The Man Who Captured Shadows
By
Charles R. Tanner
This is the story of a caveman, who
lived in Europe thousands of years ago, when the ice of
the great glacier still covered all of Scandinavia, and
France was a land of long cold winters and violent
spring floods. He did not wear fur pants, this caveman,
nor did he carry a huge club, and his name was not Uk,
nor Ab, nor Og. As a matter fact, he didn’t even live
in a cave.
His name was Penweh-dok-absho, and his tribe was
of that race which we of today have called the
Cro-Magnon. His weapon was throwing spear, and when he
wore furs at all, he wore them around his shoulders
where they did some good. He lived in the open, as did
the two score other members of his tribe, though there
was a cave nearby, that served as a place of worship.
His totem was the Bear.
Now this story rightfully starts when Penweh was
about seven years old, for that was his age when he
learned of the big magic of the shadows. It had been
one of those miserable days when food was scarce and
when darkness came, he crept hungrily into his mother’s
lodge by the side of the big cliff, and fell into a
fitful, troubled sleep, and then suddenly the lodge was
gone and he was stalking a herd of horses, just as he
had often seen the grown up members of the tribe do.
He had his father’s throwing stick in his hand,
and when he saw a likely looking mare rise up from the
tall grass where she had been sitting, he hurled the
spear and was delighted to see the creature leap forward
and then collapse to the ground. He hurried forward and
seized the mare by the man, pleased and only slightly
amazed to find that, young as he was, he had in some
strange way, required the strength to drag it away. In
no time at all he had brought it all the way back to the
tribe’s home-place, and all the people gathered round,
loud in amazed praise of the little boy who had been so
bold. And just as Penweh was about to call for a knife
to skin the mare he was back in his mother’s lodge and
the mare was gone.
He sat up and looked all about, but the carcass of
the mare was nowhere to be seen. He was sure somebody
had stolen it, and set up such a howl that his mother
awoke, and bowled him over with a blow that sent him
whimpering out of the lodge to spend the rest of the
night uncomfortably in the open, searching for his lost
mare.
Next morning, when day came, he looked all about,
but there was no sign of the carcass, nor, stranger
still, were there any signs of a thief having been there
the night before. Penweh, like any other of his tribe,
was an instinctive tracker (as are the lowest types of
savages today); and this lack of evidence of any human
or animal thieves frightened him strangely. Trembling a
little, he approached his mother and told her all of his
adventure.
His mother broke into a shrieking cackle of
laughter, which brought several other women around, and
to them she told of Penweh’s hunt and of his wonder as
to where the carcass had gone. The other women laughed
as loudly as she had, but after a while they sobered
down, and all agreed that this was a name sign. So the
named him Penweh-dok-absho, which meant “Youth Who Loses
Horse”, and from then on, until the day game when he got
a new name, that was what he was called.
But his mother was not done with him. That
morning she took him to Chunma, the Fire Watcher, the
old wise woman of the tribe, and they talked long
together; and then Penweh’s mother departed and left him
with the old woman. Chunma gave him a bit of horse fat
to chew, and sat and watched him until it was all gone.
Then she began to talk.
She told him that while he had believed he was
hunting the mare, and killing it and bringing it home,
his mother had been quite certain that he had never left
the lodge. She had seen him lying there, his body, his
clothes, and even his father’s throwing stick and spear
had never left the place.
Penweh began a tearful protest, but the old woman
hushed him with a threat and went on. Events like this
were very common, in spite of their mystery, she said,
in effect. Everybody had such adventures, while the
body staid right there, wrapped up in the slumber.
And this was the mystery of those strange dreams…
the part of you which experienced the dreams was that
part which clung to you all through the day, and all
through the time you sat about the fire, and which left
you only when darkness came down on the earth… the
shadow!
It was the shadow which left you when you
slumbered, and hastened to the land of shadows, where,
under the great chief of shadows, it fought and hunted
and lived a life very much like the waking life, until
morning called it back to its owner.
