The Man with Munnari Eyes

by M L Bellante

  “Oh, thanks, that was good!”

  Atura and the shaman looked at each other, then turned and smiled at him. Atura’s smile was pleasant and serene. The witch doctor’s smile was grotesque, almost gruesome due to his face paint and matted hair.

  Coleman mustered a smile and dropped the waterskin to his side. He raised his right arm and examined the red spots marking his skin. “All this from the measles?” he muttered.

  The shaman said something to Atura and she left the lodge. Soon, she returned with the chief, Coleman’s guard, and the guard’s wife. Coleman attempted to prop himself up on his elbows but he couldn’t muster the strength. The shaman placed his painted hand on Coleman’s shoulder and gently pushed him down, saying something that Coleman guessed meant to relax. The chief examined Coleman’s face and said a few words to the small assemblage staring down at their stricken visitor. A discussion followed and, as they spoke, Coleman drifted into a peaceful languor.

  He awoke sometime later. A bright star was shining through the hole in the lodge roof. The fire was down to coals with only a small whiff of smoke. Light from the moon shone, casting dark shadows throughout the interior of the lodge. He could hear the heavy breathing of his guard. Atura stirred in her sleep but did not wake. He felt the waterskin resting under his left arm. He took it and drank. The effort exhausted him and he recapped it, dropping the skin at his side; it made a loud plop as it hit the floor mat. The guard’s wife awoke and came to him. She looked into his face, felt his forehead, and smiled. She whispered a few words and squatted beside him. Coleman raised both of his arms and examined the red spots. They hadn’t diminished since the first time he’d noticed them. He tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out. He had used up all his reserves of strength lifting the waterskin. Now, all he wanted to do was rest and recover. He drifted off into a dreamless torpor.

  Chapter 4

  THE MUNNA RISES

  Coleman heard the chitchat of village voices passing by the lodge; that and the chatter of the jungle creatures in the distance seemed exceptionally loud to him. He noticed pressure in his ears and he yawned, attempting to clear them. He heard a pop and his hearing returned to normal. When he opened his eyes, he saw his guard sitting next to him weaving a basket with intricate designs made from different colored reeds. The guard said a few words and laid the basket aside. He picked up the waterskin lying next to his stricken guest and offered him a drink. Coleman drank gratefully for several seconds and then raised his hand. The guard lowered the skin and recapped it.

  Coleman attempted to rise on his elbows but couldn’t muster the strength. “Whatever this thing is I’ve got, it’s sure kicking my butt.”

  He felt his forehead and noticed he still had a fever. He examined the spots on his arms and could see they were still as red as the first day. The guard lifted a bowl of fruit and offered it to him, but he only shook his head. He had no appetite and no energy to eat. He pulled the blanket down to his waist and examined the red spots all over his chest.

  “Where’s my shirt?” he cried in shock. But it wasn’t just his shirt that was missing; he was buck naked. “Where are my pants?” He motioned to the guard, miming putting on his shirt, and the guard pointed to the fire. “Now, ain’t that just great? What am I supposed to wear? I can’t go walking around the village in my birthday suit.”

  The guard just stared at him with a blank look. Atura entered the lodge with a gourd of water. She knelt beside Coleman and dipped a fur skin into the water and began daubing it on his face. The cool water felt wonderful on his fevered skin. After a minute or so of this, she touched his forehead with her bare hand and smiled. She then slid her palm down his face and quickly pulled her hand back. She moved closer for a look at his skin. Coleman thought she was examining the red spots he knew he must have on his face, but she started stroking his growth of beard. Her eyes widened in amazement as she felt the whiskers. She said a few words to the guard and both drew closer to examine him. Each rubbed their face and then touched his. He stared at his guard and noticed he didn’t appear to have whiskers. Coleman managed to chuckle as he realized the men of this village didn’t grow facial hair.

  “I bet you guys save a lot on razor blades,” he said out loud.

  Atura and the guard just looked at each other with puzzled expressions. He then pointed to Atura and said, “Atura. Atura.” She nodded in acknowledgment. He pointed to the guard and attempted to say his name, but he scrambled the pronunciation so badly, both villagers laughed at his feeble attempt.

