While Little Mika's mother stamped on the last remains of the fire in the corner of the cottage, Old Nerwhal held Little Mika in his firm grasp while Little Mika sobbed his rage and fury at the injustice of it all. The tantrum was prolonged and violent, Mika squirming and fighting and sobbing, with the stinging smell of smoke filling the room. Old Nerwhal's dry, ancient voice whispered, "Hush, hush, hush Little Mika."
The screaming became sobbing, the sobbing became hiccups, and the hiccups became sulking. The ashes and charred blanket were taken out of the cottage by a woman with the look of contained fury that only a busy mother can manage properly. Finally Old Nerwhal asked, "Little Mika, would you like to hear a story?"
"Is, hic, is it good story?"
"Well, Little Mika, you will never know unless you hear it. I like it, but I am old and you are very young. I am old enough to remember when your mother was little like you and used to cause trouble just like you. If you tell your mother I said that she will tear your arms off and make you eat them! So let's have that as our little secret, OK?" Little Mika grinned with evil delight and settled in for the story, transferring vast amounts of snot from his face to his hands.
"A long time ago, when my grandfather's grandfather was as little as you, things were very different. Each of the villages had their own gods, and demons, and costumes. They would look at the other villages and say, 'Look at those wicked people with their bad gods, and their wicked demons. They must be very bad people, and bad people want to steal our women and crops. Let us grab out spears and stop them before they do that to us.'"
Little Mika's eyes grew wide. This might be a very good story, with stabbing and blood and killing.
"So, one day the men of the village of Nervwahla drank too much water-of-lightning.."
Little Mika chirped up, "You drink lots of water-of-lightning too!"
"Hmmph, well, um, there is the right amount of water-of-lightning, and then you can drink too much," extemporized Old Nerwhal.
"How much is too much?" asked Little Mika in that disconcerting intelligent way children have of getting straight to the point.
"Listen to the story Little Mika and you will find out,"
"So, the men of Nervwahla drank much too much water-of-lightning, not a sensible amount like a wise grandfather, and decided they would go attack the neighboring village, which was Atvwahla, and kill the men, and take their crops, and maybe the nicer women."
"Do you remember the village Atvwahla, Little Mika?"
"Is it the one by the river with the funny fish?"
"No Little Mika, that is a different story. Wait, how did you hear that story? That isn't a story a little boy should hear. When your mother tells you to stay in bed, you do what she says! I don't want to see you having to eat your own arms."
"Not little boy," grumbled Little Mika with infinite resentment.
"Atvwahla is the village where He From Whom Our Blessings Come was born. Remember the tiger? Anyway, the men of Nervwahla thought the men of Atvwahla were very wicked people who had stolen their crops instead of grown them through hard work, and the men of Atvwahla thought the same thing about the men of Nervwahla. So they both thought it was a good thing to kill the bad men, take what they had stolen, and rescue the nice women from that horrible place."
Little Mika nodded in satisfied agreement. He thought this was a very good idea indeed. Maybe when he was big he would go kill all the bad men and steal their stuff, although girls were icky, and his sister was really icky, so they could stay in the horrible place.
"So, the men of Nervwahla grabbed their spears and set off in the afternoon, because they had been drinking in the day, not like a sensible grandfather who drinks in the evening, and went to go surprise the village of Atvwahla. But! The men of Atvwala did not trust the men of Nervwala and so had a lookout ready. He saw the men coming and ran as fast as his legs could go back to Atvwahla and told all the men. They gathered up their spears and went to meet the men of Nervwahla."
This was very good news for Little Mika. This might be one of the really good stories, like the ones he heard the men telling when they had drunk the right amount of water-of-lightning at night when dumb people said he should be sleeping. Silly, dumb people.
"There on a mountain meadow, with the snow of the Roof-of-the-World in a ring around the bluest sky, the two villages met each other. Oh how they yelled, and taunted, and stuck out their tongues, and showed their naked bottoms to each other."
Little Mika giggled, "Bum. Ha ha! Bum! Bum!"
"Stop that now, Mika, stop that! Listen to the story. I'm warning you, if you don't stop saying that right now I'll send you to your mother and your bum, I mean bottom, will be as red as um, well, really really red."
"Sometimes you are just a very naughty boy. Well, hhmmmppphh, the two groups of men taunted each other. Taunted means being mean like you are when you tease your sister. Yes you do tease her. No she doesn't deserve it. She is not icky!"
"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, finally one young man from Nervwahla plucked up his courage (because young men talk much more about being brave than actually being brave), ran up and threw his spear."
Little Mika wriggled in excitement. This was a really good story.
"The spear hit a man in the shoulder and he fell down, and it hurt him very badly. You don't like it when something hurts you, do you Mika?" Old Nerwhal was determined to make a point but only managed to get a frown and discontented muttering.
"The men of Atvwahla were suddenly really angry. They roared and yelled so loudly, grabbed their spears and got ready to charge at the men of the other village. Just then a seven year old boy walked out of the woods carrying some flowers he had been collecting for his mother, because he was a good little boy and everyone was nice to him all the time and he never got a spanking. Do you know who that was, little Mika?"
"No," grumbled Little Mika, who could pick out a giant hint when it was dumped on him.
"It was He Who From Our Blessings Come when he was a little boy. He walked out onto the meadow carrying his bunch of flowers, and he walked right between the men of the two villages, and he wasn't afraid at all. The men of both villages stopped and looked at the boy. 'Why are you fighting?' He asked them in his beautiful voice. 'That man is hurting, and you will hurt each other a lot if you fight. Isn't hurting bad?'"
"The men of both villages suddenly felt silly. They looked at each other across the meadow and saw that the men of the other village were men just like they were. They dropped their spears, and felt much, much better. Why would they hate each other when they could be nice to each other? The young man of Nervwahla who had thrown the spear felt very sad and ran to the man he had hurt. He pulled out the spear and wrapped up the wound and said, 'I'm sorry, so sorry' and the wounded man forgave him.
"The men of the two villages sat down in that meadow together. The men of Atvwahla brought water-of-lightning and the men of Nervwahla brought meat of the mountain goat, and they had a big feast and laughed and sang and had a great time. They promised never to fight again, but to be friends and help each other out when they needed it."
"Since then they have never tried to fight each other again, or steal from each other. Each summer they meet in that same meadow and have a great feast. That is why the Blessed Ones travel around from place to place and when they come to your village you must invite your neighbors, have a big feast and promise to be friends forever." Old Nerwhal took a breath. It seemed almost as tiring to tell Little Mika a story as to be in one.
"So Little Mika, what did you think of that story?" asked Old Nerwhal, with just a little spark of hope in his heart.
"Stupid story. Should have stuck spears in each other." and Little Mika slipped out of Old Nerwhal's grasp and ran out of the house, looking for something to burn, break, or tease.
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