The villagers began to stack fallen birch logs in a cross-hatch pattern in the square. Another festival was to be held tonight. It reminded me of the campfires from the school trips of my childhood.
Whenever a large number of moose or reindeer were taken, or when a great prize like a brown bear or a whale was hunted, the community always gathered like this to share a feast. These weren’t scheduled events. Yet, they always began in the evening and didn’t wind down until just before dawn. The scent of animal fat sizzling over the fire, the smell of beast’s blood flowing like a small stream across the earth—smelling of iron and rust—and the flickering of the flames worked to unify the hearts of those present, enveloping them in a sense of solemnity.
Shamanism was once a universal religious ritual for all of humanity. Because it remains in a form close to its prototype in the Mongolian plateau and Northeast Asia, some believe it is indigenous to those regions, but that is a mistake.
The Miao people of China originally lived in the Yangtze River basin, but were pushed by the Han people into the mountainous borderlands of Vietnam, Thailand, and Laos. In Miao villages, there are shamans who heal diseases through magic. Their culture can likely be traced back to the rituals of the ancient Shang Dynasty. Similar shamans exist in Indonesia and Malaysia.
In ancient Greece, there were oracles in Delphi and Dodona, presided over by priestesses. Furthermore, the biographies of Alexander the Great mention “female prophets” known as Sibyls—the Persian Sibyl, the Hebrew Sibyl, the Babylonian Sibyl, and the Egyptian Sibyl. Specifically, the names of three women—Sambeite, Herlea, and Sabbe—are recorded. It is also said that there were priestesses at the Temple of Ammon in the Siwa Oasis of Libya.
The prophets of Judaism, though limited to men, were clearly shamans, as was Muhammad, the founder of Islam. In Norse mythology, the Valkyries, who lead the dead warriors to the halls of Valhalla to feast, are unmistakably priestesses.
The Sámi people of the North retained their animistic beliefs. Christianity only reached those far northern reaches after the Reformation in Germany. Through Christianity, European shamanism survived in the form of witch legends, witch hunts, and astrology. It is well known that the Vatican employed exorcists until quite recently.
Ancient Mayans, Aztecs, and Incas had similar spirit-beliefs, which persisted as indigenous faiths even after the spread of Christianity. Voodoo, derived from Africa, also has witches who cast out demons from the sick.
Whether we call it shamanism, totemism, animism, or spirit-belief, these are all likely the distant, shared memories of a time when humans lived as collective hunter-gatherers.
Humans were once all hunters. Hunting and warfare were inseparable. To a human, wild animals were a threat equal to—or greater than—other tribes. Every day was a war of eat-or-be-eaten, where only the victors survived to enjoy the joy of living.
Among Mary’s followers, there are many who desire the “revival” of such shamanism. They are skilled in both craft and performance. They paint Mary’s face and body with colored clay and place a crown of woven, multicolored bird feathers upon her head. It is not that Mary herself desires this. They smear the same colored clay on their own faces or wear masks representing “spirits.”
The fur coat Mary wears is a secret—neither the villagers nor Mary mentions it—but it is actually a patchwork of various furs I happened to catch: snow hares, otters, ermine, and martens. Mary always wears this handmade coat during these rituals. Of course, there are plenty of men who would offer her a fur coat. Those “tributes” are always things I could never compete with—exquisite sable coats or Arctic fox scarves as white as snow. And yet, Mary seems to cherish my handmade one the most.
When Mary stands before the fire and offers a sacrifice to something that can only be described as the “various spirits dwelling in all creation,” the crowd sees her as a living goddess, a shaman. They listen to her words as if they were an oracle. People begin to play instruments and dance, almost instinctively.
Why do we do this? I wonder, observing them from outside the circle.
And Mary, standing at the center of that circle, seems to be observing the donut-shaped frenzy with an equally bewildered gaze.
When we see livestock led to the slaughterhouse, we feel pity. Yet, we feel a strange longing for the “sacrifices” who are slaughtered after losing a battle. There is no difference in the act of killing and eating them. Why? Where does this emotion spring from? It is a feeling that can only be described as: Revere the heavens, fear the heavens, and simply be righteous.
It seems undeniable that shamanism is the common archetype of all religious ritual. A stigma branded into our DNA. One cannot help but assume such a thing exists. Whether it was Homo sapiens or Neanderthals, perhaps the ancestral genetic pool from which the human species diverged lived exactly like this.
I have mostly grasped the geography of this commune.
A wide strait connects the Atlantic, where the Gulf Stream flows, to the inner sea of the commune. From that inner sea, several fjords wind deep into the interior. Consequently, while the villages within the commune are far apart by land, they are easily accessible by boat.
The mountains surrounding the commune are generally rugged and snow-capped even in summer, but the center of the commune is a plain of accumulated peat, a mix of swamps, wetlands, and birch forests, with primeval pine forests spreading along the foothills.
