The Man with Munnari Eyes

by M L Bellante

  Obviously, there was no hope of saving the dwelling. The flames were growing and there was no way to extinguish them. Tahso, Atura, and Coleman began tossing items out of the hut in an effort to save as many things as they could from the flames. Finally, when it was too dangerous to remain, all three dashed through the doorway, stood back, and watched Tahso’s home burn to the ground.

  “Does this mean I have the power of tah?” Coleman shouted to Tahso over the roar of the flames.

  Atura gave Coleman a shove and roared, “Todo!”

  Tahso just glared at Coleman and said nothing. Atura calmed down, stepped away from Coleman as fear gripped her, and then she ran toward Tzeechoe’s lodge. Other villagers began to congregate near the burning rubble. At this point, there was nothing that could be done to save the dwelling. As the last pole collapsed into the ash and charred remnants of poor Tahso’s home, a flash of lightning lit the sky, and the village was drenched in another downpour. Coleman stood in the rain, ashamed of what he had just caused, yet almost giddy about his newly discovered inner-power.

  “Now, what we do, Tahso?” he asked.

  “I must go and talk with the chief. You are very powerful, Tondo. You are also very dangerous.”

  Tahso turned and trudged off through the rain. Coleman remained for a few minutes more and watched as the last lick of flames was extinguished by the falling rain. Only smoke and steam rose from the smoldering remains of Tahso’s home. He turned and slowly lumbered back to Tzeechoe’s lodge where he was met by Tzeechoe and the two women, staring in awed reverence. Coleman seated himself by the fire and felt its warmth as the water on his skin turned to steam and swirled into the air. No one said a word. The three villagers just stared at Coleman as he bowed his head and contemplated what had just happened.

  Quite a bit of time passed, and everyone was still silent. The rain stopped soon after it had begun. The steady drip, drip, drip of water was the only sound heard in the lodge. From outside, a shout marked the return of the hunters. No one in the dwelling moved.

  Finally, Coleman stood and gave the others a smile. “It is okay. Let us find out what the hunters have brought us.”

  The three villagers stood and exited the hut; no one uttered a word. Other villagers gathered near the village entrance to see what the hunters had brought. Coleman wasn’t sure, but he thought they had killed a couple of ghees. As Coleman approached, the other villagers stepped aside and gave him a clear path.

  “It seems the word has gotten around the village, Tzeechoe,” Coleman finally said.

  “Yes, Tondo, the People are not sure what you are.”

  “I am the same person I was this morning. Who do you think I am?”

  “You are my friend, Tondo, but I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid? Afraid of me? What have I done to scare you?”

  “I think you are one of the gods, Tondo. You are much different and much more powerful than anyone I’ve ever met. Have you come to help us or punish us?”

  “What? Tzeechoe, I am not one of the gods. I am just a man, like you.”

  “No, you aren’t. You are not like me. You kill the gorga. You have the power of tah. You have the eyes of Munnari.”

  “Would a god get sick and nearly die? I do not think so, Tzeechoe.”

  Coleman noticed other villagers were intently listening to their conversation. He heard some whisper in reverence the words tahso and Munnari. The hunting party proudly marched past the gathered throng near Coleman, unaware of the turmoil he had caused earlier; however, the leader pointed to the charred remains of Tahso’s home and brought it to the attention of the other hunters. They traded a few comments but did not stop as they proudly marched into the center of the village.

  Coleman turned and walked back to the lodge, followed by Tzeechoe, but before he entered the hut, Coleman turned and walked to Chashutzo’s place to examine his wounds.

  “Chashutzo, may I enter,” Coleman called.

  For a long and uncomfortable moment, there was no answer. Finally, Chashutzo responded, and Coleman was allowed to enter. Chashutza and the children were huddled together in the shadows. Coleman could only see their wide eyes staring at him from the darkness. Chashutzo looked fearful, but then greeted Coleman with a smile.

  “Chashutzo, how are you feeling? Does the leg hurt much?”

  “The pain is lessening. I try not to move much, but I can’t stay still all day. I have to move around a little.”

  “That is okay, just do not stand up. You need to let your leg heal and that will take time. The more you move, the longer it will take. Let me look at skin. I must see if there be infection.”

  “What is infeg-shone?” Chashutzo asked.

  “It is a bad thing if the skin turns red and begins to burn. Does your leg feel like it is burning?”

  “No, it just aches.”

  “That is good. The skin looks healthy and I think there will be no infection. You will be as good as new in a few Munnoga moons.”

  “We call it the scourge. Those who get it die a horrible death. Are you sure I won’t get it?”

  “I do not see any signs of it. You should be okay. Anyway, Tahso should be able to help you.”

  “You can help me. I heard you are tahso, too.”

