Goldfinch

Goldfinch Chapter 1

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

GOLDFINCH

by Andrej Koymasky © 2018
written on April 3, 1986
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by
Tom (chap. 1 to 4) and by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)

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PART ONE
FIRST CHAPTER

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He was sure he hit it.

Kutkhay searched more carefully in the tall grass and shrub, using his hand. He couldn't possibly go back to the village without a kill; his brothers would sneer and ridicule him, and he couldn't endure that. Even less could he bear the indulgent encouragements of his mother. He heard a soft rustle nearby and he turned with a flicker of hope, which, unfortunately, was immediately extinguished with his groan of disappointment. It was just one of the chief's slaves searching for firewood. He didn't want to be seen by a slave to be searching in the weeds, so he took hold of his bow and walked off with a confident air, hoping he was imitating an adult's demeanor. He wandered aimlessly about for a while, looking all around in the hope of finding another quarry. Running alongside the sea for a distance, he ventured towards the forest, where the game was more abundant. He knew going there was risky, for it approached the territory of another tribe, but he didn't want go back to the village empty handed. The salty wind off the ocean, balmy and humid, ruffled his hair beneath the woven-bark band.

A new sound attracted his attention. Somebody was cutting a tree in the forest. Furtively, he headed for the source of the sound to see who it was. Gliding from tree to tree, very careful where he put his feet to keep from making any noise, he closed in. It was Kwashi, one of the most skilled carvers of the village. With a single-mindedness, he was attacking a perfectly straight trunk, free of branches for a good part, and he cut into it with well calibrated strokes of his famous shining ax. Rumor was that he got it from the strangers who sailed into the bay in the same year of Kutkhay's birth. The boy enjoyed the tales about the strangers: they told of pale-skinned men, tall, and with short-cropped hair, their bodies hidden under strange clothes, and speaking a peculiar, incomprehensible language.

They were very powerful and their boats were bigger than any house in the village. Many carried thunder-sticks that could kill with a thunderbolt. They also had shiny knives (he had seen some in the chief's house) and axes like the ones Kwashi and Quemuk had, and they possessed other powerful magic and marvels. The chief had told the boy that during his own life they arrived at the village several times, but Kutkhay knew they had not been back since he was born. He would really be excited if he were to meet them.

He was immersed in these thoughts when Kwashi called to him. "Hey, son, what are you doing so far from the village?"

Kutkhay, seeing he had been discovered, shuddered and blushed. "Nothing ... Nothing, Father," he answered, using the traditional title of respect.

Kwashi chuckled and waved him to approach. "Does your father know that you were coming as far as here?"

"He went with his slave to make boards for the house," the boy answered respectfully.

"Yes, I know that your house needs repairs. And your eldest brother?"

"Fishing."

"So he works today? The Spirits are leaving him in peace?"

"Yes, for a little while. So, what will you make with this trunk, boards?"

"No, I must carve some masks for the mid-summer rites."

Kutkhay nodded. Kwashi was the most valued sculptor of the village. The man turned his attention back to the tree and the boy crouched on his heels. He watched the man as he worked with remarkable energy. His muscled body was coated in a light layer of sweat, and it flexed with every masterful stroke. The tree would fall soon.

Suddenly Kutkhay remembered his hunting mission. He quickly stood back up to his feet and silently walked away, going farther into the forest. He was alert, a little afraid of wolves. His father had warned him that often they kidnapped little boys to keep them as slaves in their underground kingdom. But he had to find his prey. A sudden crash gave him a start, but he quickly recovered: it was just Kwashi's tree.

At last he spotted movement and immediately saw it was a wild rabbit. He put an arrow to the bowstring and took aim. He stretched the bow slowly and became very still, waiting for his prey to show itself again. Kutkhay held his breath. The muscles in his arms stiffened, cramped, grew weary. But he remained still. All his senses were concentrated, sharpened. He recited a silent prayer to the ancestor whose name he bore, which he ended with: "... and even if you are not amongst the most important, please help me to take this rabbit."

As if in answer, the animal stood up on his hind legs, looking in all directions with quick, jerky movements, and sniffed the air nervously.

