Thick air. Grey. Smoke. Smell of poison. Halem. Cold. Hot. Hundreds of them. More? Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to Hip. Elbow to Elbow. It was as he had been told. But he wasn’t going to just be part of it. He wanted to go to the head, to find the leader. They were following a madman, he’d also been told. Or was he following them? Oloos didn’t know. He knew what he wanted. And he was in it. It was what he wanted all his life. A gathering. Finally. Hard and straight. All of them. All of them who were not left behind. The snake cloud curling low, so low you couldn’t see it, it was there, and they were it. Walking, walking.  Forward, knees high, elbows wide, heads bobbing in front of him like a chuha run. Pushing, shoving, pulling, tearing. Fingernails, teeth. Heads butting into heads. Trying to make space, trying to breathe. Spit, urine, shit. The noise was cacophonous, lumpen, caroming, distorted in the dense thickening air. Man voices, metal voices. Something screeching. Something else, further on, louder, an earth roar. If there was a split here they would all fall. No where to move. No where to run. No running you’d just run into a wall of men. If you stopped you’d get trampled on.
- Get away.
- Hey you get away.
The man turned to him, fisting his metal dart. His yellow eyes were level with Oloos’ shoulder. He hooked up. Looked away, slowed down, fell back, folded into the mass, let others jostle and elbow their way into the space he’d emptied.

- Where’s Lamia? Oloos thought. Something gripped at him inside. It felt like he had left something behind. He shook his head, the dreads floating out, catching someone in the eyes. They yelled, he walked on, pushing though a gap between two fat women, both tattooed across their backs, shapes he’d never seen before.  Who cares about Lamia. They are all the same. He’d find her when he needed her. There were women here, he could take his pick. Like that white one over there. All white. Never seen that before. Not here. How’d she stay so white? Her Wister hat was wide, kept flapping in the dust and churning spit of the crowd. She held it tight with both hands, her dirty-white manka slipping down underneath her small, flat breasts. The left one had a thick angry scar across it, diagonal, from the middle of her diaphragm to shoulder, slicing clean across the small round nipple, splitting it two. She looked at him looking. Bared her teeth. They were small and sharp looking. She dropped one hand, pulled her manka up. Oloos laughed. Bared his back. His weren’t pointed, they were blackened from Afroc cigs. She watched him and then turned away, white hair rising like ghost strands underneath the Wister rim.

The crowd swelled, clumped, the weaker ones falling behind, the stronger ones sticking close, moving as one. A good gathering, yes, it was a good one. It had to be. It was the first in his time. The gatherings had stopped after Ree Ah divided the band into tribes. –She got what she deserved. Oloos smiled. he didn’t do it, but he watched his father do it. Upnos stuck her hard, slowly, so she could feel it before she shut. She didn’t cry out, he’ll say that for her.

Oloos  moved faster, turning his big dark body sideways so he could pass through, forward, pressing into the thick mass, shifting bodies aside with his weight. He sniffed for thinning air. He’d get to the edge, follow it around, take whitey with him. She was already moving towards him, a rolling white wave in a sea of  mud brown. Oloos tossed his head, dreads flying out, curling around his neck, uncurling, dropping heavily down his long, bare back. He reached out over the heads of three men to her, caught her hand, pulled her towards him, her nails dug so deep they split his skin. She's marking me, he thought.
- I’m not a sleeper.
- I know that. You’re just coming with me, that’s all.
- You’ve got a sleeper?
- Somewhere. Back there. Let her go I guess.
- What you up to?
They were yelling at each other, lost most of the words in the noise. Oloos shifted his bag to the other side, held her close. Her hat was in the way, he pulled it off.
- Hey!
- I won’t drop it. Just want to look at you.
- Give it. If I burn I’ll burn you. Oloos felt the hard edge in his ribcage. It wasn’t sharp, but it would do. She was fast.
- Here. Just keep it out of my eyes.  And take that thing out of my side.
- I said what you up to?
- You come with me and you’ll find out.
- What’s in it for me?
- You said you’re no sleeper.
- So?
- You think you going to keep that way for long here?
- I’ve managed so far. I stuck four already.
Oloos laughed out loud. – Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m going to find the crazy man. No crazy man should lead a gathering.
- And you should?
- I was born to it.
- What’s that supposed to mean.
- You heard of Ree Ah?
- Course. Everyone’s heard of Ree Ah.
- She’s my great one.
Oloos felt his body expand, as if he was filled with air. He’d waited to say those words, waited for someone who would believe him. And then he stumbled on someone's leg, the air left him, passed him by like the wind on a double-sun night.

The gathering  lurched forward, pushing them into the wall of bodies in front. Oloos lost his hold on the woman, his face was shoved into a mass of stinking wiry hair, the owner’s head turned, teeth bit his cheek. Oloos brought his right elbow up hard, bone met bone, and then his left knee and they were both down, a seething muddy mass of people falling on top, kicking, shouting. Oloos hunched his back, kept his head tucked down. He could carry the weight, he just didn’t want to get stuck in the wrong place. Something was pulling him, yanking his arm, He turned his head, couldn’t pull away, someone’s foot stepped on his shoulder, trying to push up. He couldn’t see anything, whatever it was held on tight. He tried to stand, couldn’t, tried again, half-way this time, sitting back on his heels. and then pushed upwards with a great yell. The white woman came with him, hanging onto his arm. He stepped forward to catch the rhythm of the crowd, stepping on human heaps, heads, hands, feet, legs, the woman still with him, slipping, falling, straightening, shoving her stick left handed into whoever she could, right arm hooked into Oloos’. He’d keep her, yes, why not. They just got to get to the edge.

- What’s your name? He asked.


© 2007 Sandra Jensen