The Man with Munnari Eyes

by M L Bellante

  “Thank you, ladies,” he said. The guard and his wife smiled. Atura just scowled at him and said something that made the others chuckle as they all got into their beds.

  Coleman lay under his furry blanket reviewing the trial or whatever it was he had just experienced. As the adrenaline finally drained from him and the weariness from the day set in, he wondered what his new status in the tribe was and if he would even be here long enough to experience it. As he pondered, he puzzled over how the witch doctor had magically ignited the fire.

  Coleman was now accepted into the tribe and given free rein to walk about the village. Even so, he felt very conspicuous as he ambled around in his tattered orange USE garments. His throat began to feel scratchy and he figured he was coming down with a cold. Some villagers welcomed him, while others avoided him. For the next couple of days, he simply explored the village and greeted as many people as were willing to meet with their tall and unusual visitor. At first, his guard accompanied him, but it became obvious he considered it a bore and, after half a day, returned to his lodge to weave more wicker baskets.

  On one of his sojourns about the place, he noticed a young woman and a boy returning to the village. They both had their arms full of wood branches for their dwelling’s fire.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” Coleman said in his native tongue. The woman looked startled and resisted his help. Coleman insisted, “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He pulled the load of firewood from her and watched as the boy, most likely her son, dashed off, dropping his load outside a lodge and then disappearing through the doorway skins. The woman, appearing to be quite upset and constantly chattering in her indecipherable jargon, followed him as he walked toward the dwelling the boy had entered. About the time Coleman and the woman reached the hut, a male villager exited and grumbled a few terse words at Coleman. He seemed quite upset. He grabbed the woman by the upper arm and pushed her into the lodge. He then turned and faced Coleman. He knocked the bundle of wood from Coleman’s arms, reached down, picked up a sturdy log, and raised it high above his head in a threatening manner.

  Coleman thought he was about to be attacked and prepared himself to ward off the coming blow. He wants to kill you. Stop him! Strangle him before it’s too late! Coleman’s inner voice commanded.

  Coleman prepared to attack, but just before he did, his guard intervened, placing his body between the two men. He faced Coleman’s assailant and said a few calming words. The man responded in obvious anger, pointing at the tall visitor. Coleman quickly realized he must have violated some tribal custom by helping the man’s woman. He felt foolish but nevertheless aggravated.

  Why did my offer of help result in such a violent reaction? Coleman wondered.

  He began to relax as the angry man tossed his makeshift club onto the firewood stack. He mumbled a few gruff words to the guard, glared at Coleman, and then disappeared into his hut. Coleman heard the man’s angry voice and the woman’s pleading response. He heard a slap and then sobs coming from the woman.

  Coleman’s anger was kindled, but his guard took him by the forearm and pulled him away from the lodge. After they had gone a fair distance, Coleman’s guard began to lecture him. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He knew from his guard’s tone that he had done something wrong, but he didn’t understand why.

  “I only tried to help her; that’s all. Was that so bad?” he protested. His guard continued his long, heated harangue until Coleman lowered his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. “Alright, alright, I’ll never help anyone in this village ever again. Now, get off my case!” Coleman grouched, his tone clearly reflecting his frustration. The guard marched him back to his lodge and pointed at the doorway. “Really, you’re giving me a timeout? Good grief!” Coleman grumbled as he entered the dwelling and plopped himself down in front of the fire.

  He sat in thought, reviewing the confrontation. How could his simple act of kindness result in such a potential disaster? he silently wondered. Why did I have such a strong urge to strangle the man threatening me? That seemed out of character, Coleman thought. His assailant was at least a head shorter than he was. The man looked fit, but Coleman knew he was bigger, stronger, and better trained. The villager would not have been a threat. So, why did I have such a strong urge to attack the man?

  As he thought, he recalled the other strong promptings he’d felt when he first encountered the hunters: a nearly overpowering desire to kill. Was it simply fear and near panic that had driven me to such a state? I’ve been through worse, so why the desire to react with such haste and deadly violence? he wondered. It all seemed so foreign to him. He continued pondering for the remainder of the day, all the time noticing the symptoms of a worsening cold.

  Coleman remained in timeout for the rest of the day. He enjoyed a meal of unfamiliar but tasty meat and fruit pods. He listened to his three lodge mates as they carried on in their cryptic jargon, occasionally uttering one of the few words he recognized: Tondo, Munnari, gorga. Eventually, the beds were prepared, and everyone retired for the night. But, by this point, his cold had progressed to include a low-grade fever.

  Several times during the night, Coleman awoke. His throat burned and felt parched. The waterskin was out of his reach, and he couldn’t work up enough energy to rise and retrieve it. He saw the flash of lightning through the opening in the roof and, soon following the burst of light, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. Rain began to pelt the roof of the lodge. Coleman drifted back into a troubled sleep.

  A thunderclap woke him just as a creature burst through the structure’s doorway, scattering the door skins and sending splinters of fronds throughout the room. “Help, it’s the gorga!” Coleman yelled, but it was too late.

