Tribes (10 page)

Ogo was the biggest. And the most benevolent, according to Mom. He was the protector of our lawn, with a thousand years of wisdom in his igneous form. He also made a great chair.

The hair on my arms shot up. The streetlight began to hum, then flicked on, heralding the evening. Elissa's black VW bug pulled up and stopped. Synchronicity. Of course.

I couldn't see her through the darkened windows. The car had been a gift from her parents on her seventeenth birthday. She prized it second only to Fang, though she felt guilt about the carbon monoxide it produced.

I untangled my legs and walked over and tugged on the door handle. It was locked. I knocked on the window. Nothing. Knocked again.
Click.
I opened the door, slid inside.

Elissa jammed on the gas and I slammed the door. She glared ahead as I struggled to fasten my seat belt.

"You're in a hurry," I commented.

She flicked a bit of fluff off her black baseball shirt. Her chest and back were decorated with a stylized ankh. The shirt was from Logoless—a company that designed clothing for modern activists. She'd ordered it online. "Where were you yesterday?" she finally said. "And today, for that matter?"

"I decided not to attend school," I answered, pressing a button that let my window down a crack; the effluvia of the traffic swept inside.

"You skipped the second-last day of Grade Twelve? What's the point of that?"

"I was working on my book."

She refused to even glance at me. Her mauve lipstick accentuated the thickness of her lips. Her favorite eyebrow ring with the tiny dragonfly glinted in the streetlight; sandalwood perfume drifted from her body. She smelled friendly but didn't look it.

We passed through the final set of lights before Saskatoon's outskirts. Vehicles of all descriptions stretched in front of us like giant manic crustaceans, speeding around the edge of the city and into the wilderness. We were navigating toward the River Party, the most primitive of all Grad celebrations.

A Mustang, its tires augmented to the point of parody, roared past, rear end swerving, horn blaring. Two males waved muscular arms out the window. The vehicle drove down the wrong side of the highway, then veered into the proper lane, dodging an oncoming truck.

The Highway Tribe. A short-lived species.

A kilometer later Elissa turned onto a gravel road, following the line of cars. "I knocked at your window. I saw you sitting at your desk."

"I don't remember that."

"That's funny. You looked up, then ignored me."

"Elissa, I didn't hear you. I was having an intense experience, writing an article about..."Now, what was the topic? "Well, I didn't mean to ignore you."

"You shut me out. That's the point."

"I am sorry. Very sorry. I just had to get my work done."

She nodded solemnly. We rattled along the road, trees forming a wall on either side. I leaned back in my seat, appreciating the insectlike elegantness of her VW bug; it was as though we were riding inside a hollowedout bumblebee, engine buzzing.

A tiny plastic skeleton hung from the rearview mirror, jaws clacking with every bump. I gazed in awe at its bipedal feet, examined the opposable thumbs. What if we had evolved to the size of this toy? It would have been so much better for the planet. We'd inhabit one sixth of the space, our tiny anthill cities just dots across the world. Coyotes would control our population.

The VW bug glided over a rise and there it was: the river. An open view of black water, three giant bonfires along the edge, revelers dancing between them. A flashback to the primitive within; a return to the life-giving waters where our ancestors first built their tiny mud-hut communities. Tonight's celebration was about the most basic elements: fire, water, earth and air.

And beer. A cornucopia of brewed fermented barley. I wondered if it was to honor the memory of the two Groverly students killed while driving drunk last year. A libation to their hovering spirits.

The segmented line of cars disassembled, finding parking spots next to bushes along the road. Members of all tribes rushed exuberantly toward the bonfires.

Elissa guided the bug to the edge of the ditch and stopped. "We're here," she announced quietly, turning off the car. The dashboard lights went black. She let out a huff of air, indicating continuing emotional turmoil.

I glanced out the window as a swarm of teens streamed past. The riverbank teemed with life. Action. Interaction. There was so much to observe. I clutched the door latch, but Elissa wouldn't budge.

"When will you show me your field journal?" she asked.

"When it's
absolutely
ready."

"Don't bite my head off!"

