt a slight pang of anguish, for she felt a little guilty for the suffering she might be causing.Was she being a nuisance again, as her brothers said over and over?
"Mayalin, are you here? I need help with the cooking, if you can hear me. I need you to go fetch some water from the creek. You can go by yourself, and you can see the fishes you like to tell me about, and if you're quick, maybe you will catch one this time, and bring it back, and I'll cook it just for you, and put a little of the herbs you like so much, and only you can eat it, not me, not your father, and not your brothers, only you. But come out if you are here, I need you! Don't tell me the wind blew you away!
And Mayalin would desperately try to suppress a giggle. There was a point where she always felt the temptation to jump and cry out, Here
I am!, but it had to be the perfect moment, when her mother was close to her, and she could see her mother jump up in surprise, for if she picked the wrong moment, where was the fun in that? Although she had to admit, she always loved to go down to the creek, especially during the evening, where she was less likely to see Tolzin and the other girls, the ones that ignored her and would laugh behind her back. She had noticed, of course, when they mocked her, and make flapping motions, as if they could make fun of her nickname, little robin.
So she held her breath, while her mother move around with exaggerated
motions, checking behind the baskets and announcing, Not here! Then she would
open the wicker box, sigh and exclaim, Not here either! Perhaps Mayalin knew
deep down inside that it was a game that couldn't be prolonged indefinitely, and of course her mother was humoring her, which made it all the more precious, but at the same time, she wanted to move to the final stage, the popping out of the hiding place, and the sight of her mother jumping in the air with the cry of surprise.The best time was when her mother because maudlin, for she couldn't bear it.
Oh, I'm going to miss my little Mayalin, the one with the funny little nose, the one who never liked to
listen to her mother, and who was probably being carried off right this minute
by the wind, hungry and unable to fly straight, blown all the way over to the forest, where the wolves will see her and run after her, and when she sets down, they'll be waiting. What will the wolves
do with such a disobedient little robin? How would she like to fetch water for
a pack of thirsty wolves?
Mayalin couldn’t hold it any
longer, and she let out a little chirp. Her mother in turn let out a
startled cry, saying, What was that? Is the little robin inside after all? Where could it be? Did it fly into a basket and not know how to fly out? Did it get tangled in the tent, unable to get free? I wonder if this little robin can smell its way out, for doesn't it have a funny little nose, and isn't it used to smelling the air and running back inside to tell me that her brothers and her father are on their way back? Maybe this isn't my robin but another robin, a thin little bird that has run away and no longer had a place to call home. We could use that robin, but only if we catch it and eat it!
And with that, she would feel her mother reach under the lid and grab her, and Mayalin would squeal and burst out laughing from her hiding place. They would both hug, laughing together, and then her mother would sit down and shake her head, and look at her with her shining eyes, and tell her that she shouldn't hide when her mother calls her, for one day, it will be important, and she should be ready. Maybe not now, but soon, for life isn't secure, and there were stories, but for now, grab a few of the pots and go down to the creek, we need water for dinner, and I want you to help me. Run along, little
robin, or should I say fly!
So the little girl reluctantly gathered the two pots and
the balancing stick, and started the trek down to the creek. As she
weaved through the other dwellings, she would see other mothers with young children hanging around, and some of them were weaving still by the evening light, and others were sewing, and a few were cleaning pots in preparation for dinner as well. The men would be back soon, and they needed to get ready.
As Mayalin walked, she caught sight of the crooked tree next to the
creek. She had climbed it many times, loving as she did to perch on the highest branches, looking off into the distance, or just hiding, waiting to see if any other children from the camp ventured out, and hoping to spy on them. It wasn't always easy to remain hidden, and by now, the other children knew of her penchant for hiding in the tree, and would always look up instinctively and shout out, "Get down, lazy robin!".
It was another matter when it came to her brothers. It was easy to spot them, because although they were older than her, they were still small and somewhat unsure, especially when it came to handling their horses, and they still had unsteady command of their animals. They would weave back and forth, and they would both bounce up and down, something that was all the more evident when the horses ran, so much that she love to tease them endlessly about it. She almost never failed at spotting them as evening set in, they
and the group of two dozen other men who returned in a group.
