Chapter 22

Near the stage platform, Krista, Aven, and Nos watched the Unders— youngest of the Joeng—squealing with delight as they chased after Ste, Nimi, and several other adults making royal yellow and rusty orange bubbles with an assortment of looped reeds. When a bubble POPPED glitter, cookies, and sweets exploded from inside. While the children scrambled for the treats the adults ran behind the stage, loaded their reeds with soapy lye, dragged their loops over the glitter, cookies, and sweets, and returned to the game. The lemon-flavored cookies were the children’s favorite. 

      The crackle and aroma of barbecued fish and efid meat continued to emanate from the Joeng Night Fires. Although the bulk of Dawa had sunk below the horizon, moonlight from Chandra still illuminated the festivities.  

     A string of opaque Tineke bowl lights were draped across the top of the stage. Stage lights were spaced evenly along the platform providing visibility for a group of young adults prepping for the evening's events.  

     As the night drew on, the music grew louder. The dancing more frantic. Conversations and laughter more boisterous as the brewer's beverages passed from hand to hand and fires were prodded with sticks and feed yoee nut shells. 

     Damp and breathing hard Krista and Aven returned to their places beside Ravel. Simultaneously instrument after instrument in the Joeng orchestra went silent until only the soft rumble of a single Tineke hand drum continued. A contrapuntal rhythm cued everyone left standing to join the rest of the celebrants already sitting in various postures in a semicircle facing the stage. 

     Laps were occupied by babies and the Unders. Those a bit older and the Elevens and Twelves crowded the sides of the stage and cheered loudly as eight Teeners climbed the center stairs to the stage. Second to last was Nos. Hoots and hollers ensued. Aven screamed the loudest. “GO NOS.” Polite greetings were exchanged between the contestants on the stage until a series of THUDS from the hand drum silenced the crowd. 

     Dramatically, Aven's mother Nimi walked to the middle of the stage and with an actor's flair, brought a Tineke megaphone to her mouth. “PEOPLE OF THE JOENG.”

     Loud CHEERS and YEAHS exploded from everywhere. Behind Nimi, the eight Teeners came to attention. Nos’s usual jovial demeanor was gone. Replaced by a serious, determined look that surprised Kirsta.  

     “WHO LIKES CRUMBEES?” Nimi shouted. 

     Most of the crowd played along with hisses, gags and boos. But the Unders in the front rows went wild–jumping to their feet–racing about, flapping their arms –making a BUZZING sound with their tongues and teeth that was quickly picked up by the rest of the assembly. 

      On the stage, Nimi lined up the contestant’s boy, girl, boy, girl, girl, boy, girl, boy. 

Nos stood rigidly, third from the left.  Nimi turned back to the crowd. “For the benefit of our guest Krista I will briefly explain the rules. Nimi stepped forward cupping her right hand behind her ear. “WHAT DO WE CALL THIS COMPETITION”

      The crowd responded instantly. “NUMB A CRUMBEE!  NUMB A CRUMBEE!”

     “AND HOW DO WE NUMB A CRUMBEE?”

     “GIVE IT THE NEEDLE!”

     “AND WHO HAS THE NEEDLES.”

     Except for the very youngest, every hand pointed to the stage. “THEY DO.”

     “AND HOW DO YOU WIN?”

     “STICK A CRUMBEE TWICE!  STICK A CRUMBEE TWICE!” The crowd chanted and began the same buzzing sound that came from every corner of the Night Fires. Four well-timed drumbeats added to the tension. On the stage, the contestants dropped their hands to their sides. 

     “SHOW US THE CRUMBEES” Nimi shouted. Behind her, the black curtain parted exposing a pale green chunk board that took up half of the stage. Eight multicolored, bulbous objects were attached at various locations to the green backdrop. Except for coloring, each object was the exact same size. Insect like. Triangular heads. Multifaceted eyes. Wispy thorax. And a three-inch wide and four-inch-long abdomen; the largest target. Each contestant positioned themselves directly in front of their faux crumbee, then froze waiting for the command to begin. 

    Though anticipation grew, the buzz from the crowd and drumbeat softened. Krista looked from Aven to Ravel and asked hesitantly, “Is Nos pretty good?”

      “One of the best,” Aven smiled. “Taught him a few tricks myself.” 

     Ravel nudged Krista, “Aven won the Crumbee a few sun circles ago.”

     “Really?” Krista looked at Aven. 

     “Really. Why? Don’t you think I —”

      Out of the dark, Moogy sauntered up to the trio. Took a short look at Ravel, a longer look at Aven, and decided on Krista’s lap and sat.  