"Forgive me, rabbit spirit!" Kutkhay thought.

His fingers released the arrow and the small animal collapsed, dead.

"Good heavens! I hit it!" he thought with both delight and surprise, at the same time already on his way to pick up his fallen prey.

He felt so proud, and imagined what it would be like to be a great hunter. He touched the talisman hanging from his neck, the tiny pouch where his magic lived, and thanked his ancestor and thanked the rabbit spirit. Then he pulled the arrow from the lifeless body and cleaned the bloody arrowhead in the grass.

Kutkhay picked up his rabbit and, his heart filled with joy, retraced his steps. He diverged slightly along the way in order to keep from passing Kwashi too closely, since he didn't wish to disturb him again. When he was within sight of his village he started running, holding his trophy high and singing loudly so that everybody, especially his peers, would see how skilled he was. He passed between the big houses toward his own, and crossed the threshold. Upon entering, he turned to the left, toward his family's corner.

He was stopped short by what he saw and fell silent. His mother was trying to hold his oldest sister, who was tossing and turning on the bed. The wicked spirits had come to claim their victim. Again. The curse that hung over his family. Sometimes it tormented his oldest brother, sometimes his oldest sister. Fortunately, it never yet visited itself upon his second brother or sister, nor himself. Nor, for that matter, his parents.

Actually, there seemed to be two different spirits, because the one that came for his brother was not so wicked. In his turn, it kidnapped his brother's soul, causing him to become quite still and taking away his power to speak and to feel. Also, it wasn't very difficult for the Spirits Man to call back his brother's soul. Oh, but the spirit who came to his sister was very malicious! It made her scream and caused her to slobber uncontrollably, all the while her body violently tossing and twisting. Even two men could hardly hold her down and keep her still. The Spirits Man said it was a powerful black magic. One time in battle, their father failed to finish off his enemy. Fatally wounded, this foe was left to die in the woods. Now it was this man's soul that was taking his revenge, invoking wicked spirits to persecute the victor's two eldest children.

Kutkhay's family often called upon the Spirits Man to provide his services, and each time they were obliged to offer goods in tribute, and by now they had very few remaining possessions. Fortunately the banquet day would soon arrive, when, in keeping with the old tradition, the chief distributed gifts of value to everyone in the village. Together with what his father provided through his capabilities as a hunter and with his skill as a boat builder, the family at least was still able to get by with the necessities.

His mother heard him arrive and turned to him saying he must run for some relatives to help her. The boy ran off, for the moment forgetting his rabbit alongside the bed and even his hunting exploits. He went to some of his father's brothers and his mother's sisters. Then he took off towards the beach, where he sat on the rocky shore and stared off into the distance. It would be certain tonight that the Spirits Man would come to perform the rite on his sister. He was awed by the shaman, and the ceremony fascinated him.

After awhile he stood up. It was necessary to make preparations for tonight's ritual, and he knew what his part was. He found the slave and had him start collecting firewood. He himself would have to gather wood too, for a great deal was needed. He was sure his second sister was already getting the mats for the ceremony. These would be contributed by their relatives. Yes, by now there was no longer the need for their parents to instruct them on what must be done. Sadly, everyone in the family knew quite well.

It was evening by the time he felt they had enough firewood. He didn't really care to go back home right away, though. It was hard to bear seeing his sister when she fell prey to the wicked spirit. She became terribly frightful. It created a pain in his heart to hear her screams, to witness the twisting and contorting of her body while in the grip of the angry spirit. So he idled about, until he heard the familiar voice call to him:

"Come, eat with us, son." "Thank you mother, but I'm not hungry..."

"Come on, Tilltka is waiting for you."

He couldn't refuse the request, now that the name of his mother's eldest brother had been spoken. He entered Tilltka's house. The man sat to the right of the fire, with his children in their places, starting with the eldest, Likkho, who was about Kutkhay's own age, then the daughters, from the youngest to the oldest, then their mother. He sat beside Likkho as required by tribal protocol. He didn't like the boy very much. He was one of those who teased him all the time, because his hair was not really straight, his skin was too light, or he was too tall.

