The Sicily Chronicles

9230 B.C.E.-3

Lotya followed Anutu back to his hut. Stooping down to pass through the portal of the hut, they entered the shaded confines of the shelter. The roof was raised to a peak in the center, but it was still not very high. The two men were able to stand, but with little space between their heads and the thatched roof of the hut.

Anutu waved his hand to tell Lotya to follow him, and the two men moved to the back of the structure where the lifeless man lay curled up next to the gaping hole that Anutu had dug. They moved silently into position, Anutu taking the upper body and head – the correct role for the son of the man to be buried – as Lotya reached for the lower body, with legs folded together. Without words, they lifted the old man’s remains into the pit and carefully arranged him, laying on his left side, arms and legs still folded and the body fitting comfortably into the grave Anutu had dug for this purpose.

Anutu reached for two stone implements, a broad, rounded hammer stone and a large, sharp-edged flake, and put them into the hole beside the body. He added a thin cloak of leather, some sprigs of olive branch, and a small clay cup. Then, standing to see his father one last time, Anutu decided that the burial was complete as prescribed by village culture, and nodded his head.

Lotya and Anutu pushed dirt from what was piled up beside the hole and covered the body beneath the soft earth. As the grave filled and the dirt pile disappeared, Anutu slowed his work, as if he was now at last thinking about his father and the life that the man had given him. He paused briefly, causing Lotya to stop pushing dirt. Kneeling next the grave, Anutu rested his hands on his thighs, breathed a sigh, then resumed the burial process.

Lotya, too, spent a moment in reflection, to honor his friend’s father and one of the elders of the clan, then resumed work as Anutu did.

* * *

Tano carried in his right hand a sharpened stone tool, rounded at one end that fit into his palm, and sharpened to a fine edge on the other. He had shaped this tool earlier that day, following the instructions of the older men of the village, so that he could use it to bring down the green, pliable saplings that were now stacked up in the clearing.

It was a tool that had been used by the villagers on Fansu for as long as anyone could remember, and a technique that continued to improve over the lifetimes of the men there. They taught him two ways to make the tool, using the sharp-edged black rock called sida, or a bulkier, gray stone that could be rounded at one end and sharpened by flaking at the other. Sida – or obsidian - was found in small quantities, dug from riverbeds that had once been scorched by lava flows or washed ashore by waters that brought it from another volcanic island. Tano knew the material could be very sharp, but it was harder to round off the other end for holding. The edge of the obsidian that would cut through the wood could also cut through his hand.

sidaSidaHe chose the other stone, carefully searching the gravel beds for a rock called chert. Tano found several that were just the size of his fist, so he collected them and returned to the campfire to shape them. Sitting down on a fallen log, he spread a leather hide on his left upper leg and pulled another, smaller leather patch onto his left palm. He cradled the first of his stones in his left hand and examined it, drawing his right index finger along the white lines on its surface, outlining the place to strike.

He held a bigger, heavier stone in his right hand – a hammerstone – which he brought down with force on the white line he had just targeted. Nothing happened at first, so he paused, raised the hammerstone again, and brought it down as closely as he could to the line on the chert. This time, a thin grayish-white chip flew from the targeted stone, leaving a smooth, inner surface. Tano rotated the target a bit, visualized the spot to aim for, and struck again, once more cleaving a fracture from the chert.

He proceeded in this manner, switching the chert from side to side, until he had removed several chips and produced a cutting stone that had been fractured in a precise pattern, a pattern that created a long, sharp edge on the side opposite of the smooth, rounded end that he now palmed.

Tano took this new tool with him into the forest and set upon a clutch of saplings that were growing tall in the spring air. Some were twice his height; some just came to his shoulder. He knelt down and, raising the sharpened tool to his side, he hacked at the base of saplings, cutting each one down and piling them up as cordwood.

Collecting enough of the sticks and saplings to build a hut took Tano an entire day. By the time the light was fading, he only had time to carry a few piles back to the village. He would return the following morning for more of the chopped wood. With a child on the way, he had to provide a shelter for his new family.

Back at the fire pit, Nanda and Baia had prepared the evening meal along with the three other women and children who lived in that cluster. Nanda was able to share three loaves of acorn bread that she baked that afternoon. Baia heated a clay pot in the middle of the fire, occasionally throwing handfuls of water into it to create steam, and then tossed in handfuls of shellfish collected from their nets that morning.

The other women, led by Neeri, leaned over a shallow pit next to this surface fire. Into the pit they carefully rolled red-hot stones that had been heated in the center of the fire and lined the pit with these stones to create a sunken oven.

