by M L Bellante
The guard moved to Coleman’s side and said something, motioning for Coleman to rise and follow him out of the lodge. Once outside, Coleman looked around and noticed that many villagers were up and busily engaged in their daily duties. Although the rain had stopped, a blanket of clouds filled the sky. Inside the lodge behind him, Coleman’s bedding was stowed away and the fire stoked. When they returned, the guard’s wife was no longer there.
Coleman took some time to look at his clothes. They were ripped and torn, exposing his bare skin through its many holes. It was obvious they would not last much longer. He slipped out of his shirt and set it aside. There was an enormous and ugly bruise on his upper arm. He found another nasty looking bruise just above his left kidney. The guard turned from what he was doing and noticed the bruises. He immediately walked over to Coleman, poking at them, causing Coleman to recoil in pain. The guard started talking, seemingly asking what had happened. Through pantomime and hand gestures Coleman explained how he had been attacked the night before. He indicated the size of the attacking beast and its jaws of razor-sharp teeth.
The guard’s eyes widened in amazement and he exclaimed, “Gorga!” grabbing Coleman by the shoulders.
“Gorgon? That seems an appropriate name for that monster.”
The guard made a few more comments which Coleman didn’t understand, but he felt the guard was surprised he had survived the encounter. When the guard had finished speaking, Coleman lowered his pants and looked at another huge bruise on his right thigh. He also noticed his left knee was swollen and purple.
The skins covering the doorway were pulled aside and the guard’s wife returned. Coleman felt embarrassed as he stood there in his jockey shorts. He quickly pulled his orange pants up and turned beet red. The guard touched Coleman’s reddened skin and said something in a questioning manner. After a quick glance in his direction, the woman went about her business as though nothing unusual had happened. The guard spoke with her for a few minutes, apparently relating to her what Coleman had communicated. She also had a look of amazement by the time the guard’s description was finished.
For the next few hours, Coleman and his guard remained in the lodge. The guard’s wife left earlier and hadn’t returned. Coleman attempted to learn a few more words of the village language, but he made little progress. He couldn’t get the clicks and pops right nor in the right places in the words. At first, it was humorous, but after an hour or so, he was becoming frustrated. He attempted to teach the guard a few simple words in English, like shirt and pants, and he thought he was making some progress; however, it appeared that the guard was having similar trouble pronouncing the English sounds and inserted extra consonants into the words.
It started to rain again. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed across the sky. Coleman was hungry and pantomimed to the guard with his fingers to his mouth. The guard looked puzzled and said something that Coleman didn’t understand. A few minutes later, a call was heard from outside. After his guard said something in response, the doorway skins were pulled aside and in walked the leader of yesterday’s hunting party. He said a few words to the guard and the group left the lodge, Coleman in tow.
The trio walked across the village and after a few minutes, came to a structure that looked a bit different than the others Coleman had seen. On both sides of the doorway stood wooden totem poles with carved images on them. The men did not enter the dwelling but stood in the pouring rain. The leader announced their presence, and when a response came from inside the lodge, the men entered.
Coleman saw two men standing inside; one was elderly, the oldest villager he had seen so far. The man wore a brightly ornamented band around his head, and he had many lines tattooed down both sides of his face and neck. The other individual was a very peculiar sight to Coleman. He was adorned with feathers and furs of various kinds. He carried a large pouch and a staff of over six feet in length. Topping the staff was the skull of some unfortunate animal. It made Coleman’s blood run cold.
The leader began to speak to the men while the guard stared at the floor of the lodge, his eyes never looking up. It was evident to Coleman that the elderly man was the village leader or chief and he guessed the other man was a witch doctor or shaman.
After the leader of the hunting team had finished speaking, the chief and the shaman moved closer to Coleman and stared into his eyes. The shaman uttered, “Munnari.”
Coleman offered a nervous smile and said, “Hello. My name is Coleman.”
