Date: Wed, 01 Sep 1999 17:17:17 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: Goldfinch-02

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

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.

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

CHAPTER TWO

For some days the air was strangely still. Still and heavy. It was as if
the Wind Spirit had abandoned the village. The sunlight reflected off
the surface of the flat, motionless sea for as far as the eye could see.
Where he stood in the forest, Kutkhay was at least partially shielded
from the glare by the uneven shade of its canopy. He heard the call of a
skylark from somewhere nearby and another answered from far away.

A gentle gurgling sound told him he was close to a little stream even
before he was able to see it. He concentrated on the sound to figure out
its direction, then headed assuredly northward, scanning the ground
carefully until he found the tiny stream. It was barely the width of his
hand, set deep into the ground, and hardly visible as it flowed through
the tall, dense weed. He crouched and, with cupped hands, brought some
of the fresh, crystal clear water to his lips, savoring each sip.
Finally he drizzled a little of it onto his naked body, shivered a
little with the pleasant chill it gave him. He stood erect again and
looked around him. It wasn't a very good place for game, but then,
neither had he brought his bow.

He crossed over the little stream and went deeper into the wood. As he
went along, he would brush the coarse bark of the trees with his
fingertips, almost like a caress, and do the same thing to the long,
supple stalks of the tall grass. He loved tactile sensations; only the
lack of blowing breezes kept his contentment from being complete. The
leaves of the lower branches caressed his face and his nude body. It was
exquisite indeed to be touched this way. The insects were still too few
to bother him, but spring was coming rapidly. When a cluster of flowers
caught his attention, he bent over and pushed his face into them,
blissfully inhaling their sweet scent. Whenever he was alone he
surrendered himself like this to these sensations, not having to worry
about being harassed. It was his secret life. It was good to be able to
do it.

He sat under a big tree on a thick cushion of moss. He leaned against
the stout trunk and looked toward the ocean that was no longer visible.
He was isolated, alone in an oasis of green, under an intensely blue
sky. An ant climbed along one of his heels. The light tickle of its tiny
legs on his skin made him smile. The ant hesitated awhile at his ankle
bone, then continued on its way up his leg. He watched it, amused.
"You'll find nothing to eat going this way, for sure, stupid!" he said
aloud.

The abrupt sound of branches breaking made him forget the ant. Somebody
was approaching. Someone or some big animal. All his senses went on the
alert as he stood up slowly, peering through the dense growth in the
direction of the noise. He glimpsed a movement far off amid the
underbrush but couldn't tell what it was. Very slowly, so he couldnÌt be
heard by man or beast, he moved in that direction. His bare feet
automatically came down so that his footsteps avoided making noise. He
heard the creaking of trampled branches again. It surely wouldn't be a
hunter or Kutkhay never would have heard anything.

He stood still, his eyes scouring the land between him and the source of
the sounds, at the same time considering where he might hide if he had
to. Then he realized even a large beast would have been quieter than
this. Was it a woman from the village? Perhaps it was a stranger. This
second possibility was less likely. Nobody would venture so far into his
tribeÌs territory without being noticed, unless ÷ Oh, no!  What if it
was an enemy scout? In the face of that possibility he had to find out,
and do it without giving himself away.

He immediately decided to climb a tree and quickly spotted one that he
thought would do. He clambered up, nimble and silent, going way up,
until he thought it would be hard to make him out. He eyes covered the
ground all around his tree but nobody came into view. He almost decided
to climb back down, when he heard another sound, only nearer.
Motionless, he watched more keenly, and suddenly caught a glimpse of a
figure half hidden by a bush. He couldn't distinguish who it was, but he
was sure it was a human being. From what, or more precisely now, from
whom was he hiding? Who was this? What danger awaited him? While these
questions formed in his mind, he saw a silent movement farther away. He
waited. The sun was starting to set, off in the western sky. He followed
this new silent swaying of foliage and at last saw a human form moving
uphill among the trees. He recognized him now.

It was Tumchey. He stopped on the side of the hill, looking around as if
searching for something, or someone. Finally, he approached the bush
where the other someone lay in hiding. Kutkhay didnÌt know if he should
shout a warning or wait. When his brother passed close to the bush, a
delicate laughter broke the silence and the soon-to-be wife of Tumchey
appeared.

