The Cuckoo Colloquium

27 - Nini

The rain began to pick up, and Nini shivered and stared into a filmy mist that appeared to be descending onto them.

"Where did Dim wander off to this time?"

Like a dutiful companion, she waited with Puso and paced at the base of the rocky embankment. But an hour later Nini was not so dutiful.

"Maybe we can spot him if we move a bit."

Nini proposed circling around the mound, and then, hopefully, spotting Dim from a different direction. But the canopy became particularly thick as they walked, and before they realized it, she and Puso had wondered well away from the cropping that Dim had ascended.

"I don't think you should be the one leading," grumbled Puso.

Without the benefit of understanding the movement of the sun above, they had might as well be floundering in the blackness of space, so thoroughly were they unable to navigate under the profuse, obscuring canopy and clouds.

They soon found themselves in a heath forest, with thickening underbrush and rich outbursts of moss everywhere they looked. Then the sandy soil gave way to a marshland, and they were sloshing through a big flood plain, past a tea-colored lake, with turtles and magnificently painted birds skimming the water.

Nini didn't stop, though Puso had become a dank rivulet of perspiration that soaked even his lower trouser legs. He was starting to stink pretty awful, too, and he was always thirsty-even in the midst of that afternoon's downpour.

They passed what looked like a gathering street-gang of looming carnivorous plants. Then Nini stopped at a colorful scene before them-articles of abandoned clothing, reds, greens, and whites, now waving solemnly in the late afternoon breeze. Many tall sticks listed, kept in place by crosspieces of wood, all neatly attended to, all designed with careful and caring thought.

It didn't need to be said-she knew they had wandered into a graveyard.

She tiptoed through it, walking as graciously as possible to show respect for the deceased, passing articles of old clothing, torn, worn by the relentless weather. There were offerings of food, but long since gone, with the plastic or aluminum containers remaining. Some of the graves had weapons, a spear perhaps, denoting the grave of a warrior. Animal tusks sat atop another grave of a hunter. A water gourd, or a basket, or a spindle, sat atop the graves of which Nini took to be the women.

"No," she said when Puso moved to seize what looked like a sturdy spear.

He complied and stepped back. They could surely use these things-the weapons, the simple containers. But something more urgent told Nini to respect their surroundings. Something in the soft breeze warned them they were in the midst of something she could only think of as sacred.

Then they passed a giant rambutan tree, and they were rewarded with its ripe bounty; they gorged on the fruit, lacking restraint when it came to their sustenance. She was still carrying the red shoulder bag with nothing inside of it other than her bird book, and they filled the bag with a good amount of fruit.

Then they rested in the shade among the discarded skin of the rambutan fruit, with its soft spines, glowing reddish in the fading afternoon sun.

They had only gotten a short ways when Nini stopped next to a light green willow tree by a small stream. Several ceramic containers the size of small cookie jars swung, ever so gently, from a low branch in the shadow of the willow, secured by black twine. It was as if the ground-sweeping branches were gracefully calling to her, and she shuffled nearer and squinted into the shaded sanctuary, peering at the contents within the containers...