As soon as he took his seat, as a matter of fact, Likkho whispered to him, "Hi, Wrong-one!"

He hated that name.

"Today I killed a rabbit," he whispered in answer, adding, "by myself!"

Then he turned toward the fire in the center. The eldest daughter filled the bowls, while the third girl handed them around. When he was given his, he raised the bowl toward the fire, then toward Tilltka in a thanking sign, before he began to eat from it with two fingers. Everyone talked at the same time or joked noisily, as they did around the other fires in the enormous room.

In that house also lived Haite, the paternal uncle of Tilltka, and the hunt leader. He was an important person, and had two wives and several sons and daughters by each of them. And then there was Haite's grandson, Mokoa, also close in age to Kutkhay. Here was a really beloved boy, admired and respected by everyone, but especially by Kutkhay. He was probably the only boy in the entire village who didn't give Kutkhay a hard time. Moreover he was beautiful and strong, clever and always cheerful.

Kutkhay looked in the direction of Haite's son's fire, his eyes searching for the boy. He caught a glimpse of him, too. Mokoa was laughing his hearty laugh. And when he laughed, he was more beautiful than ever; to Kutkhay he was even more beautiful than Mokoa's older brother, who, by others, was considered the most beautiful young man in the village. He would have liked to be friends with Mokoa, but he seemed to be almost unaware of him. Mokoa did greet him whenever they came into contact, and in a friendly manner. Yet he never invited him to join him in any activities, and the etiquette was such that it was for Mokoa, being of higher rank, to take the first step. Even among these younger boys rank was very important, and never more than now, when the day of the initiation ceremony was fast approaching.

After the meal Kutkhay thanked his relatives and left. He saw that the preparations for his sister's rites were nearly complete. The moon was high and bright and made the silhouettes of his busy relatives seem to glow around the bonfire pit. His father, escorted by his second brother, was already on his way to tell the Spirits Man that it was time, while his first brother and his wife carried out the items to be offered in tribute. At the same time his second sister stacked all the mats. The people of the village were beginning to appear from their houses and moving toward the area. Kutkhay didn't really feel like being among all these people, but he would have to take his place with the rest of his family. His sister at least was no longer screaming.

When the shaman arrived, the second sister scurried into the house to alert those who were still inside. Everyone was gathered at the ritual site and drew closer to each other. The maternal uncles carried the suffering young woman on one of the mats. They lowered her as gently as they could onto the stack of mats alongside the fire. The bonfire was just beginning to grow. Kutkhay took his place with the others at the prescribed distance from the fire. Finally, at the center of the space, only the Spirit Man stood, and his sister lay prone. The man's ceremonial costume made him look fierce and formidable. He leaned over the girl and stared at her for a long time. Finally, he gave out with a fearsome wail, shaking his head several times.

Then he moaned, "Ah, why didn't you call me earlier?"

He said the same thing every time.

He very slowly shook his tiny rattles and hummed a dirge, a rumbling from behind his lips that changed in tone several times. Everyone watched in utter silence. His eerie figure stood out in the night, highlighted in red by the leaping flames. The Spirits Man shook his rattles more vigorously, his rhythm simultaneously quickening, and his moans rose in tone.

Now the young woman's father stood up and shouted, "Rescue my daughter, and I shall give you this blanket!"

The shaman's chant grew soft.

Again the father cried out, "I shall give you also this vessel of suet!"

The shaman swayed, the amorphous murmurs continuing at the same pitch.

"I add to my gifts this bark and woolen cloth ... I have nothing more to offer to you..."

The shaman's dirge grew in its intensity. They both continued in this way, with the father raising his offerings upward, but the shaman, though increasing his rhythms, had not yet started the real and true song, knowing the spirits were not yet satisfied. Kutkhay grew restless and looked around at the others until his second brother nudged him with an elbow to coax him to return his gaze back to his sister. In the firelight she seemed lifeless, but almost imperceptibly, her breast rose and fell. At last, after the father's further offerings, the song burst in all its fullness from the shaman's throat. The father crouched again in his place with a relieved expression. The shaman invoked one spirit after another, until he pronounced the name of the one who was persecuting the girl. Everyone quivered at the utterance of the name, while from the fire a huge flame darted upward, surrounded by billowing smoke.