He got the expected response; both men stepped back and looked at him, astonished at what they had just heard. The guard made a few comments while still looking down. Coleman recognized the word gorga. The guard then indicated for Coleman to remove his shirt and Coleman did so, revealing his nasty wounds. The chief and shaman exchanged words. Then the village leader stepped forward again and stared up into Coleman’s eyes. A look of concern filled his countenance as he began to speak. Coleman couldn’t tell if he was talking to him or the other men. He got the impression that the chief had to make a decision about him and didn’t know what to do. After a few more comments by the chief, Coleman, his guard, and the hunt leader were dismissed and returned to the guard’s lodge. By the time they got back, Coleman was soaking wet and chilled.
He had given some thought to an escape attempt but had dismissed the idea as premature. So far, he had been treated well by the natives, although the sight of the fierce-looking shaman unnerved him. Coleman crossed his legs and sat by the fire. He began to doze as he basked in the fire’s warmth. He awoke sometime later not knowing how long he’d been asleep. The wood in the fire was now reduced to only glowing coals, so he knew it had been at least a couple of hours. He could still hear the falling rain. He felt stiff and sore all over. He wasn’t accustomed to sitting as the natives did. He slowly unfolded his legs, stood up, and stretched.
Looking around the lodge, he found his guard near the doorway. The villager had pulled back the skins and tied them open. He had a leather apron over his legs and was working with a slab of obsidian. Coleman watched for a few minutes as the guard continued chipping away at a long piece. It looked like the man was making a spear tip or a knife. Coleman reached for the waterskin and took a long drink, not allowing the spout to touch his lips. When he’d finished, he motioned to the guard if he would like a drink. The guard grunted something and continued staring out the doorway. Coleman capped the skin and returned it to its place. He thought it was midafternoon, but that was only a guess. The overcast was so thick it was impossible to tell where the sun was in the sky. He walked over to the doorway and squatted next to the guard.
He pointed out the doorway and said, “Rain,” wiggling his fingers and motioning with his hands.
The guard understood and said, “Apour.”
Coleman repeated, “‘Apour,’ rain,” and both men smiled at their accomplishment. Coleman’s stomach grumbled. “Food,” he said and rubbed his abdomen.
The guard looked at him, pointed out the doorway and motioned with his hand what Coleman interpreted as the motion of the sun. When the guard’s hand had dropped to the level of the horizon, he said, “Measha.”
“Ah, so measha means food? Does that mean no measha until sundown?” The guard looked at him in puzzlement.
“Measha, food,” and motioned with his hand indicating the setting sun.
The guard responded, “Ha,” and went back to his obsidian.
He guessed that the people must eat only around sundown, meaning once a day. Coleman didn’t feel much like struggling through more communication, so he just sat there, staring out at the rain, feeling more miserable in his predicament by the hour.
After a while, the rain began to ease and then it stopped. The sky glow was diminishing and Coleman knew dusk was approaching. A cry was heard from somewhere in the village and the guard’s eyes brightened. He stepped through the doorway and indicated Coleman should follow. The two men moved at a quick pace to the village entrance where a throng of villagers had gathered. Walkin
g across the clearing outside the village wall was a returning hunting party; however, it appeared they had returned empty-handed. There was no bataro slung from a pole like the day before. There were only ten men with sad expressions. They quickly and silently entered the village, each man going his separate way, disappearing into his lodge. The rest of the villagers moved to their homes with only quiet murmurs being shared. Coleman could tell that this was a big disappointment to everyone. He guessed, there would be no measha tonight.
Since it appeared the people ate only one meal a day, he feared it would be another day before they would be fed again; however, when the two men returned to the lodge, they found the guard’s wife waiting for them with a basket of fruit pods. There was no bataro, but the fruit looked fresh and inviting. Coleman waited for the guard to start, and when he motioned for Coleman to indulge, he began to eat. He had never seen such fruit nor tasted such delicacies. What he ate was sweet and flavorful, but it wasn’t meat. Coleman didn’t care, though. He was really hungry after waiting all day for a meal.
After he’d indicated he was finished, the guard’s wife ate her fill, and when she began to remove the basket, Coleman said, “That wasn’t bataro, but it was good. Thank you, my friends.”
