I Will Tell No More Stories by Paul Bowman
A caveman discovers storytelling, but must compete with other proto-entertainers for attention.
Long winter. Many of us in cave. Outside is cold. Cold. No leaves on tree. All birds gone. Furry ones in holes.
We sit inside. We wait for outside to be warm again. Then birds and animals come back. Fish. Then we can hunt and fish.
We sleep. Look at each other. Or not look. Some men sleep loud. Mouths make noise. Women too.
Some do not go outside to pee and empty bottoms. They do it inside cave. Much stink. Much! Whew!
So I move to back of cave. I talk to no one.
I have dream when I sleep. I dream I am leader of hunting party. I walk in front. I see boar. I chase it. Boar run fast. I run fast. Boar stops. Boar runs at me! I throw spear! Spear hit boar. Boar bleed. Bleed! Boar die. I hold up boar. Everyone yells HOMER! HOMER KILLS! WE EAT!
Hunting party smiling.
Then big bird swoops down and puts claws into boar. Tries to take it and fly away! I fight bird. Bird heavy. Strong! Screeching Bird puts scratches on my face. I hit bird. Hit bird! Bird screeches. Bird flies away. Hunting party laughs and says HOMER! HOMER! Men shake spears up and down. Call me Game Hunter. Big Game Hunter!
I wake. Cave dark. Fire out. I feel my face for scratches. No scratches. It was dream. Dream makes me smile.
In the morning I think about dream. I want to tell others.
I go to front of cave where there is morning light. I say loud: I have story to tell. I have story to tell.
Others say huh? Huh?
I have story to tell.
I begin story.
There was hunter. Alone. He chase big boar. Huge! Mean boar! Boar attacks! Bites hunter's leg. Hunter is strong. Strong! He picks up boar and throws it down on rock. Boar dies. Hunter lives! Hunter picks up boar to take to tribe. Boar will feed many. Large bird flies down to take away boar. Hunter hits bird many, many times. Another bird, bigger bird, flies down. Hunter fights. Claws on arms. Birds screech. Screech! One bird poking at hunter's eyes. Hunter bites bird's neck. Hunter hits one bird, then other bird, then other bird. Hunter does not want to die. He wants to live! So he fights! Birds fly away. Hunter's face wet. Bloody. Hunter breathes fast. He alive. He is alive!
They listening. Faces quiet. Faces have worry.
Quiet in cave. Nothing happens.
I hold out arms to show I am done with story. No more story.
Then everyone talking. Talking about story. Everyone likes hunter. Hunter good hunter. Good hunter!
The rest of the day goes same as day before. Then night. No dream. Then morning.
A boy asks for story. So I begin story of hunter and boar and two birds. He stops.
No! New story. New story.
I do not have new story. Boy waits. Waits.
I have no story. No story.
I see woman behind boy. She waits for story. I know her. She afraid of snake. All snakes.
One time, I say, a snake talks to a woman. Snake tells woman hold me, kiss me, and I will be a bird with feathers the color of the sun. I will fly away and bring baby to you. You have baby!
Others listen now. I talk.
Woman kisses snake. Then woman becomes snake! Falls to ground. Crawls away. Looking for mouse to eat.
Do not kiss snake, I say. Do not!
People laugh! Laugh! I feel good. One young one's face has worry. She believes my story!
So every morning I tell story. One story about talking crows. Next story about old, old man walking slow in dark wood. Bear sees old, old man and wants to kill him. Eat him. Bear chases old, old man. Man runs. Bear comes near. Man climbs tree. Bear climbs tree. Man jumps down. Runs to another tree. Bear climbs down tree and goes to man's tree. Climbs tree. Man jumps down. Hurts leg. Cannot walk. Bear climbs down. Goes to man on ground. He crawling away from bear. Bear opens mouth to bite man's head. Man slaps Bear's face. Bear slaps Man's face. Bear laughs. Then Man laughs. They become friends.
People like story.
Next story. Stars fall from sky. Hit ground. Make shiny spots on ground. Next day berry plants grow big where stars hit ground. People eat berries. Then their skin shines like stars. And they never talk again.
People do not like story.
Next morning I am ready with better story. But P-kah-sol, a small man, takes stick, puts stick in fire ashes and makes lines on cave wall. P-kah-sol makes more lines. I watch. Others watch. Lines on wall look like a big hill. Then more lines look like a bird flying in sky. More lines. Tree on hill. More lines. Sun above hill.
Small ones see and point. They see hill. They see bird. They see sun over hill.
Every one watching P-kah-sol. I do not tell story.
Next morning P-kah-sol makes more markings on wall. I was telling my story about butterflies that kill. People do not listen. They watch P-kah-sol. Little ones. Old ones. Every one! I walk away. Go outside in cold. Think about good story everyone will like. I only feel cold. I feel alone.