Now the Spirits Man performed the dance that brought forth the power capable of forcing the evil spirit to leave Kutkhay's sister. Everybody held his breath. The spirit must surely be sufficiently terrorized by now in the awful presence of the shaman, by his power. And in fact, the girl on the mats began to scream and to shake so severely as to cause her bark apron to come unfastened and slip away. Kutkhay immediately shut his eyes, for he was one of the yet uninitiated, and started to shake so violently that his teeth rattled. Though the ritual intrigued him, it scared him at the same time. His tormented sister gave one last shriek then all was silent. Even the Spirits Man, now, stood there in the stillness.

Then the sound of the tiny rattles was heard again, and in unison all the women sang out in a quick-paced, harmonious praising of the good spirits, beseeching them to surround the village and protect all its inhabitants from the wicked spirits. Kutkhay opened his eyes again. Everyone, except for the very young and the uninitiated, moved toward the fire, slowly dancing. He turned to look at his contemporaries, feeling a little relieved. He unconsciously surveyed the group who remained mostly sitting or squatting. But he focused right away when his eyes met Mokoa's not very far away, and who called over to him: "It's done, brother, once again!"

"Yes, it's done." he answered, consoled by the sympathetic words.

Mokoa winked at him as he approached, and crouched down alongside, saying, "Tomorrow, do you want to come fishing with me?"

Kutkhay couldn't believe to his ears. "Really? Yes, I would really like that! Where?"

"At the river. I know a place."

"Sounds wonderful. When?"

"At dawn."

"OK, I'll be ready."

Mokoa nodded. Then he stood up and went to another boy, where he squatted to chat with him. Kutkhay looked at the adults still dancing. The shaman was leaving, followed by Kutkhay's older brother, who was laden with all the promised items.

Kutkhay had grown tired, worn down by the emotional stress, so this time he didn't wait for the dancing to end to go back home. As soon as he lay down on his mat in the usual corner, he fell heavily into a deep sleep.

It was almost dawn when he woke up. The first hints of light were just leaking in through the wallboards. Because everyone was still asleep, Kutkhay had to stay in his place. "In just a little while I'll be going fishing with Mokoa," he thought, beaming. "He invited only me."

Mokoa wasn't actually destined for a very high rank, being he was the last born in his family, but among his contemporaries he was given some amount of respect. He was the one Kutkhay held in the highest regard.

When at last his father arose and Kutkhay could leave his mat, he grabbed his fishing tools and took off for the shore. He plunged into the bracing cool water, and once refreshed, came back out to crouch on the sand and watch his friend's house, eagerly awaiting the first sight of him. He didn't have long to wait. When Mokoa came out looking around, even from this distance he could recognize the cheerful disposition just in the way he moved. He spotted Kutkhay and signaled him with a wave toward the river, immediately setting off quickly. The kid jumped up, grabbing his fishing tools, and followed him into the forestland. He watched his lean body, and how his small, hard buttocks moved with the rhythm of his stride. He adored his graceful bearing. He gradually caught up to him and came up alongside him. Mokoa spoke the formal morning greeting, and then, "I think we will have lots of fun today, my brother!"

Kutkhay nodded vigorously. They walked for quite some time, heading upriver. Eventually there wasn't even a trail to follow, and they had to make their own way through the tall, thick underbrush. The terrain was also becoming rocky and more and more difficult to penetrate. Mokoa proceeded, sure-footed and confident. It was obvious how well he knew the way. Kutkhay was delighted. He had never gone such a distance. And as the sun quickly climbed in the sky, it warmed the morning air. He liked to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.

"Here we are. Have you ever been here?"

"No. This is first time. You sure seem to know this spot." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes. Sometimes I bring a friend here to play. And I really looked forward to coming here with you, once I saw how handsomely you've been developing," he said with a smile and a certain look down at the kid's crotch.

Kutkhay was flattered. This was the first time he could remember somebody complimenting him. He turned his own gaze at the boy.

"Thanks. Yours is beautiful."