She gave him a bewildered smile and took the basket out of the lodge. The guard said something about bataro and words that Coleman assumed meant other types of food. Then the guard took Coleman by the wrist and began talking to him in a manner that was unnerving. He seemed to be quite earnest for the expression on his face indicated something serious was about to happen. Coleman thought about his meeting with the chief earlier, and how the village leader appeared to have a decision to make about his welfare.
Could this be what the guard was referring to? Could he be preparing me for some bad news? Coleman’s thoughts turned to the scary shaman and the hostile hunter brandishing his war club threateningly. A shiver ran down his spine. He considered escape, but the thought of another encounter with the gorga was enough to change his mind.
Shortly after night had fallen, Coleman heard drums, and then the leader of yesterday’s hunting party returned and talked with the guard. The two men looked tense as they conversed. After a few minutes, they indicated Coleman should go with them. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the lodge.
Coleman couldn’t help but talk as the men walked. “So, I guess this is it. What will the chief do with me? This makes me a little nervous. Actually, I’m scared. I hope you two can offer a few words on my behalf.”
The two natives said nothing as the group trudged through the darkness. Soon, they were standing in front of a huge frond-covered building. It was unlike the smaller lodges in which the villagers dwelt. It was obviously the central meeting place for the entire tribe. It looked to be fifty feet in diameter. No skins covered the large doorway. As they entered, Coleman guessed the inhabitants of the entire village were in attendance. A fire pit with unlit, stacked wood was in the center of the room, and the dirt floor was covered with large woven mats. Coleman could hear a low murmur of voices. On one side of the room sat the chief with the shaman at his right side. Both men were sitting on stools made of logs; a group of ten men squatted on floor mats in front of the two leaders. Every one of these men had a large tusk suspended from a leather strap around his neck. On the opposite side of the fire pit, sitting in a half-circle in front of this group and facing them were the rest of the adult men. None of these men wore a tusk. In another and larger half-circle near the walls of the grand lodge sat the women and young children. Coleman was directed to an opening in the center of the half-circle of men. There, he and his guard sat. The hunting party leader, who wore a tusk, moved to the tusk-men group and sat. The witch doctor stood and pointed his skull-topped staff at the stacked firewood. The wood burst into flame.
“How did he do that?” Coleman exclaimed. His guard silenced him by covering his lips with two fingers.
The chief stood, and a hush fell over the assembly. He began to speak to the assemblage in slow and moderate tones. Coleman recognized the words Munnari, bataro, and gorga. He didn’t understand any of the meaning, but he could tell by the chief’s demeanor he was remarking about a somber matter. The chief spoke for several minutes and then sat. The leader of the hunting party rose and began speaking. Coleman could tell that the hunt leader was explaining how he had been found, chased, and captured. He nervously shuffled in his position, thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t acted upon the pressing urge he’d had to kill a hunter. When the hunt leader finished and sat, another of yesterday’s hunters stood up from the group where Coleman was seated. He recognized him as the angry young man who would have split his skull open with a club if not prevented by the leader. The man went on another tirade. It was evident he didn’t like Coleman and considered him a threat to the village. As he continued, others in the group shouted comments, some in support and some against his remarks. As the man finished his rant, he looked at Coleman, pulled his knife from its sheath, made a threatening gesture with it, and then sat down.
Coleman quickly realized his life was hanging in the balance. The fact that he could do nothing to defend himself both angered and alarmed him. It wasn’t in his nature to remain a docile victim. He stood up, pointed his finger at his detractor and began to rage, “I don’t know what your problem is, but maybe I should have killed you when I had the chance!”
The force of his words caught the assembly by surprise. Almost immediately, his guard yanked him down and motioned for him to be quiet by placing two fingers over Coleman’s mouth again. The guard then stood and started speaking in Coleman’s defense. He also mentioned something about bataro, Munnari, and gorga, finally raising both arms above his head as if in supplication to a higher power. He then sat and one of the tusk-men stood and began to speak. Coleman couldn’t tell what his position was so he watched the angry man for signs of agreement. The angry man’s expression soured. Coleman perceived that to be a good sign.