The rivers flowing into the fjords are narrow and swift, sometimes cascading into the sea as waterfalls from high cliffs. The water is crystal clear but freezing. When I cast my line into these streams, I catch small salmonids that look very much like char, trout, or sweetfish. I roast them whole over a fire and eat them. Even the organs are bitter and delicious. It’s a perfect accompaniment to an evening drink.
I was sitting on a large rounded stone by the river, forgetting the mundane world and enjoying my fishing in solitude, when it happened.
“Fisherman. Do you like the life here?”
I turned toward the voice to see a man approaching.
“I do. And you look like a hunter.”
He stood behind me.
“Care to trade for some meat I’ve caught? Would you prefer bear paw or bear gall?”
It happened occasionally that a resident of the commune would speak to me directly to barter.
“Bear paw or gall. Both are the pinnacle of gibier, things one rarely gets to eat. I might try them smoked. If you’re happy with the fish I’ve caught, take as many as you like.”
Without looking back at the man, I kept my eyes fixed on the float on the water’s surface.
The man casually tossed the bear paw and gall beside me. Then, he remained standing there in silence.
“What’s wrong? The fish are swimming in that basket. Go ahead and take them.”
There should have been five or six fat char inside. I didn’t know if that was sufficient payment.
He remained silent. A creepy guy.
Getting irritated, I looked up at him. I recognized him. He was the tallest and most prominent man among Mary’s entourage—the man recognized by all, including himself, as the “boss.” He looked quite young, in his mid-twenties. He had long, straight, jet-black hair and tanned skin. His overgrown beard and eyes were also black. At first glance, he looked Greek or Turkish. He wore a cloak made of brown bear fur, with his arms and shins bare.
The more I looked, the more I realized he possessed a magnificent physique. He was Conan the Barbarian incarnate. A youthful, powerful appearance perfectly suited for this commune. I felt ashamed of my own meager body and sagging belly.
I wondered if he was using some kind of bulk-up supplement. In the commune, taking health foods, fortified foods, or drugs unnecessary for treating illness or injury—such as steroids, hyaluronic acid, or chondroitin for beauty—is strictly forbidden on the grounds that it defies the laws of nature. Processed foods containing preservatives, antioxidants, artificial flavorings, or dyes are also banned. The goal is to eat as naturally as possible. I felt very lucky that the consumption of caffeine and alcohol was permitted.
The pharmaceutical company run by the Schmidt family for generations must have been involved in producing many of those drugs and foods. And yet, this Geo-commune rejects them. Why did Mary start something that effectively cuts her own throat financially?
There are other nature-oriented communities besides the Geo-commune. Some forbid not just alcohol but even tea; others allow cannabis because it’s a natural product. Because the Geo-commune hunts and eats wild animals, it is viewed as a mortal enemy by vegetarian communities.
“Angler, why don’t you hang out with us?”
“Why? Because I’m a fisherman. Fishing can be done alone. It’s the hobby of those who love solitude.”
I wondered if I had said too much.
Fishing is a solitary act, but hunting must be done in a group. Shooting birds can be done by a few people, but a drive-hunt for deer requires a large party. Deer hunting is like war. The group must organically shift its formation to encircle the herd. In such a combat unit, someone becomes the leader, and everyone else becomes a subordinate. I had no desire to enter a “society” with such hierarchies. I had simply come here as Mary’s appendage. Even when I hunted, I usually acted separately from the group with Mary, shooting birds.
The man spoke softly.
“I’m the one who taught Mary Junior how to hunt. And how to shoot.”
This was the first time I had met someone who referred to Mary as “Mary Junior.” It made sense; since her mother’s name was also Mary, it wouldn’t be strange for people to call the daughter Mary Jr. and the mother Mary Sr.
“I see. Perhaps your influence is why Mary suddenly decided she wanted to be a gibier hunter.”
“Likely. She was a good student, a fast learner. She picked up the tricks in no time.”
“So, are you a tutor or an instructor hired by the Schmidts?”
“No. Junior and I are personal acquaintances.”
“So you knew her before she came to the Geo-commune. High school classmates?”
“No. Junior and I are childhood friends, from before we even started elementary school.”
“You’ve known each other a very long time then.”
“Not just childhood friends. We were betrothed. Our parents arranged it.”
“What?”
The daughter of the Schmidt conglomerate and the son of some prestigious family had been engaged as children. A complicated player had entered the game. I realized I could no longer afford to just sit here and fish.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but Mary and I are a legally married couple.”
“I know that. I was one of the witnesses at your wedding.”
“What?”
I sounded like an idiot, repeating the same thing.
So, the man who looked like a butler or a lawyer accompanying the mother-in-law… that was actually this man.
“Is there something you want to ask me? I’m happy to talk. Especially to you, my former fiancé. Let’s see…”
“Angler, my name is Eric.”
“Of course I know who you are. Nice to meet you, Eric.”
