The Dark Place

Even the young Indian seemed a little taken aback. The curl left his lip, and he too stared Gideon in the eye, for once without insolence. “No,” he said. “First we eat. Then gifts.” He was being very proper—the Yahi way again— and he was speaking very slowly and simply, apparently so that Gideon could understand.

'What's going on?” Julie said. “Are we in trouble?'

'Only if the food's bad. We've just been invited to dinner.'

The food, at least to begin with, was far from bad. The woman, with some help from the old men, uncovered a pit-oven—a hole in the ground lined with rocks and covered with damp branches—releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. From the hole she scooped out four small fish with a green stick that had been looped and tied at one end. The fish were placed at Gideon and Julie's feet in a much-used platter-shaped basket. There was no ceremony and no speech. The food was simply plumped down in front of them as it might have been by a tired counterman in an all-night diner.

The young Indian suddenly threw himself to the ground and sprawled on one elbow, watching them. He was, Gideon noted, in easy reach of his spear. The others followed his lead and squatted on their heels, clasping bony knees in skinny arms. Their faces were impassive.

Gideon and Julie sat down on the ground. Gideon reached for a fish.

'Gideon!” Julie said. “You're not going to eat this, are you? They've given us their own dinner.'

'Of course I am,” he said, picking up a fish, pushing back the skin with his fingers, and biting into the tender white flesh of the back. “Eat up, Julie. If you don't, it would be implying that it isn't good enough for you, or that they don't have enough for them and us both.'

'Well, they don't.'

'But it would be rude to suggest it. They're being very mannerly, and we should be, too. For all we know, three people have already been killed because they weren't sufficiently decorous. Now shut up and eat.'

The Indians had been watching them silently. When Julie and Gideon spoke to each other, it aroused not a flicker of interest. The Yahi appeared not to notice. It was as if they were a couple of dogs muttering to each other.

Gideon held up his fish and smiled at the Indians. “Good!” he said in Yahi, smiling and chewing. There was no response.

'Gideon,” Julie said, reaching irresolutely for a fish, “do you really think these people are killers? They're more frightened of us than we are of them. Except him.” She tipped her head toward the reclining Big Cheese, who seemed bored and impatient with watching the saltu eat. “You can practically see the hatred oozing out of him.'

Gideon nodded. “Yes, the others don't look exactly bloodthirsty. I think that as long as we're not alone with Big Cheese we're safe.'

Julie clawed a tiny piece of meat loose, popped it in her mouth, and licked her fingers. “Even if we were alone with him, I wouldn't be too worried. I don't think you'd have much trouble with him. Just don't you leave me alone with him.'

Sitting there, living through one of the century's anthropological summits, the distinguished professor glowed just as much, and for precisely the same reason, as he had when he was thirteen years old and Ruthie Nettle said she bet he could beat up Meat Baumhoff. He picked up another trout, bit it, and waved it directly at Big Cheese. “Good fish!'

'Can't you talk to them?” Julie asked uneasily. “It's awfully uncomfortable sitting here with them just staring at us.'

'I don't think you understand how little Yahi I know. It's strictly Me-Lone Ranger-You-Tonto.'

'Well, what about that? Wouldn't it be polite to ask their names? Tell them ours?'

'No, it'd be rude. And they'd never tell. No white person ever found out a Yahi's name.'

'What about Ishi?'

'That wasn't his name,” Gideon said. “'Ishi’ is a nickname. It's just what Kroeber dubbed him. It means ‘man’ in Yahi.” He sucked the last shreds of meat from the ribs of the fish, taking pains to show noisy appreciation, and picked up another. The Indians watched stolidly. “To them the purpose of a name isn't to label someone, it's a placation of a dead ancestor, a magical source of power—'

Surprisingly, Julie burst out laughing. “Here we are in the middle of this scene right out of King Solomon's Mines, and you're delivering a lovely, stuffy lecture from Introduction to Primitive Kinship Systems.'

To show her he wasn't at all stuffy, he suggested they assign the Yahi nicknames and suggested Shy Buffalo for the soft man with the big body and the gentle eyes, and Startled Mouse for the small, tremulous man he'd seen at the gravel bar. The young one, of course was Big Cheese. Julie chipped in with Gray Sparrow for the old woman, and Keen Eagle for the patriarchal old man.

When they finished the fish, Gray Sparrow groped for the basket she'd been working over earlier, a well-woven, watertight cooking basket with the Yahi stepped design on it, and began stirring again.

'The next course, I think,” Gideon said. “Have you ever had acorn mush?'

'No. Am I about to?'

'Yes,” he said, making a face. “A rare treat.'

Every few moments Gray Sparrow would use two sticks to deftly lift a heated, round stone from the fire, dip it quickly into a small pot of water to wash off the ashes, and drop it into the basket. One of the sticks was used to keep the stones rolling about so that the basket wasn't burned, and in a very few minutes the pale mush was boiling. The stones were removed, and the large basket was set down in front of Gideon and Julie.

This course was to be communal. First Big Cheese slouched over offhandedly and sat down near the basket. Without waiting for the others, he dipped two fingers into it and slurped up the yellowish-white porridge. Then, by means of a brusque gesture with the same hand, he told Gideon and Julie to do likewise, which they did, Julie with