A boy sitting with the women hefted the shoulder of the slaughtered pig which Neeri propped on a still-cold stone next to the pit. She rolled the shoulder over and, using a razor-sharp blade of obsidian, scraped the hair from the hide, then cut several slender slits into the leathery hide. Inspecting the hunk of meat and pounding it with a round stone to gauge its tenderness, Neeri rubbed the meat with the same oily mash that Baia used on her vegetable wrap. Then she tucked sprigs of sweet rosemary and the white bulbs of small spring onions into the slits. After once more checking her work, Neeri carefully slid the meat into the pit, resting it on the large heated stone in the bottom of oven.

The boy reached out to Neeri and handed her green saplings about the length of his arm, which Neeri used to cover the opening of the pit. The boy then handed her large leaves that had been rubbed with the olive oil, which were placed on top of the saplings. Over that, Neeri placed the bark of a tree so that the pit was completely covered, except for the few vents that emitted the smoke from the meat cooking within.

Anutu, Lotya, and Tano found comfortable spots around the fire. Tano was joined by Folu, the woman carrying his baby. Baia withdrew a few bundles of the root vegetables that she had prepared and handed them around to those at the fire. Next, she shared handfuls of the shellfish that had burst open in the heat of the fire to reveal the pink-orange flesh within. Two children approached the circle with baskets of berries that had been collected and passed the fruit around. Nanda removed the loaves of bread and tore off a hunk before handing it to the next person to her right.

They ate while sitting around the fire, occasionally speaking to express themselves, but their contentment was evident from the food, and consumption of it was more important than conversation. The aromas of roasting meat filled the air and they anticipated that next course. When the bread, fruit, shellfish, and vegetables had been consumed, but while still waiting for the pig shoulder to feed them, Anutu looked up to the sky. The sun had disappeared behind the hill in the distance and the faint glow that trailed it was being chased by the darkness that closed around the tribe.

A few stars blinked on in the deep blue bowl of the sky. Anutu pointed to the brightest cluster, a brilliant burst of light that stood out easily even with the mild glow from the fire pit. Lotya, then Baia, followed his finger and looked up.

Before Anutu could add words to his gesture, they felt a low rumble under their feet. It persisted for several minutes, and a red glow appeared on the horizon opposite the setting sun. The people sat quietly until it passed, then exchanged worried glances. Little Anu huddled close to Baia and her baby whimpered. Adults around the fire sat motionless, and some tended to the younger ones whose eyes were wide with fear.

Looking once again at the sky, but this time with a change in his attitude, Anutu spoke.

“Gods awake.”

The people knew he was talking about the glittering stars that appeared whenever the sky went dark, but they also wondered whether the shaking of the ground was another god that they feared.

They were quiet for a long time, and nothing was heard except the hissing of the steam and burning fat in the hunk of meat in their oven. Finally, Neeri pushed aside the bark and leaves, then poked the fire, realizing that the meal would be wasted if they sat in stunned silence any longer. She tested the toughness of the meat to indicate its doneness and, satisfied with what she found, picked up another stick to remove the meat from the hot stones.

She used the same piece of obsidian to slice the pig’s shoulder into manageable portions and passed them around to the others gathered there. They ate in silence, pausing occasionally when the earth quivered again. Baia’s baby wailed and a small girl crept into the arms of her mother for protection.

Anutu looked over at Lotya, who returned his glance but didn’t speak.

“We go,” Anutu said.

The brief comment was understood by Lotya but didn’t carry the full meaning of conversations that the men had already had. In the flickering light, Anutu saw that Baia had bowed her head, and she nodded her agreement with his solemn suggestion.

“We go,” Lotya replied.

The two men had talked for some time about whether the gods were angry at this place, or at them. Their understanding of the relationship between people and gods was primitive, and they hadn’t conceived of concepts like guilt or sin, since their lives were led too simply to have rules that could be broken. They didn’t fear the gods’ punishment since there was not guilt. But they still worried that the gods seemed to be fighting each other, and the humans didn’t want to be caught in the middle of such a battle.

Anutu had expressed these things to Baia and told her that this might be the place where the gods would fight. He didn’t want to be there when they did. He and Lotya had talked about leaving, going to the big island toward the rising sun, a land they called Ganta. Maybe they would be safe there, and not interfere in the battles between the gods.

Like Anutu, Baia was concerned about the shaking of the ground, and the red fire that shot up from the earth, and she agreed that they should go to Ganta.