"Thank you. And do you know what? I can make it spurt, too, and real far. Can you?"

"I don't know..."

"You mean, you've never tried? You've never been in any of the contests?"

"Never..." the young boy admitted, a little embarrassed.

"This is a special occasion, then! Try it! Let's both do it -- you get me hard and I'll do you..." said Mokoa with a big smile as he moved in front of him, reaching out with his hand.

Kutkhay eagerly copied the way he was being handled. Just the touch made him quiver with new sensations! Before very long, both of them gave up their seed to the ground, shooting remarkably far in front of themselves. He noticed Mokoa gave up much more of the white stuff than he did.

Eventually, they picked up their fishing gear and sat on the river's bank, talking their boy-talk while they fished. It really was a good spot and before too long they had caught as many fish as they were going to be able to carry. They started back to the village with their catch, joking and laughing the whole way. Kutkhay was delighted with how the day had begun.

"Would you want to come with me again, and play that game with me?" Mokoa asked when they were in sight of the village.

"Sure, any time you want. Do you play the game with other boys?"

"Yes, with a few. It's a lot of fun. But not with everybody."

They separated. His second sister, in front of the house, was preparing some bark to be made into cloth. Kutkhay gave his mother his share of the day's bounty.

Tumchey, his second brother, was off hunting with his age-brothers. Kutkhay was looking forward to the time he'd be allowed to go with them and not have to just be content with catching small animals. Thankfully, although he wasn't sure just when, the time was coming for the next initiation rites. He was a little worried about it, even scared, but at the same time he was anxious for it to get here, because it would finally mark his passage into manhood, an equal to the other men of the village.

His older brother, with his father and the slave, were smoothing out the new boards to repair their house. He decided he ought to help them. A boy before initiation didn't have specific duties, so he could either help adults in some chores and tasks or be among age-brothers, or he could, if he liked, stay by himself. Kutkhay preferred to be with adults, partly because his mates were constantly riding him about his appearance, and partly because adults often did a lot of more interesting things.

Above all he loved to watch Kwashi when he was carving. Marvelous things came to life from his hands. He would love to learn how to carve wood, but not being of Kwashi's family, it wasn't possible. He would have to learn to build boats, the same as all the other males of his family.

It was mid-afternoon when the group of hunters returned. Tumchey brought some of his game to his mother and the rest to his fiancée's family. They didn't have a child yet, so they could still not get married and live together. But it hadn't even been a full year since the two families had agreed to the marriage, so this wasn't unusual. None of the ancestors had yet decided to return to life through the girl.

Kutkhay wondered how the two of them could find a way to be intimate. It wasn't allowed within his house or hers. That was only for the married couples. In fact, he had often seen his parents, and even his oldest brother with his wife. Or, to be precise, he pictured them in his mind when he heard their stifled noises. He knew that he too, one day, would have to do it, do it with his own woman. Sometimes he looked at the girls of the village and tried to guess which one his parents would choose for him. None of them held any appeal, to him. No woman, he thought, had what he considered a desirable body. They seemed not very good imitations of men, with their seemingly awkward, often flabby, breasts, their wide hips, and their big, low-hanging buttocks. They really were nothing like the beautiful, sleek, muscled, graceful bodies of men. These thoughts led him to recall the image of Mokoa, and then what they had done with each other that very morning at the river. It was so thrilling to feel someone else's hands caressing him "there" and to touch his friend in that same way, and there was the wonderful thing that happened at the end.

Just thinking about it made him get an erection, and his brother was quick to notice. He made a sarcastic remark that the others heard. The boy blushed with embarrassment. Then his father added with a smile, "It's a good thing the initiation celebration is coming soon. It is obviously time to start considering choosing his wife too."

They laughed with exaggerated nods of their heads. Amidst the laughing and hooting Kutkhay ran away, plunging straight into the ocean. It was the first time he had such an embarrassing accident in front of others. If only he was an adult; he would at least have a loincloth in the front to help hide it. How did his age-brothers manage to avoid this kind of problem? He had to ask his new friend Mokoa, or perhaps his older brother Tumchey. But over the next few days he never did find the courage to talk about it with either one.