  Atura began to patiently pronounce the word, using exaggerated mouth gestures to try and demonstrate how to pronounce the strange sounds.

  Coleman made another attempt at the guard’s name; “Zee-zo” was the result.

  Both Atura and the guard nodded their heads in recognition of a decent job. All three smiled broadly.

  “I’m Coleman. Coleman. Now, you try it.” The guard just shook his head and didn’t even try.

  Atura stared at Coleman with the look of defiance in her eyes and then spouted, “Todo!”

  The guard laughed. Coleman was confused but too tired to question. He laughed lightly and then rested. The effort had exhausted him. He closed his eyes and suddenly remembered his dreams of the light, the child, and the shadows of the reddish-orange symbol. He wanted to know why he had seen these things in his dreams. Were they just meaningless hallucinations or were they a warning? So far, they meant nothing he could understand, yet the impressions they left on his soul were disturbing and he ached to know what their meaning was. He began to drift into slumber again.

  The shaman pulled back the door skins and entered the lodge. Coleman and Atura were in a heated argument with him speaking in English and her speaking in the village tongue.

  “My mouth doesn’t make those sounds!” he yelled.

  Atura responded angrily, neither understanding the words the other was saying but the intent was clear.

  “Oh yeah, well the student is only as good as the teacher,” Coleman growled.

  Atura gave as good as she got and ended her diatribe by calling him todo instead of Tondo. The shaman began chuckling quietly; that caught the attention of the two combatants.

  Several days had passed since Coleman’s near-death experience. The red spots were fading, but he was still very weak. Every time he attempted to stand, he had to be supported by the guard. Standing made him dizzy and walking was out of the question. Between his naps, Atura had begun grilling him with the village language. It had become clear to Coleman that teaching him their language was the assignment the chief had given her and she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Coleman quickly discovered that she had a low frustration level and was easily annoyed by his failing attempts at the intricate sounds she was teaching him.

  She began talking to the shaman in an angry tone, gesturing to Coleman with apparent disdain. The shaman said a few gruff words and Atura fell silent, bowing her head in submission. He then moved near Coleman and began examining him as a physician would. After a few minutes of this, the shaman took Coleman by the arms and pulled him to a standing position. Coleman attempted to grab the fur blanket but couldn’t since the shaman held both of his arms. He stood naked and embarrassed, but neither the shaman nor Atura seemed to care. The shaman pulled lightly on Coleman’s arms forcing him to take a step. With dizziness overwhelming him, he fell forward toward the shaman, who supported him and gently lowered him onto his bed mat. He quickly covered himself with his blanket. Atura and the shaman had a short discussion and, when it ended, Atura left the lodge. The shaman squatted next to Coleman and began chanting. He pulled some dust from the pouch he always carried with him and tossed it on Coleman’s face, causing him to sneeze. Then the shaman started waving a fan of feathers over Coleman’s head while his chanting increased in volume. Coleman was exhausted by his effort to stand, and the shaman’s chanting began to lull him to sleep.

  When he awoke, the shaman was gone. Coleman sat up a
nd rested on his elbows. The red spots on his arms and chest were nearly gone; he felt stronger, too. He stood, wrapped the blanket around himself, and walked to the lodge entrance. He pushed the door skins aside and peered into the dark and overcast sky. He turned and stepped back into the hut. He felt a little chilly, so he tossed a log onto the fire. The guard soon entered, walked over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and looked him over from head to toe.

  “Ha!” he said excitedly.

  Coleman examined his bruises and found them to be fading. His aches and pains had diminished quite a bit, although he could still feel them. Coleman put a hand on the guard’s shoulder and said his name, “Tzeechoe.” The word was pronounced perfectly and Tzeechoe nodded and smiled broadly. “Why do I feel so well, and how can I suddenly pronounce your name? I’ve been struggling with it ever since we met.”

