Short Story
Bearer of the Curse
Years ago, a boy was born into the tribe; of little consequence, it seemed at the time. As a young child, he was different from the other children, but not noticeably. His nature made it so. He was shy, spoke little, and clung behind his mother.
When the boy reached his fourth year, the naming year, like all children who survived infancy, Abacon was brought forward to the people in the season of his birth. At the summer solstice, ceremonial fire, instead of his parents, Grandfather presented him to the tribe.
Grandfather announced that the boy’s name would be Abacon, a name never heard before. Questioned, Grandfather said the name meant ‘Bearer of the Curse,’ a very strange name, indeed. When asked for an explanation, Grandfather said. “When needed, it will be known.”
Through the years, Abacon’s nature did not change. He was withdrawn, did not play with the other children, and avoided social events. Willingly he performed his chores but did not take part with the other boys in the hunting or combat training. He moved about through the tribe, sullen, sometimes appearing to be gripped with despair.
As he entered the summer of his sixteenth year, the passage year to adulthood, Abacon disclosed to his parents that he was having visions and hearing voices. They dismissed his concerns: they were more interested in their own occupations.
At the passage celebration for those youths who were coming of age, Abacon stood back. He did not advance in the line to jump the fire and take a new name, an adult name.
Names were given by the youth’s parents that suited their personality, their character, something they now possessed or displayed, or something hoped for or expected.
The people thought that if anyone would want a new name, it would be The Bearer of the Curse. That troubled the people; there were mummers.
As summer progressed, the season of his birth, Abacon had encounters with his people that they found troubling.
One time, a group of boys who had found a wounded crow tied it to the limb of a tree and stoned it. When Abacon came upon the crow, it was near death. He cut it down, put it on the ground, and kneeled over its body. As the crow died, Abacon could be seen weeping. He buried the crow and spent the entire night in prayer and mournful weeping.
Another time, on a hot summer evening, a gust of wind blew sparks from a campfire into the nearby stand of aspen trees. The weather had been dry. The trees caught on fire and burned completely. In the morning, Abacon walked in circles for hours amongst the blackened spires. When his mother finally persuaded him to come out, his skin and clothes were covered in black ash. His darkened appearance had a disturbing effect on the people.
Yet another unusual incident became the subject of the tribe’s gossip. An old woman of the tribe, with no family, became ill with fever. Since she had no one to care for her, Abacon went to her. He stayed with her in her hut throughout her illness. He gave her herbs and cared for all her needs, but she died within the cycle of one moon. Afterward, Abacon sat in front of her hut for several days in mourning.
Eventually, a group of young men approached Abacon. The boys teased him with the taunt. “Nurse, Nurse.” He was still quiet, head down. Abacon looked up, his eyes full of tears, and stared at his tormentors with no sign of anger or fear. The boys, one by one, backed away under the heaviness of his gaze.
Some people approached the elders with concerns about Abacon and his strange behaviors. They were worried: they thought Abacon might be a threat to the tribe. It was brought to the elder’s attention that his grandfather had given him the name “Bearer of the Curse.” Some people went so far as to suggest that he be sent away into exile before he brought harm to the people.
A council of the elders was called to consider Abacon’s fate. As was custom, lengthy deliberations continued on at intervals over many days. All people who wanted to were given an opportunity to speak. Grandfather and Abacon remained silent.
During the gathering, stories were told, opinions voiced, feelings made known. The village boys were very vocal in their telling of their stories of Abacon’s strange behaviors. It was remembered that Grandfather had promised an explanation for Abacon’s name twelve years ago, but he did not offer a word.
More and more people shared their concern that Abacon may be carrying a curse that would bring harm to the tribe. Even Abacon’s parents shared that Abacon had admitted to having visions and hearing voices.
One of the elders pointed out that Abacon’s behavior only voiced deep-felt compassion and sorrow, not something dangerous. But others made persuasive appeals that Abacon’s nature was controlled by a sorrowful spirit, which might pass through him and bring harm to the tribe.
Eventually, the elders ended the deliberations and entered into private consultations. When they emerged, they had agreed that Abacon should be sent away under threat of death if he should return. He was given a supply of food and a medicine bag. He walked away from the village toward the mountains in the West. The people stood and watched. He did not look back. He disappeared into the trees at the foot of the hill.
The summer passed, and autumn came. The year was marked by a plentiful harvest and good hunting. It was the season for the harvest festival, a time for celebration.
The people were well prepared for winter and had much to be thankful for, but the celebration was not joyful. The drum did not sing. Even the best of the drummers could not get the joyful sound needed for the dancing. Despair fell over the village like a night with no moon or stars.
Time pressed on until it was time for the winter solstice fire. The people gathered for council. Despite their abundance, the mood of the people was sullen. They talked of their plight and searched for a solution that would lift the blanket of sadness.
A young man, one who had taunted Abacon, proclaimed that Abacon was to blame. The boy asserted that they had not exiled Abacon soon enough and that he must have cursed them when he left.
Many people let out a grunt and turned their faces from the boy to show their disagreement and contempt.
An elder lit the ceremonial pipe and passed it to Grandfather in hopes that he would speak.
Grandfather took the pipe to his lips and drew in the smoke. Seemly without effort, the smoke curled back out of his nose. Grandfather lowered the pipe and said, “I will answer any question that is asked.”
The people were silent and afraid to speak for fear of asking a foolish question.
After a few moments passed, a small girl who sat at Grandfather’s feet spoke up and asked, “What curse does Abacon bear?”
“He knows the Suffering,” Grandfather answered, “All suffering, everywhere, in all time.”
The little girl spoke again, “Is it because Abacon left that we are so sad?”
“Yes,” said Grandfather, “He carried that burden for us. Now that he is gone, it has come to rest on us.”
The little girl again, “If he came back, would we be happy again?”
“Yes,” said Grandfather.
The people organized and sent out search parties into the snowy mountains throughout winter, but without success. Even the coming of spring, with its warmth and greening, did not cheer the people. They knew it was unlikely that a man could survive a winter alone in the mountains. It would be especially difficult for Abacon, who had little experience in hunting or gathering. They had no hope.
Spring passed, and summer came. The season was again abundant. The crops grew without care. Animals seemed to present themselves to the hunters. The bushes had more berries and the trees more nuts than anyone could remember. Yet, the people moved through their days in sadness.
At the summer solstice, just at dusk, the people gathered for the lighting of the ceremonial fire. The sun had set; drum was quiet; no songs were sung: no feast was prepared.
As the people sat around the fire circle brooding, suddenly, an arrow falling from the sky struck in the center of the fire, spewing sparks and embers in every direction. Everyone came alert and looked into the darkened landscape. Men reached for the weapons; women gathered their children.
“Look there!” a young girl cried. Everyone turned in the direction of her outstretched arm.
On the westerly hill just outside the village, a shadow of a man was walking toward the people. It was Abacon.
The people ran out to him. The children, reaching him first, surrounded him and touched his tattered clothes.
They led him to the fire, gave him a seat, and offered him food.
After a time of quiet, the same little girl who had questioned Grandfather spoke to Abacon. “Why did you come back and risk being stoned?”
“I could not bear your suffering. I heard a sorrowful drum.” Abacon looked to the drummers.
They took up their drums, which began to sing. The people danced.
Abacon lives among the people as before. He can be moved to tears by the death of a butterfly. But now, he does not mourn alone. When he drops to his knees in sorrow, an arm will surround his shoulders. A hand of a child will slip into his. And other tears mixed with his in the dust as they strike the ground.
But now, now also, he dances.