Next morning Myhm stand in front of cave before me. Myhm is thin girl. Does not talk. Never does she talk.
Myhm stands still. P-kah-sol is making marks on wall. Myhm does not move. Like a tree when there is no wind.
Myhm moves. Arms stiff. Legs stiff. She stands like a hunter. She holds a bow that is not there. She puts arrow to string. There is no arrow, no string. Myhm aims. She shoots arrow that we cannot see. Myhm drops down. She is on hands. She is on knees. She moves head like deer eating grass. Raises head looking for big cats, wolves. Myhm makes butt move like deer moving its tail.
Little ones and old ones laugh. I laugh.
Myhm falls to ground. Legs shaking like small limbs in tree moving in slow wind. She tries to crawl. Her mouth open. Tongue out. She crawls slow. She stops. She dead.
Little ones watching say nothing.
Myhm stands. Stands like hunter holding knife in front. Myhm drops to her knees and moves knife we cannot see across neck of deer we cannot see.
Myhm gets up and looking at us smiles and nods her head. We see that she is done. No more being a hunter. No more being a deer.
People laugh. Some go aahhh.
My stories are better.
Myhm does same next morning. She looks like fish swimming, playing. P-kah-sol does more markings. Markings over all walls. People look at them.
I try to think of a good, good story. A long one. Where people will listen and listen and like more than P-kah-sol and Myhm.
Next it was Singa. One morning he breathes into small reed. Blows into it. Makes a wind sound. The sound changes. It goes higher. It goes lower. Then goes higher, higher. Singa sounds like baby animal calling to mother and bird calling to another bird. At the same time. Singa makes sounds again with reed. He then takes reed from mouth and looks at us. He makes almost same sound with his mouth! He not talking. Not grunting, not crying, not moaning. It is something else. Singa is cooing like a bird. Louder than a bird. Stronger. A dog howling a nice, gentle howl. Then I hear. Singa is saying words. Morning comes gentle - morning comes gentle - morning comes gentle - yah, yah - morning comes gentle.
Singa breathes in reed again. Short time.
Then quiet. Quiet.
The people listening nod heads and say yah, yah. Morning comes gentle.
Some sway side to side.
Singa feel good. I know how he feels.
Next morning Myhm does her jerking arms and legs. Singa makes his morning is gentle sounds. Only louder. People look at him. Not at Myhm. Not at P-kah-sol.
Singa stops. I think now I can tell new story.
No. No!
Dansa stands in front of Singa. She sticks out arms like a tree. I think she going to move like Myhm. Do what Myhm does. No. Singa breathes into reed. Makes new sounds. Dansa moves like wind blowing leaf across ground. Her body soft and moving, moving. Head this way, hands that way. Body forward, face to one side, then other side. Legs moving fast. Nothing the same. Everything changing, different.
The sounds Singa make get louder, faster. Dansa moves faster, faster. She is breathing fast. Dansa brings knees up, knees down, knees up, knees down.
Singa stops his reed sounds. Dansa sinks to ground. She shudders. She looks like dying bird. I see. She is dying bird. Singa makes sad sound with reed.
Quiet in the cave. Noise. People stomping their feet. People saying yah yah yah yah yah yah yah yah.
I will tell no more stories. People smile at Dansa, Myhm, Singa. They look the markings P-kah-sol makes. They do not smile at me. They do not want to hear my stories.
Too many telling stories. Too many!
If Myhm, Dansa, Singa would stop.
No. They will not stop.
If Dansa, Myhm, Singa fall in lake.
If a bear catches one of them.
A snake bites one of them.
A tree falls during a storm and pushes them down to ground.
Lightning hits one of them.
Then people will listen to my stories.
I think. I think. Tell no one what I think.
A morning and night pass.
A morning and night pass.
A morning and night pass. I do not sleep this night.
Morning. When I wake people are shouting. People are crying. Some stand around Singa. He not moving. Not moving. We wait and look.
Singa dead. Singa dead.
How he die? asks woman.
I go low to ground to be near Singa.
I say look at his neck. Red marks. See? Someone choke him.
I turn his head.
Look at head. See bump? Someone hit him on head. Hit him hard. To kill him.
Who do that? Who do that?
Many people asking. Who do that? Who do that?
I hold up my hand.
I know.
You know? Tell us! says man.
I smile and say I will tell you in a story.
Tell us! Tell us!
I wait for quiet.
I remember how strong Singa fight me in the night. He did not want to die.
I begin my story.
I tell them my story I will call hoo-dun-it.
Tell us hoo-dun-it! Tell us hoo-dun-it!
I smile.
I begin story.
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
We sit inside. We wait for outside to be warm again. Then birds and animals come back. Fish. Then we can hunt and fish.