The brother, smiling, took hold of her at the waist. "I am here, yes, I
am here," the young man said.

The girl giggled. "You made me wait; I got here so fast."

The two of them lay down on the ground, quickly undoing their scanty
garments. Unaware of the attentive gaze of the boy above them, they were
soon joined together in impassioned intercourse.

"Gentle. Be gentle!" protested the girl, but the words were inconsistent
with her behavior and her interplay with him.

It was the first time Kutkhay could watch in broad daylight a coupleÌs
intimate joining. He could observe every detail, and his eyes followed
their moves, captivated by what was happening. His second brother's body
seemed more beautiful, more powerful than ever before. And his fully
aroused member in particular held Kutkhay's focus as the girl caressed
it, and he could see on his brotherÌs manly face an expression of bliss
combined with what seemed like concentration.

When he lay on top of her and lunged between the girl's thighs, Kutkhay
saw his firm buttocks flex and dimple with every thrust. A victim of
their passion and pleasure, all his muscles tensed and eased with his
vigorous rocking over the receptive body of his woman, while both were
moaning like wounded animals.

At last when they were done, the two lay on their sides, satisfied,
facing each other. Kutkhay realized he had been holding his breath and
when he let it go, it was with a soft, long sigh; with that he forced
the tension from his body.

The girl sat up. With great intimacy, she softly caressed the superb
supine body of her man. "Are you coming back tomorrow, too?" she asked.

"No, I cannot tomorrow."

"Why?"

"It's something I canÌt speak about..." he answered, brushing against
her.

"Ah, I see. So several days will pass before we..."

"Yes. Let's hope there will soon be a child," he said.

"If the ancestors will bless us..." she answered.

The brother stood up and was about to put his loincloth around his
waist, when she stopped him and caressed his intimate parts. "You like
it?" he asked with a proud smile.

"Yes... it's beautiful."

Kutkhay thought that she was right.

The two dressed. The girl, without saying another word, departed toward
the west, while Tumchey quickly went south. Alone once again, Kutkhay
came back down the tree, and it was then he noticed how much the scene
had  gotten him aroused. He returned to his mossy spot by the other tree
and took his seat again, waiting to calm down. But apparently his
erection didn't yet seem ready to subside, so he decided to seek his
relief as Mokoa had taught him. The sun had gotten much lower by now and
the forest was being overtaken with shadows.

"Pity Mokoa wasn't there with me. That always feels much better with
him," he thought to himself with a touch of regret on the way back to
the village. But he was happy enough, because he had at last discovered
how and where his brother was meeting his betrothed. And he really
enjoyed watching the two as they coupled. But above all, he liked the
wanton behavior of his brother. Tumchey's handsome body, taut in its
quest for pleasure, seemed more magnificent than ever.

As he approached the village, his mother saw him off in the distance and
called to him to assign him with some task. It seemed lately the woman
couldnÌt stand to see him doing nothing anymore. This time she told him
to go for the water. Laden with all the vessels on his shoulders,
Kutkhay set off quickly to the spring, eager to get back before it was
too dark. The sky was already turning red, spreading like dye, and at
long last a soft breeze began to pick up from the sea. On his way back
home with his heavy burden of water, he could sense a strange unrest
pervading the village. He looked around trying to understand what was
happening, but it was something intangible. Apparently everybody was
doing his usual things.

He stepped in front of one of his father's brothers. "Health to you,
father. Everything OK?"

The man, usually both gentle and talkative, barely greeted him and
hurried into his house. He wasnÌt exactly being discourteous,
nevertheless...

He put down the water containers, sniffing the air. Whatever it was his
mother was cooking with the help of his sisters, the smell was excellent
and immediately stimulated the boy's appetite. "Out of here!" his mother
said brusquely.

Kutkhay asked himself what he could possibly have done to be treated
this way. He went out the door and sat against the wooden wall. He
gently rubbed at his calf, scratched probably by a thorn, and ruminated.
"Who understands adults?!" he grumbled.

