Under a leaning wall, Tepulka and Paku had scraped the sheepskin of fat and hung it on a pole. Chak and Hurk unrolled the edges. Tepulka looked at Maka.
“Where are we?”
“South-east of the lake. Further than I thought.” I pointed. “At least two days.” I could see Paku thinking it out, arranging the landscape like a map in his head. He would need that sense of the country, the lay of the land.
“So that’s how long we were in the tunnel?”
“Maybe three. We climbed quite a bit.”
“We’ve been lucky, eh, Ish?”
“I’d like to get further still, as far as possible from Kalik.” Again, the silence that followed mention of his name. “We can light a fire. They won’t see the smoke.”
While the rest gathered firewood and fern, Tepulka scored a groove in a length of dry wood. Maka stood on the end. Tepulka shoved a sharpened stick backwards and forward in the groove. Some time I would show them how to make a fire-drill.
Old Hagar had taught by starting something off and letting me finish. Hinting at something I might try, so I thought I discovered it myself. Taur was the kindest teacher. The Shaman taught me to question, to work things out for myself. Even his inconsistencies were deliberate: I learned to be critical of him – and of myself.
By the time we dragged down some logs, Tepulka was blowing on a little flame, Maka, laughing, feeding it twigs, dried leaves. Under the wall, the light caught the curve of her chin, her forehead. I realised just how pretty she was and dropped my end of a log. Paku grimaced as it jarred his hands.
The fire leapt against the gloom. Rain became heavy as we ran with the last wood, bundles of fern. The river roared in the dark. A shower of drips over the brow of the wall made it like standing behind a waterfall. Snug, we grinned at each other.
From end to end of the sheep’s carcass, Tepulka and Maka had thrust a sharpened pole. This spit now rested in forked stakes either side of the fire. They rubbed little grey leaves between their hands, scatterered them inside and over the carcass, and turned the spit. The sharp sweetness of the leaves, the fragrance of roasting meat! My mouth watered.
Chak sniffed loudly. “It smells lovely!”
“Don’t sniff too hard.” Chak looked hard at Tepulka. “There’ll be none left for anyone else.” Straight-faced, Tepulka turned back to help Maka sharpen slivers of wood, and Chak told Hurk he mustn’t sniff too hard.
“When will it be cooked?” asked Kimi. “Can’t we start now?”
“You just reminded me of a story,” I said to Chak. “About a poor man called Nostril.”
“Nostril!”
“His nose was so big. Nostril had been starving for three days when he came to a market-place.”
“Like the one in our story?”
“The same one. A fat man was roasting a whole sheep on a spit. Another was selling donkeys. Several stalls had racks of warm clothes.
“Nostril wore some old rags. And he was weak with hunger. A servant threw the scraps from his master’s meal into the street, and Nostril grabbed up a crust.
“He looked around, afraid somebody might say he had stolen it, but nobody bothered watching a poor man. Nobody but the servant who watched Nostril hide the bread under his rags.
“Nostril’s big nose twitched. It led him through the stalls and lanes of the market-place, following a tantalising smell.
“‘Sweet roast mutton!’ cried the fat man. He turned the spit. ‘One penny a slice!’ Drops of fat smoked on the coals, spat, and flared.
“Nostril stared, his huge nose sniffed, his belly ached for food. ‘At least,’ he thought, ‘I have a piece of bread.’
“‘Sweet roast mutton! Only one penny a thick, hot slice!’
“A woman gave the fat man three pennies. He sharpened his knife and cut three thick slices of hot meat.
“At the crackle of the knife cutting the crisp skin, at the sight of the juice dripping, at the delicious smell, Nostril felt faint.
“Several people bought slices of meat. ‘Sweet roast mutton!’ cried the fat man. He sharpened his knife and turned the spit.
“Nostril shuffled and held his crust in the delicious smell rising from the cooked meat. He stared at the crust, as if it did not belong to him. His hand brought it towards his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a bite. Again and again he dipped it in the smell from the cooking meat. And as people paid their pennies, and the fat man carved their slices, poor Nostril nibbled at his crust. He closed his eyes, sniffed, and chewed. Great dripping hot juicy slices – thick!
“‘Thief!’ His hand gripped tight. The stub of his crust fell in the fire. The fat man ran Nostril to the far side of the marketplace, to a door where he knocked and shouted, ‘Judge! Judge!’
