1001 Nights Cast

Nyam

In spongey ground, flax thrives, thrusting its long sharp succulent leaves towards the sun until its own weight drives the tips down to earth. From the base the fibre is taken. A long process of soaking, stretching, combing, twining, spinning, follows until the thread is as silky smooth. Nyam’s family preferred the yellow, green striped flax plant. It was said that its quality was so fine, if it were held to the sunshine, rainbows appeared through it. Nyam’s family had traded in this variety for generations, the family held the name of Aymayu Kumri—traders of the rainbow.

Nyam stood strangely tall for a Moche. He learnt the trade from his father by accompanying him on many journeys. The father saved his words for the sales, and thus, their journeys were silent. To this day, Nyam found comfort in the sound of steady walking, without chatter, giving his ear to the sounds of the early morning—birds on the hunt, wind driving music through trees, and waterways secretly following the walker through valleys.

In this his eighteenth year, Nyam’s challenge was to take his most important trading journey to Chan Chan, to sell a large amount of his finest cloth to the new royal Incan household there. A messenger from the city lord had come on a special errand to seek out the son of Qarga, Aymaru Kumri, for special cloth to drape around the newest son of the nusto.

The morning of his leaving, his mother who rarely spoke with gloom said to him, ‘Last night, I saw you walking back to this house, empty handed and with a woman. The sun exploded in a thousand pieces shaped like spears and you were shadows, burnt and transparent.’

‘It’s my longest journey, mother, that is why you are worried. A woman would be a good thing. Who is there here to have?’ he replied.

‘It’s true. There are none here for you. In the city I am certain you will find one. Look for signs of her family.’

‘I will, mother.’

‘It can never be said too much.’

‘The sun is very high. I must go now or I will not reach the second hills before dark.’

His mother came to the doorway to watch him turn the corner from the second level street. She whispered to her ancestors, as if her nightmare had resurfaced, ‘Carani, keeper of the fire, bring my first-born back to me whole and warm.’

Ina

Ina had been three years both virgin bride and prisoner of the Incan nusto in Chan Chan. She had borne him no children but then her encounters with him in the Emerald Garden house lessened. Ina had not seen her mother since she had been taken by the women in gold-edged robes. Those past years had been her loneliest. Ina sang snatches of her mother’s songs weaving them into long complex melodies to pass the time whilst weaving wari wool with the other imillas, Virgins of the Sun. The other women avoided the strange Ina who sang and smiled to herself in a foreign tongue.

None spoke her language except one, a newly arrived girl from the coast. Ina had asked her name and Zana as she was called, hung her head and cried, for hearing her own Chimu language broke her heart. Seeing her in tears, Ina reached out her hand and stroked the girl’s hair, saying ‘choo choo’ as her mother would have said to her. Zana sobbed into her cupped hands and soaked up the comfort of this new friend.

Ina over the next few months kept special watch over Zana as she was initiated to the rites. She told her how the nusto would take her to a special bed surrounded by thin white curtains; how she would feel a hard bone enter her sacred chinqui vagina and feel a piercing pain; and how she would have to wash away the seeds.

No amount of washing seeds away stopped the baby growing in Zana. Ina was to attend the birthing ceremony of Zana’s firstborn. Ina was thus endowed the right to choose the cloth for the baby from the chosen flax trader. She was given a propitious time and location for the meeting with the trader.

Ina had never left the highest level of the city Chan Chan. Now that she was descending a spiral ramp, did she understand her social elevation and the isolation it would bring. Tears came unwilled to her eyes and she swallowed to force the stone of loneliness down to her belly.

Standing still in the middle of the courtyard, Ina noticed four door entries. Each entry was covered with a misty cloth so that the entrance was veiled. A wind blew strongly, and a curtain on her left rippled like water. She looked as the door opened. A tall man entered and waited for the wind to still and allow the curtain to hide his presence.

The Escape

In silence, Nyam and Ina ran from the citadel. The people of the outer city barely turned their heads to look from their bartering and selling.

There was one woman high on the roof of her house, hanging out freshly red-dyed woolen cloth for drying. She looked up towards the citadel and saw the hurried movement of this couple. She instantly understood, and without thinking, she pulled a dry length of cloth from her line, ran to the edge of her roof, leant over and called out, ‘Strangers!’ Nyam and Ina looked up and stopped somewhat warily.

With no words, for she knew she would not be understood, the woman threw down the cloth. As Nyam wrapped it around his stolen woman, Ina looked deeply into the woman’s eyes, thanking her from her heart. They continued on down the road to the sea.

The woman stood up and brushed the dirt from her leaning hand. She looked skywards to the sun, and thanked Llawilla of the stone for the opportunity to help a stranger.