The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels by William Golding

where their feet reached. His knees were up to his chin and he glanced sideways, every now and then, without speaking. All the time, his hand caressed his ankle. There was a thick callous of skin on the bone, and a long bruise on the side of his foot under it. Sometimes he stroked the bruise, sometimes he picked at the callous; and his eyes looked from one face to another as the hunters made love or sank openmouthed and snoring, towards sleep. Once, the young man put his smudgy beard and moustache down on his knees and shut his eyes; but he soon lifted them again and stole glances sideways at the others.
    Beautiful Bird was snuggled against a youth who lay in the crook of his arm. Beautiful Bird opened sleepy eyes, saw the young man with the callous and grinned. Sleepily he put out his tongue. He filled his chest with air and sang, but softly.
    “Charging Elephant Fell On His Face In Front Of An Antelope!”
    The sleepy mass heaved, chuckled, giggled; but softly, as at a joke well-worn. The boy by Beautiful Bird grinned at the young man with the callous then snuggled closer to his lover. Beautiful Bird, his eyes shut, but the grin still on his face, put out his tongue.
    Charging Elephant looked away and took his hand from his calloused ankle. He said nothing. He stared down over his knees at all the gear scattered on the bare earth. He inspected the drum and the three-string bow glumly, looked at the white bone flute laid before his feet. He reached down, took it up and placed it to his lips. He pursed his lips to blow, glanced sideways at the Elder of Elders, then slowly put the flute down again. Behind him, a voice whispered and he could not see which hunter it was.
    “Charging Elephant Fell On His Face In Front Of An Antelope——”
    Charging Elephant began to talk, urgently.
    “There was a stone—the branch is bent, the root twisted but not broken—See!”
    He leapt to his feet and immediately lurched sideways as his ankle gave. He came down sickeningly on the calloused bone, gritted his teeth, and began to walk up and down before the other Leopard Men, clumsily. The youth who lay in the Elder of Elder’s bosom unbroke his voice for a moment and squeaked in delight——
    “Chimp!”
    The Elder of Elders jerked up, struck the youth a fierce smack on his backside so that the boy yelled at the top of his voice for the pain. But there was noise from the young men too—snorts and gurgles, there were heaving chests and shaking shoulders. There was another fierce smack and wail from the other side of the group; slowly the noise and movement died away to be interrupted every now and then by a fresh snort or gurgle—and once, by an outright guffaw.
    Chimp stood still, wearing his new name. A flush swept up under his brown skin, paled, then came flooding back again. He bent his knees, little by little, and felt with his hands for the place where he would sit, without looking for it. He squatted. His mouth was dropped open, his eyes and his nostrils wide. His face stayed dusky red.
    The sun moved over the tree and down, the shadow of the leaves crept back towards the bole. Chimp squatted where he was and did not sleep. The red had faded from his face but he did not lay his cheek down on his knees. Instead, he looked bleakly across the plain.
    Mountains surrounded the plain on all sides. Here and there were white patches against their light blue. Lower down the blue changed to dark blue, then blue and brown. Below that again was the green of the forested foothills, but Chimp looked through it all. Only when a black storm crept into view, crawling along the mountains on his left, did he watch it and fumble for his flute. But after a moment he let the flute alone and watched the storm cloud without expression. It was so far away it passed like a snail along the mountains. Where it passed, there were flashes and dazzles lower down so that the stormcloud left a glittering snail trail behind it. He watched the cloud drag its