     Krista gave Aven an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

     “It’s all right,” Aven said a bit offended.  “He’s just a cat.” 

     Moogy turned to Aven. The tip of his pink tongue appeared then he turned his head back toward the stage. 

     Aven and Krista exchanged a that-didn't-happen look. 

     Moogy purred, licked the back of a paw and washed his whiskers with feline indifference.  

     On the stage, Nimi asked. “ARE THE CONTESTANTS READY?” 

     Krista leaned forward. 

     The hands of the contestants fell to the sides of their Tineke vests. For the first time, Krista noticed what appeared to be black rows of embroidery along the hem. Into each slot of the fabric was inserted a six-inch thorn needle.  

     “IS IT TIME TO NUMB THEM!” Nimi shouted. 

     “NUMB THEM!” The crowd replied. 

     In front of the green chunk board, on invisible threads, the crumbees began to bob and weave. Each contestant pulled a thorn needle from their vest and brought a blow tube to their mouth. Except for the plaintive cry of a hungry baby, the audience went silent. 

     Aven leaned next to Krista's ear. “You have to make two strikes, and you only get eight chances,” Aven moved her right arm in a slow, rhythmic hammering motion. “You only get sixteen beats from the drum.”  

     Krista nodded. Moogy rose in her lap and stared curiously at the stage. The first DRUMBEAT echoed around the campfires. 

     The contest began. 

     Before the eighth drumbeat, two boys and a girl had spent all eight needles without a strike. A pineapple yellow crumbee had a thorn stuck in its thorax. A magenta crumbee had a thorn stuck above its compound eye. At BEAT thirteen, a boy and the second and third girl were eliminated. Only two boys remained. A muscular tow-headed boy with a hair bob and Nos. Each waited until the fifteenth drum beat to blow their last needle-thorns.   

     They blew. Needle-thorns flew.

     There was a collective gasp from the crowd 

     “No one won.” Came from one side of the Night Fires.

     “DART OFF! DART OFF!” Some shouted.

     General unrest followed as different comments traveled from every direction. 

     Krista leaned close to Aven and whispered. “Joeng take their games seriously.”

     “We do.” Aven's eyes never left the stage.

     Ravel took Krista's hand, “Tonight . . . these are games. But like slings and kite flying they have been found useful in other endeavors.”

     Kite flying? A vague memory of the ocean and kites being assembled flitted through Krista’s mind. “What kind of game is kite —?”

      “PEOPLE OF THE JEONG . . . WE HAVE A WINNER!” On the stage, Nimi pointed to a needle thorn. A white stripe extended from the blunt end to the sharp tip which was stuck in the head of the pineapple yellow crumbee. Nimi took the hands of both boys and walked them to the center of the stage center of the stage. “You know what to do,” Nimi encouraged the audience.

     The BUZZZZZZZZZZZ was deafening and droned on until Nimi raised her arm.  “THIS YEARS CRUMBEE WINNER IS . . .” Nimi looked from one side of the crowd to the other. When they began to grow agitated, she raised the arm of the boy on her left high in the air. “NOS, SECOND SON OF FIFA  AND CALT!”

     “NOS! NOS!” The crowd cried. 

     “NOS!” Aven screamed loudest and was up and rushing toward the stage.

     Nos’s white teeth flashed with his smile. He hopped up and down. Hugged Nimi then raced around the stage and shook hands with every contestant. Nos raised his blow tube in triumph. His parents Fifa and Calt flew up the stairs and joined Nos and Nimi at center stage.     

     Nimi pulled down the pineapple yellow crumbee and started to hand it to Nos. From nowhere came a loud EEROW. Moogy sprung out of the dark, clawed the mock crumbee from Nimi’s hand, caught it with his teeth in midair, leaped off the stage, and disappeared into the dark. The crowd roared, “Moogy! Moogy.” 

     Three children in the front sang in high-pitched voices, “MOOGY GOT THE CRUMBEE!

     MOOGY GOT THE CRUMBEE.”  A chant that caught on with the audience and carried on until Ravel climbed the steps to the stage.

     Nimi stopped laughing long enough to apologize into the megaphone. “SORRY, NOW I HAVE TO TURN THIS CELEBRATION TO RAVEL FOR TONIGHT’S FINAL CONTEST.”

     The crowd cheered. Ravel took the megaphone and smiled at Nimi.  “And why?” Ravel teased, “Do you have to turn this celebration over to me Nimi?” 

     Nimi leaned back into the megaphone. “Because I’m in this year’s Sling Contest.” From her hip, Nimi drew out a bright blue, Y-shaped implement and waved it in the air.  

     The crowd CHEERED!  

     “Go, MOM,” Aven yelled.  