Inside the houses they were starting to light lanterns, and here and
there the rectangles of the doorways were set aglow one after another.
Men were coming back to the village. When his oldest brother entered the
house, followed by his father, then Tumchey, he too stood and went in.
His father began mending some work tools, helped by Tumchey. The other
brother was talking with a man at the back of the house. The kitchen
fires and the wavering flames of lanterns flooded everything with a warm
light. Thanks to the breeze filtering through the walls' boards, the
smoke wasnÌt very thick. But even here in the house, the boy thought he
recognized the same strange tension that seemed to be on the wing all
around the village. Surely this was the beginning of a special evening.
He didn't know how he knew it or why, but it definitely was. Everyone
seemed especially engrossed in whatever they were doing, and only the
children, just to the right of the doorway, were fussing and whining as
usual. They stopped only when their mother decided to feed them,
bringing one to each breast simultaneously.

When it finally came time to eat, Kutkhay put aside his odd impressions
in deference to the meal, and even accepted a second full bowl eagerly.
Fed and sated, he felt sleepy, so he went to his own corner and lay down
on his mat. In only a moment he was sound asleep, thus failing to see
his father bringing out the ornaments from under his bed platform. Nor
would he witness when his brothers stood up, and signaling to each other
and speaking in low voices,  they left the house, finally, in utter
silence.

In a short while all the men of the village were outside and heading
silently towards the ancestorsÌ sanctuary, a place forbidden to the
women and children. Every man attended. Not one was missing. And when
the moon was high, the shaman and the village chief arrived. All the men
painted their bodies and donned distinctive costumes; some were strange
and some grotesque, and several included the venerable ancestral masks.
Thus adorned, they started to play drums and shake tiny round bells. The
youngest men, meanwhile, had removed their garments completely and
covered their bodies with a peculiar mixture of grease and ashes,
effectively assuming the appearance of cadavers. To the accompaniment of
the drums, the young men headed off in groups of threes toward
predetermined houses. As soon as they entered, each group flew at the
kid to be initiated, seizing him from his mat.

Kutkhay felt himself grasped and suddenly awoke, crying out in his fear.
In no time at all everybody was wide awake, and throughout the village
the women were yelling as they rose from their sleeping places, shouting
the names of their sons who were being kidnapped, and trying to snatch
them back from the pallid shadows.

Of course, those ghostly shadows were quite slick from the grease and it
was practically impossible to hold onto them. Kutkhay heard his mother
near him, shouting out his name, imploring the spirits not to take her
beloved little son away from her. The boy was confounded not to hear a
single male voice. Why werenÌt his father and brothers there to protect
him? He wriggled with all his strength, calling desperately at the top
of his voice to his mother, father, any and all of his relatives, to
come in his rescue. A rough, strong hand went up to his mouth, silencing
him, while an arm encircled his waist, and with hands gripping his
ankles and wrists, his body was held prone and raised high. He was being
carried away and nobody had succeeded in stopping these... spirits!

In his panic he remembered to listen for his mother's voice one last
time, and recognized it, by now far away, blending with the yells, moans
and cries of the other village women. He heard her still beseeching the
spirits to spare her son. Suddenly all his fighting strength abandoned
him and he ceased his struggle. After all, it was useless to fight the
spirits, absolutely pointless. Where were they bringing him? He could
see nothing but the ground rushing by under him.

They stopped. Neither a voice nor a sound, except the distant rolling of
the drums and the faint jingling of the tiny bells, intruded upon the
eerie silence. Something was put over his head and tied at his neck, and
he could see nothing more. They put him upright on his feet and bound
him with rope, his wrists behind him. He felt a strong pull, then
another, and he had to move to keep from falling. He was surprised that
the ropes he felt around his ankles didnÌt prevent him from using his
feet, but he could only take very small steps. The tugging at the rope
at his waist guided his direction, but he stumbled several times, and
whenever he fell to the ground, he was guided back to his feet with
vicious pulls of the rope. He walked for a long time and couldn't tell
where he was being led. His heart pounded furiously in his chest from
the fear.

Before long he heard a strange, dismal sounding, subdued rumble, of
voices chanting in a peculiar language he had never heard before; and he
was being brought closer and closer to them, until finally he was before
them. The chant changed in its tone and rhythm, and all at once Kutkhay
felt himself being seized by many strong hands. And just as suddenly he
was hurled into the air, still bound and blindfolded. There was a
supernatural cry as he was flung upward. Again and again he was hurled
skyward, and each time the frightening roar resounded through the air
with him. Each time the boy was afraid that the hands wouldnÌt be there
to recapture him, and would instead allow him to fall to the ground in a
broken heap. Were they about to kill him and take his soul away with
them?

