Keeper of Dreams Read online

  “I wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to weep for a year and then make an image of you out of sticks and burn it.”

  “You should have,” he said.

  “Your son wouldn’t let me.” As she spoke, she touched her belly.

  “Son? Has some god told you who he is?”

  “He came to me himself in a dream, and he said, ‘Don’t let my father go without me.’ So I brought him to you.”

  “I don’t want him, son or daughter.” But he knew even as he said it that it wasn’t true.

  She didn’t know it, though. Her eyes welled with tears and she sank down into the grass. “Good, then,” she said. “Go on with your journey. I’m sorry the god led me near you, so you had to be bothered.” She sank back in the grass. Seeing the faint gleam of light reflected from her skin awoke feelings that Naog was now ashamed of, memories of how she had taught him the easing of a man’s passion.

  “I can’t walk off and leave you.”

  “You already did,” she said. “So do it again. I need to sleep now.”

  “You’ll be torn by animals and eaten.”

  “Let them,” she said. “You never chose me, Derku man, I chose you. I invited this baby into my body. Now if we die here in the grass, what is that to you? All you care about is not having to watch. So don’t watch. Go. The sky is getting light. Run on ahead. If we die, we die. We’re nothing to you anyway.”

  Her words made him ashamed. “I left you knowing you and the baby would be safe, at home. Now you’re here and you aren’t safe, and I can’t walk away from you.”

  “So run,” she said. “I was your wife, and this was your son, but in your heart we’re already dead anyway.”

  “I didn’t bring you because you’d have to learn the Derku language. It’s much harder than your language.”

  “I would have had to learn it anyway, you fool,” she said. “The baby inside me is a Derku man like you. How would I get him to understand me, if I didn’t learn Derku talk?”

  Naog wanted to laugh aloud at her hopeless ignorance. But then, how would she know? Naog had seen the children of captives and knew that in Derku lands they grew up speaking the Derku language, even when both parents were from another tribe that had not one word of Derku language in it. But Zawada had never seen the babies of strangers; her tribe captured no one, went on no raids, but rather lived at peace, moving from place to place, gathering whatever the earth or the sea had to offer them. How could she match even a small part of the great knowledge of the Derku, who brought the whole world within their city?

  He wanted to laugh, but he did not laugh. Instead he watched over her as she slept, as the day waxed and waned. As the sun rose he carried her to the tree to sleep in the shade. Keeping his eye open for animals prowling near her, he gathered such leaves and seeds and roots as the ground offered the traveler at this time of year. Twice he came back and found her breath rasping and noisy; then he made her wake enough to drink a little of his water, but she was soon asleep, water glistening on her chin.

  At last in the late afternoon, with the air hot and still, he squatted down in the grass beside her and woke her for good, showing her the food. She ate ravenously, and when she was done, she embraced him and called him the best of the gods because he didn’t leave her to die after all.

  “I’m not a god,” he said, baffled.

  “All my people know you are a god, from a land of gods. So large, so powerful, so good. You came to us so you could have a human baby. But this baby is only half human. How will he ever be happy, living among us, never knowing the gods?”

  “You’ve seen the Heaving Sea, and you call me a god?”

  “Take me with you to the land of the Derku. Let me give birth to your baby there. I will leave it with your mother and your sisters, and I will go home. I know I don’t belong among the gods, but my baby does.”

  In his heart, Naog wanted to say yes, you’ll stay only till the baby is born, and then you’ll go home. But he remembered her patience as he learned the language of her people. He remembered the sweet language of the night, and the way he had to laugh at how she tried to act like a grown woman when she was only a child, and yet she couldn’t act like a child because she was, after all, now a woman. Because of me she is a woman, thought Naog, and because of her and her people I will come home a man. Do I tell her she must go away, even though I know that the others will think she’s ugly as I thought she was ugly?

  And she is ugly, thought Naog. Our son, if he is a son, will be ugly like her people, too. I will be ashamed of him. I will be ashamed of her.

  Is a man ashamed of his firstborn son?

  “Come home with me to the land of the Derku,” said Naog. “We will tell them together about the Heaving Sea, and how one day soon it will leap over the low walls of sand and pour into this great plain in a flood that will cover the Derku lands forever. There will be a great migration. We will move, all of us, to the land my father found. The crocodiles live there also, along the banks of the Nile.”

  “Then you will truly be the greatest among the gods,” she said, and the worship in her eyes made him proud and ill-at-ease, both at once. Yet how could he deny that the Derku were gods? Compared to her poor tribe, they would seem so. Thousands of people living in the midst of their own canals; the great fields of planted grain stretching far in every direction; the great wall of earth surrounding the Great Derku; the seedboats scattered like strange soft boulders; the children riding their dragonboats through the canals; a land of miracles to her. Where else in all the world had so many people learned to live together, making great wealth where once there had been only savannah and floodplain?

  We live like gods, compared to other people. We come like gods out of nowhere, to carry off captives the way death carries people off. Perhaps that is what the life after death is like—the real gods using us to dredge their canals. Perhaps that is what all of human life is for, to create slaves for the gods. And what if the gods themselves are also raided by some greater beings yet, carrying them off to raise grain in some unimaginable garden? Is there no end to the capturing?

