My Friends the Savages Part 17

The woman only takes away with her the youngest of her children who have most need of her care, leaving those over six years of age to the father, and she returns to her own place where she is affectionately received.

She often finds another husband, even in the first days of her separation; her new companion adopts her little ones and considers them as his, after which the relationship with their real father is annulled.

Divorce, as is here seen, is performed without the intervention of others. The Sakais are as free to marry as they are to part when they find that they cannot live in peace and quietness. They attribute to the heart the same impulse of union as of separation. It is then Sentiment that takes the form of Law amongst them and regulates their acts. How much it is to be deplored that a similar law is not recognized in civilized countries, where that imposed by legislature creates so many unhappy beings and provocates so many tragedies and so much infamy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sleeping children.

_p._ 135.]

And yet, in spite of this facility in obtaining a divorce, there are very few who recur to it, a circ.u.mstance that ought to have weight with those persons who fight furiously against a measure so conducive to the real defence of the family, defence in the sense that its condition and functions would be improved without the crushing and suppression of those rights (by a prejudice that is made to pa.s.s as a religious precept) which the soul itself a.s.serts.

Nowadays the holy state of matrimony is viewed by the majority with sceptical diffidence, almost as an abyss that swallows up freedom, energy, scruples of honour, morality, will and every kindliness of sentiment that has survived the shipwreck of many hopes and illusions.

Among the Sakais no such feeling prevails. The men voluntarily bind their own existence to that of a woman and sanctify their new state with the sincere virtues of fidelity and chast.i.ty.

But--these virtues belong to savages and I am a savage to speak of them!

Let me then, briefly finish up the argument. Divorce cases are rare because they are almost exclusively based upon incompatibility of temper or persistent sterility.

Neither the man nor the woman can reconcile themselves to stay without children; if their union is without fruit there is no longer need for them to live together.

In an exceptional case it sometimes happens that the two parties do not agree over a divorce, in which circ.u.mstance the decision is left to the Elder who p.r.o.nounces a sentence without the possibility of appeal.

The immediate consequence of an annulled matrimony is the return of the presents given by the husband to the family of the wife. The latter at once abandons the tribe to which she belonged after her marriage and becomes a stranger to those who, a short time before, were her closest relations.

This is not the end of a love-dream but the calm and reasonable decision of two beings who, finding that their characters do not agree and that they no longer feel pleasure in each other's company, are not sufficiently cruel towards themselves and their better or worse halves (as the case may be) as to simulate and continue a union which renders them unhappy.

In our parts the question of divorced people's children serves as a weighty argument to the opposers of divorce and gives to its partisans a difficult problem to study. To the Sakais the solution is easy enough.

The age of the children decides with whom they have to remain, and those left to the father's charge are taken care of by the womenfolk around, who from a pure impulse of maternity and without any hope of reward, treat them with motherly tenderness. It is as though their mother was dead and their natural female guardians become the sisters or mother of the father. In default of these close relations the man is free to contract a second marriage at once, his term of mourning being condoned.

Any way, the little ones always become the object of affectionate interest to all the women of the village.

The Sakai people do not kiss each other. They know neither the kiss of Judas nor that of Romeo. They express their sympathy and love by some rough fondling or the scratching of each other's nose, neck or chin.

Yonder, in the jungle, there are no poets, novelists, dramatists or painters; a new (and original) field would here be opened to the excellence of their arts. Can you not imagine, kind reader, how irresistible the effect would be if, at the most pa.s.sionate point of their love scenes, instead of "their trembling lips meeting in a thrilling kiss" the hero and heroine were to furiously scratch each other's noses?

Although, now and then, in the interest of true Art, it might be a good thing for some of our pseudo artists to go to that distant land in search of strong inspirations that would, at least, increase the glory of common sense in civilized places, I would certainly not advise them to emigrate into the Malay forest for it would be like condemning them to death by starvation as there they would find no sort of tool or material with which to do their work. There are no suicides, murders, robberies, adultery, coveted legacies and suppressed wills, forgeries, lost women and illegitimate children, there are no alcohol drinkers, opium eaters etc.

It would be utterly impossible for even a "Sherlock Holmes" to satisfy the cravings of appet.i.te if he had been created in those parts.