Abruptly the chanting ceased and the hands brought him all the way down
to the ground, this time forcing him to a kneeling position. His hood
was removed but one hand quickly forced his head to bow, and he was held
in that posture which prevented him from looking around. A deep, low
voice spoke, resonant and otherworldly. It made his blood run cold. The
voice began a series of commands, and when he heard the words were in
the plural form, Kutkhay realized he was not the only boy from the
village to be kidnapped. The voice ordered them not to speak to anyone
for any reason, and under no circumstances were they to allow even the
faintest moan of pain to escape from their lips. They were forbidden to
move from their places, even to look around. They were to obey precisely
every command, and react to nothing, "for, you now are dead!" the voice
concluded.

Kutkhay felt a long shudder ripple through his body when he heard this
was his fate, and he wanted to cry.  Now all the hands released their
holds on him and he felt abandoned to it.  That contact had seemed the
last thing that kept him tied to the world of the living. The silence
weighed heavily upon him. Then there was a thud, then another, and still
another; one after another from different directions all around him --
now from his right, now from his left -- then suddenly the mighty blow
of a tree branch landed on his back. He almost cried out, but,
remembering the instructions, he didn't let slip even a grunt. Meantime,
more of those dreadful sounds were heard all around him. Then the
silence once more. Two spears that seemed to come out of nowhere were
driven into the ground so close he felt them brush past him, and
remained vibrating.

A new chant was begun, barely audible, and solemn and forlorn in its
rhythm, a song much like those rendered for the dead, but again in the
strange language. Little by little it grew louder and more intense as it
rose into the air. Is this what it was like to be dead? Kutkhay didn't
like it at all. He was grabbed again, and while held in the same prone
position as before, he was lifted off the ground and carried away. Now
he could see the pale grey legs and feet of the spirits who held him,
and could see the ground pass beneath him, everything dimly lit by the
moon. They traveled slowly and deliberately, solemnly, as if
accompanying a corpse in its final homage. The funereal chant started
again, this time an indistinct rumble.

He was again set down on the ground. The voice proclaimed that a series
of trials was about to begin. At the end of these, whoever came through
them successfully would be reborn as an adult of their tribe. It was
clear at last to Kutkhay what was happening: this was the long-awaited
(and dreaded) initiation ceremony. He had a vague awareness of other
boys being present. The grip of fear in which he had been held was
diminishing somewhat now for the first time since his sleep was abruptly
interrupted; until suddenly, he felt his back and his arms and legs
being stung brutally, ceaselessly. His immediate inclination would have
been to escape this storm of stinging blows raining down upon him, or at
least to have tried to defend himself, but remembering the warning, he
instead gritted his teeth and screwed up his courage, remaining still,
keeping silent.

This torture lasted a long time, and just when the boy was asking
himself if he would be able to resist it any longer, it stopped. That
was when the voice began recounting the secret tales of his people.
After a time the voice fell silent. Then countless blows of sticks
landed upon his body while new strange voices, deep and echoing,
intoned: "Remember everything. Forget nothing!"

The voice returned to retell the tales again and again, alternating with
the tortuous blows and the commands to never forget. It went on
endlessly. Then a drum roll sounded and everything ceased, as if by
magic; all was silence yet again. A hand pushed him to the ground, and
he was left there curled up. Then nothing. Kutkhay barely breathed,
fearing what might be coming next, but it seemed nothing was happening.
His body was tense and wracked with pain and he felt deadly tired, so
little by little, his pitiable body relaxed and sleep welcomed him into
its arms.

He was awakened by a thunderous rolling of drums, and by kicks to his
body. He instinctively tried to protect himself but the ever-present
hands pulled his arms back, and he was hit again and again. He gave in,
surrendering to the inevitable. This was how the first day was passed.
The tales and the blows continued relentlessly, and he was given nothing
to eat the whole day long. In the evening, after a huge fire was lit,
Kutkhay was seized by the ashen figures and his entire body was painted
with red from the earth, the color of blood. At short intervals terrible
masks of the ancestors, mysterious and frightful, came into his field of
vision. The instruction ritual continued with its intervening songs and
trials throughout the second day, and the pangs of hunger grew ever more
severe.