     Nimi shook Ravel's hand, did a low curtsy, and disappeared down the stairs. 

     Victorious, Nos followed and fell into Aven’s open arms. 

      Only a short time passed before a soft chant came from the far side of the bridge to Nunu Island. “Good fishing! Soft storms. Good fishing! Soft storms.” The chant grew louder as every member of the Fisher People crossed the bridge, circled each Night Fire, and came to rest. Politely, the crowd went silent

      “Good fishing! Soft storms.” Sang three men and three women in perfect a Capella voice as they marched toward the stage. The lead man and woman climbed the stairs onto the stage and faced the audience. They looked like twins. Chestnut hair braided over their left shoulders. Brief, violet tunics, decorated with purple, heart-shaped shells extended from under their arms down the side of their leggings.  Intricate netting covered their  lower arms from the elbow to the wrist. “Good fishing! Soft storms.” They bowed to the crowd.

     “Good fishing! Soft Storms.” The crowd replied as one.   

     A soft drumbeat announced the arrival of four more teams. Ste and Nimi made an impressive entrance in flaming red beret caps and tunics. Small pink flowers were sewn on the sleeves and hems. Again, the left or right lower arm of every contestant was wrapped tightly in Tineke fiber. The drums grew louder.  So did the cries from the crowd as different sections of the Night Fires cheered for their favorites. 

     “We want Ttis! We want Olee!” Came from the right of the stage. 

     “GO, MOM,” Aven yelled. 

     “Nimi. Nimi!” Nos chanted. 

     “Nimi. Nimi!’ Krista and some others joined.

     Other names flew from the mouths of the crowd. 

     “We want Quap. We want Quap and Apat.”

     “Ste is the magic man. Ste is the magic man.” 

     The audience chanted loudest when Tomx and Remia raised their brewer's mugs, took a big swallow, and passed their mugs to those closest to the stage.  

     While final teams were introduced, Ste’s name tumbled through Krista’s mind.  Powder blue eyes, hair bun, muscles, and a great ─” 

     “Citizens of the Joeng.” Ravel pointed to the rear of the stage where a stage crew mounted five large diamond-shaped targets. In the middle of each target was a smaller, two-foot-high diamond. At the corner of each diamond, one of the crew attached a bright white circle visible to everyone. The drums stopped. A hush fell over the assembly.  

     “Time to draw positions,” Ravel said holding out a red-orange bowl. One member of each team stepped forward. Ravel shook the bowl several times and extended it outward. Five hands slipped over the edge and paused. . .

     “CHOOSE,” Ravel said. And they did. Quap and Apat shared a look of disappointment.  

     Nos nudged Krista. “Bad luck. They got the middle target. It’s always better on the end. There’s less going on on each ─”

     “TARGETS,” Ravel said.

     Each team stepped in front of their target. Ste and Nimi and the Fisher team on each end. 

     Aven sighed, gave Krista a hopeful look, and whispered. “Go Mom. Come on Ste.” 

     “SLINGS,” Ravel's said with added tension.   

     As the audience noise subsided, Nos tugged Krista's sleeve and explained rapidly, “The object is to draw a pellet from your Tineke bag – then, as quick as you can – load your sling, pull, and fire at the circles on the corners of your diamond. You only get a point for a hit in one of the circles. If you can hit all four corners you get a bonus point. Each ‘Slinger” only gets four shots.”

     Krista gave Nos a confused look. Aven picked up on it immediately. “Just watch. It’s pretty simple. Ste and my Mom are two of the best,” Aven finished proudly.

     “So are the Fisher people,” Nos said rocking his body from to side.  “And they're usually shooting at targets from a boat.” Nos swayed further left and right.  “On the ocean. Where the waves – ” 

     “Bets, Mister Crumbee Champion?” Aven challenged. 

     Nos huffed. “I'm not betting against your mom or Ste. Do I look stupid?” 

     “No comment,” Aven commented.   

     “CONTESTANTS . . . TO YOUR MARK,” Ravel ordered. 

     A member of each team took a position ten feet in front of their target. From the percussion section of the orchestra came a soft drum roll.  

     Rapidly Aven explained. “Most slingers tuck the handle of their sling into those wrist wraps. Makes the sling more stable whether you the hold it horizontally or sideways.”

     “I like sideways,” Nos stood and headed toward the stage. “I'm sneaking closer. Better view.” 

     “ROUND ONE,” Ravel announced from the stage.

     Aven and Krista trailed after Nos.   

