The Tower of Il Serrohe (32 page)

fifty five

As they reached the level valley floor, the trees gave way to lush meadows and then finally to carefully cultivated farms. Big boned Taurimin farmers working the fields turned to watch their passage.  Many waved slowly before turning back to their labors. In a few fields the Càhbahmin worked alongside the Taurimin. The Càhbahmin pulled wagons and plows, their back and shoulder muscles glistening like heavy ropes in the warm sunlight.

Booming voices of the Taurimin reverberated across the fields. “Move it on out! Move it! Move that dirt! Move it!”

At the fields’ eastern edge a cluster of small homes with sod roofs stood around a large farmhouse built of seasoned cottonwood logs. Live trees created a shady island, and the homes seemed to beckon the three to rest within. A big bosomed Taurimin housewife appeared at the door.

“
Come in, come in,” she called. “The stew’s on the fire, but you’ll first want to refresh yourselves with a drink of cold river water and a stand-up bath!”

Don thought:
Got any cold beer?

As darkness overtook the fields the men and younger ones started coming in. The Càhbahmin helped them put away the heavy plows and unloaded wagons overflowing with cut weeds and piles of pumpkins and other produce of the fall harvest. That done, the Càhbahmin headed north to their own village, taking a wagon loaded with a mound of hay barely contained by its sideboards.

“
Move it on back! Move ‘em in! Move on home!” the younger Taurimin chorused, reminding Don of old-time black field hollers he’d heard on recordings during his college days in a music history class. “Move it! Move it!”

The big farmhouse soon filled with the commotion of the men: dirty, tired, and hungry. They washed up with water flying and splashing. Deeply toned laughing and farting punctuated the process of cleaning up and satisfying thirst. Then the jockeying for a good position on the long, roughly timbered table where a seat near the starting point of heaps of steaming food was preferred.

Among them were women of all ages, only slightly smaller than the men, who bustled about bringing in round platters the size of extra-large pizza pans, practically overflowing with a variety of cooked and raw vegetables and deep dishes of casseroles of unknown composition. Somehow, not one speck of food was spilled nor platter overturned as they were brought in and placed near the head of the table. The men maneuvered among the women with the ironic delicacy of ballet dancers.

Off in the far corners near the blazing fire pit, several women huddled around a table. They dispersed momentarily, carrying tall pitchers of fresh milk.

The Taurimin woman, Bissy, who had greeted the three, made it clear by powerful pushes with her shoulders that the three guests were to sit near the head of the table close to the most desirable platters. “Move it, you big ox! These are our guests and I’m not going to put them down at the end to scrape up the crumbs! Move, over!”

Of course, the seat at the head of the table was an island of calm, undisturbed by even the younger Taurimin who darted about squeezing into any crevice that offered a preferred seat. A gigantic Taurimin, who had taken his time washing and drinking water from a large cask, slowly made his unencumbered way to the head of the table. The commotion ceased and a pervasive quiet took over the wide room.

His face chronicled long years of hard work and leadership among the Taurimin. A generous peppering of gray lightened the once glossy black beard while deep wrinkles gave him a gravity that brooked no question of his authority or the finality of his decisions.

At his slight nod, everyone took to their chairs, silence returning once the heavy bodies eased into their seats. Don studied their calm faces that now looked like monks trained to refrain from tasting the mounds of food waiting within close range of their broad noses.

The Taurimin clan chief then turned his gaze to the guests seated next to him and smiled gently. “I see we have visitors from the Nohmin and Pirallts and someone of a clan I’m not sure I recognize.”

Don didn’t know if he should introduce himself. A few moments passed, and then Raquela spoke up. “This is Don of the Rio Grande Valley, uh, north of the Valle Abajo. He is the great-grandson of Teresa the Tall One.”

There was an audible stir from the onlookers at the mention of Teresa, but no one said anything. Don wondered,
So, now what? They expect a speech or something?

However, the chief granted a reprieve when he boomed, “Now that is good news! We must chew the hay after dinner. If you don’t know yet, I’m Toroth, chief of this rugged crew. However, right now…” He turned to his expectant clan, smiled benevolently and reached for the platter of steamed yellow and zucchini squash with onions and began serving himself. Once he had enough, he held the platter for Nersite, at his immediate left, so he could serve himself without having to wrestle with the oversized load.

That was the signal for a free-for-all as platters were raised, passed down the table, relieved of some of their load, and passed on. The noise level rose. The women found seats among the men, no doubt next to husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. Along with the platters were tall earthenware pitchers brimming with cold clear water along with the raw milk streaked with thick cream.

Other platters held logs of bread with golden brown crusts, packed with mealy whole grains. The Taurimin slathered them with hunks of butter so fresh it was almost pure white and had more of the flavor of sweet cream than any Don had ever tasted.

In spite of the fact there was not a scrap of meat on any of the plates or in any of the casseroles, Don found the fresh vegetables tasty. Green chile gave its rich roasted fire to many dishes, which especially pleased Don. Nothing like home cooked, local produce! He was amazed at how these large, muscular people could be satisfied with a vegetarian diet.

Don also mused on how long it had been since he enjoyed a meal cooked with love among family and friends. He couldn’t recall.

Out of the corner of his eye he again looked carefully at Raquela. Now under the soft light of the overhead lanterns, her large almond shaped eyes looked even more striking and lent her face a more sculptured look. As he turned to look at her more fully, she caught his eye and there was a moment of deep interest passing between them.

Then she seemed to mentally disconnect as she engaged a woman across from her in conversation. Don felt naked in those few moments of intense eye contact, as if all his shortcomings were revealed. He shook himself, thinking he was just overwhelmed by everyone’s expectations. He turned his attention to a plump chile relleno nicely crowned with a mound of fried cheese.

