Chapter 1.
You can train a monkey or a man
To do what you want him to do.
But what does he think about
while you are training him?
Is he not training you too?
The old male simian (Amon’s father) lay quietly in the corner of the shelter, a pile of animal hides pulled close around him. He had just awakened to the urgings of his bladder for the second and last time of the night. Reluctant to yield to the growing pain in his groin, he snuggled down into the warmth of his nest for what he knew would only be a few more moments.
He felt rested, if not invigorated. He had only gotten up once last night. Better than the two or three which were becoming more usual. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. He stretched luxuriously, feeling the heat return to his muscles as his breathing relaxed. That moment of bliss was followed quickly by a sharp reminder from his bladder. His mind wandered as his body prepared itself for the dawn.
The mornings were harder to contend with these days. His frail old body no longer had the benefit of many layers of thick muscle to help it keep warm. The muscles were still there,of course. But now they were thin and flaccid, worn out from all the years of use. His legs were weak to the point that it was all he could do to keep up with the clan as they journeyed northward.
By the end of every day he was exhausted to the point that all he was interested in doing was sitting by the fire with a deerskin hide draped around his shoulders. Though by the end of every day his legs felt like they were on fire, in the evenings the warmth from the camp fire felt soothing, pleasant.
But this was morning. Stretching and remembering wasn’t the same as rising and walking. Dealing with the pain in his joints had become a morning ritual. First the big stretch. Then work the left shoulder back into place. (The pop as the joint closed always felt good). Then the dull, continuous ache in the place where his right hand had once been.
The memory still haunted him. One moment he was bending down for a drink and the next he was soaking wet, his body covered in mud. He was trying to breathe, but his nose was clogged. When he opened his mouth, he inhaled water. Light was whirling around him. Blinding, then black, then blinding again. On and on it went until he felt that he would loose consciousness. Distantly, as though in a dream, he heard someone scream. It was the scream that brought him back to reality.
It was still dark. When he opened his eyes, he could see only faint outlines. One of those outlines shifted, then settled and remained still. It was his son. He knew that he was still asleep in that big bundle of skins next to the doorway. He and his mate had stayed awake long into the night and had not been asleep too long.
His son would awaken soon. He always did this time of the morning. He was always the first one up . . . or so he thought.
“Pa.” his son had said, as he had so many times before. “You stay here tonight. Better here than alone.”
“Pa,” for that was his name. His son had told him so, so long ago. “You stay in my home. Watch over my mate while I am gone.”
He understood most of the words his son used; but mostly he read his body language and the signs they had learned together . . . when “Ma-ma” was still with them.
She had been gone now for many years, but the memory of her and what they had shared always brought him up short. The grief he felt now, at this moment hurt as badly as the day she had gone. She had looked up into his eyes and touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. He had just grasped her hand when he felt it go limp. Then her pupils dilated, and she was gone.
How many times had these thoughts entered his mind? How many times had he wished it had been him that day, instead of her? Then his conscience would begin haunting him as he considered the grief she would have had to bear if it had been him. No. It was better that she go first. He loved her too much to see her suffer.
Ah, but there was much comfort watching their son grow into manhood! A pity she could not be here to witness it. Amon had become a leader among his people. Others looked to him whenever a decision needed to be made which might affect the community. He had proved himself to be conscientious as well as understanding and just. He had earned the trust and respect of his clan.
Pa felt the old stiffness coming back into his shoulder. He shifted slightly until the tension began to ease. “Be careful, my son. Do not let the respect you receive from others cloud your perception of yourself. I have seen first hand how power corrupts in the wrong hands. Careful that you do not become too proud of yourself.”
Momentarily his train of thought took a different direction. . . .
“My son believes that it is he who watches over this family . . . that it is he who rises first in the morning. What he does not know is that he is not alone. I too am awake well before dawn, alert for anything out of place. I too have stayed awake long after my watch, making sure that nothing is amiss.”
Again his brain seemed to freeze as he considered why he had even thought such a thing. He had to admit it . . . he was beginning to feel some things which he had never stopped to consider seriously before now. He knew that soon he must give up possession of the ‘darkness.’ The fact he would pass it on to his son sometimes seemed to make little difference. As much as he had cherished his mate and his son, for some reason he had cherished the ‘darkness.’. . at least as much.
“I stayed awake because there was something more!” He forced himself to try a more reasoned approach in order to make some sense of his feelings. “I remember the night like it was now. I remember the ‘darkness’ taking shape before me. I remember how it moved among the trees, now and then dipping and hovering, remaining still, blending into the night, then slowly moving forward again. I can still hear the words that were spoken into my mind. I remember something else. But the memory of it is indistinct. Still, I remember the words. “I am here to help. Be not afraid.”
“Before that moment I had never heard words spoken. I’m still not certain whether I actually heard those words, or whether they were spoken directly into my mind. Ultimately it is of no matter. All I know for certain is the feeling of comfort and serenity which caressed me upon their utterance.
Before that night, life was . . . different. Not bad. Just . . . vacant. After? . . . life was . . . IS . . . full!