     “AT MY SIGNAL.” Ravel looked up and down the front row of contestants. Except for Quap, each person inserted the handle of their slings into a wristband.  “PLEASE ALTERNTE SHOTS.  LOAD, DRAW, AND AND FIRE AT WILL. STOP . . . AT THE  THE TENTH BEAT OF THE DRUM,” Ravel cautioned. “BEGIN THE SLING ON THE SECOND ─ THE SECOND ─  BEAT OF THE DRUM. . .” 

     Silence. . .

     The leader ‘slinger’ of each team took their position.  The second ‘slinger’ ready right behind them. 

     Silence . . . 

     Then a single DRUMBEAT. 

     In a military fashion, Nimi and the four other lead slingers placed a round pebble into the center of each pouch and drew back the Tineke bands to their cheeks. 

     The drum BEAT a second time.

      Sharp, atonal TWANGS rang like chimes as the pouches were released and the sling bands contracted. 

     The drum BEAT. 

     The first slingers stepped aside to make room for their teammates. Pouches were loaded, bands drawn, and fired.

     The drum BEAT again and again. 

     Positions were exchanged four times in rapid succession. The crowd watched. There were cheers and sighs of frustration.  

     “SHENZI!” Came from the male voices behind the middle Night Fire.

     With each drum beat the fans grew more raucous. 

     WHOMPS rang out when a pellet struck the target. Quiet miffs could be heard when a pellet missed completely and buried itself in the curtain behind the targets. 

     The drum BEAT a tenth time. 

     Slings were returned to pockets or belt slots. A group of Unders hurried onto the stage, gathered the multicolored pellets from the floor, and returned them to members of each team. Teammates huddled anxiously on the stage while a man and woman walked to each target of the five targets, inspected the corners of the diamond, and held up a placard with the number of hits. 

     Cheers were loud for the Fisher Team, the center team, and Ste and Nimi all with three hits. 

     The sighs of disappointment and good-natured teasing that accompanied the departure of the other two teams dissipated when Tomx retrieved his brewer's mug, raised it in the air, and cried, “Balhai Ho.” 

     “Balhai Ho!” Filled the night. 

     On the stage, the crew removed the two end targets.  

     Ravel moved between the teams as they disgusted strategy. When he was convinced, everyone was ready he turned to the crowd  “ROUND TWO. One team will be eliminated from the finals. LOAD, DRAW, and FIRE at will until the tenth drumbeat. . . LOAD YOUR SLINGS AND ON THE SECOND BEAT OF THE DRUM . . . SLING.”  

     The drum BEAT.

     The second BEAT followed quickly. 

     The drumbeats came faster.

     A hush fell over the crowd that was quickly followed by GASPS and shouts of dismay. At the middle target, Quap, a tall bearded man fumbled trying to place a pellet into the sling pouch. The pellet dropped with a THWACK onto the stage. By the time he retrieved it and tried to reload, the tenth DRUMBEAT sounded. 

     While the audience clapped politely, Ravel and Quap’s teammate Apat gave him a consoling hug. They both stepped off the stage grimacing in utter disappointment. 

     From out of nowhere, Indo, Tomx, and Reima appeared in their florescent sock caps and handed Quap and Apat mugs of foaming brew. The team turned back to the stage and toasted the remaining contestants.      

     Again, one diamond target was removed. The remaining targets were moved closer to the center, but five feet further from the Fisher Team and Ste and Nimi. 

     Most of the crowd was standing now and crammed close to the stage.     

    “Good Luck.” Ravel shook hands with all four contestants and turned to the audience.  “THE FINAL ROUND.” 

     While the crowd cheered Nimi and Ste turned, tipped their red berets, and raised their arms in the air. The reaction from the crowd was spontaneous and loud.  “STE do your magic.”

     “Nimi! Nimi.”

     “Go Mama, go!” Aven chanted.   

     The Fisher Team stepped to the front of the stage. The woman flicked her chestnut braid over her shoulder then they both bowed to the crowd.  “Good fishing! Soft storms.”  

      “GOOD FISHING! SOFT STORMS!” Bellowed most of the crowd and every member of the Fisher contingent. 

     Ravel brought the megaphone to his mouth. “THE EIGHT BEAT OF THE DRUM WILL END THE CONTEST. BOTH MEMBERS OF EACH TEAM MAY STAND TOGETHER AND AT WILL. . . POINT VALUES REMAIN THE SAME.” 

     Nimi and Ste took their place at the firing line. Almost shoulder to shoulder. Feet apart facing the target. Pellets already loaded in their sling pouches, ready to pull. To their right, the Fisher duo stood poised and ready.             

     “AT THE FIRST DRUMBEAT.” Ravel raised his arm. . .

     Except for the plaintiff cry of a hungry toddler, a hush settled over the crowd. Every eye was on Ravel’s arm. . .