But let us return to my good friends the savages after this involuntary ramble.

The Sakais manifest their love and gallantry by scratching nose, chin or neck but when they want to express a milder sentiment, such as sincere affection or friendship, they do so by a smile, at the same time embracing each other.

I have sometimes noticed both men and women, when far from their other halves, indulge in a few caresses and a little nose-scratching, as also young men not engaged, but I can affirm with the fullest certainty that these demonstrations of tenderness go no further; they finish where they begin.

It may seem strange, but it is true. Both s.e.xes are in continual contact. In the cold nights they will all sleep close together to keep themselves warm and yet nothing wrong results from this promiscuous proximity.

As I have already said, chast.i.ty is a natural virtue among the Sakais, and even that which relates to legitimate love is veiled in a coy mystery. Neither the male or the female are given to s.e.xual caprices.

If a young man should happen to be in love with a girl before he can handle his blowpipe with dexterity and profit, or is able to procure the wedding presents prescribed by habit, he will perhaps persuade his sweetheart to meet him in the forest.

It is extremely seldom that any harm comes to the girl through such an appointment, because it is not in their character to give way to l.u.s.t, but should this occur, and the fact become known, a marriage is arranged without any loss of time. The woman who will not consent to a matrimony with her lover or who is known to have been on intimate terms with more than one young man is held in great disdain by the rest of her people.

There are very few spinsters to be found in these tribes but those who do remain in the single state owe it to some moral or physical defect.

Such persons live with their nearest relations.

Polygamy is never thought of by the Sakais but bigamy is not an absolute exclusion although it very rarely takes place because as soon as a woman sees that her husband is enamoured of another she is the first to propose a divorce and no recriminations follow her suggestion.

"Your heart" she says "suffers with me, when with her it would be glad.

Well, then, let us separate for I feel that I could not live happily with another wife of yours".

Should a woman, however, be contented to share the nuptial bed with a rival you may be quite sure that the very best harmony would reign in that _menage a trois_.

The Sakai women are born with the instinct of maternity and will never renounce nursing their own babes unless scarcity of milk or a weak const.i.tution compels them to do so. These exceptions are, however extraordinarily rare and they are at the height of their pride when their little ones are drawing life and strength from their b.r.e.a.s.t.s.[11]

There are very few cases of complete sterility or excessive fecundity amongst them. Hardly ever does a woman have more than four or five children.

She nurses and takes care of them with great tenderness, delighted at seeing them grow strong and healthy.

Children are weaned at from seven months (reckoned roughly by the moon) to two years of age (two seasons of fruit) but generally when they are about a year old (one season).

The first food given to the baby is a well-cooked pap made with a certain bulb and the tender leaves of a little plant whose names I do not remember.

When the little fellow has become accustomed to his new food (whether he likes it or not) or begins to babble a word or two, he is given a name that usually recalls the place where he was born, some particular event of the moment or the way he may have of making use of a word often, or of p.r.o.nouncing it badly.

The good-heartedness and maternal kindness of the Sakai woman is extended even to young animals that have been deprived of their mother.

They will adopt them and bring them up with the same care they bestow upon their own children or human orphans.

One day a she-boar was caught in a trap, and, as a matter of course, was cooked and eaten, but soon after a litter, belonging to the victim, was found and the tiny beasts, only just born, were taken and nursed by the women of the village.

I once saw a big boar that followed a Sakai tribe with wonderful docility even allowing the children to play tricks upon it; it had been brought up by the women.

I have also seen rats, that have been reared by these foster-mothers, go backwards and forwards from the hut at their will, and I remember that one night when I had taken shelter in one of these cabins and had selected a particular corner for my night's rest, the dark lady of the house, without raising any objection to my choice, warned me that during the night a rat would return to repose in the same spot and begged me not to do any harm to the poor thing, as he was one of the family, but to call her if it gave me any disturbance.

In fact I was fast asleep when some warm fur softly caressed me, and waking up I understood that the dissolute rodent--almost bigger than a cat--had returned home in the small hours, just as if he had been provided with a latch-key.

I hastily called the woman who tenderly took it up and carried it away to sleep with her.