April 25, 2005
I think I might have lost the Marines entirely. I haven't seen any of those white-coated guys in a while and there aren't as many of my missing person's posters around anymore. I don't have to hide who I am as much either; I can even walk around in the daytime without any disguises. I was getting tired of masks and wigs anyway.
This is now island seven. It's name is Emathia. It's predominantly mountains, but there's a few flat plateaus along the rocks where people have set up small villages. I asked a local, and he said there were about twelve individual villages, all interconnected by mountain tunnels and trading paths on top of the peaks. These people must be very used to high places, as I've seen them jump from the highest peaks and run down the steep cliffs that drop off into the ocean. They never stumble though.
So far, I haven't even seen one poster with my face on it. In fact, there aren't very many places here that display news or anything like that. No Marine billboards with world news, no town centers equipped with a projector and megaphone, not even a base anywhere on the island. As far as they're concerned, the Marines don't even exist, I guess. All the better for me.
The inhabitants of this island are very friendly; as soon as I landed and made the long hike up to the first village I was greeted with large bowls of fruit and a strange but sweet tasting wine. They offered cloth and what I guessed to be weapons or tools they made at their blacksmiths. I didn't want to have a method of harming them, so I turned the metal stuff down. They didn't look too sad about it, and instead took me along on a tour of their village.
The houses, more like huts, were made of straw and the sturdy wood from the trees. Inside, the floors were dirt but there were small chests and a comfy-looking grass and leaf bed. I was given my own house at the end of the road.
In the middle of the village was a large fire pit, surrounded by benches and torches in a large circle. Right now, since it's the middle of the day, there's no fire going but several women go into the hills and come back with piles of wood. The pile grew larger and larger throughout the day, until it was twice as tall as me.
We didn't speak the same language, but I quickly learned to talk by gesturing and performing actions that told them what I wanted to say. You always hear about language barriers ending up as people being roasted on the natives' fire but they were very patient and forgiving with me when I didn't quite understand what they were trying to say. They even helped teach me a few of their words.
It looks like there will be a big bonfire tonight, and I think I'll help them prepare, so I will write more when I get the chance.
These people sure do know how to have a party! I helped the women gather wood in the mountains, and they only laughed good-heartedly when I couldn't keep up with their nimble running along the sheer cliffs. After enough wood was collected, they showed me their weaving. There were hundreds of vertical strings between two wood bars, and they wove colored straw and other plant fibers in between the strings. They excelled at creating beautiful patterns with the fibers, while my attempts would only barely hold together at best.
As we wove, they pointed out the hunters leaving the village and heading farther south than I was shown. When I asked where they were going, the women drew a picture of a forest in the dirt and then a picture of a pig or boar next to it. My mouth savored at the thought of roasted pork. I haven't had a nice warm meal in a while. I've been on the sea most of my time.
Several hours later, they returned with a large boar strapped by the feet to a large branch that the men carried over their shoulders. It looked like it weighed maybe 200 or 300 pounds. Just by looking at it, there was more than enough to feed everyone.
Once it was dark, the women gathered dry grass and leaves and threw them underneath the piled wood. Lighting the fire, the flames quickly grew. Then the hunters positioned the boar to cook over the fire, with one of them turning it every so often.
I hadn't noticed there hadn't been children in the village until then, because all at once the younger members of the village burst from the houses and joined the rest in the center of the village. They laughed and played, wrestled, ran around, and all sorts of things that children do. At first I was uncomfortable with the very thought of children, but as I observed their behavior, I started to appreciate the village's culture.
Each treated the other with respect, and as equals. They laughed and played with all of them included, no one sat out on the sidelines...except for one boy.
He didn't seem like he was sad, just...alone. I wondered why this one boy was so lonely. Turning to one of the women beside me, I pointed towards the boy and asked what was wrong with him.
She gestured to me that he could not speak, only communicate through signals. I asked his name and she spelled it out in the dirt. Shikoba. She told me that it meant 'feather' in their culture. I thought that was pretty interesting, so I asked if I could go over and speak to him. She gave me permission and I walked over to him.
I gave a little wave when I sat down beside him, and he only smiled a little in return. They sat in silence, watching the others dance around the fire and the hunters begin to take off portions of the boar to give to the people.
I asked him if he enjoyed the festival type gathering that the people were having and he shrugged. I tried a few more times to communicate, but he didn't seem to want to talk. Finally, I shook my head and faced him directly.
"I want to talk with you." I told him, though he probably didn't understand what I was saying. But the thing was, he stared at me strangely, as if the force behind my words had made my intention clear. Suddenly, he moved his hands into many different shapes and motions, and the whole thing utterly confused me.
I didn't understand what he was trying to say, so I shrugged. Seeing my confusion, he pointed at me and then made a motion with his hand. Doing this several times, I finally understood that he wanted me to copy him. Mimicking his movement, he nodded happily. Then, pointing to himself, he made another motion. This time, I copied him and he smiled.
"You and me?" I asked, pointing between the two of us. He nodded, and mimicked the movement once more. "What about...flower?" I asked, pointing towards a small daisy on the ground a few feet away.
He followed where I pointed and made another sign. I copied and he nodded. It was a pattern we kept up throughout the entire night. I would point to an object and Shikoba would make a sign. Slowly, I was learning how to communicate with him. I figured with the light in his eyes, the way he seemed so happy to show me what something meant, that no one had tried to talk to him like this before.
It was really interesting to me to see what kind of world he lived in, mute and content to sit on the sidelines of the village, watching the others have fun. They passed out the boar to us, and I saw that nobody actually shunned the boy, they just didn't speak to him. However, I didn't see a single dirty or strange look towards the boy the whole time. It wasn't that he was hated, it was more like he was forgotten. People knew he was there but neither Shikoba nor the village had anything to say.
The dynamic of this village is very strange, but I'm hoping they'll let me stay for awhile. I sort of like this place.
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