“And sometimes,” the old woman’s hoarse whisper
finished, “Sometimes the shadow loses its way, and
cannot return. Then we take the body and put it in a
hole in the ground and pile rocks upon it to protect it
from the wolves, so that the shadow may find it if it
ever comes back. And we go away from that place, for an
angry shadow, hungry and strong, its nothing that anyone
wants to meet on a dark night.”
That was what the old woman Chunma told Penweh on
his name day, for it was the custom of these people to
call a boy by the name suggested by the first dream he
ever recounted, and to make the day of his recounting,
his name day.
As Penweh grew older, he learned more and more
about the power and importance of the shadows, until at
last it seemed that the shadows held a more important
place in his life than the things of matter. It was an
angry shadow that caused the sicknesses, the fevers and
the pains in the belly; it was the big chief of shadows
that caused the flashing lightning and the loud roll of
the thunder; and it was small evil shadows that lay in
wait for a man on his return from the land shadows,
making him lose his way so that he never found himself
back in his body. But… there were good shadows, too,
though there weren’t many of them... the Master Horse,
for instance.
If one was careful not to eat a horse’s heart, the
master horse would not be angry, but would send more
horses your way, and so you would always have plenty to
eat. But woe to the man who ate the heart, for it was
from his that the Master Horse made a new horse, and if
this was eaten there would soon be no more new horses.
The Big Bear was another good shadow for the big Bear
was not only the ancestor of all the bears in the Great
Wood; he was the ancestor of Penweh and his people too.
His temper was short, but if he was kept propitiated he
could do much for you.
Now if I have seemed over long in telling of the
many things Penweh believed, you must be patient with
me, for it was because of the things which he and his
tribe believed that Penweh became the great man which he
finally became, and it is the story of how he became
great that I want to tell you now.
When Penweh was seventeen, and curls of dark hair
were beginning to darken his chin, he knew he was a man,
and began to think of mate. If his father had been
alive, there would have been wealth in the family of
Penweh, and his father might have bought him one of the
maidens of the tribe, but his father had died the year
before, and his mother had promptly mated again, taking
with her all of his father’s furs and stones and bone
implements for a sort of a dowry.
So Penweh thought for long on the subject of his
mating and decided at last that there was but one woman
for him, and that was Didi-mar-misidi, the daughter of a
man who, though at one time a mighty hunter and a bold
warrior, was now blind and hence worthy to be nothing
more than the singer and story teller of the tribe.
Didi was a pretty little thing, but her father’s
sad handicap was a handicap for her a well… it was not
good to marry into the family for a man who was not more
than a singer. So the cost of this girl would not be
too great and even poor Penweh might hope to buy her.
One day, Penweh took his wealth and went to the
place of Didi’s father and there was much talk of songs
and hurts of the old days and many compliments were
passed and at long last, Penweh, as though by accident,
spoke of his desire for a mate. And then there was more
talk, and when it was ended, Penweh went home with
glistening eyes and a song in his heart, for it had all
been arranged and Didi was to become his mate when the
moon was full again and the night was clear enough for
the Great Bear to look down and see them
But when the day’s full moon came, there was a
very bad omen in the skies; evil shadows had pushed
clouds around until they entirely covered the skies, and
the Great Bear could not look down on the living place
of the tribe. So the wedding was postponed, of course,
and many of the tribespeople muttered to Penweh that it
would be well if he never married Didi at all. Penweh
had come to love his little fiancée and made
arrangements to marry her at the next full moon. As the
time approached, and the days seemed clear and bright,
he came, bringing his little wealth to her father, and
was met with a frown.
“The Shadow People do not like this wedding,” the
old man began hesitantly. “They have frowned upon it
once and... I cannot accept your gifts, Penweh. My
daughter is not going to be your mate.”