  Atura and Tzeechoe’s wife entered the lodge, each carrying a small basket of fruit. Tzeechoe spoke to Atura. Looking at Coleman, he said, “Tzeechoe.” Then he gestured for Coleman to repeat it.

  “Tzeechoe,” Coleman said and smiled. Tzeechoe’s wife laughed and clapped her hands. Atura uttered an audible huff and rolled her eyes as if to say, ‘It’s about time.’

  Tzeechoe sat and motioned for Coleman to do the same. The women sat, offered the men the fruit, and the two men began to eat. The women waited patiently while they partook. Coleman motioned for the women to eat but neither would. They waited until both men were finished and then took their turns. Coleman was famished and the fresh, sweet fruit was a delight.

  He said, “Thank you,” and gave a curt bow to the women. For some reason, that set Atura off and she began berating him. He guessed it was because he wasn’t speaking in the village language, so he just stared at her and smiled while she railed on. Finally, she calmed down but not before calling him todo. Tzeechoe and his wife both smiled wryly and turned their heads to hide their expressions. Coleman surmised that todo was an unflattering play on his village name, Tondo, and he took offense. He angrily chastised Atura in English and told her to call him Tondo. She grabbed the basket, rose to her feet, and stormed out of the lodge yelling todo repeatedly as she left.

  “I’m not todo, you’re todo,” he shouted at the skins covering the doorway. He then looked at the bemused faces of his hosts. They sheepishly smiled back. Slapping his bare chest, he said, “Tondo.” He then pointed to his guard and said “Tzeechoe,” perfectly. He then pointed to Tzeechoe’s wife and waited for her to respond.

  She paused for a couple of seconds and then realized what he wanted, and said, “Tzeecha.”

  Coleman repeated, “Tzeecha.”

  Both Tzeechoe and Tzeecha responded in unison, “Ha!”

  “That’s interesting; your names sound almost alike.” Then an idea crossed his mind. “Could Tzeecha be the feminine form of Tzeechoe? Do female villagers assume the name of their husbands?” he mumbled aloud. Tzeechoe and Tzeecha both looked at him with puzzled expressions. He picked up the waterskin and asked in the village tongue, “What this?”

  Tzeecha responded in the village language, “Water.”

  Coleman then pointed to the fire, “What this?”

  Tzeechoe said also in the village language, “Fire.”

  After asking about more of the trappings of their lodge, he said, “I think I’m getting it.” The effort and excitement had used up a substantial amount of his recovering energy so he stopped his comments and took a deep breath. Tzeechoe and Tzeecha rose and exited the dwelling. Coleman laid down, pulled the blanket up to his neck and started thinking about his dream again.

  When he opened his eyes, he found the shaman looking down at him. “You are looking better,” the shaman said.

  Yes, I feel a lot better now.” He understood every word the shaman had said, and he was speaking in the village tongue! The realization startled him. But as his head cleared of his drowsiness, the understanding fled. The shaman continued talking, but it had become gibberish once again to Coleman. “At first, I could understand every word you said, but now that I’m fully awake, I can’t understand a thing you say. What gives?”

  The shaman said a few calming words that Coleman couldn’t understand and then began an examination of Coleman’s body. After he had completed his scan, the shaman started chanting and waving his feathered fan over Coleman’s head. Coleman closed his eyes and felt the dust gently cascade over his face. The chanting seemed to bring inner peace and Coleman just bathed in this gentle feeling. He felt invigorated and stronger as the shaman’s chant continued.

  As the days passed, Coleman became stronger; the dizziness began to fade and he felt surer of himself as he moved about the lodge, although this small effort still tired him quickly. During these days of recovery, Atura grilled him in the village language until he begged her to stop. This morning, with the help of Tzeechoe, he managed to make it to the village latrine. He felt like a furry beast as he moved through the village, wrapped in his fur blanket. A light drizzle fell and the earth was soft and mushy under his tender, bare feet; however, occasionally a foot would find a sharp rock or twig and he would jump in pain, stumbling, avoiding a fall only by Tzeechoe’s steadying support. A few of the villagers stopped and stared as the duo passed. Coleman couldn’t tell whether they were gawking at his furry wrap, his several days’ growth of beard, or his blue eyes.