“I saw the ‘darkness’ many times after the first. (I didn’t know what else to call it at the time. The only time I could see it was when I was looking directly at it. Otherwise, unless it moved of its own accord, it was invisible.)
“One night not long after you arrived, my son, I saw the ‘darkness’ closely for the first time. It hovered near our nest, like a whispering, black humming bird. Slowly it came straight toward me and stopped within arms reach. I was holding you in my arms, your mother snuggled close beside me.
“It was not quite as broad as my shoulders, in width and in height. I could not see it’s depth in the faint light. It hung motionless there before me. Gradually it began to change color around it’s edges, becoming a faint blue-green. The center remained dark. I remember thinking I should reach out and try to touch it but I was afraid to move.
“After just a short time the ‘darkness’ in the center began to change to the same blue-green. The soft light it emitted cast eerie shadows in the foliage surrounding us.
“Very faintly I began hearing a high-pitched noise, almost like the hiss of a serpent. A shimmering mist began forming above the ‘darkness,’ where it hung motionless in mid-air. As quickly as it had begun, the hissing stopped.
“Within the mist a form began to take shape. Near the bottom, beginning in the center, the color began to change, spreading outward horizontally in a layer not much thicker than a leaf. The shape did not extend to the edge of the mist, but stopped short, showing a definite outline. Then, just above the first layer, another ‘leaf’ began to form. When it was complete, it lowered and lay flat on top of the first.
“The process continued, accelerating, one s
lightly different layer stacking upon another, until within only seconds a complete image was formed within the confines of the misty cloud. I recognized the upper torso and arms of a being similar to my self, though it seemed to be covered in a strange material. And the face!
“It was not a face like your mother’s. Nor did it look like anything I had ever seen before! It was without hair, like you, my son. It had the mannerisms of a male. It’s countenance was firm, resolute, but gentle. Its . . . HIS, eyes were kind.
“He said things, things like you say. I didn’t understand, but yet I did. Many more times the face, HE, came, as you were growing into adulthood.
“He taught me and Mah-ma his language, though we could not speak it ourselves. Nor could we hear it in the world around us. His voice was inside our heads. When I peered into the ‘darkness’ I saw the face again. His lips moved, but made no sound. I could hear all around me as normal, but his voice remained there in the background instructing me, explaining things which, somehow he knew that I wanted to know.
“He taught me about my world, about my mate and about you. He taught me what it would be like to have a child like you. A child different from all the others I had ever seen. When you came, he told me to hide him (the darkness) away for a time. He said I would know when to come get him again.
“When you had grown old enough to toddle around on your own, the noises that you made began to change. They were no longer idle babbling. They were different from anything I had ever heard; but they sounded familiar, vaguely. I wondered, could this be the time the man in the ‘darkness’ had spoken about?
“When I retrieved the ‘darkness’ from it’s hiding place, the face appeared again. This time the man said that he would stay with us for a while. He said we would learn more, but that he would speak aloud so that you would learn how to speak and we all could learn to understand together.
“After a time, when you had learned to speak the language, the man in the ‘darkness’ said it was time to hide him away again, this time for a long time. I must not show the ‘darkness’ to you again until you had grown into manhood and were ready to accept responsibility for yourself. I was to keep the ‘darkness’ close to me, but hidden from view. He told me that he would be watching and that if he needed to talk to me, the ‘darkness’ would call me, silently, in my head.
“As you grew through childhood, I was contacted by the ‘darkness’ many times. Again, the man in the ‘darkness’ knew what questions I had, and gave me answers as soon as the questions came into my head.
“For years we wandered the forest floor, following the seasons, staying hidden from the ‘others’ (my mother race). You grew into manhood so quickly, it seemed. One day you were wrestling and playing with your cousins. The next you were choosing a mate and taking leadership of the clan.
“Without guidance from the man in the ‘darkness’ the days of your raising would have likely been much different. Neither I nor your mother had an experience base to help guide us. We knew about survival. We knew about mating. We knew about nurturing. All these things we knew before . . . before you came.
“And we knew about communicating, too. Just not on such an intimate, personal level. We were self-conscious ‘before,’ but nothing to the extent we are now. Our language is visible, but not heard. We talk with our hands, just as you talk with your mouth. Our words are as expressive as any.
“And because of the man in the ‘darkness,’ your mother and I were able to understand and guide you, though we ourselves could not speak.
“My son, everyone who knows you, respects you. There are some who disagree with you, but they respect you none the less. It is your leadership, together with the cooperation of the majority who follow you, which has brought this new civilization this far.
“These ‘humans’ have risen above us with seeming ease. I understand this from a perspective unique from both the human and the simian view. Mine is the generation which knows the answer to how the simian and the human races are related. I am one of the few of my generation to possess this knowledge. None of the ‘others’ of my race knows how the humans came to be; and from this day forward no other, regardless of race, will recall the knowledge which the chosen few of my generation alone possess. How it is possible that this is so is beyond my understanding. But I have no reason to doubt what I have been told.
“I have not the words to describe that which I know. My responsibility has been to accept the guidance offered by the ‘darkness’ and to care for my mate and son to the best of my ability. I have been given the gift of understanding so that I may accomplish those responsibilities.