Penweh thought he was going to forbid the marriage
because of the shadows and he at once set about to
convince the old man that the shadows had no real
objection to the marriage, but the old man held his
ground and at last the truth came out. Natsumnak-nimmi
had also asked for the daughter, Didi.
This Natsumnak was the medicine man of the tribe.
He alone of all the tribe knew all about the shadows,
and how to control them, frighten them, and even,
occasionally, punish them. He had a hundred ways of
chasing them away, of calling them to him, and indeed,
if he could be believed, there were many shadows who
were his servants and would do anything he said. Of
course so powerful a man was called upon often to
perform his work, and so he had become very rich, and,
after the Chief, was the foremost man in the tribe.
Penweh was much disheartened, for if this man had
desired after Didi, there was little chance that Penweh
could keep her. It was most unfair, for Natsumnak
already had two wives, but Penweh cold think of nothing
that he could do about it.
He might appeal to the Chief. It was a small
chance, but he ought to take it. The next day he
approached Bor-palamki, and told him his whole story.
He spoke of the necessity of a young hunter having a
wife, of the fact that he was not able to buy any wife
but Didi, and of Natsumnak’s other wives… Bor was
impressed, but diplomatic too. He desired the
friendship of Penweh, but most certainly he feared the
enmity of Natsumnak.
“The people have spoken, the shadows have spoken
and the father of Didi has spoken,” said Bor. “All
these have spoken for Natsumnak, and shall Bor-palamki,
then, speak for Penweh? You are young, Penweh, and
Natsumnak is old. Soon his shadow shall wander away and
he shall know no more the pleasure of women. Buy you
can wait and take other women when other moons shine
down upon us. Perhaps there will be war, and you will
win women of another tribe. But Natsumnak… Natsumnak
cannot wait. Didi must be his, Penweh.”
Now, when this last hope of Penweh’s failed him,
and he knew that Didi could never be his bride, a
feeling of sorrow and anger fell upon him that was so
great that it was as if an evil shadow had seized his
mind. He withdrew from the tribal fire that night and
sulked in the dark, and his mind was teeming turmoil of
thoughts of hatred for the tribe, of longing for Didi
and of pity for himself. And when, one by one, the
people of the tribe left the communal fire and sought
their lodges, he watched them go, and hated each one,
individually. At last, there was none left
save old, old Chunma, the Firewatcher, who, because of
her helplessness, had been appointed to watch the fire
to see that it never went out. And when Penweh saw that
all the others were gone, he rose cautiously from his
hiding place and stole around the camp to the place
where the lodge of Didi lay. For a plan had come to
him, a plan at once daring and disgraceful, for it
consisted of nothing less than kidnapping Didi and
leaving the Tribe.
With the care and caution that a man of today
would find utterly impossible, he stole around the
camp. Not even suspicious old Chunma heard a sound. He
reached Didi’s lodge, and stood for a moment, uncertain
just how to proceed. Had he been certain that Did would
acquiesce to his plan, it would have been easy to awaken
her, but he was not at all sure that she loved him
sufficiently to leave her father and the safety of the
tribe.
So he stood there uncertainly for many minutes,
until at last he heard a sound from her direction, a
softly whispered, “Penweh!” In a second he was in the
lodge and kneeling beside her bed, groping for her in
the dark. He found her at last and clasped her to him,
rubbing his cheek against hers and fondling her with all
the caresses his tribe indulged in.
She wept! She told him that she did not want to
marry Natsumnak. She wanted to marry Penweh and no one
else. She buried her head on his shoulder and whispered
that statement over and over again. And Penweh held her
closer and closer.
At last Penweh remembered his plan. Didi was
willing to accede to anything he proposed, now; so they
set about to get together as much of Didi’s property as
would be advisable to take with them. They had made up
a bundle of fairly sizeable proportions when Didi,
glancing toward the doorway, gave a sudden frightened
scream.
