The Weight of What We Eat
All ornaments must be discarded.
At that command, the group began to tremble as if they had been told to cut off their own flesh. Yet they offered no resistance.
By then, the people who had followed me had already surrounded them. Most were those who had joined me in driving out the elephants, and like me, they wore terrifying paint on their faces.
That was why the group obeyed our orders without complaint.
At the center of the group's nesting place, a large bonfire always burned. It was the heart of the group, their dining table, and their playground. They never let its flames die, and if they did, it was the first thing they revived.
I lined them up around that fire.
“With your own hands, throw the ornaments in.”
“B-but—!”
Someone in the group tried to protest, but the attempt died before it could begin.
“Quiet!”
“Do as we say!”
“If you don’t want to get hurt, stay still!”
It wasn’t for any other reason. The painted ones simply spoke one after another, pressing them with their presence.
“Throw them.”
When I repeated the order, they began to slowly remove the ornaments covering their bodies with trembling hands and cast them into the fire. But the sight did not satisfy me. What they threw first were the ones on their wrists and ankles—trinkets that clearly held little value to anyone.
I waited a moment, then, watching them continue to discard only the least valuable pieces, I could bear it no longer. I reached out.
I seized the necklace hanging around the neck of the man who owned the spear. It was adorned with what looked like elephant bone or ivory.
“Th-that’s—!”
Before the man could finish speaking, I yanked it hard, snapping the cord, and hurled it into the flames.
The white ornament—whether ivory or bone—did not burn easily. Instead, it blackened and took on an unpleasant hue under the red firelight.
The man stared with his mouth agape.
His face looked as if his own neck had been thrown into the fire.
“Does it pain you to lose it?” I asked.
He could not answer. I looked straight into his eyes.
“What is burning there is your honor and your proof. The things you have corrupted through greed are being purified by fire.”
At those words, they all turned to look at me.
The groups that gathered at Ati shared one common trait.
They worshipped fire as something sacred.
It was too primitive and unstructured to be called a religion, but what they believed was similar. Fire purifies food and makes the body healthy. Fire drives away evil. Fire makes things stronger.
Therefore, the concept of purification by fire would not be entirely foreign to them.
“Purify the honor you have let rot with fire, and build it again. That is the sin you must bear.”
As soon as I finished speaking, the owner of the spear moved first.
With trembling hands, he unwound the cord wrapped around his arm. It was an ornament strung with animal teeth, bone fragments, and brightly colored stones. Perhaps proof of his hunts. Or a boast of long survival. Maybe even a symbol of the status he held within the group.
He stared at it for a long time.
But in the end, he threw it into the fire.
Crackle.
The dry cord caught the flames first. The bones and stones did not burn, but the string that bound them curled black in an instant.
Perhaps he, too, had felt guilt. Otherwise, there would have been no reason to hide meat in a cave or bury it in the ground.
Seeing that, the others began to move one by one.
Things around their necks. Things wound around their arms. Things tied at their waists. Things tucked into their hair.
They removed the ornaments as if tearing away parts of themselves and cast them slowly into the fire.
Each time, the flames flickered faintly.
Crackle. Crackle. Crackle-crackle.
Strangely, the sound resembled the noise of bones being struck.
Listening to it, I slowly opened my mouth.
“You hunted.”
No one answered.
“Hunting is not a sin. Killing to eat, fighting to survive—neither is a sin.”
I gazed at the ornaments blackening in the fire.
“But discarding what you have killed is a sin.”
At that, several of them flinched.
“Leaving the wounded to suffer is a sin. Making them flee in agony is a sin. And taking pride in that death is also a sin.”
My voice grew lower.
“You did not kill because you were hungry. You did not kill to survive. You killed because you wanted to possess. You killed because you wanted to appear bigger, stronger, and more impressive than others.”
The firelight licked across their faces.
In that red glow, I saw it.
What rose in their eyes was not mere fear.
It was shame.
