When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

The sun had barely overtopped the eastern peaks when Hamul-Kammesh arrived and the ceremonies began. The soothsayer was especially apparelled for the occasion, and wore white robes that matched his beard, and a two-foot conical white hat that brought me frivolous remembrances. Yet he conducted himself with the august air of the wise men of old, and spoke in the sonorous and measured tones of a patriarch. He was especially impressive when he stationed himself on a little newly reared mound in the middle of the clearing, and, taking a small horn-like instrument from his cloak, blew a blast that brought the noisy, chattering assemblage instantly to order.

"Let us begin by offering thanks to Yulada!" he thundered, as soon as the spectators were giving him their undivided attention.

Instantly the three or four hundred men, women and children threw themselves down upon the ground; stretched themselves full-length with faces turned southward; and mumbled and muttered incoherently.

Of course, I had to prostrate myself along with the crowd, and to join in murmuring the unintelligible jargon. But how thankful I was when the ceremony was over! After this trial, it seemed a relief to listen to Hamul-Kammesh.

"My friends," he proclaimed, in the manner of one who relishes his own eloquence, "we are here today by the decree of Yulada, Yulada whose ways are inscrutable and whose will no man can oppose. Why she has brought us together I may not reveal, nor whether tomorrow she will scourge us with earthquake and lightning. All that she permits me to say is that this moment shall be one of rejoicing, for today we celebrate the union of one of our daughters with a stranger from the lands beyond the mountains. Never before have any of our maidens been wedded except to sons of our own tribe, but let us not question Yulada, who is wiser than all men; let us only give thanks, remembering that whatever she does is for our best."

It will be needless to repeat the remainder of the sermon. It would, in fact, be impossible to do so, for all that I can recall is that the speaker continuously praised Yulada, emphasizing and re-emphasizing his remarks until he had spoken for an hour and said the same thing in twenty ways. Yet the audience listened with mouths agape and staring eyes; and when he had finished, there was an uproar of approving yells and cheers.

Following this frightful pandemonium, Hamul-Kammesh prepared to tie the knot that would make Yasma my wife. In ringing tones he uttered first my name, then hers; and in single file we had to thread our way amid the squatting figures and take our places at the soothsayer's side on the central mound. This was embarrassing enough; but a more embarrassing experience awaited us upon our arrival at what I shall call the stage. No sooner were we within touching distance than the soothsayer, with a wide sweep of his arms, enfolded Yasma in a close embrace. Of course, I realized that this was held essential to the ceremony; but it did seem to me that Hamul-Kammesh was unnecessarily long about releasing Yasma. I was about to cough tactfully when he at length freed her, and, to my disgust, flung his arms in my direction, and for an instant I felt his bristly white beard against my face.

But this time the embrace was not protracted. Indeed, I had no more than realized what was happening, when it was over. And Hamul-Kammesh, with a wry grimace, was again addressing the audience:

"The bride and bridegroom have now been enfolded in the arms of Yulada. They are at last fit to leave their solitary paths; and I am therefore ready to declare their two souls immortally one. But first I must speak of their obligations. They must always hold the name of Yulada in awe, and their children and their children's children must have the fear of Yulada in their hearts. They must not fail in that worship which Yulada commands; they must do deference each year by taking the way of the southward-flying birds if but they hear the call; and, above all, they must not reveal any of Yulada's secrets, and must never approach within five stones' throws of the feet of the goddess. But during all the season of green leaves they must remain in Sobul, tilling the earth as Yulada wishes and roaming her mountains but never defiling her trees or wild things. If so, long life will be theirs, unless—unless—" Here Hamul-Kammesh hesitated, and something menacing came into his tone.—"Unless Yulada should not choose to revoke her old prophecy, but, for reasons which only she can fathom, should send some portent of her wrath."

Crowning this address, Hamul-Kammesh stretched his arms imploringly toward Yulada, and, with eyes upturned, mumbled a prayer. And, after completing his incoherent mutterings, he took my right hand in his left, and Yasma's left hand in his right, and joined our two hands in a not unwilling clasp.