Penweh whirled about and saw a frightful painted,
horned face in the opening. For a second, the thought
of monsters, of shadow-demons, flashed through his head
and a wave of horripilation ran up his back. Then he
realized that the watcher was human, but his fright was
not lessened by the realization. Framed in the doorway
was the medicine man, Natsumnak.
He let out an unearthly screech as soon as he saw
that he was discovered. Didi’s father awoke at once and
began squalling questions to find out what was the
matter. But it was not the old singer whose awakening
precipitated the ensuing turmoil. Natsumnak’s screech
had awakened the whole tribe and in less time than it
takes to talk about it, a half dozen warriors had
arrived and made Penweh a prisoner. They led him to the
fire, tied him hand and foot with strips of hid and set
Chunma to watch him till dawn.
Serious were the faces of the men who gathered
around the fire, the next morning. The tribal group was
not large in those days and a healthy warrior was a
pretty large unit, large enough, sometimes to tip the
balance one way or another in a battle or in the hunt;
so it took a pretty serious charge to bring punishment
on one.
But this time the charge was serious, not
only because of the importance of Natsumnak in the
tribe, but because of the almost certainty that Penweh
had violated the will of the shadow people.
Old Chunma, the only woman who was allowed at
these meetings, stood almost alone in her defense of
Penweh. She was the only one in the tribe who ever
dared to oppose Natsumnak, and it was only because of
the fact that she was alone in her opposition that
Natsumnak tolerated her in the tribe. So now, her
shrill cackle rose in opposition to the medicine man’s
falsetto screech, and it was not until the old woman was
exhausted that the council decided that Penweh must be
driven from the tribe.
He was dragged forth, then, and the entire tribe
lined up, armed with sticks, spears, rawhide thongs and
stones to speed him on his way. At a signal from Bor,
he was released and given a shove toward the forest, and
then the entire tribe, squalling with sadistic delight,
took after him.
They were out to kill him. He was no longer a
member of the tribe, so he was an enemy. And to have an
enemy near the tribe was a very dangerous thing in those
days. Once, it was said, a man had been driven out and
had lived near the tribe, carefully biding his time and
five warriors had died at his hand before they finally
found him and slew him.
So all day long Penweh fled frantically through
the forest, sometimes pursued by squalling demons who
had once been his friends; sometimes hiding, holding his
breath, trembling, lest he feel a sudden spear in his
back. And then, all toward dusk, a cold drizzling rain
began to fall.
Penweh cursed his luck as he huddled at the bold
of a great oak tree, but, had he known it, this rain
saved his life, for one by one the hunters drifted back
to camp and into the cave to get out of the rain, each
leaving it to the others to continue the hunt for Penweh.
And at last he was alone in the woods.
For quite a while, he had heard no calls from one
hunter to another such as had been so common during the
afternoon, so while there was still enough light to see
by, he crept out of the hollow of the oak and began to
look for some better form of shelter. It was quite
plain that there was going to be rain all through the
night, and already he was chilled to the bone. He crept
cautiously at first but when it began to be certain that
all his pursuers had abandoned the chase, he grew more
careless and before long he was trotting along, his keen
eyes darting this way and that, alert to find a decent
bedding place for the night.
It was just about dark when he came to a cave. It
was by the sheerest accident that he found its vine
covered mouth, and for some time he hesitated about
entering it, for fear that it might be already inhabited
by some wild animal, or, worse, by shadows. At last,
however, his discomfort triumphed over his fears and he
crept inside and, searching about for a dry place, fell
into a sleep of exhaustion.
He awoke in the morning when the sun, already
risen high, sent a bright beam through an opening in the
trees and directly into the mouth of the cave. He was
still stiff in every joint from the ordeal of the day
before, but he was alive, and apparently the pursuit had
been at least temporarily abandoned and for this he was
duly grateful. He realized now, that the rain of the
day before had saved his life, and he wondered if the
Great Bear had sent it to save him. If this were so, it
was very important, for it meant that powerful spirits
were on his side, and that he might yet hope to win Didi
and, perhaps, even be taken back into the tribe.