They knew what they were losing right now. And, even more terribly, they were beginning to realize what they had done.
Without taking my eyes off them, I spoke.
“From now on, do not discard what you kill.”
Their pupils trembled.
“Every bone fragment, every scrap of flesh, every piece of organ. Eat it all. Use it all. Remember it all.”
At those words, both bewilderment and horror rose on their faces.
To confront every part of the life they had taken. To touch its weight, its smell, its blood with their own hands. And to swallow it with their own mouths.
I believed it was necessary.
So they would understand that what they killed was not simply a lump of meat. That what they had thrown away was not mere scraps.
They had to learn it with their hands, their mouths, their bellies.
“Do not run from it.”
I spoke quietly.
“See what you have done to the end.”
No one could answer.
The fire continued to burn. The cords that had bound the ornaments vanished, leaving only blackened bones and stones within the flames.
As if even the fire could not consume all of their sin.
“That is the punishment laid upon you.”
After watching the sight one last time, I slowly turned away.
My work here was finished.
At least, that was what I wanted to believe for now.
Beyond the excavation site, which had been nothing but sand and dust, unfamiliar people were walking toward them.
They wore a mix of traditional clothing and modern attire. In their hands were cloth-wrapped bundles, large pots, and leather sacks that carried the faint scent of blood.
They were the local tribespeople who lived in the area.
Han Si-ha watched them conversing with Professor Hamilton, then quietly asked Professor Park, who stood beside her.
“Why have they come?”
Professor Park listened for a moment, then gave a small, surprised laugh.
“They went hunting this time and say there’s too much meat for them to eat alone. It seems they’ve come to share it with us.”
“Uh… is that allowed?”
“I don’t know about other places, but these people should be fine. Some of them have been granted the right to hunt a few animals a year. And not all of it will be wild game. They’ve probably brought some livestock as well.”
Han Si-ha looked at the bundles they had set down.
Bones still thick with meat, carefully wrapped in leather. They were packaged with the care of gifts.
“Now that I think about it, I’ve heard that in Africa there’s a culture of sharing meat from game or livestock.”
“That’s right. It’s a tradition spread across Africa and even into the Middle East. What makes it even more interesting is that we can’t pinpoint its exact origin.”
“We can’t know the origin…”
Han Si-ha repeated the words slowly.
Suddenly, the stratum she had been examining earlier came to mind.
After excavating the elephant fossils, they had peeled back several layers of earth and begun to see countless footprints and various tools. From ancient bones to discarded implements, and many objects heavily scorched by fire.
It was filled with evidence that numerous ancient humans had once lived here.
“It’s strange that such a culture exists, yet civil wars never seem to end.”
Professor Park silently watched the tribespeople for a moment. They exchanged a few more words with Professor Hamilton, then smiled brightly and gestured—an invitation to eat together.
“Humans are creatures you can never fully understand,” Professor Park said quietly.
“We kill each other, and we share with each other.”
Some time later.
Against the backdrop of a setting sun, a large bonfire and cooking pot had been set up a short distance from the excavation site. Meat was roasting directly over the flames, while a pot bubbled with large chunks of meat and various vegetables.
“Don’t hold back on the spices. These are wild animals and free-range livestock, so the gamey smell is quite strong.”
At Professor Hamilton’s words, Professor Park and Han Si-ha nodded and began sprinkling the spices he had handed them liberally. Han Si-ha, who had already taken one eager bite earlier only to find she could neither spit it out nor swallow it, was especially thorough.
“Haha, that’s why I told you not to eat it right away.”
“I didn’t expect it to be this bad… But those people are eating it just fine?”
When she pointed at the mercenaries, Professor Park snorted as if it were obvious.
“Of course. They’re all locals from the surrounding tribes. And while it varies by region, grazing is common here, so the meat has a particularly strong smell.”
“By the way, what kind of meat is this?”
Han Si-ha asked after chewing a piece that had finally become somewhat edible once covered in spices. Professor Hamilton answered.
