by Alex Howell
The man hearing them, sneered, “A lesson? Come on baby! I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!” before he lewdly gyrated his hips again, this time in Raina’s direction.
In a move that would shock those who didn’t know Raina’s background in martial arts she then instructed Mason, “Okay uncuff him.”
Mason scowling at the man complied with Raina’s request, jamming the key into his wrist cuffs—only leaving his feet shackled lest he try to run off. The man seeing his cuffs fall away flexed his arms in relief.
He then looked at Raina and exclaimed, “Ok—mamacita!”
Raina challenged him, “You have something to say to me?”
The greatly emboldened man willing to take his chances stepped toward her as he laughed, “Not so much something to say mamacita—but something to do .”
Leering at her, he then tried to put his hand on her hip. But would prove to be a fatal mistake, giving Raina all the excuse, she needed, to unleash her full wrath upon him. As soon as the hand came near, she expertly knocked it away with her forearm, this was then followed by a quick but punishing punch right in the man’s jaw, dislocating it upon impact.
As the man reeled in pain, Raina cupped both of her hands together into one massive fist, jumped in the air and slammed her wedded fists right down on the crown of Doggie’s head like a pile driver, making him clench his now broken jaw. As the man staggered, she then delivered the final blow spinning around and kicking him right in the chest knocking him backwards right in the middle of the other onlooking, shocked prisoners.
The man with his broken jaw hanging from his face, struggled to sit himself up as he coughed up blood. He finally managed to right himself to a sitting position as he choked, “Please… please…. That’s enough.”
Raina standing over him with clenched fists asked, “So—have you learned your lesson?”
Doggie responded, “Yes ma-am. Yes I have.”
As the group saw their fearless leader systemically decimated by Raina’s blows, you could instantly feel the wind leaving their sails as the previously defiant men hung their heads in abject shame and despair at their fate. Now as docile as the dog their ringleader claimed to be, there would be no more attempts to circumvent authority.
Raina knew the guy was a jerk but she couldn’t help but feel bad for giving him such a thrashing. She perfectly understood Mason’s strategy however. She knew that although they were constantly on his case about being too rough with prisoners, suspects, and civilians. With her it was a different story. No one was going to question Raina using self defense when a man lunged at her.
Mason tried to walk over to her and put a hand on her shoulder, but when she tensed up from the unexpected contact, he jumped back half joking, “Woah—it’s me Mason remember?”
Raina laughed, “Right…”
He complimented her, “Nice work anyway.”
Raina shrugged, “I try.”
Looking to Benton, Mason nodded his head toward Doggie, telling him, “Alright Matt—Cuff him please.”
Mathew Benton walked up to the beaten and battered man and slapped a new pair of hand cuffs on his wrists, asking him, “Can you walk?”
Doggie gurgled through the blood, “Yes…”
Mason and Benton then proceeded to strong arm the whole group, as Mason ordered “Alright guys. Let’s move out!
Brian Nelson meanwhile was detached from the tree that had held him bound and placed into the custody of Raina who also looked after the two small children. They traveled in this fashion for the better part of the day until they reached the neighboring village.
The village—if you could even call it that—was about as remote as it could get. It consisted of simple earthen built dwellings made out of clay with thatched roofs surrounding a larger log house in the center which served as a sort of meeting place for the community.
As obscure as this village was however, it was a metropolis compared to the lifestyles of the surrounding wild indigenous peoples who lived underneath nothing but the canopy of the rainforest and the stars above their heads. This village also served as sort of a bridge, and weigh station between those two worlds, with some tribal elders even moving into the community, preferring the stability of village life to an existence of listless hunting and gathering.
It was just such a person who greeted them as they stepped out of the clearing and into the village. The old man, dressed head to toe in tribal paint and dress, had been sitting in front of a group of villagers outside of his hut, speaking with them as if he were narrating some kind of story.
At first neither the man, or his audience noticed them, but the old man finally caught their movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked to his left just in time to see the weary travelers emerge from the tree line. Shouting in astonishment, the man stood up and pointed at Mason’s rag-tag group as they approached.
Soon all heads were turned in their direction. Mason shot a look at Benton as the two braced themselves for an aggressive response. He then watched as the old man quickly ran into his hut. But he didn’t come out with a weapon, he came out with a young woman. The man then directed the woman to look toward them. Mason couldn’t quite tell from his vantage point who she was focusing on, but the woman was actually looking toward Raina and the two children.
The next thing they knew, with a voice of plaintive sorrow yet jubilation, the woman excitedly wailed, “Isadora!! Hugo!! Isadora!! Hugo!!” The little children’s eyes grew wide and a big grin filled their face as they excitedly shouted, “Mamae!! Mamae!!”
Mason didn’t have to be fluent in Portuguese to know that these kids were addressing their mother. Raina realized as much too, and releasing the children’s hands which she had been holding, she heartfully encouraged them, “Go ahead—Go to mamae!”
The children didn’t need any further instruction, as they ran to their mother continually crying out, “Mamae!” the whole entire way.