After dinner the Taurimin moved away from the long table satiated and ready for relaxation around the huge fire pit at the other end of this large dining room, which Don realized made up almost the entirety of the house. A few storage rooms were separated off at the back wall. The kitchen took up a third of the expansive room. Next to it was the fire pit which served as a cooking fire as well as providing heat against the cool night air.

Raquela turned and spoke softly to Don. “This is when the Taurimin quiet down and prepare for time with their families before retiring. We’ll just sit among them by the fire. Toroth will come around to talk when the time is right.”

Soon small groups of families and young buddies dispersed, leaving the big house for their own homes. Toroth appeared out of the gloom of the smoky room, taking a seat by the three before they realized he was there.
How could such a large man move so quietly?
Don wondered.

Raquela explained why they were there. As she did, the Taurimin chief’s face grew glum. Finally, he commented with some embarrassment. “We aren’t fighters though we are stronger than most and will serve in whatever way you feel is needed.”

“
That is good to hear,” Raquela said. “We don’t know what to do yet, but after visiting many of the clans, we will congregate in Il Mote, your market center,
to see what we can do. Don is much like his ancestor. He can think ahead and maybe we can sneak up on the Soreyes. I don’t know how they do it, but maybe…” Her voice trailed off.

Don thought this was the chance to say something. “I’m not promising anything, Toroth. But I’m thinking we must go back to what Teresa, Pia, and Pita had started to do: understand the Soreyes. Although I haven’t heard of all they learned about them, where they came from, what their aim in life is, there must be some advantage in better understanding them—”

“
I only understand they are mean and must leave us alone and not take us for slaves!” Toroth roared. He then looked a little sheepish, a face Don figured was one rarely revealed to his own clanspeople. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t do this, but we can’t spend time on stories. No offense, Nersite.”

“
No, no, I understand,” Nersite offered. “The point of the stories is to teach us about ourselves and those around us.”

Don continued, “I also want to know what you and your people have as ‘special powers.’ I would use the word magic, but you wouldn’t understand that.”

Nersite, again trying to be helpful, added, “Like our Glassing chants or when we do the Timeless chant.”

The chief chewed on something unseen in his mouth. “I see. Well, we don’t have much. When we plant our seeds, there is the Growing chant to urge them to flourish in the ground, to grow and multiply as they are fed water and manure.

“
Sometimes, we implore the clouds to give us their rain or to lay snow on the distant mountains to feed our river, but I don’t think the clouds pay much attention.

“
Then we have the Harvest chant to give us strength to work long hours and days to bring in the crops when they all come to maturity.” He paused as if there was more, but then he said nothing.

Don sighed. “Anything else? Anything that could be used to… hurt someone or cause a little destruction?”

Toroth’s facial expression was horrified but he didn’t respond.

After looking at his rough, hard hands, “We aren’t like the Soreyes or even our murderous brothers the Loopohmin, the Crotalmin, and the Linksmin. The Ursimin are more like troublesome brothers who mean no harm unless you cross them or threaten their children—they may have some chants more… harmful.”

Don perked up, but subdued his reaction when neither Raquela nor Nersite showed any enthusiasm.
Pacifism may be the downfall of those kind people,
he thought.
Just like, at the other extreme, war mongering hasn’t made my world too secure!

“
The Loopohmin, those are the guys you wanted to see earlier today, wasn’t it, Nersite?” Don asked.

Nersite went white around the mouth and his pupils opened up so much he seemed to have the beady eyes of a rodent. “It was a thought, but we decided to wait to invite one or two of them to the gathering at Il Mote when everyone is there. Not so a much a threat to us then. Same thing for the Crotalmin and Linksmin.” He smiled weakly at Toroth.

The big man shifted uneasily. “Well, maybe. But I want enough of my men, the Càhbahmin, and Ursimin there to intimidate them into restraint.”

“
OK,” Raquela reassured. “We know that as well as you.”

Don wondered why these dangerous clans had to be involved, but then that was the answer to the question. If their aggression could be channeled against the Soreyes, they must be considered. Don began to understand why good people had to make compromises to include those who are dangerous for a larger cause against the overwhelming deadliness of enemies. This wonderful valley wasn’t that much different after all.

Toroth signaled the end of the discussion as he rose with an ease that belied his size and weight. He shook hands with each of the three and joined Bissy, his wife, as they made their way out into the deepening night.

A young woman led them to their evening quarters.

The next morning was a repeat of the dinner scene in the big dining room except this time the Taurimin were a little subdued. Don thought it was because they were facing a long, hard day’s work, but it was still rambunctious with men eating and laughing while the women bustled about trying to keep up with the quickly emptying platters.

Don thought it odd that no eggs were on the menu and, again, no meat such as sausage or bacon. It was mostly big pots of smoldering cooked grains: wheat, oats, barley, and millet laced with butter, honey, and more milk. This time the bread of choice was a whole wheat tortilla dripping with butter and honey. No coffee, no tea. Perhaps these boisterous farmers didn’t need caffeine.

When Toroth looked like he was just about done and ready to get out in the fields with his men, Don had a question. “Do you folks brew any beer?”

“
What?”

“
Beer. It’s a drink made with grains. You soak the grain in water, heat it up, add some yeast sort of like the kind you use in your bread, let it sit for a few weeks and—you have beer.”

“
No, we drink water or milk. Why would you leave it to sit around? Wouldn’t it spoil?”

Don laughed knowingly. “Oh no! It gets a, uhm, let’s say a nice tang and it makes you feel good.”