We sleep. Look at each other. Or not look. Some men sleep loud. Mouths make noise. Women too.
Some do not go outside to pee and empty bottoms. They do it inside cave. Much stink. Much! Whew!
So I move to back of cave. I talk to no one.
I have dream when I sleep. I dream I am leader of hunting party. I walk in front. I see boar. I chase it. Boar run fast. I run fast. Boar stops. Boar runs at me! I throw spear! Spear hit boar. Boar bleed. Bleed! Boar die. I hold up boar. Everyone yells HOMER! HOMER KILLS! WE EAT!
Hunting party smiling.
Then big bird swoops down and puts claws into boar. Tries to take it and fly away! I fight bird. Bird heavy. Strong! Screeching Bird puts scratches on my face. I hit bird. Hit bird! Bird screeches. Bird flies away. Hunting party laughs and says HOMER! HOMER! Men shake spears up and down. Call me Game Hunter. Big Game Hunter!
I wake. Cave dark. Fire out. I feel my face for scratches. No scratches. It was dream. Dream makes me smile.
In the morning I think about dream. I want to tell others.
I go to front of cave where there is morning light. I say loud: I have story to tell. I have story to tell.
Others say huh? Huh?
I have story to tell.
I begin story.
There was hunter. Alone. He chase big boar. Huge! Mean boar! Boar attacks! Bites hunter's leg. Hunter is strong. Strong! He picks up boar and throws it down on rock. Boar dies. Hunter lives! Hunter picks up boar to take to tribe. Boar will feed many. Large bird flies down to take away boar. Hunter hits bird many, many times. Another bird, bigger bird, flies down. Hunter fights. Claws on arms. Birds screech. Screech! One bird poking at hunter's eyes. Hunter bites bird's neck. Hunter hits one bird, then other bird, then other bird. Hunter does not want to die. He wants to live! So he fights! Birds fly away. Hunter's face wet. Bloody. Hunter breathes fast. He alive. He is alive!
They listening. Faces quiet. Faces have worry.
Quiet in cave. Nothing happens.
I hold out arms to show I am done with story. No more story.
Then everyone talking. Talking about story. Everyone likes hunter. Hunter good hunter. Good hunter!
The rest of the day goes same as day before. Then night. No dream. Then morning.
A boy asks for story. So I begin story of hunter and boar and two birds. He stops.
No! New story. New story.
I do not have new story. Boy waits. Waits.
I have no story. No story.
I see woman behind boy. She waits for story. I know her. She afraid of snake. All snakes.
One time, I say, a snake talks to a woman. Snake tells woman hold me, kiss me, and I will be a bird with feathers the color of the sun. I will fly away and bring baby to you. You have baby!
Others listen now. I talk.
Woman kisses snake. Then woman becomes snake! Falls to ground. Crawls away. Looking for mouse to eat.
Do not kiss snake, I say. Do not!
People laugh! Laugh! I feel good. One young one's face has worry. She believes my story!
So every morning I tell story. One story about talking crows. Next story about old, old man walking slow in dark wood. Bear sees old, old man and wants to kill him. Eat him. Bear chases old, old man. Man runs. Bear comes near. Man climbs tree. Bear climbs tree. Man jumps down. Runs to another tree. Bear climbs down tree and goes to man's tree. Climbs tree. Man jumps down. Hurts leg. Cannot walk. Bear climbs down. Goes to man on ground. He crawling away from bear. Bear opens mouth to bite man's head. Man slaps Bear's face. Bear slaps Man's face. Bear laughs. Then Man laughs. They become friends.
People like story.
Next story. Stars fall from sky. Hit ground. Make shiny spots on ground. Next day berry plants grow big where stars hit ground. People eat berries. Then their skin shines like stars. And they never talk again.
People do not like story.
Next morning I am ready with better story. But P-kah-sol, a small man, takes stick, puts stick in fire ashes and makes lines on cave wall. P-kah-sol makes more lines. I watch. Others watch. Lines on wall look like a big hill. Then more lines look like a bird flying in sky. More lines. Tree on hill. More lines. Sun above hill.
Small ones see and point. They see hill. They see bird. They see sun over hill.
Every one watching P-kah-sol. I do not tell story.
Next morning P-kah-sol makes more markings on wall. I was telling my story about butterflies that kill. People do not listen. They watch P-kah-sol. Little ones. Old ones. Every one! I walk away. Go outside in cold. Think about good story everyone will like. I only feel cold. I feel alone.
Next morning Myhm stand in front of cave before me. Myhm is thin girl. Does not talk. Never does she talk.
Myhm stands still. P-kah-sol is making marks on wall. Myhm does not move. Like a tree when there is no wind.
