You've Got to Be Able to Talk
Then again, it did feel a little wrong to keep using my name from my previous life. It was a man's name, after all.
No one had called me anything until now, so I'd simply forgotten, but it seemed I needed a name. Doesn't the proof of one's existence begin with a name?
They were bowing to me, so I supposed they were being formal with me. Should I just keep it as it was?
No — I had no idea what it even meant anymore. I should change it a little.
Haneul. That would do.
"Haneul."
Pointing a finger at myself, I told them my name.
"Haneul."
"Haneul."
"Haneul!"
They parroted it back right away. Primitive cavemen though they were, with faces fierce enough to scare off a bear — wasn't this just a little cute? Or not. Whatever.
The Three Primitives Who Found Haneul
The three of them had left their tribe to go hunting, and they had been watching everything from the very beginning.
When light poured down from the sky and a colossal tree appeared, they had believed the god of the tree had descended. After all, they had never seen a tree that enormous anywhere in their lives.
And look — the little hill where the tree had settled turned to a carpet of green grass in the blink of an eye. Surely a god had come down to this place.
Then, a moment later, a spirit drifted gently down through the light. It had come with the tree, so it had to be the spirit of the tree.
The spirit behaved like a newborn child, scampering about its surroundings, and even performed a ritual — carrying a dead tree from the forest, giving it to the fire, and sending it back up to the sky.
They were certain of it now. If they tended this being and protected it, then the god would watch over and protect them in return.
"Haneul."
"Haneul."
"Haneul!"
The three kept bowing over and over, kicking up little clouds of dust with every prostration.
"Okay, okay, that's enough, guys. You're kicking up dust."
At me, no less. I waved my hands left and right, trying to get them to stop.
"Haneul."
Did they understand?
The Three Musketeers sat down quietly, hands folded, watching me with those clear, guileless eyes. Hulking mountains of muscle gazing at me so innocently — they looked for all the world like blushing new brides.
"PWAHAHA!"
Like I could hold that in!
"Heh heh heh."
"Hee hee hee."
"Hee hee."
The Three Musketeers caught on and laughed along with me. I think I've made some fun friends here.
"Hmm. Now that I have guests, I should offer them something, shouldn't I?"
A drink of river water, at least — which meant I'd need cups. I picked up four suitable chunks of wood.
No tools required. My tool is telekinesis!
Whirrrr.
Spinning the wooden blocks like a milling machine, I pressed blades of telekinetic force against them and shaped each one. I smoothed the outside, hollowed out the inside in a perfect circle — done in seconds.
Isn't this just a little too all-purpose?
"Oh? I think I've got a real talent for this telekinesis thing."
I surprised myself, and the Three Musketeers apparently too — their eyes went wide as saucers.
Now I had to go fetch water. With guests sitting right in front of me, huffing and puffing my way back from the river felt a bit undignified.
Time to attempt something new.
I focused my gaze on the riverbank visible in the distance. For a moment it felt like something faintly connected, and then — like a tiny dot at first — a mass of water began to rise into the air.
"Huh? So I can do this too?"
The blob of water seemed tethered to me by an invisible thread. I didn't even need to look at it — I could feel it, a tickling sensation in one corner of my mind.
Feels pretty big, actually?
Sure enough, when it arrived before my eyes it was the size of a large fist. I was a little startled myself, and once again the Three Musketeers' eyes went round.
"Here you go. Welcome tea for our guests. Mm?"
Wait — was it actually okay to drink river water straight like this?
In the prehistoric era it's probably fine, right? Or did I need to boil it first? I'd be fine myself, being immortal and all, but in an age without medicine, if these guys got a stomach bug we'd have a real problem on our hands.
"Hey guys — is it okay to drink this?"
"?"
They tilted their heads. I needed to teach them a simple yes-and-no system.
"Alright, watch closely."
"Yes!"
Nodding my head gently up and down, with a smile.
"No!"
Scowling and shaking my head vigorously side to side.
Isn't that a wonderfully simple way to communicate? I couldn't think of anything better off the top of my head, anyway. I'd have to teach them language properly soon. You can't conquer the world — or do anything else, really — if you can't actually talk to people.
