The Uprights, page 45
But not move to a new hiding place among the rocks. There is nothing he can do on this shoreline to save himself. How did he think it was possible? Don’t the hunters know every rock, every step, every ruse? Isn’t he one and aren’t they many? Isn’t he trying to save just two uprights and aren’t they attempting to save their whole clan?
And another thing. While his eyes were shut, he came to yet another understanding, that whatever he said to Wuhn, however clear his instructions, she would never be able to swim back to him. Not because she is too tired or weak, nor because she is frightened of falling into the hands of the hunters – all of which is likely to be true – but because she wouldn’t be able to swim against the wind. She managed to swim from the shore to the island because the wind was helping her. To try and swim in the other direction, against the waves and the wind is impossible. So she’s on the island and he’s on the shore and only one thing can bring them together.
Somehow he has to swim across five stones’ throw distance of water, when he has never been out of his depth before. Well, he can’t swim, but that doesn’t matter because he can still get to her. He will become a tree. No, that’s not quite right. He can no more become a tree than learn to propel himself through water like a fish. But he will become like a tree. And he will cross the water like a fish. Isn’t that what he learned when he was drawing in the dust. If he drew real things, the drawings themselves became real. That’s what he can do now. Maybe what any upright can do if he knows how. Draw lakes and islands and hills in the dust. Then stand up and look down, just as the sun looks down. It is as if it’s real. The same thing applies to the lake. Not that he has to draw it. But he does have to think and thinking is part of drawing. So he will search along the rock face until he comes across a floating tree. Maybe many trees, a clump, would be better. Then, he will try and push himself into the middle, kicking out with his legs, so that the whole lot drifts away from the cliff. He will look like a tree. As far as any hunter is concerned, he will be a tree. Then, when he and the other trees are in open water, the wind and the waves will catch hold of them and push them all towards the island. The twigs and leaves will make him look like a tree. The wind and waves will make him move like a fish. But when he gets to the island and finds Wuhn, he will become an upright again. A male upright, who has risked his life for his female. But maybe he will be more than just that. If he can become a tree, glide through the water like a fish and look down on his drawing like the sun, he is more than a mere upright. What will Wuhn say when he tells her that?
20
Trusting the Wind
Slowly and carefully Dhi climbs down to the lake, stopping when a cloud covers the moon, and climbing over and around the rocks when he can see where to put his hands and feet. And all the time he listens for the hunters. He can still hear them – or at least he can still hear the call of birds – but they are to one side, not between him and the water. Clearly, they don’t know where he is: soon, if all goes well, they will never know.
As he makes progress towards his goal, he works out what to do. Find a gap in the rocks wide enough for his body and a low area of pebbles shelving into the lake. That way, he doesn’t have to jump from a height, and risk allowing his nose and mouth to go into the water.
And, as happens so often, because he asks for something, he gets what he wants. A ledge of smaller stones jammed between larger stones. A foothold of temporary firmness and safety before he steps back into the unknowing depths of the lake. A place to give him a chance to delay – to change his mind – to lose heart. Only he does none of those things. Without a pause, he’s up to his knees in the water. Another breath and it laps around his neck. He’s on his own now, but he is still no more than one body’s length from the rock-face. If he ever thought of walking to the island, he now puts it out of his mind. The water is much too deep for that. Too deep for any upright. But he’s not going to cross the water as an upright – he is going to cross the water as a tree. Or he will, as soon as he can find one to support him.
Didn’t he see fallen trees and branches before? They would have been ideal, except … except they are between his present position and the hunters – the wrong direction altogether. Now he remembers something else. Even if he could reach them unheard and unseen, they wouldn’t be of any use. They were blocking his watery path at the time and he pushed them, bobbing and bouncing, into open water. They would be too far away for him now.
It’s a pity he didn’t think of going with them then: he – and they – would be on the island by now. But he didn’t and that means he has to find some more.
*****
Soon he is well out of his depth, and if each arm wasn’t wrapped round a tree and he wasn’t able to keep his face above the surface of the water, he would be dead. So after all, he found his trees and managed to kick and splash them away from the rocks. Two massive and heavy trees, yet he, just one small upright, has been able to give them life, prise them away from the others, separate them for his body and then push them towards his destination. He’s done what he can: now it’s the turn of the wind.
What’s making him feel so cold? Is it the wind, blowing gently around his neck and shoulders, or the water, sucking fiercely on his lower parts? It doesn’t matter. He has escaped from the hunters, left the shore and is on his way to the island. Soon he will find Wuhn and warm himself up. Wuhn. In all his thoughts about the lake and the trees and the wind, he has almost forgotten why he is doing all this. To find his female, comfort her and take her back to their cave, of course. But is she still on the island? He cannot know for sure. Nor does he know whether she will return to the settlement with him: he has heard of females preferring to stay in the forest with the runaways, if the alternative is to strangle the infant they are carrying. Well, he wants her to come back: she – they – can have others.