The woman embraced her children, holding them tight while all three of them—mother and children—cried their hearts out. It was certainly a touching moment, and as Mason and his team continued their approach, they were now all but certain that their arrival into the village was going to be one met with roses rather than rancor.
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER IN THE VILLAGE SQUARE. The sun was going down and a great bonfire had been lit. Like a troupe of mystical dancers, the flickering flames were casting their shadows. Mason, Raina, and Benton sat around the blaze surrounded by several villagers.
Everyone gathered was silent as a tribal elder addressed Mason directly, “You are a stranger to us, but you have come from far away to lend a helping hand.” The man paused as if in deep thought, before continuing, “You’ve brought back the children who were taken—back to the safety of their mother…”
The chief then eyed the five drug runners who the villagers had since further secured to a large wooden post. They were being guarded by a couple big, aggressive looking locals until drug task force members from the Brazilian government could arrive to take them away.
Gazing at the defeated dealers, the chief continued, “…And you have brought the enemies of our peace to justice.”
Looking back to Mason, the elder placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, “How is it that I could ever repay you? What do we have here that could be of value?”
The old man shrugged as he continued what seemed to amount to a thought exercise, “Would you want beads, animal skins, corn, rifles?”
He then smirked and motioned toward a group of young women seated nearby, and with laughter in his voice and a twinkle in his eye, he asked “A wife?”
Mason shot Benton a knowing look, as they both tried hard not to burst out into rounds of uncontrollable, raucous laughter. Raina meanwhile raised an eyebrow at the mention but was pleased to just let it go.
Mason stifling his mirth simply informed the chief with a smile, “No my friend, I don’t think that I’m quite marriage material at the moment.”
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Although Mason was just trying to be humorous, he didn’t realize how much his careless words hurt Raina’s feelings. Not so much that he and the elder were joking about marrying local women, she knew that this was all a bunch of farcical BS. But the way Mason had just proclaimed that he was not “quite marriage material at the moment” cut through her like a knife all the same.
She knew that they had just started seeing each other, and it was true that talk of marriage was a little bit premature at this point. But somehow the way that he so readily cast aside even the possibility; really bothered her. Of all the things he could have said—why this?
When the elder brought forth the absurd notion of a tribal marriage he could have just laughed and said that he was “not interested” or heaven forbid he could have pointed at Raina and joked, “sorry bud already taken”. But instead the first thing that came to Mason’s mind was to shoot down the possibility of ever getting married in its entirety.
It was just statements like this that really made Raina wonder just what it was that she was getting into. Trying not to let her emotions show, Raina diverted her attention to the man sitting next to her—Brian Nelson. The supposed former hostage of the drug cartel was still hitching a ride with them as little more than a prisoner.
As he sat cross legged on the ground with his hands cuffed in front of him, she took a look at the wound on his leg. It was still a horrible sight with puss oozing forth, and maggots visibly crawling in and out. It’s true they didn’t know the full story behind the man’s current predicament but she figured he still deserved humane treatment.
Calling for Mason’s attention to the injured man, Raina requested, “Hey Mason—we need to get this guy something for his leg wound. It’s getting pretty bad. He needs at least some sort of basic care until the authorities arrive.”
Mason sighed, “Alright”.
He then looked over to the elder, and asked, “Do you guys have any kind of medical treatment here?”
The elder gave him a quizzical gaze, “Medical treatment?”
Mason then pointed at Brian Nelson’s wounded leg and remarked, “Yeah—we’ve got a guy that needs patched up. Is there anyone in the village that can help?”
The chief thought about it a second before responding, “Yes, we have people here who can treat his wounds.”
He then motioned toward a nearby hut and advised, “I’ll have someone send your friend over there to get taken care of.”
Mason shook his head, “He’s not our friend….”
The elder raised an eyebrow, and then noticing the cuffs on Nelson’s wrists understood, “Oh…”
Mason continued, “And I still consider him dangerous, so until we sort things out, it would be best if you had two strong men keep an eye on him at all times.”
The chief nodded, “Yes… that can be arranged.”
The elder then got the attention of two big guys who were standing around in the background, yelling at them, “Chiko! Joca!”
The men stepped toward him and listened as the elder rattled off something in what seemed to be a mixture of Portuguese and a more native tongue. The men now seeming to know exactly what to do and what their role was as the stewards of a guest of questionable integrity, they went directly to Nelson hoisted him to his feet, and marched him over to the nearby hut to get treated for his wounds.
With this matter decisively handled in this fashion, the chief then motioned toward the large log structure in the center of the village—the place that apparently served as his headquarters and told them, “Please follow me. We can talk further here.”
Stepping into the structure Mason, Raina, and Benton sat on various pillows and cushions surrounding the old chief who sat cross legged on what looked like some kind of animal skin turned rug. The chief then began to speak with them in a deep voice, “Never before had our people become so entangled with outsiders.”
Mason asked, “Outsiders?”
To which the chief responded, “Yes, we have mostly kept to ourselves for centuries. Even after Europe colonized all of Brazil, our little corner of the Amazon was kept secure and isolated.”