.
.
.
First, I taught the Three Musketeers the word "What's that?"
It took a genuinely long time. Still, it was time well spent — before long, we were actually communicating.
"Alright, now let's try it."
"Mm. Mm."
Whether they found it fun or not, the Three Musketeers were enthusiastic students.
"Name. Haneul."
At the same time, I pointed a finger at myself. I wanted them to grasp the concept of a name.
"Name, Haneul."
Their pronunciation was bright, their expressions cheerful — all lovely, except their fingers were pointed at themselves. I took their hands in mine and redirected the fingers toward me.
""“Ah!”""
They seemed to get it in one go.
"Name, Garungda."
"Name, Udilda."
"Name, Seugida."
Each of them pointed to himself as he spoke his name. I was so proud. It had been a tearful, hard-won lesson.
Clap clap clap.
"That's it! You did it! Well done!"
When I clapped and beamed at them, the Three Musketeers looked at each other and clapped and smiled back. Being able to truly communicate at last felt wonderful.
.
.
.
The word "What's that?" really was a powerhouse. Point at something, ask the question, and they'd absorb names of objects in no time.
And finally — finally — it was time to ask my actual question. This whole thing had started because I wanted to offer them a drink of water, remember...
We really had come the long way around.
"Water — drink?"
In case they got confused, I mimed scooping the floating water droplet into my mouth with my hand.
"Mm. Mm. Good."
Oh? They could even say "good" now?
At last I could relax. So the river water was safe to drink as-is.
Slurrrrp.
I drew a thin stream of water out of the blob and poured it into the Three Musketeers' cups. Telekinesis truly was amazing. That droplet I'd felt connected to — I could shape it into squares, triangles, hearts, anything, at will.
With the water stream flying about, my primitive friends reached out to touch it, marveling.
"No! Don't touch — dirty hands, no touching. Belly hurts."
"Dirty? Hands? Touch? Belly? Hurts?"
Yikes! Five whole words they didn't know? Another impromptu class began on the spot.
"Garungda, come here."
"Come here."
Garungda seemed to be the leader of the three, so I called him over first.
"This is a hand. Easy, right?"
I pointed at his hand with my finger, and he caught on right away.
"Ah! Hand. Got it."
Then I had Garungda hold out his hand. Time for the dirty lesson. I pinched off a chunk of the water droplet and dunked just one of his hands into it.
"Ha... Haneul... good?"
"Is he asking if it's okay? He's not hurt, probably?"
Saying it out loud, I had to wonder — would he actually be fine? My thoughts had apparently escaped straight onto my face, because Garungda's complexion was turning a sickly shade of blue.
I gave him my most reassuring smile and swirled the water around and around. The way you'd swish a hand in a washing machine, you know.
Garungda's hand was filthy enough that it took three more washings before it came clean. Disgusting. I felt like I could catch a brand-new disease just looking at it.
Soap would have handled that in one go. What a shame.
"Oh!!!"
Garungda gaped at his freshly cleaned hand in astonishment.
Believe me, I'm shocked too — that you all live this dirty.
"Now, look here."
"Look here."
"This side — clean. This side — dirty."
"Ooooh!!"
They understood in one shot. Since when was learning a single thing this thrilling? They got ecstatically happy over everything I taught them — and that, in turn, fired up this teacher no end.
"Alright then. Time for the touching-means-bellyache lesson."
"Three Musketeers — this one's going to be a crash course."
Perhaps they sensed the gravity in my voice, because their expressions turned solemn.
.
.
.
Teaching the word hurts took longer than I expected. There was no way around hitting someone for it.
No matter how I flailed my arms and legs at them, it seemed the three of them didn't feel so much as a tickle. In the end, Garungda took one hefty wallop courtesy of telekinesis.
"Garungda? Hurt?"
"Garungda not hurt."
"Your eye's swollen blue, though?"
"Eye? Blue? Swollen?"
More unknown words. Class time again, apparently.
"Okay, look here. Eye."
Pointing out things like eyes had become truly easy by now.
"Blue."
