A Texas girl finds herself admiring a light in the sky only to find out it is indeed an alien, which transports her to another time long long ago in Africa and pairs her with a Neanderthal population in hopes that her descendants will populate Nort...
They came from the west and the man whose name no one could understand Julie named Borneo. The girl's name sounded like "Gi-ut-tami," but Julie called her Tommie. They came rather timidly, following us for a week and finally approaching us as we ate the Ibex. The smell must have been irresistible to them; the fat dripping into the fire sizzling while the best part dried slowly on the stones. They had two children with them, trailing at Tommie's heels, clinging dearly to her. They stood on a rise, watching our every move, like birds waiting for some discarded scrap.
They had escaped the destruction of Fire Mountain with twenty of their fellow Clansmen who called themselves Gi-ut-gada, the Moon Dancers. Their speech was a cacophony of throat sounds, difficult to translate without the use of hands. It seemed to me to be a language of great effort. Where ours flowed off the tongue, theirs required a great deal of clicking and throating and rolling from the chest.
We fed them, of course, and they drank from the bottles we fashioned from the skins of a gator. This, above anything, seemed to amaze them, and we had to show more than once how to drink from them.
What happened to the others, we asked.
Borneo's arms began flying about, and even Tommie joined in. One at a time, we could barely understand, but two sounded like pebbles rolling in a stream. If we paid careful attention, one was a supplement to the other, aiding in the discussion, much like a drummer assisting the tube player in making music. When Borneo told stories at night by the fire, he would lull me to sleep. The clicking and throating they made together sounded like music from deep in the ground, and if you listened long enough, the night spirits would join in, and it became like the breeze blowing over the sands of the desert.
So, we gathered that they escaped the death of the valley with a number of their tribe and that many had died. Some had wandered off in search of water and never returned. We found you by following the smoke from your fire, Tommie said. The desert is no one's friend.
The children were filthy and looked half starved, and Julie called them Flesh and Bones. After she bathed them, they looked like new people with all the dirt and flies gone from their tiny bodies. Borneo protested, but Julie would have her way. Tommie was grateful.
We found out that Borneo was not only Tommie's father but that he fathered two children by her as well, and this disgusted Julie. I found the concept confusing and thought Flesh and Bones were Tommie's brother and sister, which, of course, was not entirely the case. Julie kept the children as separated from Borneo as possible.
Tommie clung to Julie immediately, following her everywhere, copying her every move. She seemed especially fond of Julie's bowel habits and such.
Julie and Kamrasi lay together one night after we had gone to sleep, and when she looked up, she noticed Tommie sitting nearby watching. When they made eye contact, Tommie began talking to her. This was difficult for Julie to get used to, but she would say it is what it is. Julie would always tell this story by adding what she called a poem:
There once was a man from Sinclair,
Who was screwing his wife on a stair,
When the banister broke, he kept up his stroke,
And finished her off in mid-air.
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