On the third day he was separated from his contemporaries and led a
short distance to a clearing. He was required to carry out tests of
physical dexterity and endurance that, in his weakened condition, were
extremely arduous, but all of which, fortunately, he was able to
complete successfully.

During the night, one of the mysterious masked figures came out of the
darkness, shaking tiny bells, and the ghostly spirits ran away from it,
seemingly scared, leaving Kutkhay behind. This mysterious, terrifying
figure sat before the apprehensive boy and eventually began a more
personal education. When he explained to Kutkhay his heritage, the boy
came to understand the reason for his distinctive physical appearance.
His true father was from a far-off land and had arrived on one of the
mythical big floating houses. The foreigner was tall, with fair skin and
wavy hair, and he spoke a strange language known only to the shamans.
Kutkhay listened, quite astonished, while unfamiliar emotions struggled
within him. On one hand, he now felt truly different from the others,
which was troubling, yet on the other hand, he felt somehow a certain
pride. Within him flowed the blood of the mythical men who lived
somewhere over the sea.

The masked figure continued in his hoarse and resonant voice, "... but
now everything will be put right, and the seed of your ancestors will
live again inside you and give you the ability to sire," he said
solemnly, seeming to conclude his narrative. Then: "Now stand up, son."
Kutkhay stood up, staggering a little. "Turn around, kneel, and be
prepared to receive the sacred seed."

In his dreamlike condition, Kutkhay mechanically executed the order,
asking himself what trial awaited him this time. "Touch your forehead to
the ground and stretch your arms in front of you, and you must not move
for any reason, nor complain; and in your heart, thank the ancestors
from whom you shall receive the life seed."

The boy obeyed, quivering, resigning himself to receiving yet another
beating with sticks. However, what he felt instead was something cold
and slippery being smoothed between his little buttocks and against his
tiny hole. This sensation was followed by that of a slender stick
slipping into his hole and continuing to spread the slick coating deep
inside. Was this the seed? It was a little uncomfortable, but at the
same time it created an unfamiliar new sensation, indescribable, yet
both warm and cool.

Two hands grabbed him at the waist and instantly there was something
large and hard touching his butt-hole. It quickly impaled him and was
followed by a number of well-executed strokes. A scream of pain welled
up within him that he suppressed just in time. The pain was sharp,
excruciating, but slowly it diminished with each thrust while an
unusual, indistinct agitation took its place, expanding inside him
little by little. At first he wondered what it was penetrating him, and
then in his mindÌs eye, he pictured again the scene of Tumchey
penetrating his woman. Now he understood that he too was feeling the
same experience. The erect member of a man, big and hard, was what he
was feeling inside him.

The boy had become the defenseless recipient of a spectrum of new
sensations, all combining  pain with pleasure. His body trembled a
little in the struggle between the tension of fear and pain, and the
waves of pleasure and arousal that were taking possession of him. The
figure at his shoulder writhed inside him with conviction, and he
thought again of Tumchey and of his elegant body gleaming under the sun
with every pelvic thrust. The firm, virile member persisted vigorously
inside him for a long while, gradually increasing in pace and power
until he felt it pound into his depths where it quivered and grew
incredibly rigid; and the coarse voice said, in a rumble full of echoes,
"Receive in you the sacred seed of the ancestors!" At that moment,
Kutkhay cast his own seed upon the ground, without ever having touched
himself.

And then it was all over. The strong hands released him and the big
member slowly slid from his hole. He felt a sense of relief, but also an
odd sensation of emptiness and loneliness. Now he missed the contact,
however rough. Nothing happened. He let himself slip the rest of the way
to the ground, breathless. His mind and his body slowly calmed down, and
after awhile Kutkhay fell asleep, contented.

The next day he was led again by the masked figures to a large clearing
where his age-brothers were assembling. The gray spirits were nowhere to
be seen. The boys were left there alone, seated in a circle, silent,
motionless, not even looking at each other, and there they remained for
a very long time. Finally the men of the village arrived, led by the
shaman. He informed the initiates that the final part of the rite was to
begin now, and would continue until the new moon. Each boy was entrusted
to a mentor, who adorned his charge with the ornaments prepared by their
fathers.  The boys were paired off, then each couple was required to
build a hut and to find his own food in the surrounding area. They were
not to let anyone else see them, and were strictly forbidden in the
vicinity of the village.