The chief then laughed, “Almost as if it was under quarantine…” More somber and morose he then continued, “Yes, I suppose that you could say that this was how the Brazilian government always viewed us, as vermin, or a kind of disease that needed to be kept on the fringes of society lest it break loose.”
Mason couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s command of English. He had naturally assumed that a tribal elder living this remote village would probably not be aware of worldly languages. He figured that Portuguese would be difficult let alone English.
It was Mathew Benton that attempted to broker the subject, “So chief—uh—sir...”
The tribal elder realizing that he hadn’t yet introduced himself, smacked himself lightly across the face as he murmured, “Oh goodness gracious me—where are my manners? I didn’t even properly introduce myself. My name is Johnny Yanomami—and you are?”
Benton then introduced himself, “I’m Mathew Benton—” before motioning toward Mason and Raina, “and these are my colleagues Mason Walker and Raina Martin”.
Benton still struggling to know just how to address the man then awkwardly continued, “Okay—Mr. Yanomami… Just how is it that you managed to learn English so well?”
The chief then laughed, “Oh I wasn’t always relegated just to these tipis.”
Mason then offered, “Well—uh, I know Yanomami is the name of an indigenous tribe, and is used kind of like a surname, but Johnny isn’t exactly an ancestral name is it?”
Johnny smiled, “No, it’s not. I picked that one up while I was in the states. My real name is Mukashe.”
Mason attempted to repeat, “Mu—ka—she.” Before asking, “So—why don’t you go by that?”
Chief Johnny laughed, “Well, besides it being harder to pronounce for most outsiders—even when they do pronounce it right, it’s always a bit awkward to hear them say it.”
Mason wishing to get back to the point, inquired, “So—you mentioned you didn’t always live around here… You used to live on the outside?”
Johnny solemnly nodded, “Yes—about a lifetime or two ago.”
The chief then pulled out a framed document from a wicker basket and showing what looked like a diploma and flatly stated, “I went to Stanford.”
Mason squinting his eyes couldn’t help but ineloquently curse his acknowledgement, “Shit that is from Stanford!”
The chief smiled, “That’s where I got my PHD…” The man with a gleam in his eyes then asked Mason directly, “Can you guess what it is that I studied?”
Mason automatically assumed he probably had gone to Stanford for some kind of anthropology or philosophy program. But the old man had another surprise in store for him when he answered, “To be an engineer!”
Mason echoed his statement, “An engineer?”
The chief nodded in solemn agreement, “Yes, I wanted to build big buildings. Make a real name for myself.”
Benton then ventured, “So what happened then?”
The chief thought about it for a moment before quietly responding, “I realized what really mattered. I realized that building things out of steel and concrete—” He paused a moment looked at his surroundings and chuckled, “or even logs, dirt, and thatch for that matter—pale in comparison to building up the heart of a people.” The chief then grinned, “So I came back and became the big chief.”
Mason asked, “So what was it like being a chief in the 21st Century?”
The Chief nodded, “Well—besides occasional encroachments by Brazilian farmers on ancestral tribal lands, it wasn’t bad.”
It was then Raina’s turn to speak up, “So what happened?”
The chief supplied, “Amigos dos Amigos came”.
The chief paused before continuing, “I have had experience dealing with drug lords in the past mind you, but Amigos dos Amigos are different. They h
ave launched a massive PR campaign around here and have even deceived tribal people into joining them! This was previously unheard of.”
The chief then smiled broadly, “But that’s enough of that. We’ve had enough darkness for one day. Tonight, we celebrate!”
The chief then stood up and let them out of the meeting house and on into the main town square. Seeing people standing around the bonfire decked out in decorative beads and with a full drummer group drumming away, Benton remarked, “What the hell is this Mardi Gras?”
Mason shot back, “Yeah looks like it.”
Raina then motioned to a large overturned hollowed out log that seemed to serve as a sort of buffet table. On top of the dried wood on plates of bark were plantains, maize, roasted fish, and bowls of what looked like smoking hot stew or mush. Johnny seated at the head of the table surrounded by other tribe members, motioned for them to sit down in an open space left right in front of him.
He grinned, “Please! I must ask you to join me!”
Johnny then handed a bowl of the mushy stew to Mason. Mason was hesitant, he didn’t want to offend his host but he had heard stories of the Yanomami using poison darts to kill fish and other animals. A fact that made the fish contents of the stew who had just been enjoined to eat a rather troublesome prospect.
They themselves had developed an immunity to the poison since they ate the poisoned meat on a routine basis, Mason as an outsider wouldn’t have any such luck however and could get quite sick.
Mulling it over, Mason figured he would just ask, “Hey uh—Johnny this fish wasn’t killed with darts was it?”
Johnny shook his head, “Oh no—don’t worry. No poison darts were used. Those were caught in the stream.”
Mason sniffed the steaming stew, and thought ‘Hmm… actually smells pretty good.”
Not having much else of a reason to refuse, Mason shrugged, raised the bowl to his lips and drank it.
Johnnie then smiled as he praised Mason’s efforts, “Thank you for drinking my ancestors.”
Mason frowned, “What?”