Then I pointed at the sky.
"Pfft—!"
All three of them suddenly burst out laughing. I had no idea why, but I kept going anyway. Pointing at Garungda's swollen eye, I said:
"Swollen."
"BWAHAHAHA!"
"PAHAHAHA!"
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
These guys — they understood it perfectly, didn't they!
Now that I thought about it, it really was hilarious. By that explanation, you could say the sky itself had settled into Garungda's eye. Who knew a shiner could be so beautiful?
"Done laughing now?"
"Ahem."
"Hmm. Hmm."
"Heh heh."
I hurriedly shushed Udilda, who was about to crack up again. At this rate we'd never finish, my friends.
"Good. Good."
The Three Musketeers drank their water very well. The lesson had run long, after all — they gulped down three refills in a row.
It's getting a little weird just holding this water droplet forever, isn't it?
I carved a big log into a water barrel, which was no harder than making the cups. Into the barrel went the droplet, and then — remembering our Three Musketeers' filthy hands — I made a ladle and left it floating inside.
"Hands dirty now, so belly hurts — you know that, right?"
"Know. Hurt."
"That's why we use a tool like this to scoop water. See?"
I ladled water with the scoop and poured it into their cups.
"Oh!"
They gulped it down eagerly, then figured out the trick and started ladling for themselves. Ah. They really were parched — look at them going at it.
Though this presented a bit of a problem. Hunger, thirst — I had no way of sensing those states in someone else.
"Could it be you're hungry?"
"Belly hurts?"
The only word they knew was hurts, so the Three Musketeers just tilted their heads.
"No, no — hungry is nom-nom, chomp-chomp."
"Ah! Hungry? Nom-nom chomp-chomp!"
"That's right. Hungry."
"Today, no nom-nom chomp-chomp."
Ah... you poor Three Musketeers. Was there ever a sadder tale? They'd been snagged by me on the road and dragged here without so much as a bite to eat.
"Wait — you were out hunting?"
"Hunting?"
"Yeah — hunting is nom-nom chomp-chomp."
I scurried back and forth making grabbing and catching motions, and they caught on quickly.
"Oh! Hunting."
"Right, we hunting."
"Do you eat potatoes? Ever seen a potato? It's something like this —"
I made a potato appear in my hand and showed it around.
"What's that?"
Their first time ever seeing a potato, apparently. They sniffed at it, wondered if it was meant to be eaten, and were about to pop it straight into their mouths.
"Ah! Hold on."
"Potatoes you have to roast."
"Roast?"
"Roast over fire."
This time I pointed at the campfire. Smiles spread across the Three Musketeers' faces — they seemed to catch on at once.
I went to retrieve the potatoes I'd stashed away earlier, and couldn't find a single one. Apparently, during our passionate language lessons, they had been passionately oxidized along with everything else.
R.I.P., potatoes.
"Hmm, they've all turned to charcoal. Wait here a moment."
"Mm. Wait here."
I felt like some kind of animal trainer all of a sudden.
The campfire had nearly burned down to embers now — just glowing coals left behind. Which meant it was the perfect heat for roasting potatoes or sweet potatoes. They'd catch right away if I put them in the flames, so I buried them just under the embers instead.
While the potatoes cooked.
Our communication wasn't advanced enough yet for small talk about daily life. For a while we just sat quietly together, watching the embers glow. We were friends now.
Whirrrr.
While we waited, I made some wooden planks, rounded them off, and hollowed out the center a little. Plates! The potatoes would come out of the fire hot, after all — we'd need something to rest them on while we ate.
"This is a plate."
"Plate."
Having actual objects present certainly made teaching easier.
Next up.
Scritch scratch.
Chopsticks were tricky even for me, so I made a few forks and spoons instead. Shaping something comfortable to grip turned out to be harder than I'd thought — apparently there's a proper angle to these things?
"This is a spoon."
"Spoon."
"You don't use these?"
"Don't know."
As I handed out the cutlery one piece at a time, they turned each over in their hands, examining them with wide-eyed wonder.
How on earth had they been living? You'd think a people would at least build themselves bowls and houses, wouldn't you?