I stood up and shook hands with him. He was incredibly tall. A descendant of the Normans, no doubt. He must have been 30 centimeters taller than me. He looked down at me—partly due to the height difference, but psychologically, he made me feel small.
“Why did Junior choose you as her husband?”
“The reason my wife chose me?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted to know that. After she left elementary school due to her illness, I visited her in the hospital constantly. She had a brain condition; gradually, she stopped recognizing who I was. But miraculously, she recovered and was discharged. She didn’t return to our school, though; she was tutored at home. I continued to visit her frequently. It was my right and duty as her fiancé. At first, she couldn’t tell who I was. She could hardly speak. Gradually, she remembered me and began to speak normally again.
Because of her brain condition, I recommended horseback riding and shooting for her rehabilitation. I’d been taught both by my parents since I was a child.
Mary Senior was worried at first about her daughter exercising. But I stayed by her side, and we started riding together. Soon, Senior’s worries proved unfounded. Junior began riding racehorses and even entered equestrian competitions. However, whenever she rides, she must wear a helmet to protect her brain in case she falls. Actually, the obligation to wear helmets is spreading among the general public and athletes, though many still refuse because they think it looks ugly.
Junior and I occasionally went hunting with our parents. She seemed to awaken to something. She became more and more vibrant. I believed she had recovered this much because I had cared for her with all my heart.
Then Junior announced she wanted to be a gibier hunter, and she even started talking about leading the Mary Foundation and establishing something called a Geo-commune. And I felt Junior’s behavior becoming increasingly eccentric. Her personality changed significantly from when she was a girl. I didn’t think it was just age. I thought it was the lingering effect of the brain illness.”
Eric continued talking on his own. Perhaps he just needed someone to listen.
“Did she start saying she wanted to be a Mama Bear?”
“Yes. Exactly. Then suddenly, she said she’d found a man she liked and started dating him, and then she said she’d finally been proposed to. I didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t invite me to the wedding. When I asked if it was okay to attend anyway, she looked sad and said, ‘Do whatever you like.’
I thought about bringing my whole clan to the wedding and filing a formal objection.
But to save face for Junior and Mary Senior, I decided to attend the ceremony alone and quietly.
Tell me. What did Junior see in you? How did you woo her? And does Junior still like you? Do you live happily together like a normal couple?”
At that moment, I almost wanted to say, You could have caused a scene at the wedding and declared the marriage void. Why didn’t you? If he had, perhaps it would have become clearer why Mary wanted to marry me, or why I felt I had to marry her. I wouldn’t be feeling this lingering haze in my heart.
To an outsider, Mary and Eric would be the ideal couple. I wanted to ask Mary myself: You were loved by such a perfect man; why aren’t you head over heels for him? Why on earth did you choose a mediocre man from a foreign country like me?
I should have married her only after everything was clear—after I could truly, from the bottom of my heart, want to marry her. If she had chosen Eric over me, that would have been fine.
But having a man like this appear after the fact and question my marriage to Mary was making me lose my mind. This situation was clearly abnormal.
If I told him the honest truth about how Mary and I started, I would either make this man Eric sad or make him angry.
I myself don’t think my married life with Mary is anything close to “normal.” I doubt another couple like us exists.
It’s not that our relationship is cold, nor do I want to break up. We are a legitimate couple. But we certainly don’t live in blissful harmony.
It would be a lovely story if we had met, fallen in love at first sight, and if I had passionately proposed and won her.
But the reality is entirely different.
“As for why Mary chose me… I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I can’t put it any other way, Eric. She is a very singular woman. That’s all I know. Please believe me.”
“Then why did you choose Junior as your wife?”
I was deeply troubled by this question too.
Calculation?
Marrying into wealth?
I can’t say those thoughts never crossed my mind. But in reality, I started dating Mary with a very light heart. A beauty like a Playmate had suddenly dropped into my life upon arriving in this country. And she was a celebrity. And she was the one who wanted to date. And then, things just progressed to marriage. It’s too good to be true, the kind of plot you find in Harlequin novels or light novels. But it’s not impossible.
I thought Mary was just acting on a whim. The truth is, I was gradually cornered by Mary and her mother, Mary, until I had no choice but to marry her.
I had to choose my words carefully.
“I don’t quite know, but it seemed to me that she was rushing through life. She wanted to find a lifelong partner and have children as soon as possible. I suspect you might have a sense of that too, Eric. Right?”
Eric nodded deeply. I felt a slight sense of relief.
“And as for why she chose me over you… as I said, I don’t know. I married her because she was in a hurry. I thought it would be better to let our love grow slowly. But she felt differently. I was pushed into marriage by her and her mother, Mary.”
“By Mary Senior?” Eric’s eyes glinted dully. “I see. I’ve gathered the gist of it. Thank you for being honest.”
Leaving those words behind, he shouldered his hunting rifle and a game bag filled with a bear’s torso and limbs. He left the fish in the basket untouched and walked away.