Had I sounded that angry? "I—I want it to be perfect before I release it to the world," I explained. "You understand that, don't you? It's my life's work."

"Life's work?" She hugged herself. Her V collar displayed her clavicle. "You're seventeen, Percy. How can you have a life's work?"

I shrugged. Elissa pointed at the bonfires. "This is our final night as high school students. We should try to enjoy it."

She'd chosen a different topic, at least. "Yes, graduation," I agreed, "ascension to a higher order. To the next stage. We are pupae waiting for the end of chrysalis."

"What do we change into?"

"We?"

"Yes, you and I. What do we become?" she asked. The moonlight made her lips glisten.

"Nothing. It's the other tribes' task to change. Ours is to observe."

She went quiet again, ruminating heavily. "Don't you ever get sick of watching?"

"What?"

"It...well, it used to be a joke between us. All this anthro stuff."

"It's my...
our
job. Come on, Elissa. Let's observe—join the party. Have fun, like we did when Will was here."

Will's name had popped out. Just like that. Elissa's eyes teared up. "Do you think he's watching us now? From somewhere up there?"

This was not the time for me to get into my theories about the statistical chances of life after death. "Maybe he is. And he's giving us the thumbs-up. Doing his best
Planet of the Apes
impression."

She breathed in, steeled herself and opened her door. "Let's party, then."

But now I was frozen. This talk had resurrected the memory of Elissa holding me in my room after Will's funeral as tears slid down my face and she said again and again, "Everything will be fine."

"What are you waiting for?" Elissa had come around to my side of the car. "I thought you were ready for this."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"What?" she said. "Come on."

As we strolled to the river, flames from the fires licked the sky, lighting everyone's faces. Sparks scattered through the air as the wood crackled. Teens gyrated, hypnotized by the blaze. One Grunge Tribe member sucked in smoke from a joint and gazed at the moon with rapture. Was he a shaman divining the inner workings of the universe? About to announce the ultimate human dream quest? He coughed, releasing a smoggy cloud. Then he pressed one nostril closed and blew onto the ground, giggling.

"This is kind of amazing," Elissa said as we meandered through the crowd, the tribes dancing around us in a majestic celebration. All differences were forgotten, boundaries erased; tonight they were one, on the edge of their new lives.

Music pounded out of hidden speakers, rhythmic chanting against the beating of drums. My father had once penetrated the deepest, darkest heart of the jungle and discovered two tribes dancing and singing together. They stopped their celebration to gape at him, believing he was a god.

So many stories. Night after night, by my bedside. Then he was gone, never to be seen again.

My eyes ached. I stumbled over a broken branch, nearly fell.

"You okay, Percy?" Elissa asked.

"The smoke. It stings."

She took my hand and led me away from the fire. There were other tribes occupying the hinterland, hiding from the light: the Necking Tribe, the Smoker Tribe, the Cool and Detached Tribe. We stepped around abandoned blankets and zigzagged between overturned lawn chairs and entwined bodies. We found a spot where we could be alone and stared back at the distant flames.

What was it like that first time a human saw fire? Were we mesmerized by the power inside that flickering?

"It's all too weird," Elissa said. "Like they're dancing while the world ends."

There was a clink. A pop. Then she pushed a cold bottle into my hand.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Beer. It was sitting right here. A gift from the gods, obviously."

"But I can't consume beer."

"Why?"

I squinted at the bottle. "It will affect my judgment."

"It'll loosen you up. Don't tell me you still haven't tried it."

"I won't."

She chuckled. "Not even a sip? Aren't you curious?"

"No."

"Think of it as a tribal potion," she whispered, so close her breath tickled my ear hairs. "You can't experience the tribe's inner world without this elixir. Just a swig. Besides, you need to relax."

She drank from hers, so I followed suit, feeling the cool glass on my lips and swallowing quickly. The beer was cold; the liquid entered my stomach with gusto. I had the momentary feeling it would all come gurgling back up my esophagus. Coughing, sputtering, I said, "People enjoy this? It's like ginger ale and vinegar."

"They adapt to it—that's what humans do. Adapt. It gets better."

