25 Nov


HUNTING CAVEMAN photo: Caveman Diet CavemanDiet2.jpg  Crud got to thinking, which was, in itself, a rarity. Normally he was fully occupied with smelling the air to see if anything meaty was sauntering in the neighbourhood – he loved the flesh of Bamble, a small and therefore relatively easily caught mammal, fleet of foot but delicious when eaten raw, or cooked if he could find fire somewhere.

But today he had got to thinking.

Why, in the name of everything he found pleasing, like his woman’s bosom and his kiddling’s smile, was he doing this? Why was he out in the forest, spear in hand, feeling the cold winds bite into his bones and the ice underfoot crunching into his feet, when somebody else could be doing it for him.

He’d never thought of somebody else doing it for him before, and now that he did all sorts of other notions slipped into place. Like the fact that to his certain knowledge a dozen strong, sturdy men were doing exactly what he was doing, and suffering like he was … and if he could…

…if he could…

That’s where he reached a full-stop until a brilliant spark illuminated, for a tiny instant, the middle of his brain and in that glorious nano-second he saw the solution.

Sweat formed on his brow, and he frowned, then smiled broadly despite the wintry conditions.

That was it! All he had to do was … what words could he use? How could he define the thought? All he had to do was provide a … service? A reason for doing nothing? Something that he alone of all the men in the village could provide, and then take a bit from everyone else’s meat in return for his … something … and he’d never have to hunt again! Never have to freeze! And the glorious bosom of his beloved was a temptation!

Winter was hitting the world hard. He’d never have to lurk in the woodlands on a frosty morning, shivering, while the herd of bambles raced past…

Deep in thought, and without meat or anything edible to feed the family, he returned to the village. It was early, much too early for the hunters to return unless they’d really struck it lucky and his woman, the well-bosomed Bittle, could see that he was empty-handed.

“I have thunked!” he crowed. “I have thunked deep and hard! I will become a spirit master!”

“What is?”

“Crud get cold out in the forest. Crud willy shrivel away when he get cold! So Crud stay at home and become spirit Master. Come: we hold gathering, tell everyone. Crud on his way to fame and fortune!”

“As long as Crud willy not shrivel away!” exclaimed Bittle, thrusting her more than adequate bosom at him, and smiling in that lascivious way he so loved.

Crud called the people from the surrounding area – mostly women on account of the men being deep in the forest hunting – to a meeting.

They gathered around him, breath turning to mist in the cold, and he surveyed them with his big and, to Bittle, gorgeous eyes.

“Crud had a vision…” he began in a loud, clear voice. “Crud in the forest and have a vision. Crud see Truth! Crud become the servant of … of … of God!”

“What is God?” called half a dozen women and one old man who had broken his leg so couldn’t hunt.

Then Crud was brilliant. Everyone said he was. It was perfectly clear that he’d had an exotic experience beyond that of normal men. He fluttered his eye-lashes, long and black and beguiling, and opened his mouth and spoke in a loud, clear, hypnotic voice, telling of his vision and the Power of the Heavens. What he was saying was brand, spanking new, and he wanted the people to understand.

“I am the Voice of God,” he began, suavely. “I will guide you…”

And as the oceans of time passed neither Crud nor any of his progeny nor others in his wake had to hunt again. It was a happy solution to a cold winter!

© Peter Rogerson 25.11.14


3 Responses to “THE BIRTH OF GOD”

  1. slpsharon November 25, 2014 at 2:46 pm #

    Probably close to how it happened.

    • Peter Rogerson November 25, 2014 at 3:06 pm #

      Who can possibly know, though I do tell myself it’s not a bad guess.

  2. barbod2014angusbelle November 25, 2014 at 9:02 pm #

    Seems like a good guess to me, Peter.
    I see we are now meandering back in time, yet again. I love these old, old stories. 🙂

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