On the second night of this new period each boy was again taken away,
and his body was again painted red. This time he was given a potion to
drink which had a strong, sour taste. Then, in turn, each boyÌs penis
was anointed with a green paste. Four men got down on all fours, close
together so as to form a kind of flesh bed, and one at a time each boy
was laid upon their backs, and here they were skillfully circumcised by
the shaman using a bright blade of black obsidian.

Kutkhay felt a brief but sharp twinge, and then to his utter amazement
their was almost a complete absence of feeling in the wake of this
shocking procedure. The shaman applied another pulpy vegetable compound
on the bleeding wound that stopped the flow of blood. He made the boy
stand up, then greeted him respectfully as an adult. Here he explained
to the youth the secret of his name, the real meaning of the name by
which he had always been called. Kutkhay was informed that his name, in
the secret language, means "goldfinch". He loved this so much; until
this day his name was nothing more than a meaningless sound. Now
magically, instantaneously, it acquired a special luster.

With their circumcised members bandaged, they were returned to their
mentors for further instruction. The next thing to be learned was the
secret language of the tribeÌs males. Then there was a series of
traditional concepts and procedures. The days passed fairly serenely,
although intense. When the newly circumcised penises had healed, the
initiates were made to wash during a special ceremony, and then at long
last, they got to wear their first loincloths. The final event was a big
celebration that featured a special banquet prepared by the senior
members of the village. Each boy was bestowed a low wooden stool,
distinguished according to social rank by how elaborately they were
carved,, that was forever after to be used during the official banquets
of the village. These boys, now men, would take their places in a
strictly fixed order, within the realm of their own age group.

Finally, they all returned to the village in procession, singing and and
dancing, their stools tied to their little behinds. Another grand
banquet was to be given, this time prepared by the women. When they
heard the procession coming, they started singing and dancing also. The
mothers of the new adults tried to approach their sons as they passed
through the village, to praise the rebirth. But the sons, in keeping
with their newly learned protocol, turned away from their mothers,
pretending indifference and assuming a new pride saying, "Your son is
dead, woman. I'm a new member of the tribe, come to take his place."

Kutkhay, even while respectful of the ritual, was glad to see his mother
again.

The youths took their places for the feast. The village chief presided,
proclaiming the official welcome and bestowing gifts to all the new
members of the tribe. These were their first personal possessions.
Kutkhay received his gifts: a necklace of pale pink shells, a very sharp
ax of flint, a small shiny knife. This last gift made him especially
happy. It certainly would have come from the legendary great boat,
perhaps even from the very man that had sired him! As he fondled the
bright blade, there was a faraway look in his eyes, then after raising
it to his forehead in the gesture of thanks, he affixed it to the
waistband of his loincloth.

Finally the elaborate banquet began, and for the first time, the youths
could speak freely and laugh aloud, and there immediately arose a merry
confusion of hundreds of voices. Kutkhay was a little dazed by the
change of attitude toward him by his relatives. Until a few days ago he
was always treated as a child, and now, instantly, as an adult. It was a
very agreeable feeling. It was deep into the night when the banquet
ended and Kutkhay could go back into his house and sleep. He was
exhausted, but his mind was a-buzz with a thousand emotions and images
and thoughts. It was impossible to follow everything, to concentrate, to
analyze, as was his penchant.

One thing, though, was crystal clear in his mind now: the gray,
ghost-like men, the "spirits," and the scary masked man-creatures, were
the male adults of the village. But he did not recognize a single one of
them -- apart, perhaps, from his brother Tumchey. But whoever was that
masked figure that gave him the sacred seed of the ancestors? He
couldn't imagine who it could have been, no matter how hard he tried to
figure it out. Outside, little by little, silence finally came to the
village, and Kutkhay at last felt himself slipping into a deep sleep.
His dreams were confusing, troubling, sometimes almost nightmares. In
one dream he saw the big boat, bigger than a house, and he tried to find
his true father. He called to him, but he didnÌt appear. Whenever he
cried out for him, the boat became enveloped in a dense veil of fog.

The next day he was awakened with a start, and for a moment he feared
that the trials were still going on. But he breathed a sigh of relief
when he saw that it was his father, calling him to go to work. Work! He
got up smiling, proud and pleased. He again took notice of how the women
addressed him as a man and not as a boy, even his mother. He had become
the object of the formal respect due all adult males. And the men
treated him as their peer, with camaraderie, as if he had always been
one of them. It was a good feeling indeed to be considered an adult, and
now there was the additional delight he felt as he gazed upon the little
kids, feeling just a little bit superior.

