The Sicily Chronicles

9230 B.C.E.-6

“But we are too small for them. We are like the leaves on the trees,” Anutu said. “When they fight, the trees shake and the leaves fall. When they fight, we fall.”

Neeri said she would go. She had no man; he was killed in a hunt long ago and she had no child.

“I will go with you,” she said.

Baia walked over, holding Anu by the hand and cradling the baby in her cloak. She entered the circle of people and stood beside Anutu.

“We will go,” she said, and looked around the circle to see the faces of those around them.

The same discussion was being held around the many clusters’ campfires each evening. More so, now, as the gods made the earth tremble more often and the sky turn a bright orange-red. Anutu and Baia knew the people who would go and counted that it was about half of the tribe. They knew that moving half away and leaving half behind would put each group in danger. There were other tribes on the island who kept mostly to themselves but taking their people across Fansu to the side where the sun appeared in the morning they would meet these other tribes.

There is a danger in that, too, thought Anutu. The other tribes didn’t fight with them, but that was because there were equal numbers. If only half of the people made this journey, would another tribe attack them? Would they take their weapons and food? Would they take their women and their children?

In the end, the villagers who decided to go feared the violence of the gods more than they feared the other people they would meet. And more than they feared the sea they would have to cross to get to Ganta.

It was a huge land, much bigger than Fansu, so large and so close it was easy to see from their land. The water that separated them was not angry; the waves were small and the sea didn’t seem very deep. Ancient stories told them there was land under the water, that a person could walk to Ganta without sinking. These stories emboldened those who wanted to move, but they were old stories and maybe couldn’t be trusted.

The next day, after fishing for the day’s meals, Anutu and Lotya returned to the village. Baia and Nanda had collected the vegetables they needed for cooking and were at the campfire already. Neeri was grinding some acorns to prepare the bread for baking, and Folu had brought down some of the dried fish that had been hung in her shelter.

They gathered at the center of their cluster and conversation returned to the move. The groups were each becoming more certain of their decision; only a few people were still wavering. But each time the people gathered for food, the subject arose again. Moving to another land, something their ancestors did often before, was a tremendous moment and couldn’t be pursued without understanding the dangers that awaited them.

Lotya and Anutu sat on the edge of the circle, with Lotya showing Anutu how to bend saplings into a curved shape. With his hand, he indicated a bucket-shaped shell, then a covering over sides and bottom.

“The sticks can be wet, then bent, and held in place like this,” he said, twisting one branch and tying its ends together to hold the bent shape. “After it dries, it stays,” he added, picking up a curved branch that had been molded in this way. He held the bow-shaped branch, and showed duplicates of it arranged in a row, using his hands to show one after the other, demonstrating for Anutu how a long shell could be made of these bent sticks.

Lotya then picked up a fragment of the leather mat at his side. He wrapped it around the bow, showing how a surface could cover the series of bent branches, again in an open-topped bucket shape. Anutu nodded his head but looked worried.

“How can it stay out of water?”

Lotya was ready for the question. He twisted around, looking for something. When he spotted the leather bucket that Nanda used to carry water from the stream, he directed Anutu’s attention to it.

“Bucket keeps water in,” he said, and Anutu agreed.

“Bucket can keep water out, too.” At that he rose quickly and waved for Anutu to follow him. He picked up Nanda’s bucket and the two men went down to the stream. Standing on the rocky platform that Tano had used to cast his net, Lotya took hold of the braided rope that was tied to the bucket and lowered it into the stream. Instead of plunging it in to gather water, he lowered the bucket slowly so that it bobbed on the surface.

A grin spread across Lotya’s face, but Anutu wasn’t convinced. He picked up a rock, held it in front of Lotya and said, “People,” and dropped the rock into the bucket. Both the rock and bucket sank into the sandy bottom of the stream.

* * *

Later that day, as the people gathered around the fire to eat the evening meal, Anutu and Lotya once again sat on the fringes. This time it was Anutu who had prepared something. He took some branches that had been soaked in the stream, just as Lotya had soaked his to build a floating bucket, but Anutu wove them into a flat, square shape, many sticks going one way and many going the other way, looping them over and under each other and then pulling the arrangement into a tight, flat bundle.

“This way,” he said confidently, “like twigs and sticks floating down the stream. But this will float toward Ganta.”

Lotya stood and hooked his hand toward Anutu, directing both men to return to the stream. Anutu knew what his friend intended, and he wondered too whether his idea would work.