He manages to keep his head above what he fears so much, yet he is gasping noisily for breath. Dhi just hopes the hunters aren’t looking in his direction, because if they are, they are bound to work out what he is doing. Nor fail to hit him if they start throwing their stones – of course it’s dark, but he is still so near. But nothing smashes into his skull, there are no shouts of frustrated fury from the shore and no change to the background call of birds. So in spite of everything, he must have made good his escape and with every gust of wind, he drifts further away from danger. Indeed, if he has thought about it correctly, the island should soon block his way. Stop him drifting into the vast blackness of the rest of the lake. Allow him to live and with his life preserved, save Wuhn. He turns his head to have a better look. The shadow of the island must be where it was. Where he wants it to be. Where he wills it to be. The light is still poor, but he can see clearly enough that it isn’t. It’s to one side, certainly closer to him than when he looked from the shore, but to one side. That’s no good. He has to go straight for it, or he will miss it altogether. The trees didn’t protest when they were moved from their resting place by the rock face. Don’t complain now they are supporting his full weight. What about the wind, then? It blew him away from the hunters. If it did that, why isn’t it pushing him towards Wuhn? It must know where he wants to go. If the trees are doing his bidding so loyally, why isn’t the wind? They must. And soon. He is getting colder and colder.
He asked himself before whether Wuhn will want to come with him – well it was Mahr who put that to him – but another question occurs to him without the worker’s help: does he still want her? After everything she has been through, she can hardly be the same female who, so long ago it seems, teased him to despair, and at the same time, made him feel so strong. And when she tormented and disobeyed him, for reasons he never understood, he was never cross with her. On the contrary, he was always – well nearly always – happy. No, more than that, she made him feel he was the male he could never quite manage to be on his own. The son his father always wanted him to be. The hunter capable of leading the family. But now things are different. For so long on her own, without the protection of a mate, she must have been attacked by one male after the other, her body abused and bloodied. And her spirit? How can it be anything other than destroyed? That’s not how he wants her. Like that, she won’t be able to make him feel the way he did.
If only he didn’t feel so cold.
Thinking of Wuhn like this makes him remember his father. Not just the character of Tahk, but all the things he did, especially standing on the ledge, his back to the cave, his nostrils wide-open, and his eyes alert and inquisitive. Remember too, what he would say. About the distant forest and its many smells. The colours of the sky. But also the wind. He didn’t take much notice of it at the time. Sometimes the wind was cold and sometimes it was hot, sometimes it blew from the south and sometimes it blew from the north, but there was nothing Tahk – or any upright – could do about it. But that didn’t stop Tahk doing the same thing every morning. Nor stop him telling his sons what he saw and what he thought. He should have listened with more interest then, because now he knows how important it was. How important it is, now that his life depends on the wind blowing him towards the island. And not right past it.
He starts to shiver uncontrollably.
Maybe he should have also listened to Gouhpat. The elder didn’t want him to leave the family, not when it had endured such hardship, witnessed such terrible killings and was as hungry as ever. How could he go after just one female, when he was needed to look after so many? Not just females, but also the very old and the very young. The young hunters too. They all depended on him. And he let them down. For what? A memory. A mate who might not come back with him. A female who is no longer the same as the one he knew. And Mahr. He never understood his leader’s determination to make the perilous journey either. Didn’t he keep asking why Dhi would risk his life for one female, when he had three others waiting for him? And as many more as he might, as the new leader, want. Turn back, he used to say, before we get lost. Turn back, before we get killed. He didn’t, of course, but perhaps he should have listened with more care. Now, it’s too late.
All he can do is shake but as it gets worse, somehow, mysteriously, he feels less and less. His body is going numb.
Now that wind is blowing more strongly and their course is set, Dhi can see clearly he and the trees are going to miss the island. Not by much – perhaps by no more than half a stone’s throw – but it might as well as be the whole, immeasurable length of the lake so far as his ability to change direction is concerned. Change direction. Can he do that? Make the trees drift towards the island, instead of sliding by it. What would Tahk, with his knowledge of the sun and the wind, have done in his position? What would Wuhn, with her confidence in the water, do if she was here? What about the fish all around him? They flap their tails and go where they want. But fish don’t have legs and feet and toes like him. Or a body that drops straight down towards the bottom of the lake, and a head and shoulders that point upward towards the sky. Nor do they hold onto great trunks of wood to stop them sinking. He looks at the island again. It’s getting so near. Even so he will miss it. Soon he will pass it by and all hope will be gone. Soon, but not just yet. If he is going to do anything, he has to do it now. Immediately. Stop being an upright. Stop being a tree. He must let go, drop into the water, and splash his arms and legs up and down. Only by becoming a fish will he reach the island.
He doesn’t want to do that, but it’s his only chance.
