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 couldn't 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 tribe's 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 didn't 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 couple's 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 brother's 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 can't 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 couldn't 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 wasn't 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 wasn't 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 ancestors' 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 weren't 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 didn't 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 wouldn't 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 mind's 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 boy's 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 tribe's 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 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 didn't 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 wouldn't 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 wouldn't 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 Kutkhay's mother made his determination and passed his choice on to the youth's 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 Kutkhay's 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, Kutkhay's 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 shouldn't 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 - 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.