“I understand that there is more beyond me, that there is more beyond the ‘darkness’ also. This I accept without reservation. To reject it would be meaningless, and would accomplish nothing.
“My love for my family is complete. My heart is filled that it is my son who has taken the lead for his race. To the extent that I have been able, I have tried to instill in him skills and values which I understand and live by, but which I cannot verbally communicate to him. Nor would I desire to communicate this to anyone else.
“Never the less we persevere. Our communication with one another is simple, uncomplicated by a need to describe in detail everything which comes into our mind. In that sense we are unencumbered. And yet, on those occasions when it becomes necessary to be very specific about what we are seeking to convey, my inability to speak is a hindrance.
“I look back now on the time ‘before.’ I remember feeling quiet inside, secure in the knowledge and comfortable with the idea that all was well in the world, and that, come what may, it was all out of my control anyway. All I was capable of doing was reacting to my surroundings. Never, in those early times did I ever imagine that I would possess the capability to manipulate those surroundings to suit my own needs.
“It is this new ability, this ‘speech,’ as the man in the ‘darkness’ calls it, which has enabled us to organize ourselves, to reach consensus on what must be done. I, by signs only. My son and his race, by both signs and speech.”
The old Simian crept quietly to the back of the shelter, trying not to awaken anyone. There, concealed behind a pile of provisions was another, smaller exit. Smaller to help conserve what little heat there was inside the cramped space.
The sacks filled with roots were the heaviest. They were right in his way. With a quiet harumph he edged his way around the pile until he found the bundles of dried fruit, All tied together they took up a lot of space, but they didn’t weigh much.
He lifted the bundle slightly and edged it to the side. It rattled a bit, but no one was awakened. He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and bent down toward the small opening. He pushed the bundle over a bit more, just enough for him to slip through.
“This skin. This is a good thing. It helps me keep warm.” he thought as he crawled through the small opening, out into the crisp morning air. “I don’t like the mornings now the way I used to.” Carefully standing erect, he readjusted the hide so it blocked the breeze from his face. His son Amon had been right. Having it around him helped him stay warmer.
The skin he referred to was that of a small deer Amon had found abandoned and lame. The poor animal had screamed and screamed, kicking ever harder, the broken front limb flailing helplessly. Amon had crushed its head with a stone.
He remembered standing there, arms hanging limply at his sides, watching the small thing twitch in the throws of death. Maybe it was already dead. Maybe just the body was moving. Surely the animal’s life went out when his son crushed it’s skill!
He remembered what his son had said as he prepared the animal’s hide. “I helped this one to die. He will now help keep you warm. His pain is gone, but not forgotten.”
“There is wisdom in his words.” Pa thought to himself.
“I wonder, my son. Is now the time to reveal my secret to you? Have you matured enough to shoulder the responsibility for the family? Are you prepared to yi
eld your will to the man in the ‘darkness’ and learn from him? Or are you selfish like a child, full of yourself and unwilling to accept guidance from others?
“My son, not since you were very young, too young to walk, have you relied on me or anyone else for support. You have always done the best you could and kept peace with those around you. Yes, my son, first of your kind, and the only fruit of my loins, I think now perhaps you are ready. Maybe today will be the day.”
Pa shivered, his muscles tightening, pressing against his aching bladder. As quietly as he could, he worked his way through the low ground cover, an occasional small twig snapping under his shifting weight. The anticipation just made it worse. It felt like he would explode any second.
Now, with a little distance between himself and the shelter, and a small sapling to hide behind, he squatted and felt the relief well up within him.
“My son, what can I do to relieve the burden you must soon take upon yourself? I love you! I was there at the moment of your birth. I was there when you took your first step. I was there when you spoke your first word.
“I believe I know you better than anyone else, except perhaps, yourself. I have seen you grow in confidence and skill. I have seen you mature. Now, at your zenith, at a time when you should be reveling in the wonder that is life, you must take upon you the responsibility to care for your people. To look after them. To guide them. It is such a burden! The man in the ‘darkness’ told me it would be so.”
A long stream of vapor issued from his mouth as he exhaled. Relieved, but still shivering, the old simian rose and turned slowly back toward camp. He shuffled forward, sniffing the damp air. It was a new scent, something he had never smelled before they got to this place. It came from the ‘leaves’ of a tall, thin tree. It was a pleasant, clean smell. Not musty, like the jungles they had left behind so long ago.
“Ah, my son.” he signed to himself. “The days are short here. The nights are long and cold. Maybe it is best that you enjoy these short days as long as you can. There is yet time enough.”
Quietly, he retraced his way back into the shelter, careful to close the portal behind him. He worked his way back around the bags of roots and back to his now-cold nest in the corner.
He knelt back down and worked his way back under the stack of hides. Carefully, quietly he pulled his legs back under the cover. A few small twigs cracked. The outline close to the door stirred again. His son was waking.
“I will wait. Let him be first. It is his place now. He has earned it. When it is time, I will tell him.”
The old simian with the mind of a man closed his eyes once again and relaxed. He could wait a little longer. As he dozed off again, he saw his son’s silhouette rise against the dawn.