Mahor scanned the horizon for some clue. It had been five moons since Ripla, the female curelom, had disappeared. For the first two days, Sherem, his father, had anxiously waited for her to return on her own, but with the next dawn, Mahor had proposed to go out on a search. Reluctantly, Sherem and his wife agreed. These were dangerous times. Their only son was very young, and, although strong and brave, they could not escape the possibility that Ripla had been stolen and that he would have to face thieves willing to do anything…
Since Akish’s betrayal and oaths, secret combinations had slowly spread throughout the land. Despite Mahor having been born during the prosperous reign of the good Emer, who towards the end of his days had seen with his own eyes the Son of Justice, preparations for possible wars had not been neglected. The young man knew how to use the sword and the javelin, and was particularly skilled with the sling. This ability had kept him fed for the last two days, adding some prey to the vegetables and cheese that his mother had hastily prepared for him when he left.
His first journey had taken him close to the place of Ablom. There he could see the many waters from which his ancestors had come in the times of the confusion of the great tower, but he doubted that the she-curelom had ventured so far.
Now, Mahor got off his horse to check the trap he had set the night before. It was empty. He did not want to spend too many hours hunting—he needed to continue his search—but he needed to stock up on water and some food. He remembered that he was close to the estate of Paganiah, his father’s friend. It would be good for him to go closer and have a nice dinner…
He arrived at the place when it was already dusk. From afar he saw a tiny figure running with a jug from the well to the house. It must have been Jacora, Paganiah’s daughter. They were playmates in their childhood, but several years had passed without seeing each other. She was probably announcing the arrival of a visitor.
Paganiah was waiting for him with his arms raised and embraced him effusively as he dismounted.
“Welcome, Mahor, son of Sherem, my friend. I see that you are already a grown man. That the Lord who guides your steps has brought you to my simple home fills me with joy. Come, come in.”
“Thank you, Paganiah, son of Kimnor. My father and mother wish you a long life and prosperity,” the young man responded.
“Tell me how you have ventured so far from home,” the old man inquired as he invited him to sit at a rustic table.
Before he could answer, Jacora appeared with a vessel and served them drink and some food. Both had changed much since the last time they saw each other. The young woman’s hair, which Mahor had seen tied up when she was carrying the jar, now fell abundantly over her shoulders. She did not speak to him and blushed at every glance. The boy was struck by her eyes, more transparent and brilliant than the sixteen stones cut from Mount Shelem, and could not recover. He lost himself several times in the story he was trying to piece together for Paganiah.
“So your father has been left without a curelom in the middle of sowing season,” concluded his interlocutor.
“Not only that, Paganiah. Kibal, the male curelom, has become sad and refuses to work since his partner is gone. The fields are very extensive and I fear for my father’s health.”
“You are right. Here I have managed with a few oxen, but the land is small… You know? When your father and I were children, both the cureloms and the cumoms were abundant in the country, but after the division of the kingdom they began to dwindle. Many prophets who appeared at that time warned us of calamities that would occur. Today, the few elephants and cumoms that remain are used mainly in the gold and silver mines of Mount Shim. It is now rare for them to reproduce.”
“Your lips speak the truth. Ripla and Kibal have been with us for more than a generation but have never had offspring.”
“Well. Stay here to sleep tonight and tomorrow at dawn, and you can continue your journey well rested.”
Despite a more comfortable bed of straw and skins, Mahor had trouble falling asleep. Jacora’s face and figure did not leave his mind. The shy smiles she had granted him during dinner made his heart gallop like a frightened cumom. Finally he managed to fall asleep…
Before the sun rose, the young man was on his feet, preparing for his journey. He said goodbye, with gratitude, to father and daughter. Paganiah took him aside.
“My dear companion has followed the path of all the earth, many moons ago now. I do not know when the Lord, blessed be his name, will call me to be at her side. Some of my bones need a rest. We had Jacora almost entering old age. I want you to ask your father that, on the day I am gone, he may take care of her and help her find a good husband among the sons of those who follow the words of the prophets.”
Mahor promised to pass on his request, assuring him that it would be a long time before such a thing would be necessary.
He set off, without much desire and with some inner anguish.
He rode all day in search of signs and traces through the land of Het until night fell, cold and early. The stars shone overhead.
Tired, he left his mount to graze and fell to his knees. He prayed fervently as he had not done for a long time. Some of the words were his own and others he had heard from the mouths of the elders:
“Father of the firmament, of the earth and of all that is in them. I know that at thy command the heavens open and close, the ground trembles and the generations pass. I know that good comes from thee and truth dwells at thy side. I know that thou have heard the voice of my ancestors and have favored them. Listen to the words that come from my lips and from my heart! I fear for the welfare of Sherem, my father, for he has been extremely distressed because of the cureloms. Without them, planting will be difficult, and we will suffer hunger. Allow me to find Ripla, if it is your will, to return her to our inheritance, and keep her away from the paths of thieves and wild beasts.”
When he finished, he felt more peaceful. The food that Jacora had wrapped for him for the trip calmed him.
The next morning he decided to return home, passing through regions that he had not visited on his first inspection. He would have liked to bring good news to his father. Perhaps he did not have enough faith for the Lord to listen to him.
He headed for the plains of Agosh. In the shadow of Mount Shim, on the southern slope, a green meadow spread out, dotted with trees, following the curved bank of the river. A small spring fed the grass…
He climbed a large tree that spread its branches near the path he followed, trying to see a little further. A slingshot away, he saw a hollow he had not visited before.
As he approached, walking, leading his companion by the reins, he heard the unmistakable snort of a curelom. He crouched at the edge of the ravine to observe without being seen.
There was Ripla, lying on the grass. She sniffed the air as if sensing his presence. Two smaller figures surrounded her. They must be scavengers. He stealthily felt his backpack for the sling and stones with the idea of scaring them away.
As he took careful aim, surprise paralyzed him… Ripla was nursing the creatures. They were… Yes, the curelom had had babies!
He descended the slope of the ravine. Ripla showed signs of happiness and allowed him to come closer. He fell to his knees again with a mixture of joy and gratitude, caressing the warm little bodies as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was beginning to understand.
The she-curelom had escaped to a place near water to have her offspring. Now she was waiting for them to have enough strength to climb the steep slope. He would help them.
On two trips, he carried them in his arms and placed them next to his horse. Ripla did not seem bothered and followed them meekly.
Mahor was happy. They would have cureloms for another generation. He imagined his father’s joy. The return trip would be a little slower to accommodate the pace of the newcomers.
But first, even if he had to detour a little, he would visit Paganiah to give him the good news… He smiled. Since when did he care so much about this old friend of his father? They would be arriving at dusk…
— & —
Mario R. Montani (montaniflessia@yahoo.com.ar) lives in Bahía Blanca, Argentina. He studied Humanities at Argentina’s National University of the South. His short story collection El Castillo Gris y otros cuentos (The Gray Castle and Other Stories) was published by Editorial Dunken in 2009. He has been a member of Cofradía de Letras Mormonas, a group that promotes literature among Spanish-speaking Latter-day Saints, since 2015. He keeps a personal blog titled Mormosofia, where he discusses religious art, theology, and philosophy within Mormon culture. He currently serves as the Multi-Stake Director of Public Affairs and Communications in the Bahía Blanca area. Both Irreantum and Mormon-Lit Lab have published some of his stories.