  There are many strange and ugly captives in Derku, thought Naog. Who will doubt me if I say that this woman is my captive? She doesn’t speak the language, and soon enough she would be used to the life. I would be kind to her, and would treat her son well—I would hardly be the first man to father a child on a captive woman.

  The thought made him blush with shame.

  “Zawada, when you come to the Derku lands, you will come as my wife,” he said. “And you will not have to leave. Our son will know his mother as well as his father.”

  Her eyes glowed. “You are the greatest and kindest of the gods.”

  “No,” he said, angry now, because he knew very well just exactly how far from “great” and “kind” he really was, having just imagined bringing this sweet, stubborn, brave girl into captivity. “You must never call me a god again. Ever. There is only one god, do you understand me? And it is that god that lives inside the Heaving Sea, the one that brought me to see him and sent me back here to warn my people. Call no one else a god, or you can’t stay with me.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Is there room in the world for only one god?”

  “When did a crocodile ever bury a whole land under water forever?” Naog laughed scornfully. “All my life I have thought of the Great Derku as a terrible god, worthy of the worship of brave and terrible men. But the Great Derku is just a crocodile. It can be killed with a spear. Imagine stabbing the Heaving Sea. We can’t even touch it. And yet the god can lift up that whole sea and pour it over the wall into this plain. That isn’t just a god. That is God.”

  She looked at him in awe; he wondered whether she understood. And then realized that she could not possibly have understood, because half of what he said was in the Derku language, since he didn’t even know enough words in her language to think of these thoughts, let alone say them.

  Her body was young and strong, even
with a baby inside it, and the next morning she was ready to travel. He did not run now, but even so they covered ground quickly, for she was a sturdy walker. He began teaching her the Derku language as they walked, and she learned well, though she made the words sound funny, as so many captives did, never able to let go of the sounds of their native tongue, never able to pronounce the new ones.

  Finally he saw the mountains that separated the Derku lands from the Salty Sea, rising from the plain. “Those will be islands,” said Naog, realizing it for the first time. “The highest ones. See? They’re higher than the shelf of land we’re walking on.”

  Zawada nodded wisely, but he knew that she didn’t really understand what he was talking about.

  “Those are the Derku lands,” said Naog. “See the canals and the fields?”

  She looked, but seemed to see nothing unusual at all. “Forgive me,” she said, “but all I see are streams and grassland.”

  “But that’s what I meant,” said Naog. “Except that the grasses grow where we plant them, and all we plant is the grass whose seed we grind into meal. And the streams you see—they go where we want them to go. Vast circles surrounding the heart of the Derku lands. And there in the middle, do you see that hill?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “We build that hill every year, after the floodwater.”

  She laughed. “You tell me that you aren’t gods, and yet you make hills and streams and meadows wherever you want them!”

  Naog set his face toward the Engu portion of the great city. “Come home with me,” he said.

  Since Zawada’s people were so small, Naog had not realized that he had grown even taller during his manhood journey, but now as he led his ugly wife through the outskirts of the city, he realized that he was taller than everyone. It took him by surprise, and at first he was disturbed because it seemed to him that everyone had grown smaller. He even said as much to Zawada—“They’re all so small”—but she laughed as if it were a joke. Nothing about the place or the people seemed small to her.

  At the edge of the Engu lands, Naog hailed the boys who were on watch. “Hai!”

  “Hai!” they called back.

  “I’ve come back from my journey!” he called.

  It took a moment for them to answer. “What journey was this, tall man?”

  “My manhood journey. Don’t you know me? Can’t you see that I’m Naog?”

  The boys hooted at that. “How can you be naked when you have your napron on?”

  “Naog is my manhood name,” said Naog, quite annoyed now, for he had not expected to be treated with such disrespect on his return. “You probably know of me by my baby-name. They called me Glogmeriss.”

  They hooted again. “You used to be trouble, and now you’re naked!” cried the bold one. “And your wife is ugly, too!”

  But now Naog was close enough that the boys could see how very tall he was. Their faces grew solemn.

  “My father is Twerk,” said Naog. “I return from my manhood journey with the greatest tale ever told. But more important than that, I have a message from the god who lives in the Heaving Sea. When I have given my message, people will include you in my story. They will say, ‘Who were the five fools who joked about Naog’s name, when he came to save us from the angry god?’ ”

  “Twerk is dead,” said one of the boys.

  “The Dragon took him,” said another.

  “He was head of the clan, and then the Great Derku began eating human flesh again, and your father gave himself to the Dragon for the clan’s sake.”

  “Are you truly his son?”

  Naog felt a gnawing pain that he did not recognize. He would soon learn to call it grief, but it was not too different from rage. “Is this another jest of yours? I’ll break your heads if it is.”

  “By the blood of your father in the mouth of the beast, I swear that it’s true!” said the boy who had earlier been the boldest in his teasing. “If you’re his son, then you’re the son of a great man!”

