The Gathering Night Read Online Free Page A

Camp there’s always news that young men have died. They die at sea when they fish far out; they die hunting bear or boar or a stag in rut; they die in spring when they climb the sea cliffs; they die killing one another. When they kill each other it’s either because of a woman, or in a brawl at the Gathering. But when Bakar was lost the Gathering was long over and we were all in our winter Camps. There were no women to be had when we were alone at River Mouth Camp, and no groups of young men to goad one another into foolishness. Bakar wouldn’t have strayed into another family’s hunting grounds from River Mouth Camp. Why should he? There were plenty of Animals where we were, and if he had gone further, why then he’d have had to carry the meat all the way back home, and what would have been the point of that? And if others had come into our winter grounds, then surely I’d have found signs of them in my wanderings.
    Young men must die.
    But not my son! Every mother thinks that: ‘not my son!’ Some mothers have sons to spare. My sister Sorné has five sons, and never lost one. I had only one, and he’d gone.
    If young men didn’t die there’d be too many. If some didn’t die People would grow dangerous, subject to the violent spirit of youth. Young men must die, just as young Animals must die when we hunt them. If there weren’t so much death we’d all perish, and not be able to come back. I’d always known that young men must die. But not my son!
    In Dark Moon, after Bakar was lost, the world grew strange around me. I began to see things that had been hidden – small movements out of the corner of my eye, shadows of other presences. Sometimes I stretched my hand out into the dark, full of longing – for what I didn’t know – but whatever it was slipped from under my touch. In every breath I took I heard an echo. The more I strained to hear, the faster it faded away. The chat and clatter of my family grated on me. I couldn’t listen – I couldn’t watch – I couldn’t answer the call I heard so clearly in my dreams. I had to get away from other People. Something new was happening to me. But I never thought – I was only an old woman – the wife of my husband – the mother of my children – what was I, after all? I never – not yet – not then – I never thought, ‘Go-Between’.
    Alaia said:
    When Bakar didn’t come back, my mother kept going away, often for several nights. She never brought back food or firewood. She grew haggard, and would hardly speak to us. We all mourned Bakar. But my mother made it difficult for us. I felt guilty because I ate and slept. She made me feel I oughtn’t to gather food, or scrape hides, or prepare the winter house, or even talk to my father or husband or sister, because Bakar wasn’t there. She made me feel as if I oughtn’t to be alive.
    I felt as if I didn’t have a mother any more. I was afraid of dying. I was pleased – of course I was pleased – that I was carrying Amets’ baby. The first Year we were together I didn’t get pregnant. I was glad when at last I did, but as the winter drew on, and my belly grew bigger, I began to dream about dying. I knew that if I’d been the one to die, not Bakar, I’d have been like a stone that sinks with scarcely a ripple. Every young mother dreams about death, and sometimes it turns out to be true. I wanted my mother to care about me. I’ve known some women whose mothers never left them alone when they were pregnant, always giving advice and bringing in special foods. You remember when Itsaso left her family and went away with her man’s People after the Gathering because she couldn’t stand her mother fussing over her? Haizea and I never had a problem like that. But when I was waiting for Esti, and my mother was mourning Bakar, I was angry that she didn’t