THE FIRST TEAR

“These are the tears of things, the stuff of life that touches our soul. Release your fear—our story carries some salvation.” Aeneas in Virgil’s Aeneid speaking about the Trojans.

We are the only animal that sheds tears, yet we are not the only animal to grieve. Chimpanzees, elephants, dolphins, and crows display signs of grief, frequently an unwillingness to leave a dead child or mate. Tears are more than just a display of grief. A partial list includes tears of laughter—nothing is funnier than that which makes you laugh until you cry—prayerful tears, sentimental tears, tears of contrition, crocodile tears (when the crocodile opens its mouth, the tear gland is squeezed), heroic tears, manipulative tears, fake tears. You can find an excellent full exposition of this topic in Tom Lutz’s “Crying, The Natural and Cultural History of Tears.”

Tears release oxytocin and endogenous opioids, also known as endorphins. They take the edge off grief unlike the poor Little Mermaid in the Hans Christian Anderson fairytale:

“But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.”

Tears can even give morbid pleasure such as in this story by Khaled Hosseini:

“It was a dark little tale about a man who found a magic cup and learned that if he wept into the cup, his tears turned into pearls. But even though he had always been poor, he was a happy man and rarely shed a tear. So he found ways to make himself sad so that his tears could make him rich. As the pearls piled up, so did his greed grow. The story ended with the man sitting on a mountain of pearls, knife in hand, weeping helplessly into the cup with his beloved wife's slain body in his arms.”

This blog is concerned with the first tears. They did occur, but why? When? Where? Did the first human cry? Did Homo Erectus cry? Homo Heidelbergensis? Neanderthal did, judging from the care taken in burials. Or does it go further back?

I have my own story to offer, which isn’t completely fiction.

Her birth took place on the savannah in the small band that followed the herds that traveled from waterhole to waterhole as the seasons changed from wet to dry. The band hunted the smaller animals and scavenged the larger ones who died because they were unable to keep up with the herd. The band also gathered the berries, grubs, roots, and nuts—the life-sustaining gifts of the savannah.

When the child first saw the light of day and cried, water came from her eyes. Her mother wiped the water off with her fingers and tasted it. It was salty like the big water you could not see beyond. She thought it might be caused by the dust or the scents in the air, for it was the season of greening in the savannah. Yet every time the child was hungry or hurt and cried, the water came from her eyes, sometimes just one drop, sometimes a small stream flowing down her cheeks. The other members of the band did not know what to make of the water. It was odd and marvelous. Otherwise, the child was healthy.

Once, the children found the skull of the great running animal with its large curved horns. An elder of the band put the skull on top of his head, bent down, and in fun chased the children. They all screamed and ran. She did too, and water came from her eyes.

The girl matured. In seasons of plenty, they occasionally united with other bands of hunter-gatherers who roamed the savannah. During one such meeting, she and a young male from another band wandered off together as often as they could. They liked each other’s company. When the day arrived that they had to disperse because of the drying grass and shrinking waterholes, she went with the band of her mate. Water came from her eyes on seeing her band disappear into the savannah without her. She bore many children. Each one, whenever they were hurt or happy, also had water come from their eyes.

Seasons followed with more births and deaths as they followed the herds. The savannah gave and took away so much. Eventually, the savannah claimed her. Her children and grandchildren that had remained in the band ran their hands lovingly over her body as she lay old and too tired to go on. When their mother died, water came from their eyes.

They left her body on the savannah, her flesh and bones becoming part of what had given her life. There is only one certainty—or should I say near certainty—regarding her. She was the mother of us all.