Consider
prehistoric beings. Somewhere on the side of a plain the grasses
tall, verdant, along where an untrammeled brook ran, these
uncivilized but highly gentle creatures lying on their backs, some
cavorting, others sniffing the air, others engaged in coitus swatting
away their playful offspring, somewhere there in the well-spring of
our current collective conscious, they exist. Suspend all disbelief
and come with me then, your imagination and mine, and let us explore
at least one of the possible kernels of our own age.
A
prehistoric being rises then from his activity. It is a he. There are
probably many things to do. Fire is in existence and able to be
controlled, sometimes. An organization of these beginning human
beings had already managed to plan the next hunt. They are gentle
creatures, yes, but they have begun to enjoy the meat of other
animals, though not yet on a grand scale. They know they are
different. They've begun to anticipate certain realities. They know
the pain in their stomachs, known to us as hunger, can be regulated.
Out
on the hunt, all the beings carry stones, some carry heavy sticks. As
they move through the heavy leafed forest, they spread to the right
and to the left. Those on the flanks move silently and swiftly ahead
of the central movement. In the center, one being threshes at the
grasses and underbrush, small lizards and birds are flushed,
sometimes a rodent. Suddenly a bird is hit by a stone from the left.
It falls, a colorful screech into the underbrush. As the central
figure continues threshing away, the bird is gathered and bound; its
neck snapped.
Then
the prize they've been after bolts, a warthog more than waist high
attempts to attack the thresher. He fends him off with his stick,
backing up as quickly as he can. Volleys of stones missle in from
both sides. The warthog wheels toward his other attackers. This is
what they want. It's a dangerous situation, but now the thresher is
free. He is at his age, all of eighteen, their senior and the group's
expert hunter. He has two large stones and takes up his position. He
throws with his right hand. But before he throws, he plants his right
foot, takes aim at the warthog's head as he anticipates its velocity
and direction. His aim is exact to an imaginary point where he
believes the warthog will be by the time the released stone arrives.
He hauls back and he fires, a perfect strike which catches the animal
in the back of its skull, causing its feet to give way. The animal is
down and is struggling to its feet, as stones rain from all sides.
The thresher plants his right foot again, aiming his second stone for
the animal's head. The creature is confused, blood dripping from its
snout, it turns and turns snuffling at the ground. It is trying to
charge again, but though it is headed toward the thresher, clearly it
is blinded by a warthog's inner rage, and is charging wildly. It aims
itself toward a tree trunk, slamming into it, screeching like a
scared pig. The thresher aims again and this time the stone crashes
into the pained beast's eye. It collapses and shrieks unable to gain
footing again. The job is completed by the rest of the group who beat
it with their sticks and stones.
The
warthog is a heavy creature, heavier than even the largest human
being. It is bound with thick grasses to six of the hunting party.
These are very young boys who struggle violently to drag the dead
creature to their current home. Many a being has been lost as result
of this activity since dead animals raise a smell that a larger
creature may come and spirit all the boys and their kill away. The
thresher meanwhile walks ahead listening carefully and sniffing the
air while looking around and hushing the others as they struggle with
their burden. He carries his stick and another well-rounded stone for
protection. After a time they stop to rest by the brook that runs
near their encampment but is still some miles off. As they rest, they
chew on berries and nuts and drink from the running brook. Leaning up
against their load, they begin to make up stories about the thresher
and how he will be hunting in the greatest hunting place someday.
They sing how easy it will be for him and how he will have the
greatest catch of all, a warthog the size of a mountain. He will have
endless stones to cast, and will be remembered as the greatest
teacher of all the stone throwers and threshers. The thresher is
pleased and smiles at the others, but reminds them of their work
ahead and how low the sun falls.
No comments:
Post a Comment