A Place of Meadows and Tall Trees (15 page)

Yeluc

Elal has many people. To the north of the Chubut are the men of the pampas, the Günün-a-küna, shorter, more irascible, picking fights with any they come across, but they are all ‘Brave-people', all Tehuelche. They speak our language, although some of the words they have are strange and the way they say those words stranger still. To the south of us are the Selk'nam and Haush and to the west of them the people that spend their lives cross-legged in canoes: the Yamana and Kaweskar. Then to the west, where the hills start to become mountains, are the Mapuche: aggressive and hostile. They live in houses in one place like the
Cristianos
and like them grow food in gardens and make pots and weave clothes. They would smother us if they could as they have smothered our brothers the Puelche. They would take Elal's people and tell us their tales so loudly it is all we would hear and we would forget the great god Kooch who made the world, who was so lonely surrounded by cloud that he cried for a long unimaginable time and made the sea. And this same god, who is not theirs, sighed and made the wind which drove away the clouds and gave us light, and made an island where the great Elal was born – the offspring of a cloud and a giant.

And now there are other people. People Elal doesn't know. Si-las my brother, Me-gan, his woman, and Mir-ee-am, the girl with the
calafate
hair. I let their names rest on my tongue then roll them around. Si-las, Meg-an. Like a song. Like a dream. Seannu says that I say them in my sleep.

Seannu and her sisters are well fed and happy now. They crouch about the fire and sew or play cards or cradle their dogs. They shoo me from the
toldo
and then the hearth. The
bolas
are ready and the horses harnessed. The knives are sharpened, the traces mended. Go Yeluc, they say. Hssst. There is nothing for you to do here. Go and hunt. So I rise early, my old limbs creaking and stiff from the sleeping, and summon Roberto from where he is foraging for grass.

My people are close. I can smell their fires. Sometimes I think I can hear their prattle. Sometimes I imagine I can see them as Elal would see them, aloft on his swan, peering at his world from behind her black, outstretched neck; their
toldos
clustered together like thirsty
rou
around a spring, their fires lighting the dark like a sprinkling of eyes. They know I am here. If they want me they come for me.

Then, near the river, there is Si-las and his people. Meg-an. Jay-cob. Sel-wyn, Mir-ee-am. I hear them calling. I see them working. Not like we do. Not the lighting fires and then the moving on, careful not to make a mark. No, Elal. These people scrape at your land. They scar it and make it raw. Ah, it makes me angry and sad. All this is no good. I need to watch them, Elal. For you and for themselves. If they continue like this it will be the end of everything.

Caradoc sits squarely and massively on the sack at the front, even though he is fifty there is little grey in his beard; but his head is as bare and as shiny as a horse chestnut. Until Edwyn left, Silas had scarcely been aware of him; as head of the Baptists he had seemed remote. But now he is frequently to be seen strutting around the place with his small troop of Baptist brethren in tow. He is a stern figure with a brisk way of both walking and speaking. His wife, when she is seen, which is seldom, is softer and meeker.

‘Has anyone else seen this smoke?' Caradoc asks, examining each face around him in turn. Almost everyone nods. ‘And this noise that Jacob heard?'

They all nod again. ‘A drumming.'

‘And horses, maybe.'

‘I heard someone calling, as if they were lost,' says a small voice at the front.

Caradoc looks at her, and then, very unexpectedly, smiles. ‘Did you, my little one?'

The child hides her face in her mother's skirts and the people around her laugh.

Caradoc's smile abruptly disappears again. ‘We need a reconnaissance,' he says. ‘Three brave souls with guns to see if there's really anyone out there.'

‘Yes!' Jacob says quickly, ‘I'll do it. Anyone willing to join me?' He looks around eagerly but although some of the women smile encouragingly back, the men look away. For a few seconds there is silence, and Silas feels Megan's eyes on him.

‘I'll go,' he says. Jacob isn't the only hero. The men around him relax a little, and he is rewarded with a squeeze on the arm by Megan.

Caradoc tips his head in a nod. ‘Anyone else?'

‘He'll go,' Mary says, indicating her husband who looks faintly startled. He shakes himself a little. ‘Oh yes, I'll go.'

‘Good man.'

Mary smiles complacently. She is dressed entirely in black as usual, the collar of her dress pressed down by the jowls of her face. The woman appears to have no neck at all. Silas looks away quickly before she catches him staring.

‘Three. Good. You'll need the two stallions.'

‘And the largest of the mares, perhaps?' asks Jacob.

‘Yes, yes, I was just coming to that. And guns, and plenty of ammunition, of course. If you prepare for trouble you'll most likely not have any.'