He rose to leave the cave, with the half-formed
intention of seeking some sort of breakfast. He glanced
uneasily into the darkness of the back of the cave,
where light, reflected from the front walls, lighted the
gloom dimly. And then, with the hair at the back of his
neck prickling erect, with his heart pounding in his
throat, he began to sneak cautiously toward the door.
For, plain no the wall, covered with unnumbered layers
of mud that had dripped down from cracks overhead, were
the outlines of the back and part of the head of a great
bear!
There is no room for coincidence in the mind of a
savage. The idea that, by accident, he accumulated mud
had taken the form of a bear’s and head never entered
Penweh’s mind. To him, this was a bear or, worse still
(and he trembled as the idea came to him) it was a
Shadow Bear!
He had almost reached the mouth of the cave and
what he considered safety, when he realized that the
bear on the wall had not moved. He wondered why… and
then it dawned on him that it couldn’t. Its feet and
legs were invisible; so were its tail and its under
parts. This Shadow Bear was deeply mired in the mud
that covered the wall, mired do thoroughly that movement
was quite impossible.
Had it been any other animal than a bear, Penweh
would have went on his way, as fearful as ever. But his
totem was the bear, and the bear and he were brothers.
So, trembling a bit at his own temerity, he turned and
slowly retraced his steps into the cave. He watched
carefully, ready at any moment to turn and flee for his
life to the sunlight without; but the Shadow Bear never
moved nor gave any notice that it was aware of him.
He studied it carefully. He approached it and
spoke. “I am your little brother, Oh Bear,” he said.
“I am Penweh-dok-absho. I, too, am one of the children
of the Great Bear… do not hurt me, I have come to help
you.”
The fact that the bear still made no overt move
although he was not within six feet of it convinced him
that it was not angry. Perhaps it even was hoping that
he would help it. He wondered if he dared. Then he
wondered how he could help it. A thought came to
him and he picked up a sharp piece of stone from the
floor of the cave and approached the bear even closer.
“Do not hurt me, Brother Bear,” he pleaded. “I am
here to help you.” He hesitated again, but still the
bear on the wall made no overt move.
Then Penweh began, with great caution, and not a
little trepidation, to remove the mud from the bear’s
legs and belly. He worked long and carefully, stepping
back every now and then to study and results, trying to
imagine just where to scrape, fearful lest he scrape
away a portion of the shadow bear itself thus arouse its
anger, yet knowing, too, that he could never free the
creature unless he removed every bit of the encumbering
mud.
Slowly, bit by little bit, the bear emerged. As
the sun rose higher, outside, it ceased to shine into
the mouth of the cave and Penweh found the light bad,
the work slower and more difficult, but by the time the
afternoon began to lengthen into evening, the entire
creature was free of mud and stood on the wall, legs
tail and belly as distinct as the head and back which
Penweh had first seen.
Then Penweh stepped back and waited to see what
the bear would do, he was still a little fearsome, still
uncertain that the bear might not decide that Penweh
would be a good meal after his long fast, mired in the
mud of the cave, but to the young man’s surprise, the
bear still made no move, either to devour him or to take
advantage of his freedom and leave.
“You are free, Brother Bear,” called Penweh,
striving to bring the bear’s attention to what he had
done. “You are free now and can go back to your shadow
land. Will you not go and leave this cave to me?”
But the bear was silent and by neither sound nor
movement did he betray the fact that he heard Penweh.
The caveman stood there for long, talking to the bear,
and even becoming so bold as to touch it, but still it
did not depart. So at last, when darkness fell, Penweh
left the cave and spent the night in the crotch of a
great tree.