Myhm moves. Arms stiff. Legs stiff. She stands like a hunter. She holds a bow that is not there. She puts arrow to string. There is no arrow, no string. Myhm aims. She shoots arrow that we cannot see. Myhm drops down. She is on hands. She is on knees. She moves head like deer eating grass. Raises head looking for big cats, wolves. Myhm makes butt move like deer moving its tail.
Little ones and old ones laugh. I laugh.
Myhm falls to ground. Legs shaking like small limbs in tree moving in slow wind. She tries to crawl. Her mouth open. Tongue out. She crawls slow. She stops. She dead.
Little ones watching say nothing.
Myhm stands. Stands like hunter holding knife in front. Myhm drops to her knees and moves knife we cannot see across neck of deer we cannot see.
Myhm gets up and looking at us smiles and nods her head. We see that she is done. No more being a hunter. No more being a deer.
People laugh. Some go aahhh.
My stories are better.
Myhm does same next morning. She looks like fish swimming, playing. P-kah-sol does more markings. Markings over all walls. People look at them.
I try to think of a good, good story. A long one. Where people will listen and listen and like more than P-kah-sol and Myhm.
Next it was Singa. One morning he breathes into small reed. Blows into it. Makes a wind sound. The sound changes. It goes higher. It goes lower. Then goes higher, higher. Singa sounds like baby animal calling to mother and bird calling to another bird. At the same time. Singa makes sounds again with reed. He then takes reed from mouth and looks at us. He makes almost same sound with his mouth! He not talking. Not grunting, not crying, not moaning. It is something else. Singa is cooing like a bird. Louder than a bird. Stronger. A dog howling a nice, gentle howl. Then I hear. Singa is saying words. Morning comes gentle - morning comes gentle - morning comes gentle - yah, yah - morning comes gentle.
Singa breathes in reed again. Short time.
Then quiet. Quiet.
The people listening nod heads and say yah, yah. Morning comes gentle.
Some sway side to side.
Singa feel good. I know how he feels.
Next morning Myhm does her jerking arms and legs. Singa makes his morning is gentle sounds. Only louder. People look at him. Not at Myhm. Not at P-kah-sol.
Singa stops. I think now I can tell new story.
No. No!
Dansa stands in front of Singa. She sticks out arms like a tree. I think she going to move like Myhm. Do what Myhm does. No. Singa breathes into reed. Makes new sounds. Dansa moves like wind blowing leaf across ground. Her body soft and moving, moving. Head this way, hands that way. Body forward, face to one side, then other side. Legs moving fast. Nothing the same. Everything changing, different.
The sounds Singa make get louder, faster. Dansa moves faster, faster. She is breathing fast. Dansa brings knees up, knees down, knees up, knees down.
Singa stops his reed sounds. Dansa sinks to ground. She shudders. She looks like dying bird. I see. She is dying bird. Singa makes sad sound with reed.
Quiet in the cave. Noise. People stomping their feet. People saying yah yah yah yah yah yah yah yah.
I will tell no more stories. People smile at Dansa, Myhm, Singa. They look the markings P-kah-sol makes. They do not smile at me. They do not want to hear my stories.
Too many telling stories. Too many!
If Myhm, Dansa, Singa would stop.
No. They will not stop.
If Dansa, Myhm, Singa fall in lake.
If a bear catches one of them.
A snake bites one of them.
A tree falls during a storm and pushes them down to ground.
Lightning hits one of them.
Then people will listen to my stories.
I think. I think. Tell no one what I think.
A morning and night pass.
A morning and night pass.
A morning and night pass. I do not sleep this night.
Morning. When I wake people are shouting. People are crying. Some stand around Singa. He not moving. Not moving. We wait and look.
Singa dead. Singa dead.
How he die? asks woman.
I go low to ground to be near Singa.
I say look at his neck. Red marks. See? Someone choke him.
I turn his head.
Look at head. See bump? Someone hit him on head. Hit him hard. To kill him.
Who do that? Who do that?
Many people asking. Who do that? Who do that?
I hold up my hand.
I know.
You know? Tell us! says man.
I smile and say I will tell you in a story.
Tell us! Tell us!
I wait for quiet.
I remember how strong Singa fight me in the night. He did not want to die.
I begin my story.
I tell them my story I will call hoo-dun-it.
Tell us hoo-dun-it! Tell us hoo-dun-it!
I smile.
I begin story.
I dearly loved this story, the voice, the dialect and the funny names. I'm ashamed to admit it that, at first I thought the character names were random; only as the fiction progressed did I realize they reflected dance, mime and sing. I guess I ain't the brightest bulb in the lamp. I especially liked when the audience began chanting "Yah, yah..." I wonder, is this how Paul McCartney got the idea for "She Loves You"? The ending was the best: hoo-dun-it...and don't forget P-kah-sol! This story provided the most fun I've had reading on this site in a long, long time. I could go on, but don't get me started...
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