  The creature bit into the fur covers of the guard and his wife, slashing and tearing with its massive jaws and razor-sharp teeth. Neither one made a sound; their deaths were instantaneous. Atura rose from her bed and gave a stifled cry. The creature charged her, hitting her squarely in the chest and driving her into the wall of the lodge. She crumpled to the floor and didn’t rise. The gorga turned and faced Coleman. He could see a chiseled scar across its snout.

  “You’re the same monster that attacked me before. How did you find me here?” Coleman was weak and could only prop himself up on his elbows.

  The monster bit into his right leg, this time severing it at the thigh. The beast pulled back with Coleman’s detached leg in its mouth, tossing it aside with a jerk of its head. It then lurched forward and bit into his right arm, severing it just above the elbow. He closed his eyes and wondered why he felt no pain. Something was tugging at him. When he opened his eyes, he saw a flinger monkey pulling at his shoulder. He felt paralyzed by his weakness and just stared in wonder at the monkey. In an instant, the gorga made another lunge and bit into his bowels.

  “Gorga!” he yelled, wrenching his eyes wide open.

  This time he was staring into the face of his guard kneeling at his shoulder. The two women hovered above him with worried expressions. Light filled the room and Coleman realized it was dawn. He had just awakened from a horrible nightmare. He lifted his right arm, still attached but his skin was covered in red spots. He looked at his left arm and found it covered with spots, too. For an instant, his mind cleared enough to recognize that he had come down with some kind of local illness.

  He pointed to the waterskin. The guard’s wife took it down and handed it to him. He took several gulps directly from the spout and then poured water over his face. His clothes and bedding dripped with sweat, and he felt a burning fever ravishing his body. He grabbed the guard by the arm, his head swimming and the room spinning. Delirium overcame him and he uttered the word, “Gorga!” Then he collapsed into unconsciousness.

  As he slipped into another hallucination, he felt hunted. He crashed through the jungle while the shouts of his pursuers filled his ears. Creatures scurried away from the noise and into the shadowy darkness of the thick undergrowth. The dank of the
rainforest mingled with its darkness. All Coleman could see were shadows: shadow trees, shadow creatures, shadow pursuers. The jungle clawed at him as he stumbled forward, afraid to stop, afraid to listen. A crushing terror weighed upon his mind as he ran; the dread of being caught, again. He glanced over his shoulder and quickly glimpsed a staff raised above the ground shrubs. It had a skull attached to its top end. The shaman was after him, and he feared his skull would soon replace the one on the shaman’s staff. He quickened his pace as he charged through the bushes and ferns, dodging trees and boulders that seemed to reach out and frustrate his advance.

  The shouts became more distant as he ran. He thought he was outdistancing the huntsmen chasing him. This gave him some solace but he refused to slow his pace even a little. The jungle soon began to close in around him. His progress became impeded by the dense underbrush. As he struggled forward, branches and thorns ripped at his clothes and his bare skin. He had forgotten his pains but they now ached with a ferocity that could no longer be ignored. He had run so long and so far, that thirst also gnawed at him. It was overpowering, causing him to cry out for water, but to no avail. He didn’t even know where he could find fresh water. He had no idea where the spring that had been his refuge and his torment was.

  “I must have water!” he yelled.

  Unexpectedly, an opening appeared in the jungle ahead. It was like a shaft through the wilderness. He plunged forward, his struggle eased by the opening he had found. Far in the distance, he could see a small light as if he were peering into a tunnel. His pace slackened and he began to walk. He felt his body being lifted, and he began to glide forward with no effort. The light grew larger and brighter. He reached out to it. It seemed to proclaim security and peace. His thirst and his pains were forgotten. His mind was spinning as he continued his headlong slide into the beckoning light. The feeling of peace, safety, and warmth embraced him. More than ever, he desired to reach it. It would be the end of his struggles, the end of his pain, the end of his fear. The light began to embrace him and he felt a loving warmth cascade over him.

  A voice came from behind. He did not understand the mutterings, but he knew it was an urgent call. He looked over his shoulder and saw only darkness. He turned and looked again into the light. It was so inviting, so welcoming, but the voice continued its urgings, and he felt compelled to seek it out. He began to drift backward, away from the light. Sadness filled his soul and he watched the light shrink from view. Why had he followed the voice? The light offered so much more, yet the voice was compelling, demanding his return. Darkness filled his vision and he realized his eyes were closed. He struggled to open them but couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength. With a second great effort, he forced his eyelids back just enough to catch the light coming through the hole in the lodge roof. A ghostly image hovered over him. He heard chanting and the shake of a rattle. He thought he glimpsed a fan of feathers passing over his upturned face, blocking for an instant the light coming from the hole in the roof. Within moments, the struggle with his eyelids was lost, his eyes closed, and he drifted into an inky wasteland.

  “Why did I leave the light? I must be crazy,” he said to no one in particular. “The light offered such hope, such peace. I must find it again.”

  His mind drifted in a dark haze. He found it hard to focus on any of the visions that invaded his thoughts. He felt crazed by thirst and his aches and pains returned. He felt wracked by a fever that burned throughout his body.

  “If I could only get a drink of water,” he cried. “Water! Water!”

