Ara’s Man

I had to screw Ara's man because she killed my puppy. I did it anyhow, even though his mouth was still sore after the tooth extraction and he tasted awful. I had no choice.

He then told me a story of a boy from his section of the land who stole an arrowhead from a neighboring tribe, which he recounted me with tears in his eyes. They apprehended the youngster and fed him river white clay until he erupted. There were blood and bones everywhere, as well as ropes of shining pink organs. This was back when there was hardly enough cannabis to eat and no meat to eat, not even a mouse.

It was his grandfather’s arrowhead. He had to get it back.

Why would the clan destroy him for stealing an arrowhead when there was nothing to kill?

It wasn’t about the arrowhead, not to them.

Why are you telling me this?

Ara’s man didn’t reply, only shrank back and buried his face in his hands.

The men prepared two fat and gray boars for the summer solstice feast. For the second one, I'd led the hunt and received the head meat as is customary. I didn't sleep for four days during the stakeout. It was my first hunt without my dog, and it was nearly fatal.

Ara's boyfriend approached me in the dark and placed his head in my lap as the dance began. His cheekbones protruded like knuckles in a fist, and he had become much thinner. He gazed down at my toes. I've been sick for five days and haven't eaten.

I tossed him a bit of flesh wrapped in my pelt with trepidation, but I prevented him from sharing it with Ara. I reminded him that I could have ended both of you.

My knee-high child awoke me the next afternoon. I'd consumed much too much mead and was still tired after the hunt. I staggered out of my cave and came face to face with Ara and her man. Her face was a complete disaster. I had no idea she was that unattractive. I fought the impulse to punch her for intruding into my space and causing me discomfort.

She started crying and yelling, but I couldn't comprehend a word she said. Slow down, you stupid, I murmured, but in hushed tones so as not to irritate her.

She shook her head angrily and threw a huge bag at my feet. A heap of hoary, pointy bones with their ends gone. She threw a pelt over the pile and shoved her boyfriend in my direction. Like a dry old stick, he was all sandpaper and sinew.

I shook my head. I don’t want him. Pitiful thing, really awful, the way he wept. Ara turned and walked off without a second glance. Her man swept the bones into the pelt and followed me into my cave.

The rains began to fall, and the valley began to bloom. Food became more readily available. I didn't stop missing my dog.

My friend Lev put up with Ara's man for a lot longer than I imagined. But when I arrived one evening, I discovered Ara's man beside the praying rock, wearing a braided grass rope around his neck and Lev's hands bleeding. My little one was wailing. Lev bared his teeth and turned at Ara's guy. Get out there and find your own fucking cave.

Ara’s man looked at Lev, at me, then back to Lev. He looked at my son and paused, then gathered up his things and left.

It had been five days. I resumed my search. I climbed the hill to the vantage point that looked out over our region in the hopes of spotting Ara in the borderlands. When she and her man were robbing, they settled near the left-most edge of the cliff after failing to beg their way into our tribe. A white material had been strewn on the cliff, and I remembered the story of the exploding child who had been forced to eat clay. As the rocks tumbled downward, I kicked them loose and watched them form long lines of dust. I strewn arrowheads across the valley floor. Nothing changed. Ara's man wasn't going to last long. Without a bow, arrowheads were useless.

The tangle of clouds parted abruptly, illuminating the valley. Sunbeams shone down on a figure lying in the long grass, either injured or sleeping. A bag of bones encased in a man's skin. A pelt sat next him.

I felt a strange sensation that I didn't recognize. It wasn't exactly like the fifth time I came home empty-handed from a hunt, or the day I turned away from my screaming infant as he sought for my breast. Not like the panic of a midnight raid, when all you can do is flee. I wanted to leave, but now that I'd found him, I couldn't. I mumbled something to the spirits and looked up at the sky for signs.

I don't know what more I could do. I pulled an arrow from my bow and raised it. I went for the top of the head. And as I let go, I prayed that one day our species would find a solution to the agony of our unfortunate lot that was more than pity.