It dropped!  

     The drum BEAT.

     All four finalists drew and fired. Four atonal TWANGS sounded. Two WHOMPS followed instantly as the circle at the right corner of the Fishers was struck and Nimi hit the top circle of their diamond. 

     “Mamas got it.  Mamas got it.” Aven cried. Ste let fly and was rewarded with a resounding WHOMP.  MIFFS and WHOMPS followed.  

     The drum BEAT.  

     Ste’s pellet hit the circle at the bottom of their diamond dead center. 

     The male member of the Fisher team drew and fired. 

     The drum BEAT.

      His pellet destroyed the left corner of the diamond. 

     “You just need the top. THE TOP!” Wailed the Fisher People.

      “THIRD BASE! THIRD BASE!” Screamed Krista. “You only need Third─”

      The drum BEAT one last time.  

     Other than crackles from the three Night Fires, silence prevailed. The judges raced to Ste and Nimi’s target and inspected it carefully. Satisfied they conferred quietly and moved to the Fisher's target. While the crowd grew more and more restless, they motioned to Ravel. He joined them at the Fisher's target. Inaudible words were exchanged. Ravel, leaned in close to the circle at the top of the diamond, paused then nodded.

      Ravel and the judges returned to center stage. The sling teams waited patiently as the judges initialed a piece of reed parchment and ceremoniously handed it to Ravel. 

     There was no need for a megaphone. The crowd was quiet. Waiting expectantly.  Ravel motioned Ste, Nimi, and the Fisher team to center stage. Ravel took a second look at the parchment and began. “Congratulations to all the contestants in each of tonight’s events. Compliments to our chefs, brewers and ─ “

     A hearty cheer went out for the brewers.

    Ravel laughed. “And our accomplished musicians. I would like to thank our stage ─”

     “Ravel. Who won?” A male voice boomed good-naturedly from the rear.

     “Yeah, who won?” Came a second voice closer to the stage. 

     Ravel raised his hand. “Okay. Okay . . . First of all, two records were broken this evening.   Between the two final teams, the diamond circles were struck seventeen times. Shattering the long-time record of fifteen strikes. Neither team struck all four corners so there is no bonus ─”

     “RAVEL, who WON?” More voices joined the demand.

     “Get on with it.”

     “Okay. Okay.” Ravel laughed and motioned Ste, Nimi, and the Fisher team to center stage. “I feel a bit of dissension from the Joeng.” 

     “Ravel, come on.” Indo, Tomx, and Reima cried as one. “Or no brew for you.” 

     “NO BREW FOR YOU!  NO BREW FOR YOU!” Came a chant. 

     “That's a hostile group,” Ravel looking from team to team. “Tonight’s second place Sling Team with an incredible eight strikes are . . . Nimi and Ste!”  

     While Aven, Nos, and Krista sighed with disappointment, the men, women, Unders, and Teeners of the Fisher People wedged their way to the stage about to explode. 

     Nimi and Ste stepped forward, bowed to cheers and applause from the crowd, and politely moved aside.   

     “Tonight's winning Sling Team with an incredible – almost perfect score – of nine strikes,” Ravel stepped between the man and woman and raised their arms high in the air.  Brit and Jorda from the Fisher People.”

     The Fisher contingent could not be restrained. They bulled through the audience, climbed to the stage, and carried Brit and Jorda away on their shoulders chanting “Good Fishing! Soft storms.”

     Nimi and Ste followed the procession for a while chanting in a loud congratulatory voice. “Good Fishing! Soft storms.”

     Aven embraced her mother. “You did good, Mom. Real good.” 

     “We did,” Nimi smiled. “Eight strikes is not bad.  Though, tonight . . . not good enough.” 

     Nos and Krista joined Nimi and Ste. “You should've won,” Nos looked up at Ste. 

     Ste tussled Nos’ hair. “But we didn’t.” Ste bent a knee to bring his head closer to Nos. “How would like to join me on a trip?”  

     “Where?”

     Ste put his arm around Nos and they walked toward the largest Night Fire. 

     Krista, Aven, and Nimi watched them depart. 

     “I think I know what that’s about,” Krista said. 

     “What?” Aven and Nimi asked in unison. 

     “I got a guide . . . two guides and going to meet Valkyrie.”

       
    The Night Fires were stoked, food and beverages continued to appear and be devoured. Except for Krista, the people of the Joeng danced and sang through the night to the rhythm of the Tineke drums and the symphony of Joeng instruments. 

     Inside her temporary home, Krista packed her down-world bag. Moogy moved about the room glancing at the down-world bag, then at Krista. 

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