One-by-one, each adult male in the room took his turn and presented his view. Coleman studied the angry man to try to interpret whether the other villagers were in support of him or against him. His guard started to pat Coleman’s leg when a speaker seemed to be for him. As the discussion continued, it appeared the men were evenly divided. After all the men had their say, the shaman stood and began to speak. As he spoke, Coleman heard the word Munnari mentioned several times, but he also began to recognize another oft-repeated word, Munnevo.
He leaned over to his guard and whispered, “What does Munnevo mean? Mun-nevo?” The guard didn’t respond but covered Coleman’s mouth with two fingers, once more.
After the shaman had finished, he sat; then the chief stood and said a few more words. Coleman stared at the angry young man, attempting to read every feature of his face, which revealed neither satisfaction nor disappointment as the chief spoke.
The village leader ended his comments and sat again. He then loudly spoke a word. One of the tusk-men grunted in recognition. He raised his tusk with the point down. A wicked smile crossed the angry man’s face. Coleman quickly realized this was a vote for his life, and he had just lost one point. The chief called out another name and another tusk-man responded with his tusk pointing down. Coleman noticed his guard’s head droop and his worry swelled. A third name was called, and again the tusk pointed down. Sweat began to form on Coleman’s face. Fear gripped him as the chief called the fourth name.
They’re going to kill you. Run! a voice in Coleman’s head warned. He began contemplating escape and noted where he could make a fast exit.
Just as he was about to bolt, the leader of the hunting party that had captured him responded to the chief’s call and turned his tusk point up. Coleman gave an audible sigh of relief and relaxed a bit. The chief called the fifth name. Everyone saw the tusk point was up. Coleman relaxed a little more. More names were called and soon there was only one tusk-man left: he was the spearman from yesterday’s hunt.
By his count
, Coleman could tell the vote was evenly split, five-to-five. The young tusk-man gave a broad smile and turned his tusk point up. Coleman’s angry detractor clenched his fists as his body stiffened. A subdued buzz of female voices came from the outer half-circle.
The chief stood and instantly all became silent. He uttered the word, Tondo, and waited. Coleman’s guard touched his leg and indicated that he must stand. Coleman obliged and waited for the chief to continue. The chief spoke for several minutes, often repeating the words Tondo and Munnari. Coleman could only guess that he was now referred to as Tondo. Other than that, he had no idea what the chief was saying. The chief stopped speaking for a few seconds and then called another name, Atura. A young woman from the rear stood up and approached the chief, her eyes downcast in submission. The chief spoke to her and pointed to Coleman. The woman did not look up but shook her head. Coleman recognized her as the woman who had examined him upon his entry into the village. He could tell she was being commanded to do something she didn’t want to do.
The village leader spoke to her with a stern voice and Coleman could see the woman cringe in fear. The chief’s words continued to flow even when tears began to streak down her cheeks. Finally, she broke down and covered her face with both hands. Coleman was sorry for her, but he didn’t say a word. He felt he’d just passed through the valley of the shadow of death and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his narrow victory. He just stood in place, waiting in bewildered silence.
Finally, the woman nodded her head in forced agreement to what the chief was commanding her to do. Her body was stiff and her movements quick and jerky. She wiped tears from her eyes and looked at Coleman. He could see fear and anger etched across her face.
What is the chief doing? he wondered. Is he giving this woman to me? The idea hit him like an avalanche.
The chief then called out the name of Coleman’s guard. Although Coleman couldn’t pronounce the name, he recognized it. The guard stood up, took Coleman by the arm, and led him out of the great lodge with the woman, Atura, following closely behind them. They returned to the guard’s home and shortly after they entered, the guard’s wife arrived. The women began preparing the beds, speaking in quiet voices. Atura did little to hide the fact that she was upset. Coleman watched carefully, fearing what he might see. His fear subsided when he noticed that three beds were made; one in front of the doorway where the guard and his wife slept, one near the fire where he had slept the night before, and one as far away from his bed as could be placed in the relatively small room.