At the water’s edge, Anutu tied a short length of braided rope onto his woven platform of branches and lowered it into the water. Altogether, the raft was no more than the length of an arm on each side, certainly too small for a man to stand on, but Lotya couldn’t resist taunting his friend. With a leg stretched out in the direction of the water, he acted as though he was going to step onto the raft, and Anutu howled.

“No!” he said quickly, then realized his friend’s tease. Lotya withdrew his foot but crouched down and picked up a rock. It was larger than the one Anutu had used to defeat Lotya’s design, but still he leaned forward over the water and lowered the rock onto the raft. Both stayed afloat, although the added weight allowed some water to lap over the edges of the little wooden platform.

Lotya stood and smiled at Anutu, who decided to celebrate the event by letting go of the rope. The men stood on the shore and watched as the raft floated down the stream.

The two men walked back to the village, eagerly talking about Anutu’s invention. The smoke from the firepits and the smell of roasting meat reached them and they quickened their pace. Still, Lotya couldn’t resist proposing his plan.

“We go that way,” he said, pointing away from the sun that now was settling into the sea. “And we build your rafts.”

“We have trees and branches here,” Anutu noted. “We can build now.”

“But then we have to carry the rafts across our land, to the place where the waves come from Ganta.”

Anutu considered his friend’s comment seriously while they walked in silence for a few minutes. Just as they arrived at the circle of their cluster’s campfire, he said “If there are no trees there. Do you know?”

Neither man had been that far from their village, so Lotya couldn’t answer the question. But Anutu was right. What if they walked across their land and found there were no trees.

“We cut trees here,” Lotya said, pointing to the earth to emphasize his point, “but not make rafts. We carry branches with us and make rafts at water’s edge.”

It sounded good to Anutu, but still involved a lot of carrying. And they would have to bring their food and clothing too.

“Sheep help,” added Lotya. This hadn’t occurred to Anutu; in fact, it was only a sudden realization from Lotya. Anutu’s father had kept his sheep for wool and meat, but he also showed the people how strong they were.

“We need sheep for food,” Anutu picked up the theme. He knew that they couldn’t bring sheep onto the rafts, but they could be slaughtered before they launched their rafts, to provide food for the travelers.

“We could tie the sticks and branches to them while we herd them to the water,” he suggested.

Lotya agreed, smiling and nodding his head.

With this, each man slumped down into a sitting position at the firepit with their families, knowing they would continue their planning at a later time.

The meal was as delicious as the aromas that drew Anutu and Lotya to the hearth. The roasted mutton was drawn from the pit oven, and the fleshy vegetables were enriched by the savory notes of animal fat and fresh cut herbs. Fresh water washed down the meal, and spiny blackberries were passed around to flavor the meat.

As the sun disappeared at the horizon and the sky slowly darkened, the people gathered closer to the firepit and enjoyed the warmth it gave off. Women suckled their babies and engaged the other women in talk of vegetable gardens and the weight of the chickens and sheep penned together near the cluster of their shelters. The men were mostly quiet, staring at the flames and listening to their women talk. Except for Anutu and Lotya, who were busy planning the voyage to Ganta.

Using his hands to indicate the size of the raft he planned, Anutu was also telling his friend how long the branches and tree trunks must be. Big enough to float and carry at least three people, and enough pieces to weave a tight platform to remain buoyant and resist sinking. But small enough to carry the pieces with them to the other side of Fansu.

Counting practices were primitive, in this case it was centered on the construction of a single raft. When the two men talked through the process, they had a good idea of how many tree trunks would be required for one platform. Knowing that a man, woman, and a child would be on it, they then considered how many of the people would go, and how many times they would have to make this raft.

Anutu spread the fingers of both his hands, pressing his outspread palms into the dirt. It created a simple diagram of ten lines, and he pointed to one after another to indicate how many rafts they would have to make. Then, he took his index finger, pointing upward to get Lotya’s attention, and pointed to one of the lines in the dirt.

“Anutu, Baia, Anu, baby,” he said.

Pointing to another line in the dirt, Lotya added, “Lotya, Nanda, baby.”

Both men nodded, and proceeded to silently name the men, women, and children who would occupy each of the rafts indicated by the lines in the dirt. When they were satisfied with their estimates and how the people were dispersed, both men sat back on their haunches and nodded agreement.

“When?” Lotya asked. And as if the gods were listening to his question, the earth shuddered, then shook more violently, as a bright orange plume of light appeared on the distant horizon.