The rifle feels heavy strapped to his chest. He doesn't like the touch of the metal, the way it becomes so quickly cold when exposed to the air and chills him. Jacob is leading. Of course Jacob is leading. Ever since it was first mooted at yesterday's meeting Jacob and Caradoc have referred to this as Jacob's mission, as though he is about to convert a horde of Indians to the Christian cause. John comes next and Silas takes up the rear on his diffident mare. They are riding close together. It is as if it is something they have agreed although nothing has been said. Jacob seems to be careful not to go on too far ahead of the rest and keeps glancing back, slowing or stopping and waiting then going on again.

He waits now, his head swivelling from side to side, scanning the valley floor and then the slopes so that Silas looks too. There is nothing there, but still Jacob looks. When he catches Silas' eyes he smiles, but as soon as he looks away again his face becomes still and tense, with two small lines extending the outline of his nose upwards into his brow. ‘Nothing yet,
brawd
,' he says, his voice careful and even.

He swings the horse away again, and continues along the flat piece of ground by the river. John follows behind him without comment; his body rigid in the saddle. Silas follows closely. They are being watched. The further they get from Rawson the more strongly he feels it. There are eyes in the undergrowth, shapes in between bushes, shadows where there shouldn't be shadows. But when he turns they are gone.

There is a sound. A twig snapping. Silas pulls on his horse to stop and looks around him. Nothing. Everything is quiet. There are no birds, no insects, just the sound of the river and his heart thudding in his ears. He looks again, his eyes resting on each bush around him in turn. Too quiet. Not a single warble, squeak or rustle. As if someone has frightened everything away. He waits. Still nothing. He breathes out slowly.

Ahead of him Jacob and John have stopped and are looking back. Everything waits. Silas searches around him for footprints, old campfires, skeletons of dismembered animals... nothing. A cricket starts to hum. A bird gives a short sweet call, and then Jacob calls out. ‘Silas? What's wrong?'

Nothing. He shakes his head and then the reins of his horse and she trots quickly to join them.

A narrow passage between rocks opens out to a small meadow and Jacob smiles back at them, opening his arms to indicate the expanse. Silas looks around him again. It is too open here. He feels suddenly exposed. Anyone watching them could pick them out with an arrow one by one. He eyes a distant patch of vegetation and digs his heels into the horse's flanks. Faster. She grumbles a little but trots more quickly. Faster. He catches up with John and Jacob, points to the vegetation, and then waves at them to hurry. Jacob nods once, his eyes flicking around him.

Once they are under the cover of the bush they listen.

‘What is it?' Jacob's eyes are wide. ‘Have you seen anything?'

‘No.'

‘A pity,' he says, but his face relaxes.

They pass quickly from one island of cover to the next. Even Jacob is silent now. His face is like John's: tense, his jaw clenched.

Now it is John's turn to stop. He has smelt something. His head twitches sharply like a deer that has sensed a dog, or a guanaco that has smelt a puma. Silas comes close.

‘Can you smell it?'

Silas nods. Something burning – strong, aromatic, close. A scorched piece of twig tumbles over the ground in front of them.

‘What is it?'

‘Shst!' Jacob's voice is too loud.

They listen again. A piece of loose vegetation is picked up by the wind and for a time they all follow it with their eyes.

‘Indians.'

‘Where?'

Silas shrugs. ‘I don't know. Can't you smell them?'

There is a sudden sharp crack of twig nearby. They all turn towards the sound. The branches of a bush part and a small cat steps through, hisses and then bounds from them.

Silas gives a small laugh. He has been holding his breath. It is a relief to let it go.

Jacob snorts. They can still smell smoke. He looks around. ‘Maybe they're hiding from us.'

‘No,' says John. ‘Look, over there.' John points towards the cliffs to the north.

‘Where?'

‘Can't you see it? A fire.'

He narrows his eyes. He can just make out a line of smoke, but it is faint and distant.

They ride on carefully. No one talks. No one even tries to whisper. Even the horses seem to know they must be quiet and tread where the mud is wet and soft by the river. Jacob prays in silence, his eyes open, and his lips barely moving.

The sun climbs higher. They follow the riverbed, sinking behind an embankment and then out again. A wind has started to blow from the west and they can no longer smell the smoke even though they must be riding towards it. Jacob slows as he climbs, then stops and waits for John and Silas to draw level. He is looking at where the fire was and laughing silently to himself. ‘It's just the cliffs. Not smoke at all. A crack in the rock. Look.'

Now the sun has moved it is easy to see.

They carry on alongside the river. It is low in its bed now; even Silas' timorous mare can be persuaded to cross. Jacob crosses it again and again; to cool the horse's feet, he says. But he doesn't mention what they all know – that this will also disguise their tracks if anyone is following. They look behind them, checking to see if they are being followed, and then ahead again and to the side.

