Date: Wed, 01 Sep 1999 17:17:17 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: Goldfinch-01

----------------------------

GOLDFINCH
by Andrej Koymasky Copyright 1999
written the 3rd of April, 1986
translated by the author
English text kindly revised
by Tom (chap. 1 to 4)
by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)

-----------------------------

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.

-----------------------------

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

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 awhile, 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 became 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 fianc»e'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 Ò 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.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2

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

http://www.geocities.com/~andrejkoymasky/

If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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