“It’s goat meat. The stuff boiling over there is wildebeest. Even the locals don’t usually grill wild game. It’s too tough and there are parasite concerns.”
“Wildebeest?”
“They’re animals similar to cows that migrate in large herds during the dry season. Technically they’re closer to antelope. But the meat is so tough that it needs to be boiled thoroughly to be edible.”
“I see…”
Han Si-ha stared at the chunks of meat slowly tenderizing inside the pot.
The broth simmering over the fire. The meat gradually breaking down within it. The people sitting around it.
Strangely, the scene did not feel unfamiliar.
In the stratum she had examined earlier, there had been similar traces.
Bones scorched by fire. Broken stone blades. Bone fragments that looked as though they had been used and discarded. And a great many footprints gathered in one place.
There were far too many remnants for it to be merely the signs of catching and eating beasts.
“Professor Park.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think… the culture of sharing meat might have continued from a very long time ago?”
Professor Park paused, his hand still turning the meat.
“It’s possible.”
“Really?”
“The act of sharing meat itself goes beyond simple eating. It can be a sign that we are not enemies, a way of creating a debt, or even a ritual to confirm status within a group.”
Professor Park flipped the meat again.
Oil dripped onto the fire, and the flames flared up briefly.
“Eating is a rather powerful act. Sitting before the same fire, smelling the same aroma, putting the same meat into your mouth—it carries more meaning than you might think.”
Han Si-ha nodded silently.
At that moment, Professor Hamilton approached slowly. In his hand was a small transparent bag.
“Professor Park. Would you take a look at this?”
“What is it?”
“It came from the lower layer earlier. At first I thought it was just a charred bone fragment, but now that I look at it, there seem to be signs of processing.”
Professor Park took the bag.
Inside was a white piece no larger than a fingernail. The end was blackened, and the edges showed regular wear marks.
The moment Han Si-ha saw it, she felt a strange sensation.
“It looks like… an ornament.”
“That’s what I think too. Look here—there are traces of careful, delicate polishing.”
Professor Park spoke in a low voice.
“There’s a hole drilled through it. It seems it was strung on a cord.”
“But why was it burned?”
When Han Si-ha asked, a brief silence fell.
It was a rather simple question, yet not an easy one.
It could have been dropped into the fire by accident. It could have been burned together with a dead person. Or it might have been part of some ritual.
Yet in that moment, Han Si-ha could not tear her eyes away from the strangely scorched fragment.
A burned ornament.
The fact that something crafted with such care had been left to blacken in fire sparked all kinds of imaginings.
“…Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Just… so many different possibilities come to mind.”
Professor Park looked at her.
“What kind of possibilities?”
Han Si-ha hesitated for a moment before answering.
“I’m not sure. It feels like it could be the site where someone was punished… or where someone was accepted. It’s just my imagination, though.”
Professor Park let out a small chuckle.
“You’ve become quite the archaeologist now, haven’t you?”
“Why?”
“You’re already starting to weave stories from a single bone fragment.”
“But you and the other professors do that all the time.”
“We call that a hypothesis. Every hypothesis begins with the imagination of ‘what if it was something like this?’”
“Hypothesis. What a convenient word.”
Professor Park burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, the meat in the pot was growing even more tender. One of the tribespeople ladled some broth into a small bowl and offered it.
Han Si-ha accepted it carefully.
The distinctive smell still lingered. But thanks to the spices, the fire, and the long boiling time, it was no longer as off-putting as before.
She took a spoonful. The meat was tough.
Yet strangely, she was able to swallow it easily.
“How is it?” Professor Park asked.
Han Si-ha savored the lingering taste for a moment before replying.
“It’s not so much that it tastes good… it feels heavy.”
“The meat?”
“No.”
Han Si-ha looked at the people sitting beyond the fire. People sharing meat, laughing, gesturing, and rekindling the flames.
And beneath them, on this very same land long ago, other people who must have gathered around fire in the same way.
“The act of eating together.”