As soon as he relaxes his grip, a small wave slaps him in the face. That’s all right. What he knew would happen. Why he shut his eyes and mouth. He’s wet, but still alive. He has to get lower still. He saw how Wuhn managed to swim all the way to the island. He has watched fish. He knows what to do. Let go more. Get in deeper. It’s best if he doesn’t look. Then he won’t be so frightened. But he also has to watch the waves in case they threaten to go over his head. How do fish breathe and see under the water? How does Wuhn do it? He must find out or he will die.
As he drops lower, he loses his grip on the trees. Now the water is up to his shoulders. Lapping the back of his neck. Soon it will be in his ears. He has never been so deep before, not even when he was standing in the shallows of their lake, bending down and all the other young males were daring each other to go lower. He always lost. Not because he lacked courage, but because he could never work out how to breathe and then dip under the water, which is what they told him to do. Breathe first and then dip. They could do it. Wuhn could do it so well she went into water deeper than her own height. But not him. Ducking his head under the water always made him feel as if he was going into his last blackness. And the only way not to die was to breathe. But when he breathed under water, he choked. And would have died had he not stood up immediately.
He can’t feel his feet now. Nor his legs. If he was on dry land, he wouldn’t be able to stand.
He is definitely drifting past the island. He has to let go of the trees altogether, become a fish, or he is dead. He has no choice. Well, there is a choice, although he doesn’t like the alternative any better. Hold onto the trees and die later, alone, in the middle of the lake. No, that’s not what he wants. Not what he will allow to happen. He isn’t going to die in the middle of the lake. Or near the island. He isn’t going to die anywhere. Not when he has come so far. When he is so near Wuhn. So near, he can feel her strength in his body. She might not know where he is, or be able to do anything to help him, but her playfulness, her laughter and her strange ways are urging him on. Pulling him towards her. Giving him confidence he can stop being a tree and become a fish. He is going to do it. Soon. Very soon. He already knows he has to splash his arms and kick his legs. There’s just one more thing he has to master. How not to breathe in the water.
His body is colder than it has ever been before. Colder than it was when the bitterest winds from the north blew into their settlement. Colder than he was when he and his older brothers climbed their hill, stayed too long, forgot about the coming of darkness and had to spend the night on the summit without any food. Well, he is a hunter and not a young one now, but he has no food now either. Maybe that is why he is so cold. Why he can no longer feel his feet – no, the whole length of his legs up to his waist. They’re so cold, they must be dead. Soon, his whole body will be dead. He can’t delay anymore. He is going to let go and become a fish.
It must be now.
He finally releases his grip and sinks under the water. At first, he feels all right. Maybe that’s because he shut his eyes and mouth, and doesn’t really care what happens to his ears. Why then does he try and breathe through his nose at the very moment when this is impossible? Why doesn’t he wait until his head bobs up again? – he knows this is what he should have done. But he doesn’t. It’s the same as it always is. The same as it was when he was young. He has got older, but nothing has changed. His friends told him what to do, but he didn’t listen. He told himself what to do and he ignored that too. Now, it’s happening again. As soon as he can’t breathe, he wants to breathe. Except uprights can’t breathe under water. He starts to cough and choke, and that makes him open his mouth. Now water gets in there too, making him cough and choke even more. If he was rising to the surface before, he isn’t now. He is sinking deeper into the blackness. And that is even colder.
He’s dying, but he isn’t dead yet. Or is he? His body is colder than the water. Colder than the winds from the north. Colder than uprights become when they are put to their long rest. He is too cold to shiver. Too cold to feel. Too cold to live. Yet his mind is still working. Like it always does. No, not like it always does. It can’t think of anything. Not of the past. Certainly not the future. Or where he is. What he must do. It can think only of the coldness eating his body until nothing exists. But it does exist because something – is it some kind of beast? – is pounding and pounding against the bones of his chest. Trying to get out. Trying to get the surface. And what he knows as fear, but is so much greater than how he felt when he saw his first lion, spreads in an instant, from its starting place, to every part of his non-existent, lifeless body. To the ends of toes that have long since died. To muscles and bones that are quite incapable of movement. To eyes that are blind, ears that are deaf and a tongue that has lost its speech. He is nothing now. Nothing but a pounding and a coldness, and the inside and outside of a terrible fear.
He can’t – and doesn’t – do anything. Not with his mind. Not with any conscious effort. Not with any plan of survival. Yet he does. At least, he starts coughing again, and as he coughs, he comes back to life. Well, sort of life, because he can, for reasons he cannot understand, now suck in some air with the mouthfuls’ of water. How can he do that when he is more in the water than out? He can’t, but just as his breathing, independently of anything he thinks or does, is struggling to come back to life, so do his arms and hands. And without being powered or controlled in any way, they reach out and grab hold of one of the trees. But as his upper limbs try and pull the rest of his body towards safety, the tree rolls over, straining, weakening and then breaking his grip. He goes under the water again. But now his arms know where to look and what to do, because when they next touch the tree, they decide to wrap themselves around the whole trunk. The only problem is, that to do that, he has to heave himself half-way out of the water. Who then tells his non-existent legs to kick out? It’s certainly not Dhi.