  The emotion welled up inside him. “What does this mean?” cried Naog. “The Great Derku does not eat the flesh of men! Someone has murdered my father! He would never allow such a thing!” Whether he meant it was his father or the Great Derku who would never allow it even Naog did not know.

  The boys ran off then, before he could strike out at them for being the tellers of such an unbearable tale. Zawada was the only one left, to pat at him, embrace him, try to soothe him with her voice. She abandoned the language of the Derku and spoke to him soothingly in her own language. But all Naog could hear was the news that his father had been fed to the Great Derku as a sacrifice for the clan. The old days were back again, and they had killed his father. His father, and not even a captive!

  Others of the Engu, hearing what the boys were shouting about, brought him to his mother. Then he began to calm down, hearing her voice, the gentle reassurance of the old sound. She, at least, was unchanged. Except that she looked older, yes, and tired. “It was your father’s own choice,” she explained to him. “After floodwater this year the Great Derku came into the pen with a human baby in its jaws. It was a two-year-old boy of the Ko clan, and it happened he was the firstborn of his parents.”

  “This means only that Ko clan wasn’t watchful enough,” said Naog.

  “Perhaps,” said his mother. “But the holy men saw it as a sign from the god. Just as we stopped giving human flesh to the Great Derku when he refused it, so now when he claimed a human victim, what else were we to think?”

  “Captives, then. Why not captives?”

  “It was your own father who said that if the Great Derku had taken a child from the families of the captives, then we would sacrifice captives. But he took a child from one of our clans. What kind of sacrifice is it, to offer strangers when the Great Derku demanded the meat of the Derku people?”

  “Don’t you see, Mother? Father was trying to keep them from sacrificing anybody at all, by making them choose something so painful that no one would do it.”

  She shook her head. “How do you know what my Twerk was trying to do? He was trying to save you.”

  “Me?”

  “Your father was clan leader by then. The holy men said, ‘Let each clan give the firstborn son of the clan leader.’ ”

  “But I was gone.”

  “Your father insisted on the ancient privilege, that a father may go in place of his son.”

  “So he died in my place, because I was gone.”

  “If you had been here, Glogmeriss, he would have done the same.”

  He thought about this for a few moments, and then answered only, “My name is Naog now.”

  “We thought you were dead, Naked One, Stirrer of Troubles,” said Mother.

  “I found a wife.”

  “I saw her. Ugly.”

  “Brave and strong and smart,” said Naog.

  “Born to be a captive. I chose a different wife for you.”

  “Zawada is my wife.”

  Even though Naog had returned from his journey as a man and not a boy, he soon learned that even a man can be bent by the pressure of others. This far he did not bend: Zawada remained his wife. But he also took the wife his mother had chosen for him, a beautiful girl named Kormo. Naog was not sure what was worse about the new arrangement—that everyone else treated Kormo as Naog’s real wife and Zawada as barely a wife at all, or that when Naog was hungry with passion, it was always Kormo he thought of. But he remembered Zawada at such times, how she bore him his first child, the boy Moiro; how she followed him with such fierce courage; how good she was to him when he was a stranger. And when he remembered, he followed his duty to her rather than his natural desire. This happened so often that Kormo complained about it. This made Naog feel somehow righteous, for the truth was that his first inclination had been right. Zawada should have stayed with her own tribe. She was unhappy most of the time, and kept to herself and her baby, and as years passed, her babies. She was never accepted by the other wome
n of the Derku. Only the captive women became friends with her, which caused even more talk and criticism.

  Years passed, yes, and where was Naog’s great message, the one the god had gone to such great trouble to give him? He tried to tell it. First to the leaders of the Engu clan, the whole story of his journey, and how the Heaving Sea was far higher than the Salty Sea and would soon break through and cover all the land with water. They listened to him gravely, and then one by one they counseled with him that when the gods wish to speak to the Derku people, they will do as they did when the Great Derku ate a human baby. “Why would a god who wished to send a message to the Derku people choose a mere boy as messenger?”

  “Because I was the one who was taking the journey,” he said.

  “What will you have us do? Abandon our lands? Leave our canals behind, and our boats?”

  “The Nile has fresh water and a flood season, my father saw it.”

  “But the Nile also has strong tribes living up and down its shores. Here we are masters of the world. No, we’re not leaving on the word of a boy.”

  They insisted that he tell no one else, but he didn’t obey them. In fact he told anyone who would listen, but the result was the same. For his father’s memory or for his mother’s sake, or perhaps just because he was so tall and strong, people listened politely—but Naog knew at the end of each telling of his tale that nothing had changed. No one believed him. And when he wasn’t there, they repeated his stories as if they were jokes, laughing about riding a castrated bull-ox, about calling a tree branch his brother, and most of all about the idea of a great flood that would never go away. Poor Naog, they said. He clearly lost his mind on his manhood journey, coming home with impossible stories that he obviously believes and an ugly woman that he dotes on.

  Zawada urged him to leave. “You know that the flood is coming,” she said. “Why not take your family up and out of here? Go to the Nile ourselves, or return to my father’s tribe.”