Life in the village passed quietly, but Kutkhay was alert to the vague signs of the approaching day of the initiation. If on the one hand the rite was to mark his full acceptance into the adult community -- and for that reason he awaited that day with both exhilaration and concern -- on the other hand the aura of mystery that surrounded the ritual itself instilled within him an awful fear. What he could remember of other initiation days, when he was younger, was the kidnapping of the initiates and the wailing cries of the women. But finally there was the relief upon discovering that the initiates came back alive. It had to be something terrible and mysterious that befell them, though. If he tried to find out what it was from one of the men, they pretended not to hear him, almost as if nothing was ever even uttered from his mouth. And if he tried asking a woman, she gasped out a little cry and quickly fled with her hands to her ears. A few times he even tried to discuss it with his mates, but they were as much in the dark as he was. And worse, their imaginations conjured outlandish notions more unsettling than the men's silence or women's flight. He did bring it up with Mokoa during one of their intimate meetings. He discovered that his friend was also pretty worried by the upcoming event, if not scared, which only succeeded in heightening Kutkhay's distress and anxiety. Anxiety that grew when he saw his father was already preparing the ornaments Kutkhay was to wear for the event.

Sometimes, during the night, curled up on his mat, he couldn't fall asleep. In the darkness of the huge house he would listen to the familiar sounds of couples mating, of old people snoring, of an occasional squalling of an infant; sounds that now seemed to take on new significance in his adolescent imagination. With eyes wide open, all his senses seemed to render the commonplace around him completely alien. He would watch the moving shadows in the beds and mats nearby, the ordinary shadows of his family now assuming new, threatening, ominous shapes. From outside were the calls of nocturnal animals, the rustling of the wind, the distant pounding of the sea meeting the shore. All the sounds once familiar and reliable now seemed rather spooky. He was trying to separate them, to isolate the sound of whoever it was that would suddenly be upon him and kidnap him for the start of initiation rites. But how would he recognize that sound? He also spent long hours of the night concentrating on his own quickened, vigorous heartbeat, and was baffled that the others didn't hear the thumping that resounded in his temples louder than rolling drums.

He remembered vaguely that one night a few years before, when "they" came to take away his brother Tumchey. Women were screaming, struggling against the shadowy forms that kidnapped the boy; then his mother picked up Kutkhay in her embrace and took him back to her bed, protecting him with her enfolding body. But he could remember nothing more. Would his mother protect him again?

At last sleep would come, and when the new day arrived the sun melted away the nocturnal shadows from his heart. The days passed without incident, with just the familiar, normal activities, and the fears of the night would dissolve. But anxiety and fear remained in a corner of his mind.

At least daytime was safe. Everything assumed their proper forms and dimensions.

Kutkhay was a very bright, thoughtful boy, and he tried to understand the significance and the reason for everything. Sometimes he really did feel different from his mates, and not just because they treated him like he was different. Even with Mokoa, to whom his heart was bound more each day by their deepening intimate friendship, he felt different. Not better and not worse. But irretrievably different. Yet he couldn't grasp a likely explanation for it. That troubled him. The difference he sensed wasn't so much the physical one -- the wavy hair, the lighter skin, the taller than average height -- for which he was ever reminded by the taunts of the others. He was used to those differences by now. The unsettling discomfort Kutkhay felt - and, strangely, that others didn't seem to notice, was much deeper, more basic: an internal discord.

Sometimes he asked himself if he really was born "wrong," similar to the way it was told about The Twins in the old people's tales. But they were twins and he was not. That The Twins had special powers, as all twins have, was well known. Kutkhay wondered if by chance some special power was emerging from within him. But as yet he saw no signs of that. His shadow always stayed with him, and in the right position where it belonged. Sometimes he tried to move objects with only the strength of his mind, but nothing would obey to him. He attempted to walk on burning coals, but he came away scorched, as anybody would.

No, he was never able to discover any special powers. But then what was it residing within himself making him feel so strongly that he was unlike everyone else? He considered asking the shaman, but he wasn't brave enough. He was afraid he'd surely be chased out, mocked. Or perhaps he was afraid to discover that he was right, that he really was different from the other boys. Then he would be really distressed. He wanted to be like all the others, the way one must be.