He followed his father to work, pretty excited. Cutting new boards for
the houses in the summer village still had to be finished. It wouldnÌt
be much longer, in fact, before the tribe would be moving. Kutkhay had
the stamina to work the whole day, but by the evening he was really
tired. But happier than ever before.

There was something else to mark the change in his status. It was the
fact that his family now started having discussions regarding his
marriage. Every time any two adults among his closer relatives met,
inevitably they talked of the various prospective young women, and
considered the pros and cons of each. He, of course, was never
consulted, but neither did they speak of these things behind his back.
So now Kutkhay started looking with new eyes at the girls who might be
chosen for his wife. He wasn't actually attracted to anyone in
particular, but there certainly were some he hoped he wouldnÌt have to
marry, while there were others he could accept without reservation.
Meanwhile, his family prepared the gifts to be given to the prospective
parents of whoever was to become his wife.

Eventually the eldest brother of KutkhayÌs mother made his determination
and passed his choice on to the youthÌs parents, who immediately agreed.
The uncle went to the house of the chosen one, bringing with him some of
the gifts, while the boy remained back at his house. When the man
returned a while later he said, "They say they must give thought to this
matter. I shall go again tomorrow for an answer."

Kutkhay was neither happy nor unhappy with their choice, but rather
indifferent, so he didn't know whether to hope the request was refused
or accepted. The uncle's missions continued for several days, until at
last the girl's parents invited KutkhayÌs parents. During the time they
waited it was necessary for Kutkhay to avoid her family, and especially
the girl, so he often found himself taking strange detours or changing
his usual course as he moved about. They all wore their finest garments
to the afternoon meal, and arrived bearing even more gifts. When at last
an agreement was reached, Kutkhay put on a new loincloth and given new,
fine ornaments, and was led to the house of his promised wife.

The young couple sat facing each other, both visibly embarrassed. They
exchanged ritual phrases. Although the families would now and then pay a
compliment, mostly they competed in praising their own child while
disparaging the other's, and exchanged insults among themselves. It was
all part of the ritual, as custom demanded. Nobody felt offended.

There was a moment when the girl whispered to Kutkhay. "Tomorrow I'm
going to look for berries near the big tree split by the thunderbolt."

"Exactly where I thought to go hunting..." Kutkhay said in response,
assuming it the appropriate one.

"Speak aloud, you two! No secrets from your families!" someone shouted.

"I was merely complimenting her fine ornaments," Kutkhay answered
quickly as the girl giggled in embarrassment.

The ritual meal ended; Kutkhay and his family went back home. Kutkhay
was happy that at least for the moment everything was over. The next
significant thing he had to do was meet the girl in secret and have
intercourse with her repeatedly until she became pregnant. That
accomplishment would be necessary for the couple to have their wedding
and live together. Of course the elders all knew perfectly well about
those "secret" encounters, but pretended not to notice. Nevertheless,
for Kutkhay and the girl, when those clandestine meetings occurred it
was all very real.

Later, KutkhayÌs uncle took him aside to explain in detail how the
sexual act with a girl is performed. The youth already knew almost
everything of which his uncle spoke, having witnessed countless times
the shadows of his parents as they coupled in the dark, and more
notably, having spied on Tumchey from his perch in the tree. However, he
instinctively felt he shouldnÌt say anything about what he knew, so he
pretended this was all new to him. His uncle seemed to be convinced by
his reactions; he talked at length, and not without an underlying but
obvious hint of vanity Ò even pride -- in his references to his own
skills.

That evening, he went to the beach to bathe. Mokoa was there. For some
time now they were only able to observe each other from a distance. They
fell into conversation immediately, eagerly exchanging confidences. It
was good having an intimate friend with whom to share their innermost
thoughts. Kutkhay wanted to do more than just talk with his friend. It
had been too long, and he would love the chance to play a little with
his friend, but the shore was too close to the houses. This was not the
time to risk it. However, it was enough just to be this close to him
once more, and to be able to gaze upon and admire his fine body, even
now with the new loincloth hiding the most beautiful, most fascinating
parts.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3

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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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