Elissa swigged from her bottle; I mimicked her. The odor was putrid. Which tribesperson had mixed water with rotted grains and risked a sip? And then convinced other unsuspecting hominids to partake? I took another long gulp.

"You like it." She handed me another. "It's my new job to get you to loosen up. I'm the leopard queen of the Loosen-Up Tribe."

We sat on a big log, a good decision because I felt dizzy. The potion's essence was bringing out my inner Cro-Magnon. The pounding music. The smoke. I had established a link with my past. There was a driving force pushing all organisms forward, out of the water, always ahead, compelling us to survive, to become stronger, faster, better able to conquer our environment. I was channeling it now.

Elissa patted my knee. "You're pretty quiet. What are you thinking?"

"About everything." The words slid out. "About you. Me. Everything."

She took this as an invitation to move closer. I hadn't noticed how cool it had become. The heat of her body: comforting.

"I really do care about you," she said.

My arm was around her, though I couldn't recall positioning it there. My mind went blank. She turned toward me and I mirrored her. Her breath was tainted with beer, but it wasn't nauseating. We were from the same tribe, watching our ancestors dance.

She leaned forward and we pressed our lips together.

I had never kissed before. This seemed fated: From the moment my cells formed, they'd been programmed to find her lips and kiss them.

She slid her tongue into my mouth. An ancient feeling: our tongues moving in a warm, moist place like the pool in which life first formed.

Elissa sighed. "That's nice," she whispered. I kissed her again and my hand explored her back, tracing each vertebra. It felt absolutely natural. To caress. Explore. I slid my hand under the front of her shirt and cupped my fingers over her left breast, using my opposable thumb to squeeze. She pressed closer.

I sighed, then spoke gently into her ear. "So this is what the female mammae feel like."

Elissa jerked as if she'd been stung.
"What?"

My hand was frozen.

"What?" she repeated, sitting back. My hand slipped from her, fell onto my lap. "Is that all I am? An experiment? Another study?"

I opened my mouth: no words. My thoughts were caught in amber. Finally I blurted out, "I was just remarking on the experience."

"Oh, Jesus!"

"Oh, Jesus what?" I asked.

"Is that what you were doing? Just observing my mammae? My mammae!" She crossed her arms, covering Mother Nature's gift. Her face was a pattern of shadows. The firelight glinted in her eyes. "You don't live, do you, Percy. You just record."

"I...I do my job."

"Your job? It was your job to feel me up?"

"I...I don't know."

"You don't live!"

"I do so!"

"You don't
live
. There's a big difference. God, I shouldn't have to explain it. I don't want you to touch me for the first time and just think how you'll write it in your stupid journal. I want you to be here."

"I...I was..."

"I'm tired of doing what we do. All the fake studies. The staring. It's not normal."

Elissa stood and looked down at me. "Your father didn't die in the Congo, Percy. Why can't you tell the truth?"

"I did tell the truth! A tsetse fly bit him. He died of black Azazel sickness."

"I don't believe you."

"He did. I swear it's the truth." I could remember the
National Geographic
reporter coming to our door bawling her eyes out, her long blond hair undone. Mom not letting her in. It had happened.

Elissa glared. "I'm going home." Her tone was cool. "I'll give you a ride."

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I shook my head.

"Fine, then. And I won't be going to Grad with you. I might not go at all." She paused for a microsecond. "Goodbye, Percy."

fifteen

SAME TREE

Temporal confusion.

Time had passed.

Amount: unknown.

One hour? Two?

I clutched a bottle. Empty. I opened my hand. The bottle floated down, crashed in slo-mo against its brothers. The bonfires raged, sparks shot into the sky—flaming moths. Dying galaxies. Shadows danced madly to a bass beat. Distorted guitars grinding like tectonic plates.

The fire beckoned. I stood, took a step, stumbled, fell. The contents of my stomach lurched, so I clamped my mouth shut, used a tree to pull myself up. What had happened to my feet? It felt as though I were walking through clay. Would future anthropologists gaze in wonder at my hardened footprints? I staggered past prone hominids, some with faces pressed together. Others sat cross-legged, mesmerized by the fire. The flames were higher than before, their heat making my cells dance.