The Days of the Deer Read Online Free Page A

account any unusual
events that had changed the lives of their neighbours for good or ill, most of the exchanges were predictable and were repeated in almost the same fashion year after year.
    This time Kush had brought three woollen cloaks. They were dyed green, with red and yellow borders. In exchange, she chose a bowl to grind corn in, leather to repair her menfolk’s shoes,
medicinal herbs and some dried fish.
    Once the time for giving and receiving was over, Old Mother Kush joined the rest of the women in preparing the food.
    Located in different parts of the valley, the musicians were visited by small groups of people who crossed each other as they made their way between the different instruments. Those who had just
come from hearing the heavy beat of the drum looked preoccupied. Others were still dancing to the rattle of the dried gourds. The sounds of the bound-together reeds died slowly away, while the
listeners remembered events from the past. Only the man with the flute did not stay in one spot, but walked round and round the valley playing his tune. The crowd following him changed each time he
appeared.
    When the flute went past Kush, the old woman paused in her task to greet it.
    ‘Come and sing with me,’ said the flute.
    ‘You have plenty of people with you,’ Kush replied. ‘I need to get on with my chores.’
    She raised her hand in greeting, then concentrated once more on arranging palm hearts on a piece of bark. When she was done, she called out to her elder granddaughter:
    ‘Kuy-Kuyen, come here!’ The girl appeared at once. Kush went on: ‘Take this tray and offer it around. When it is empty, come back here for more. But first, have one for
yourself.’
    Kuy-Kuyen took one of the palm hearts and bit into it with great delight. Wilkilén stood close by, watching all this.
    ‘Grannie Kush! Give me something to offer around!’ the girl begged her.
    ‘Come here so I can straighten your clothes a bit,’ said her grandmother. She tied the straps on her little leather boots, straightened the cap with earflaps that framed her face
with strips of colour, and made sure above all that her cloak was properly done up. While she was doing this, Wilkilén stared up at the wind above the valley, imitating it by blowing out her
cheeks and stretching her arms out as though they were the branches of a tree.
    ‘I would be done more quickly if you kept still,’ said Kush.
    Wilkilén lowered her gaze from the sky, still lost in thought.
    ‘I wanted to know if people grow tired of being the wind,’ she said, lowering her arms. She added: ‘Yes, they do.’
    Kush looked at her granddaughter, remembering the golden oriole feather. She hugged the little girl to her, and kissed her freezing cheeks to try to calm the fears that had suddenly come rushing
back. Then she immediately set about granting her granddaughter’s wish.
    ‘Let’s see what I have to give you,’ she murmured, partly for her own sake, partly for Wilkilén. She hesitated, then chose a medium-sized pot in which she had made a
thick paste of nuts and herbs. Perfect for spreading on bread.
    ‘Take it like this so that they can serve themselves,’ she said, pushing several wooden sticks into the paste. ‘It will be well received.’
    Wilkilén went off with the pot, carefully watching where she put her feet. Old Mother Kush stared after her. Just when she was almost out of sight, Kush saw Dulkancellin striding towards
her.
    Her son was looking for her. They had to go together to talk to Shampalwe’s family, who had come all the way from Wilú-Wilú.
    ‘Are you ready, Kush?’ he asked her.
    ‘Yes. Take the presents I have brought for them out of my pack and let’s go.’
    They walked away without another word. It was not easy for either of them to see Shampalwe’s eyes again in the faces of her brothers and sisters. But the gathering in the valley was one of
the few occasions when they could see the children and hear the latest