When morning came, he returned to the cave, and,
wonder of wonders, the bear was still there. Penweh sat
down in the sun, outside the cave, determined to solve
the mystery of this wonder before he rose. And because
his imagination was great, and because after all, there
was really but one answer that could be conceived, it
was at last forced on his mind that the creature was
remaining out of gratitude.
So he arose and went back into the cave.
“I am your friend and brother, Brother Bear,” he
said to the creature. “I will make this cave my home
and yours, if you will remain here. And I will bring
you many servants from among my people, and you shall
have much meat from our hunts. The maidens of the tribe
shall care for you and keep the mud from covering you
again and we shall be brothers and members of one
family. Will you live with me Brother Bear; or will you
go back to the shadow land from which you came and leave
this cave to me.”
The bear made no answer, he remained as silent as
ever… but he made no move to go, and Penweh was
satisfied. He left the cave and set out in a slow lope
toward the other, larger cave where the tribe made its
home.
Old Chunma dozed before the fire on the rock
outside of the big cave. Because the night was cool,
most of the others had retired to the cave to sleep
where it was warm. The night was silent save for the
occasional call of a night-bird or the squall of a cat
far away. Most large animals carefully avoided the
vicinity of a man-tribe, so the quiet was greater here
than it might have been in some parts of the forest or
the prairie beyond. Thus it was that old Chunma dozed,
and thus it was that she started suddenly awake at a
faint noise nearby her.
She opened her eyes to see Penweh, flint in hand,
leap suddenly and threateningly to his feet beside her.
She started to let out a squall of fear, then something
in his attitude reassured her and she pulled him down to
the rock beside her.
“What brings you back here, young man who is
always a baby? Do you want to die so bad that you
cannot wait till the wild ones of the forest eat you?
Get away, quickly, before someone less foolish than old
Chunma sees you.”
Penweh shook his head. “I do not flee away,
anymore. I am not afraid of the tribe now. I am a
great one. I am a friend of the Shadow People, and
greater than even Natsumnak.”
Hastily, quietly and in as few words as his
limited vocabulary would allow, he told of his adventure
and of the Shadow Bear that had agreed to live with
him. Chunma was dubious, but he convinced her at last,
and then she was fearful.
“You must not try to tell the tribe yet Penweh,”
she said. They would slay you as soon as they saw you,
and seek to find out if you had spoken the truth
afterward. Best that you take me to see the bear, and
then I can tell the tribe and bring them to see it.”
So Penweh helped her up, and they departed into
the forest, and all night long they wandered, and part
of the next morning, and finally they came to Penweh’s
cave. The bear was still there, standing as Penweh had
left him, and great was Chunma’s surprise and awe.
“Never has such a thing as this been in the tribe
before,” she whispered hoarsely. “Not in my memory of
the stories my mother’s mother told me.” This is very
great medicine, Penweh, and in it I see a way to
vengeance on Natsumnak, for both you and me.”
So it was agreed that Penweh should remain at the
cave with the bear, while Chunma went back and prepared
the tribe for the wonder and brought them here to show
it. She departed about noon, and told Penweh to expect
her back the next day, then she left him with the bear,
and so true was the saying that familiarity breeds
contempt that Penweh spent the whole afternoon in the
cave, chattering to the bear and stroking its back,
telling it of his love for Didi and his hate for
Natsumnak, and promising it all kinds of rewards if it
would only take sides with him against the evil medicine
man. By nightfall he was quite convinced that the bear
had accepted his offers and that Natsumnak’s days were
numbered.
The next evening the greater part of the Tribe
arrived, led by old Chunma. Long before they were
visible, Penweh could hear the voice of old Chunma,
raised in shrill altercation with the medicine man,
who’s alternate bull’s rumble and shrill falsetto was as
loud as hers. They came into sight at last, and when
they saw the cave, and Penweh standing in the entrance,
they halted uncertainly, a hundred yards or so away.
Penweh stepped out of the cave and called to
them. They came forward hesitantly, the old Fire
Watcher alone having the temerity to come up to him.