Yono defied all authority, whether imposed divinely or by the clan elders. He’d been an exemplary youngster, admired by all, but as an adult he was utterly insufferable. Usually rude but when drunk his acrimonious tongue cut straight to the weak spot of everybody he perceived to be critical of his uncouthness. He would take offense at nothing, pick fights for no reason and without exception these brawls ended with his victim being carried away to the shaman to have stitches and bones set. “The rotten tuber had it coming,” Yono usually commented after stomping his adversary into the ground, “the scavenger turd had it coming a long time! Next time I make him really bleed!” Invariably he’d go back to his corner at the bar to empty his mug as if nothing happened. “Another one!” he’d order the innkeeper while slamming his empty mug on the counter, “and don’t water down the brew or give me no crap of having had enough!” “Thou owest me still!” he thundered to the hostler and then, to nobody in particular, “as thee all dost, blood vermin! Until bleeding time ends and then some!” It must be said, though, that he didn’t steal, rape, spill blood, or worse even, kill. But when one of those bouts were upon him, he would leave a trail of destruction after him. And again to his advantage it must be said that he would reimburse the owner of the damaged property. In that he was generous, as the innkeeper will confirm, but he never uttered a word of repentance. Understandably Yono didn’t have friends. Everyone with a bit of sense shunned him as much as possible. He was tolerated, but barely and his bouts of drinking and violence were taken for granted because they were few, albeit they invariably ended in fights. There was one reason why the clan members had to have dealings with him, though. He was the only farmer in possession of land fertile enough to grow tubers and reeds, and he was good at it. His tubers provided so much nourishment that there never had been any famine during the cold seasons since he became farmer and, unheard of, they were so rich that one could observe clan members with an inclination to obesity. Moreover, his farm was nearby. The next one was some sixty leagues distant and nobody in his right mind would walk sixty leagues for tubers and reeds. Although the clan members wouldn’t admit it when asked, they had to give Yono some credit for not taking advantage of his monopoly. The price of a weight of tubers or a bushel of reeds was the always same, season in, season out. When someone unwisely asked why, he would always give the same answer and always with a reference to blood, full well knowing that any reference to the life’s fluid was considered the ultimate insult, “That what you owe me can never be repaid. So why leech you with a few stupid tubers? Eh, pray tell me?” One day, after a particularly violent affray the village elders again contemplated banning Yono from the village. “Alas, as we all know we cannot. We’re bound by our oath,” the shaman said. “Is there no way to circumvent this stranglehold?” one of the elders asked. “There is none,” answered the shaman, “we’ve sealed the oath with our blood. I’d rather stop this useless discussion about shirking our responsibilities. There’s one way to get from under this yoke, to rid us from this pest once and for all, but it is too gruesome to consider. Isn’t it said in the Law that one should not do unto others as one would expect they should do unto you.” “It is indeed,” the others agreed. “Yono never did unto us what we did unto... we should have considered that a long time ago. Okano, pray do tell us what happened,” the shaman asked, “thou wert present. I’ve been setting bones and mending cuts and bruises all afternoon.” “Aye master Mafbollo,” Okano answered, “I was there but I wish I’d been thousand leagues away. Hear ye now mine story, ye all. Despite what one might expect, it wasn’t Yono who started the fight. Strangers were lodging at the inn, four of them... Flint peddlers... Rude people as we all know. Yono was having - exceptional for him - a mug of reed tea in his corner. He’d just finished a delivery of reeds and tubers to the common warehouse. The strangers - four of them - challenged him to join a drinking contest. Yono refused and they mocked him, saying that he was a tea sucking bloodless orphan. “I can drink thee and thine comrades under the table one after the other and walk home in a straight line. Pray take thine tasteless pranks and thine senseless name calling elsewhere, flint-master. Today I will not be provoked,” he said to the leader of the flint-masters and then ignored the louts. The one addressed stood, asked the innkeeper for a refill and went to Yono. “Nobody denies us when invited for the drinking game,” he said. “I deny thee and leave me be,” Yono said unusually quiet, almost meek. Then it dawned to me that today is the twentieth anniversary of that fateful day. The flint-master took offense to Yono’s denial, mocked him vilely and upturned the brimming mug over Yono’s head. “That was very unwise,” the innkeeper said anxiously, fearing for severe damage to his establishment, “please take