  A couple of young teenage boys approached and one of them said, “Tondo, how are you feeling?”

  Coleman smiled and, in the village tongue, said, “Better, thank you.” The boys giggled and ran away. He had noticed, since the shaman’s last visit, he’d found it much easier to learn the language. Although he still felt uncomfortable with some of the unusual sounds, he was beginning to learn how to form them and the more difficult words were getting easier to pronounce.

  When the two returned to the lodge, Coleman collapsed on the floor, exhausted. They found Tzeecha and Atura waiting for them. “He needs something to wear,” Tzeechoe said to the two women. Then he left the hut. Tzeecha rummaged through a pile of supple leather skins stored near the structure’s wall and pulled out a large piece. The two women began cutting and shaping it with sharp obsidian tools. Coleman sat mesmerized by what they were doing. He couldn’t figure out what it would be, but he was looking forward to trading his hairy blanket for something less cumbersome and awkward. In about an hour’s time, the women had fashioned for him a smooth and pliant loincloth like the ones worn by all the male villagers.

  Tzeecha handed it to him and he said, “Thank you.” His words startled her and she looked at Atura and then back at Coleman, giving him a weak smile. Then she left the lodge.

  Atura approached Coleman and said in a bitter tone, “Todo!” and she also left the hut.

  “What did I say?” he asked in English, as he watched the door skins bounce back into place. He spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how to put on his new loincloth.

  After he had dressed, in a manner of speaking, he exited the dwelling and gazed up into the continuously overcast sky. He found three boys standing near the door. He recognized two of them as the boys he’d seen earlier. “What want you?” he stammered.

  The boys looked at each other and one of them meekly handed him a basket of fresh fruit. “Good boy. Thank you.” The boys began to laugh and then they ran away. “Hey, what’s so funny?” he yelled at them in English.

  He found Tzeechoe sitting on a log working on a new reed basket. “Hello Tondo. How do you like your new clothes?” Tzeechoe asked.

  “Not used to wear this,” was his reply. “Do it always rain here?”

  “This is the rainy season. It is always like this, but it will end in its time,” Tzeechoe instructed.

  “Tzeechoe, Atura do not teach me what I want learn. She only teach me what she want. I ask her question, but she never tell me.”

  “Tondo, what is your question?”

  “What do Tondo mean? It is my name in village, but I not know what it mean.”
/>   “No one can say your other name. It’s impossible for us, so the chief calls you Tondo. Tondo means the visitor. Why don’t you speak the language? Why must you be taught like a little child?”

  “I not from here. I live in America, a long, long way from here. Have you heard of United States? That my home. I am where? Is this Indonesia, Africa, South America?”

  “Oonited t´atze? In-do-zia? What is that? This is the land of the Batru, the People of the Forest. We are the People.”

  “I need cell link, telephone, radio. I want talk to my people. I thankful you help me, but I need go home.”

  “I don’t understand your strange words; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Where is nearest village?”

  “You’re in it.”

  “No, I mean big village, one with cars and buses and airplanes?”

  “What are ar-p´an-ez?”

  “They are machines that fly in the air, like birds, and people ride in them.”

  Tzeechoe stopped his work and stared at Coleman in disbelief. “Big bird with people inside?” He began laughing. “Tondo, you’re funny. You tell Tzeechoe a very funny story.”

  Coleman noticed four boys meekly approaching him. Two held small baskets of fruit. The older boys pushed the smallest one forward who then handed Coleman his basket. He looked at it and then back to the boys. The other boy presented him with his basket and waited for a response. “Okay, thank you, boys.” All four youngsters began to snicker. Then they turned and ran. As the two taller boys turned, they crashed into the approaching shaman, nearly knocking him over.

  “Stop!” the shaman shouted. “What are you up to, you bad boys?” He waved his skull-topped staff in front of their faces, evoking expressions of dread from each one of them, and it made Coleman shudder, as well. “Are you followers of Munnevo? Need I punish you?” the shaman growled.