He started spending long periods of the daytime alone, immersed in his thoughts, withdrawn. This was not his usual self. Ordinarily, he enjoyed his preternatural curiosity, not only about adult activities, studying whatever they did, but particularly the how's and the why's. There were times when he did ask questions, but less and less often now, because simple answers were no longer satisfying. He wondered whether the answers he was given were actually the truth anymore. Maybe they didn't explain things to him completely, or correctly, because he was still a little boy. Maybe they themselves didn't always know the right answers. Often enough some of them seemed to be annoyed by his "why's", so, he gradually stopped asking the questions, even while he continued to observe everything and to think about everything.

The weather recently had become very mild, the air sweet. The village today was a flurry of a thousand activities as every adult prepared for the seasonal move to the summer site. Kutkhay often went to that place on his own. The naked skeletons of the houses stood silently waiting for the return his people. Close by were low rocks leading into the ocean waves. The boy loved to climb among them, where he would sit for hours looking out at the sea, the infinite sea, and dream. With no one expected in the vicinity for some time yet, today he could linger here in its serenity. The sound of the waves breaking, with its never-ending rhythm, lulled him, and allowed him to indulge in the most fabulous daydreams.

From time to time he slipped into the water and held himself hanging from the rock so that the waves thrashed against his adolescent body. It somehow gave him a sense of power, energized him, and filled him with an otherwise unfamiliar and powerful, sensual pleasure. Each wave slapped against his skin, an assault upon him, and when it receded it was with prolonged, feral caresses to his body, only to return to ravage him again and again in an endless procession. Then, exhausted, he'd climb back to the top of his rock and stretch out his long body under the warm rays of the sun. The sea water dried on his velvety skin until just a thin layer of salt remained, shining in the pearly light of the budding spring. He caught a few crabs and some other succulent shellfish. Sometimes he simply watched the seagulls as they circled majestically in the air, and listened to their hoarse cries. He lost himself in his lazy daydreams.

On the glittering expanse of the sea, when the days grew longer, it would be possible to see more of the fishermen's boats hasten out toward the horizon and come back in the evenings laden with fish, propelled by steady, powerful paddle stokes. That season was fast approaching. Kutkhay loved to look at the lean, powerful bodies of the men in their boats, especially those of the youngest ones, because usually, on the way out to sea they pulled off their loincloths. This let the boy gaze upon their beautiful genitals to his heart's content, taking pleasure in the sight of each newly matured manhood surrounded by thick hair. Since it wasn't really the fishing season yet, the majority of the men were still mostly hunting in the forest. But the first schools of fish were beginning to migrate back, and some younger fishermen ventured out for an early harvest. They removed their loincloths to keep them from the salt water, which would quickly ruin them. Kutkhay didn't care why they took them off. He was fascinated with the variety of shapes and sizes of the members he saw. Those of the younger boys back in the village held no interest for him; they seemed all the same in comparison.

Far to the north a narrow spit of land jutted into the sea. This was where a neighboring tribe had their summer village. It had been a long time since hostilities existed between the two tribes, since it became evident that nature was quite generous in its capacity for feeding all who inhabited the area. Apart from the slaves, Kutkhay had never even seen any of the peoples living in the bordering territories.

He wondered if sooner or later there would again be a war. His oldest brother had fought three wars, and his father countless more. The last one was when Kutkhay was a still a baby, and he couldn't really remember it, except for the tales of the adults. Indeed, their own slave was captured during that last war. This one was still young, a little older than Tumchey but younger than his oldest brother. He was strong, cheerful, but not very talkative. What must it be like, Kutkhay often asked himself, to be a slave? Didn't he long to return to his people? And didn't he miss his woman? Once in awhile a slave escaped, and if he wasn't recaptured by the village men and killed, he returned to his own people, free again. What could be the reason that their slave had never tried to flee? How could it be possible that he was happy being a slave?

Kutkhay went back to the winter village, pondering the many why's that never yielded an answer, and whether this would always be.

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2

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In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is

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(I can read only English, French, Italian... Andrej)