Maybe I’m not ready for change.
The music grows louder, and I can’t stay behind any longer. I head out to the open-air gathering place in the center of camp where our clan shares all its meals.
I spot you almost as soon as I step through the door of our hut. I wish I could ignore you, but it’s impossible—my eyes are drawn to you the way they are drawn to a flash of light. You’ve changed into a tunic made of supple hides cut in a much more feminine style than your shapeless hunting parka. The hair around your face is wound into three thin braids that are gathered at the crown of your head, but otherwise your hair is down like it was this morning. You stand beside your brother, Chev, who is speaking to my father. I take just one step in your direction before you look up at me, almost as if you’ve been waiting for me to show, though I know better. As soon as you see me approaching you turn your head, and I change my mind about joining the three of you. I turn toward my brother Kesh, instead, and congratulate him on the solo he played during the gathering music. Lil, the music leader, interrupts. “A circle! A circle, everyone!”
The first song of the evening is about to be sung.
I move to a place near my brother Pek, and I notice Seeri beside him, smiling but clearly confused. It occurs to me for the first time that your clan might not follow all the same customs that we do. Do you not sing the same songs? Taking her by the elbow, Pek guides her to a place within the circle right between the two of us. She gives me a weak smile and shrugs.
“Follow along—it’s easy,” I say, just as the first line is sung by the whole clan as if by one voice.
Manu was a hunter lost in a storm, wandering far from home. . . .
Like all songs, this one is sung to the Divine. It tells the story of our clan’s founding ancestor, Manu—my favorite story since I was a small boy. When I was ill or could not sleep, my mother would lie beside me and whisper it in my ear.
“There was a hunter named Manu who became lost in a storm, separated from home and clan,” she would say, and I would shiver at the thought. “After wandering long and far, he lost hope of finding his way back. He was so lonely that he befriended a mammoth, but despite his hunger he would not kill it. The Spirit of a mammoth is too precious to give its life to feed just one man, Manu told the mammoth. In thanks, the mammoth gave Manu one of his tusks, and Manu carved a woman out of the ivory. The Divine saw Manu’s selflessness, and said to herself, I must reward him. So she sent a little piece of herself to dwell in the carving, bringing her to life and giving Manu a wise wife. Together, Manu and his wife had many children, and their offspring became our clan.”
This story always comforts me. Even now, singing Manu’s song with my clan, I know that I am home.
The song has many verses, but the steps are simple—one foot over the other, one foot behind—as the circle moves over well-worn earth, slowly to the left. Seeri joins in at the refrain, which repeats the word wandering . . . wandering. She makes mistakes at first but she gets it by the second time through.
I glance over at you, but I can’t meet your eyes. You have stepped back from the circle and you are turned away, your attention focused on the ground, as if you’re searching for something no one else can see. Are you embarrassed because you do not know this dance? Even your brother is not afraid to try—he stands beside my father, who coaches him through the changes in the song.
As the music of the first song fades, ending on a ribbon of melody that rises from my brother’s flute, everyone stomps their feet in approval and readies for the second song. Everyone except you. I notice you speak briefly into your brother’s ear and then disappear in the direction of your hut. My eyes follow you, but I cannot will my feet to do the same.
Turning my attention back to Seeri, I watch her as the clan sings the first words of the second song. This song is more subdued than the first—a reverent song of thanks—and her eyes are wide as she takes in the circle of my extended family. Though she apparently does not know the words to this song, either, her head swings in time with the tune.
As the third song is sung, the circle melts into a line that leads past the kitchen. My mother stands in the open doorway, the rich scent of roasted meat rolling out around her, as she hands each person a mat made of stiff, tightly woven stalks piled high with chunks of mammoth meat and cooked greens. Chev takes a mat from my mother, and though he is a few places ahead of me, I can hear him comment on the size of the portions. My mother nods and smiles, but as soon as he passes, her eyes dart over the remainder of the line. She looks at me, Seeri, Pek, then her eyes slide back to Chev and my father.
She is looking for you.
“Where is she?” She hasn’t even placed my mat in my hands before she asks.
“She went back to their hut at the start of the second song.”