The tree wasn’t always so hospitable, however. Many times
during the hot summer months she found it swarming with ants, and because of
this, impossible to tolerate. She could stand one or two ants, but at times there were swarms of ants climbing up the tree, and these weren't mild and inoffensive ants but instead angry ants that bided no
intrusion. They would climb all over her, and torment her endlessly, especially
if they got in her hair, because there was almost no way to get them out short
of jumping into the creek and getting thoroughly wet. Which, perversely, she enjoyed, and provided one of the incentives for climbing up the tree when it was swarming with ants.
Most of the time, however, the tree was a welcoming presence. She
loved the feel of it, and she was able to climb all the way to the top,
something that the older children couldn’t do because they were simply too big, and
the branches would start to dip down and move alarmingly. She had been witness to many an alarming fall by her heavier rivals.
So she walked out to the tree, and called out a friendly
greeting, Hello, sturdy one, I can’t join you yet, because I don't have the time, and I have to fill these pots, but did you have any visitors today? Did you see any ravens, or eagles, or darting sparrows. I
spent all day at the camp, hearing mother and her friends talk about the clothes
we would need for later this year, and about the camp and the hunt this summer, and I’m tired and bored. Do you know when the ants will be back?
She then walked to the edge of the creek, next to a bend
where a large rock was located, and lookeddown into the clear water. It was very cold at this time of year, and would numb her hand if she submerged it. She lowered the pot and filled it, then set
it aside and reached over for the next one. And then she heard it, two plops to
the side, but with no discernible splash, just two quick plops, as if a small
stone had been thrown in. Was it a stone falling out of the sky, or could it be a fish sticking its mouth outside the
water. Maybe it was trying to tell her something?
The fish were never big at this time of the year, but she
knew that they were in the creek, venturing at times close to the surface. They loved to hide in places where
long grasses and weeds provided cover, or else, in the shadows of the rocks that
lined the creek. At times, when trees were blown down by the wind or were hit
by lightning, falling into the water, these fallen trees provided another
hiding place for the little fish who darted around quickly. She loved to watch them for minutes on end, moving in slow motion, but was always frustrated to find that if she stuck her hand inside the water and tried to catch one, they moved impossibly fast. There were ways to catch them, which involved setting traps in the water, and splashing around, and herding them into the shallow areas, and her brothers always said that this was the same way in which they herded and caught buffalo. For Mayalin, it didn't seem nearly as satisfying.
Those fish, she was sure, knew many secrets. It was only
natural, for didn’t they come from the mountains far to the west? She was
absolutely sure that if anyone or anything could tell her about the eagles, and about the wolves, and about the shadows that playing overhead at night, it would be the eagles. Far above
them, it was said by the old women, the sun traveled endlessly, for it was said that the great mountain giant had picked it up from the mountain and thrown it as hard as he could, burning himself in the act, but nonetheless the great ball rolled endlessly across the sky, looking for a way to return but not finding the place from which it had been lifted. This was held to be a good thing, however, for if the sun were ever to come to rest again on the ground, the world
would be consumed by fires. In that case, maybe the safest place would be to hide in the creek, where
the fire couldn’t touch them. Maybe the fish knew something they didn't know.
She looked around, but couldn’t find where the plop had come
from. Then she heard it again, plop!, and she stood up quickly, and looked
behind her, and she saw the expanding ripples on the surface of the water. She ran
closer, and stared intently, waiting, but nothing else was heard, and after
a while, she grew tired, and walked back to where she had left her pots, and
filled the other one. The tree overhead seemed to sigh quietly, and she sighed
with it, for she hated secrets, and wished someone would share any with her if
they had any. People always said to her, when you’re older, you’ll
understand, and they never seemed to realize how much this upset her.
The evening light was taking on the cast of night, and she
walked back quickly with the pots. She might be seven years old, but she took
big steps, and counted them, over and over, from bitem to aitem to zetem, and she reached the camp and noticed that her mother had gotten the fire
started, and that smoke was curling up slowly. It was a lovely sight to see
these fingers of smoke rising up along the camp, from two dozen dwellings, knowing that food would shortly be prepared. As she looked off to the east, she
could see a pack of horses and men approaching, and two small stallions
careening back and forth, racing with each other to reach the tent. Her
brothers would return with their large appetites, and with their loud talk of
raccoons and eagles and foxes spotted, and the mysteries of the plains that they alone knew.
The shadows were growing longer all the while.
(Feb. 1, 2014)
OGRomero © 2014
OGRomero © 2014
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