thine differences outside.” I tried to intervene and Yono said, still remarkably composed and very polite, “I thank thee for thine interference in thine capacity as village elder, master Okano, but pray do stand aside. The flint-master appears to have an issue with me. We will discuss it now.” And while saying now he flung his mug with scalding hot tea in the stranger’s face thereby breaking it, got of his stool and used it to club the flint-master down who was too busy rubbing his eyes to pay attention to Yono. The flint-master's comrades pulled their knives and came at Yono, who stood waiting for them with a leg of the broken stool in each hand. “Put up thine knives and I lay down mine cudgels,” he said, “we don’t need cowardly weapons when we can settle this dispute by fist.” The flint-master on the floor tried to get up and Yono broke his adversary’s knee with one leg and clubbed him unconscious with the other. “Master Yono...” I began and when I looked him in the face, I saw no malice, only a sad smile. It was very unlike the expressions I’ve seen before when he was in a fight. “Please stand aside, master Okano,” he said, and it almost sounded friendly and concerned, “there’s violence coming. These cowardly strangers will not fight with their bare hands. Blood may flow. It must not be thine blood, nor the blood of any of mine clan’s members, unless they choose to take the wrong side.” It sounded as if Yono knew what was going to happen. Indeed, suddenly a very strange atmosphere permeated the taproom. Well, after having warned me, he jumped between the flint-masters while wielding his clubs very effectively. In no time three flint knives lay broken on the floor. Yono dropped the clubs and said, “Well masters, shall we continue to settle our differences by the fist?” Three of the clan members, his worst enemies, joined the melee. Apparently they saw an easy - however very cowardly - opportunity to get even. The six encircled him but to no avail. Yono’s agility and strength was no match for either of them. One by one he took them down with well-aimed kicks and punches. He did collect his share of hits but he seemed unaffected and I tell thee, mine friends, those strikes would have brought down any of us. After Yono felled the last clan member, he said to the innkeeper, “Put thine stool and thine tea mug on mine account. I ask thine pardon for inconveniencing thee.” Now there was a Yono we’d never heard before. “The strangers will pay for all other damage.” As he stooped to remove the purse from one of the strangers, one of the clan members - another of his enemies who didn’t join the fight, came at him with a flint knife. Yono warded off the fatal stab with his arm. His lower arm was pierced and with the injured arm - flint knife sticking from it - he lifted up the coward by the throat and asked him, “As a youngster thou wert clumsy, Mantsho, and thou still art clumsy. Shall I throttle thee?” By law he was entitled to kill him because Mantsho had spilled Yono’s life blood. Mantsho’s eyes were bulging and his tongue was already showing. “No,” Yono answered himself, knowing that Mantsho was unable to speak, “The Law forbids killing but allows it and justifies it in this case and I may have sinned against every other word of the Law but I will not kill and forfeit what little goodwill there is for me in this godforsaken hovel, not even now. I will not have thee on my conscience. Besides, thou art not worth killing.” He threw Mantsho away as if he were a wet rag. Yono pulled the knife from his arm, dropped it and said to the innkeeper while stooping again to retrieve the purse, “Beg pardon for spilling mine blood in thine house. Add the shaman’s fee for the cleansing ritual to mine account, master innkeeper.” Yono put the purse on the counter, looked at the innkeeper and said, “Take what is rightfully thine.” Then he left. I saw him walk to his farm, nursing his arm. I then realized in how much pain he must have been. This is what I have seen with mine own eyes.” “We thank thee for thine narrative, master Okano,” the head of the village elders said. “Doing mine duty to the community, master Filo.” “Now friends, are we agreed that this situation has gotten out of hand? Is there consent that we must do something to stop it? Killing is the next stage.” “Aye master Filo,” all assented. “I propose a town meeting tomorrow morning to involve all and discuss solutions and try to make amends,” village elder Filo said. “On this we also agree.” “Thus it has been decided. Make it known to the clan. Have the strangers left yet?” “No master Filo,” the shaman answered, “what with them broken bones they cannot travel.” “They must be present as well and send a youngster to master Yono.” “Must he be present?” one of the elders asked, “Isn’t it enough to make known our verdict.” “Most assuredly he must be present,” Filo said, “master Yono isn’t on trial. We should be on trial and by we I mean the whole clan. Weren’t we all instrument in the evil decision?” He finished with, “Thus it has been decided,” indicating that a decision had been reached and that no further discussion was required or desirable.
