Now, telling the tribe or, Gods forbid, his parents would likely put an end to his experiment before it even began. Crippled by fear, no one would understand. He could imagine a scenario in which he would actually be punished for such a dangerous thought. The chief might even take offense. Seeing Buzi's motive as a challenge, and possibly go as far as banishing him – or worse – to rid the group of infectious ideas.
They're not ready.
He decided he needed to go it alone. But where to start? He knew very little of these spotted cats and their behavior.
Do they have a home?
Do they live in packs?
There was, unfortunately, one piece of information that Buzi knew all too well:
They eat...
So that night, when everyone else was asleep beneath the Moon God's glow, Buzi snuck to the rear of the encampment where a night fire burned and the food was kept. Skinned and strung up from yesterday's bloodletting, he found the wildebeest still suspended from the branch of a large ficus. The women had harvested a significant portion of both haunches, but there was still plenty of meat left on the bones. He grabbed a sharpened stone and carved out what we would call a flank steak. Out of the fire he selected a smoldering stick to light his path. He then made his way down the hillside toward the open plain.
By retracing the steps of yesterday's hunt, Buzi intended to find where the crippled man had been killed. He supposed the femme fatale may have returned to examine any potential remains. Past that, his plan hadn't been mapped out. He navigated around a bramble of briars, scaled an outcropping of rock and worked through a thicket of tall grass into a clearing, his heart rate elevating all the while. Looking for any movement, he scanned the horizon and waited. And waited.
Come on....
And nothing. Not even a breeze to rouse his attention.
Feeling defeated, Buzi retreated to the outcropping and sat on the tallest boulder. He looked up to the Moon God for guidance and took a deep, settling breath. He smelled a robust mixture of blossoming plant life, rich soil and, well, shit. What he didn't smell, strangely, was the wildebeest meat right below his nose. He brought it closer for investigatory sniff. Nothing. Having been drained of the life-sustaining blood that coursed through its capillaries, the steak had lost its freshness – and perhaps its appeal.
No wonder she didn't come.
Just then, a lightbulb switched on over Buzi's head. Well, a torch. He knew that burning most things created awful, acrid smells, but perhaps he could lure his beloved with a nice, pungent odor. He placed the flank directly on the embered stick with a soft hiss. But the aroma that struck his Stone Age nose was not awful nor acrid. It was like nothing anyone had ever smelled before. It was fantastic.
As it turns out, his people had yet to fully harness the capabilities of fire at this juncture in time, using it only for warmth and defense. He was on to something.
I'm on to something.
With impatience, Buzi picked up the hunk of cooking wildebeest and took a giant bite of seared steak. Through a thoroughly burned tongue, he chewed and chewed until his jaw was sore. It was absolutely delicious. He swallowed and promptly took another bite, reveling in his discovery. Our fledgling gastronomist closed his eyes in order to cut off other senses and focus solely on the taste. He couldn't believe his tongue.
The lurking cheetah, on the other hand, couldn't believe her nose. Stalking in the tall grass only a short distance away, she saw the young man enter into the clearing, perch himself on the rocks and cook the world's first Pittsburgh Rare. Although still full from her man-meal just days before, the late night disturbance and the intoxicating smells drew her in. The female feline watched the male human down the steak, scarcely taking time to breathe. And as he swallowed the final mouthful, she retreated with stealth into the night. She hoped that this young man and his smells would soon return, alongside her hunger.
Blissfully unaware of the man-eater's presence, Buzi licked the remaining gristle off of his fingers. Fatty saliva glistened in the dying light of his torch. As it petered out, he knew he needed to get back home. The object of his affection had not shown, yet with a full stomach, he felt his night was still a success. And although this breakthrough wasn't exactly what he had in mind, it would advance his society. It was improvement. He couldn't wait to tell the tribe.
But as he meandered back across the plain and up the hill, he realized that sharing this culinary innovation would reveal his plan and compromise everything. On top of that, he had stolen food from the group. How could he explain?
They need to know.
Buzi snuck back to his sleeping rock with a heavy heart. A new emotion. He stayed awake for quite some time, gazing at the endless array of stars. He used the celestial dots to piece together images he formed in his mind. There was an antelope being chased by cheetah, a tall manketti tree with a cheetah sleeping underneath, a wide river with a cheetah lapping up water from the shore. He yawned. The constellations slowly ushered him to sleep.