The sun sinks and they mount the bank again, each man starting as something noisily disappears into the water beside them. Silas strokes the mane of his mare to soothe both of them. There is someone watching. The horse knows. No matter how much he smoothes down the mare's ears they prick up again. She seems to be listening. A shiver travels along her flank and she neighs softly. Silas looks around him; ahead of them is a small canyon and Jacob is foolishly leading them through. The man doesn't think. Sometimes he seems wilfully stupid. But it is too late to stop him now. To make a fuss now would only draw attention to them. He smoothes his horse's head again and urges her forward.

The wind picks up. It gusts down the gulley so ferociously that they have to tuck down their heads and fight to make headway. Then all at once there is a howl. It is human, loud and close. They stop, their eyes wide, searching the steep slopes around them. Silas pats down the hairs on his horse's neck and then his own.

‘Just the wind,' says John. But he doesn't sound certain. Then the sun disappears behind a scrap of cloud.

Silas shivers. The shadows are becoming darker and deeper. He hears one rock grind against another. Whoever is watching has come closer. The walls of this gorge are steep but pitted with small caves and strange-looking boulders that stand proud of the rest: what had been a brilliant orange in the sun is now grey and brown and black.

‘Move,' hisses Silas, ‘we can't stay here. We should never have come. We're asking for trouble.' Each crevice could contain an Indian. He imagines the Indians watching them pass, waiting for them to get into range of an arrow or spear.

Jacob attempts to laugh. ‘Don't be afraid,
brawd
. The Lord will protect us.'

Silas looks at the man cowering in his saddle. ‘The Lord?' he says, ‘where is He?'

Jacob's face is partly hidden beneath his hat, but Silas can just make out that he holds his finger to his lips.

‘If He is with us, why does He never say anything? And why are you afraid?'

‘Hush, man.'

Silas takes a breath. He has had enough. If they are going to kill them let them hurry out of where they are hiding and finish the business now. He is tired of waiting. ‘Why doesn't He talk to us, eh, Jacob?' He takes another breath and starts to shout. Above the wind his voice echoes faintly off the walls of rock. ‘Perhaps He has abandoned us too. Have you thought of that? Perhaps He was never there at all!'

Jacob and John are rigid in their saddles, staring at him with open mouths.

Silas laughs then gallops forward. He stops and shouts again. ‘Is anyone there?'

Above him a few pebbles scatter down the hillside. He turns towards the sound. ‘Is that you? Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Why don't you come out and show yourself?'

Some more pebbles come tumbling from the slope as if someone is walking there, or trying to scramble away.

‘Coward! Come out. Show yourself.' Silas peers upward but it is difficult to see. The sun is setting and it is becoming darker. A few more pebbles fall in a small sharp torrent, and Silas' mare suddenly takes fright. She neighs loudly once and then gallops wildly with Silas clinging onto her mane until the valley floor opens out into a plain, then stops just as suddenly, snorting and stamping her feet.

Behind him Jacob and John follow almost as noisily, then they trot a few more yards to where a small willow grows between two boulders. Jacob dismounts and immediately disappears behind the nearest boulder to relieve himself. When he returns, he falls to his knees and jabbers out a few words to thank the Lord for their deliverance.

They light a small fire and take turns to sleep alongside it on their saddle blankets and furs. They hear growls and the sound of something heavy moving close by but nothing comes close. When dawn comes Silas can at last see clearly where they are – in a lush-looking valley too broad for its river. But the patina of yellow-green is a deception; only part of it is vegetation – most of it is a strange yellow rock; this place is nearly as much of a desert as anywhere else.

But when he wakes, Jacob's eyes open wide. ‘A valley,' he says, standing and looking around him. ‘A wondrous fertile valley. Do you see God's hands? Oh
brodyr
, this is a message. Even though we doubted Him, He shows us this!'

Everything is faded and parched. It is becoming hot, the sun burns at the ground and on their backs, but still they go on – Jacob with his head held high, the brim of his hat low on the back of his neck, turning around again and again to smile and ask if all is well.

‘A paradise,' he says when they stop. ‘Praise the Lord.' But he is fingering his gun, a strange distant look on his face.

It is too hot to think. The sun seems to be becoming more intense with every day. Even though they rest during the hottest part of the day the heat seems to cling to the ground late into the afternoon, making every movement slow. No one speaks. The only sound is the clatter of hooves on rock and gravel. It is as if everything has burrowed underground or moved to the mountains in the west to get out of the sun. Once a fox barked close by and a skunk ambled nonchalantly across their path, but there have been no guanaco and no ostriches and just a few of the long-legged rabbits making their strange circuitous routes to their holes as soon as they approach.