“‘My master is asleep,’ said the same servant who had thrown out the crust of bread. ‘He will beat you for making such a noise.’
“‘I caught this thief!’
“‘Are you sure he is a thief? The judge does not like being woken.’
“‘He is a thief, I tell you!’
“‘Bring him inside,’ said the servant. ‘I will wake the judge.’
“Not only had the servant recognised Nostril. He remembered how sorry he felt for him. He had gone back into the house, filled a basket with fragments of bread and meat and run outside. But the poor man had disappeared.
When his master was asleep, the servant liked to dress in his clothes and imagine he was the judge himself. Now he made sure his master was still asleep. He slipped on the judge’s robe. He put on his great hat. He strode into the room where the fat man waited with Nostril.
“‘Well?’
“‘Your Honour,’ gabbled the fat man. ‘This man is a thief.’ And he told the judge how he had caught the poor man stealing the smell of his roasting meat. ‘Not only did he sniff it up his big nose, but he dipped his bread in the smell of my sweet mutton and ate it.’
“The servant nodded. He had often been cold and hungry himself. ‘What is your story?’ he asked Nostril.
“‘I have had nothing to eat for three days. I picked up a crust in the street and held it in the air above the man’s mutton as it cooked. I chewed the crust, closed my eyes, and imagined I was eating meat.’
“‘When did you last eat meat?’
“‘I cannot remember.’
“‘Hmmm,’ said the servant. ‘You say he stole the smell of your meat?’
“‘Yes, Your Honour! The wretched thief!’ And the fat man kicked Nostril.
“‘The poor man has not yet been found guilty,’ said the servant. ‘So he is still innocent. You have broken the law by kicking him.’
“‘No, I mean yes, Your Honour.’
“‘Give me your purse.’
“The fat man untied a leather bag from his waist. The servant took out a coin.
“‘What is this?’ he asked.
“‘A gold coin, Your Honour.’
“The servant rang the coin on the table. ‘And what is that?’
“‘The sound of the gold coin ringing,’ said the fat man.
“‘I fine you one gold coin for kicking the poor man,’ said the servant. ‘I award it to him for his pain.’ And he handed the coin to Nostril. The fat man wept.
“‘Ring it on the table,’ the servant said. ‘Nostril had never seen a gold coin before, but he spun it till it rang.
“‘You heard the sound of the poor man’s coin?’
“‘Yes, Your Honour,’ said the fat man.
“‘Then the poor man has paid for the smell of your meat with the sound of his gold coin,’ said the servant. ‘Now get out before I have you thrown into prison for fraud!’
“‘What are you going to buy with your gold coin?’ he asked Nostril.
“‘Warm clothes,’ said Nostril. ‘Something to eat. And, with what is left over, I will buy a donkey. We can earn money carrying firewood.’
“‘Be kind to the donkey,’ said the servant. ‘If you beat him, you will be beaten yourself. And you will not just be shown the stick, nor just hear the sound of the beating….’
“‘I will not beat my donkey,’ promised Nostril. ‘He will be my friend.’
“The servant returned the heavy robe and the great hat. The judge pretended to be asleep, but he had woken and watched the servant dress himself in his clothes. He had listened through a crack in the door. And he said to himself, ‘This servant of mine is as good a judge as me!’
“And always after, the judge asked the servant his opinion before he passed sentence. And he sometimes accepted the servant’s advice. But he never left his robes and his judge’s hat where the servant could put them on again.”
“That’s a good story!” said Chak. “I told Hurk he mustn’t sniff all the smell of meat, or there’d be none for anyone else.”
“What happened to Nostril?” asked Puli. I had noticed her listening closely.
“He bought something to eat, some warm clothes, and had enough left over to buy the donkey. He never put too much on the donkey’s back. He never beat him. They worked hard, saved their money, and bought a little house. And they lived happily ever after.”
“He was so scared of the judge, each day he gave away several slices of meat to the poor. People liked him for that and bought his meat. Soon he had two fires going and two sheep cooking. He bought a shop and sold people whole meals instead of just slices of meat. He became very rich.”
“What about the servant?”
“He confessed what he had done. The judge laughed and said, ‘You were kind to the poor man. And you taught the fat man a good lesson. So I forgive you. But don’t let me catch you doing it again!’”
We were a long time talking about the judge. The Children wanted to know about his power over people.
“I think that meat’s just about done,” I said. We stood in a circle and sniffed.