The Women Who Marry Ghosts

Apo

"It's time."

Apo awoke to a stuffed pack hitting him in the head. He scrambled to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his face with both hands. His brother moved down the line of sleeping boys, shaking them awake. The Seer had told them their time was coming . Apo hadn't expected it to come so soon. He hadn't even gotten a chance to say good-bye to Uperi.

With packs bouncing against their backs, the boys hurtled under the new moon, silent and orderly to not disturb the sleeping village. Everyone would wake in the morning and find them gone, and know why.

Controlled, as one, the boys threw themselves into the dense brush that bordered the village. Low-hanging green thorns whipped their cheeks as they ran. At the front, the leaders were soon crisscrossed with thin, red scratches. As they bloodied and tired, they fell back and the next boy took their place. They ran for many miles in this formation, like they practiced with the apprentices. They crashed through creek beds and startled flocks of birds that fluttered into the branches above.

Soon, they reached the ancient campsite. The apprentices had shown them how to find it. Village boys had used this campsite for the manhood ritual for as many generations as the sun had seen. It was just a stretch of hard-packed soil, a few cold fire pits, and empty water jugs that hung from leather straps on trees that bent over a shallow river. Towards the edge of the site was a short, steep drop into a pit, blanketed with ash and littered with bones.

The boys dropped their packs after staking out a place to sleep. Apo and his brother chose a spot near a fire pit.

"We should begin now," one boy said.

"We should rest first," another argued.

"We will have to stalk the boar for many days," Apo's brother said. He towered over most of the other boys. "We will tire quickly, unless we rest now. Gather water and provisions. Say your prayers. Then, we'll hunt." After some exchanged glances and some shrugs, the boys did as he said. Apo wasn't sure if it was because he was older or because he was bigger. It shouldn't matter, Apo reasoned. We will all become men when we catch the boar and sacrifice it to the spirits. Apo and the others had been taught that one boy couldn't, and shouldn't, bring down the boar alone. To do so would deny others the rights of manhood. The boar must be taken as a group, or not at all.

"Manhood is community," Apo's father explained before he died. His father had been preparing his sons for their ritual in the wilds. Apo's brother had been there, sharpening an old knife and leaning against the opening of their hut. He had heard the lecture already. "That is how you become a man, with the help of your brothers. Only with their support will you be able to tend to your cattle, your family." He took Apo to the river. The rich, red mud squelched under their feet. "This river is made strong by each current, every drop of water. This is what it means to be a man." What if there is a drought? What if the rains overflow the banks?

"I see," said Apo.

"But if you take too much for yourself or your cattle, you leave less for others. This is what it means to be a boy."

"Besides," a boy said. "We must ready ourselves before we begin the hunt." Everyone agreed. A few began to light fires. The boys retrieved their sacred herbs and sweet grasses. They charred them when the fire burned bright in the dark wilds. Each boy made sure to say their prayers how they practiced with the apprentices and with their families.

"Oh, spirits, guide my spear. Guide my brother's spears. All we do, we do for you. All we do, we do because of you." They shook off the embers into the pit and smeared the soot over their forehead, over their hearts.

The hunt lasted several days. It took a long time to find the boar with the cream-colored tusks. There were only a few in the wilds and even less with the tusks the size of Apo's arm. The Seer told them that is the boar the spirits demanded in exchange for their manhood. It moved quickly and hid easily. The hunt was made harder by boys that fell, tired quickly, drank more than their share of water, or thought they knew where the boar was. Apo's brother kept dragging them into prickle brush that no boar would trample through, even if he was being hunted by a group of clumsy, loud-breathed boys. Apo said nothing, but gave his water and salt beef to those who needed it.