  His calls went unheeded. He felt his arm groping for the waterskin, and then wonderful, soothing water trickled down his burning throat. “Oh, thank goodness! Where is the light? Where is the light? Peace is there. Safety is there. Let me return to it.”

  Again, he was overcome by his dark thoughts. Images of shadowy men on shadowy creatures flashed through his mind. “This makes no sense. Who are they? What are they? Where did they come from?”

  He began to walk into the village clearing. He could see a gathering of the village inhabitants and he needed to know what was happening. He approached the chief, who looked at him with eyes full of sadness. He held up his arms and they were manacled at the wrists and attached to a long chain. The chain touched every villager and Coleman could now see they were all manacled and connected to the chain.

  “What’s the meaning of this? Who did this to you?”

  Dark creatures patrolled the tree line—shadowy men riding on shadowy, spiral-horned mounts, the likes of which Coleman had never seen before. The villagers began to follow the gloomy forms, weeping and wailing with such ferocity that it tore at his heart. He followed them.

  The shadows ignored him; it was as though he wasn’t there. He passed burned villages and dead bodies of men, women, and children.

  “What’s all this? What has happened here?”

  There were no answers, only more questions. He stopped and let the villagers disappear into the jungle, herded by the shadows. A young girl approached. He couldn’t tell where she came from but she stopped in front of him and tugged at his leg. “Tondo; Munnari; Munnevo,” she said. He dropped to his knees and looked the girl in the eyes. “Tondo,” she called and she touched his chest with an open palm. “Munnari,” she cried and raised both arms skyward, looking to the heavens. “Munnevo,” she whispered as she lowered her arms and he could see they had become manacled.

  “What are you trying to tell me, little one? I don’t understand.”

  A tear ran down her cheek and her head bowed until her chin touched her chest. Her body began to shake, and she started to sob. As she wept, she spoke. “Tondo, Munnari, Munnevo,” taking in great gulps of air as she cried.

  Coleman wrapped his arms around the child and held her close. “Be at peace, little one. I will protect you.”

  She looked into his face and smiled as if she understood. Her arms were no longer manacled and she embraced him around the neck. He stood, took her by the hand, and they both followed the villagers. He heard a crack of thunder and looked into the cloud-filled sky. He looked down at the girl but she was gone.

  He continued to follow the path the villagers took, although he could no longer see them. There was a clear trail winding its way through the jungle, making his progress easy. He picked up his pace, hoping to catch the others, but he saw no one. Unexpectedly, he heard a horn coming from the distance behind him. He looked back and saw shadow creatures moving his way. He felt hunted again and drove himself forward. The trail disappeared and he clamored through the bush and stumbled over rock and log. The horn sounded loudly, followed by beastly roars, growls, and the shouts of angry men. He distinctly heard the clanging of metal against metal.

  Coleman scrambled forward with renewed vigor. He looked over his shoulder and glimpsed a shadowy man carrying a banner. The flag was black and had a large reddish-orange circle in its center. Coleman faced forward again and quickened his pace to a full run. But try as he might, he couldn’t outdistance this horde. If anything, he was losing ground. He felt the wind of a missile pass near his ear, and then he heard a thud as a spear crashed into a tree trunk just as he passed it. He ran frantically through the jungle. He had to lose his pursuers or fall to their weapons.

  Once again, he found the tunnel of light from whence he was pulled earlier. He stopped and turned for a quick look. The shadowy figures were still after him, led by the black flag with the reddish-orange symbol emblazoned on it. He turned back and began gliding into the light he could see at the end of the tunnel. It grew larger and brighter, and soon began to embrace him in its warmth and peace. All his troubles faded and he focused on the wondrous light that emanated such peace, love, and security.

  He was about to abandon himself to the exhilaration of the light’s glow when he felt a tap on his leg. He looked down and the little girl he had seen earlier looked up at him, her eyes pleading. Coleman wanted to push her aside and step further into the refuge of the light but his compass
ion wouldn’t allow him to abandon the girl. He scooped her into his arms and stood transfixed as the light embraced them both. As he watched, the child faded from view.

  Coleman slowly became aware of a faint voice deep within the recesses of his mind. It was not so much a voice as an impression upon his consciousness. He concentrated on it and soon began to hear words, some of them understandable. A white light filled his sight and his thoughts and he saw the face of the child as if he were in a dream.

  “It is for this purpose you are here,” the voice decreed without language.

  “I don’t understand! What purpose?” Coleman lamented.

  The child began to speak in a voice that echoed and reverberated in his ears, “Tondo. Munnari. Munnevo.”

  “What does this mean? I don’t understand.” The girl’s face faded from his view. He was alone.

  The light began to fade and he felt himself being pulled from the tunnel. He heard chanting and felt a slight breeze across his face. His mind was spinning as he opened his eyes and saw a star shining through the hole in the lodge roof. A dark figure was hunched over him and he was startled at this realization. As his mind focused, he could see it was the shaman and he was chanting a song while waving his feathered fan over Coleman’s face.

  As he focused on the witch doctor, his mind began to clear and he took stock of his situation. The first thing he noticed was a burning thirst. He groped for the waterskin and Atura helped him as he gulped the water down, nearly emptying the skin.