  “Chashutzo, I am Tondo. The village has only one tahso and he will take care of you. I can help him, that is all,” Coleman counseled as he looked deeply into Chashutzo’s eyes. Chashutzo swallowed hard and returned a weak smile.

  “Tondo, do you think I will ever be able to lead the hunt again.”

  “Oh yes, Chashutzo. You will again lead the hunt for bataro and I will follow you.” Chashutzo’s smile broadened, and a whimper escaped the mouth of Chashutza, still hiding in the shadows. Coleman turned and opened his arms. The two young boys ran to him and he embraced them. Soon, Chashutza left the shadows and kneeled at her husband’s side, still not speaking. Coleman watched as husband and wife clasped arms and exchanged looks of devotion. The boys pulled away from his embrace and sat beside their father. This brought a smile to Coleman’s face.

  They respect you and they fear you. You can be their god, Coleman’s inner voice counseled.

  A flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder announced another approaching downpour. “Chashutzo, I will return tomorrow and visit you. Rest well, my friend.” Coleman then exited and returned to Tzeechoe’s lodge.

  CHAPTER

  CHAPTER 9

  BREAKING TRADITION

  When Coleman entered the lodge, he found Tzeechoe weaving a fine, sturdy wicker and reed basket. His host looked up, smiled, and returned to his work. Heavy drops of rain began to pelt the roof and sides of the lodge. Coleman sat near the fire and became lost in thought as he reviewed the events of the day.

  The women soon entered carrying dinner. The smell made Coleman’s mouth water. When he tasted the roasted meat, he found it a little tough and with the flavor of turkey. The four ate silently throughout the meal. When all had finished, Coleman asked Tzeechoe when it would be their turn to hunt again.

  “There are now eleven hunting parties, so it will be a few more days before we go out again. Do you think Chashutzo will be well enough to go with us?”

  “No, it will take him several weeks to recover from his injury,” Coleman advised.

  “What is weet´se?” Tzeechoe asked.

  Coleman pondered how to answer. He wondered if the Batru had a calendar. No one in the village had ever concerned themselves with dates. One day seemed to be the same as the next.

  “Where I am from, a week is seven days,” Coleman finally said. “Do the Batru keep track of time?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Tondo. Tahso tells us when it is time to do things, like adding a line,” Tzeechoe said as he drew his hand over the tattoo lines down his cheek.

  “You must have some kind of calendar. I’ll ask Tahso.”

  Just then, Tahso gave a call from near the entryway of the hut. “Tzeechoe, may I enter. I must speak with
Tondo.”

  “Yes, Tahso, please join us,” Tzeechoe quickly responded. When he entered, all could see that Tahso was drenched and he looked miserable.

  “Tondo, I have no home and I am cold and wet. May I use your lodge until I can rebuild my own?”

  Coleman looked surprised. “This Tzeechoe’s home. Ask him.”

  Tahso stiffened. “Yes, I know this is Tzeechoe’s. I am talking about your lodge. It has been empty since you arrived. Hasn’t Atura told you about it?” Coleman looked at Atura and watched as her face turned to stone and the look of outrage filled her countenance. He had seen that look before and he realized she had become very irritated.

  “No, she has not. Atura, what is Tahso talking about?”

  “It was my father’s lodge,” she replied.

  “All this time we have been living here with Tzeechoe and Tzeecha when we could have been living in our own place.”

  Atura lowered her head as if ashamed. “I did not want the People to talk. I’m not your daughter and I’m certainly not your woman!”

  “Tzeechoe, why did not you tell me? I feel like a guest who has overstayed his welcome.”

  “I am honored you live here. You are chosen by the gods and you bless my home. You can stay here for as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Coleman said and then turned and addressed the woman. “Atura, I understand. We certainly do not want the village to think the wrong thing. Can Tahso use your lodge until we build a new one for him?”

  “It is not my home. It belongs to you now. Do with it as you wish, but I will not live there ever again,” Atura answered and then moved into the shadows and began wiping her eyes.

  “Yes, Tahso, you may use the lodge. We will start building a new one for you tomorrow.”

  “You will help me? Don’t you think I can do it myself? It has always been a man’s duty to make it by himself. No one ever helps. You destroy my home, and now you wish to shame me, too?” Tahso grouched, obviously upset by Coleman’s offer.

  “It certainly seems odd to me that no one would help. Your lodge is not the first home to be destroyed by fire or some other tragedy, is it?”

  “True, but such things are by the will of the gods,” Tahso stated bluntly. “If it is the will of the gods, others should not interfere with their judgments.”

  “Maybe the gods want us to help one another. Tragedy could be the way they encourage us. The hunters share the food they hunt. Why not share in the labor of building a lodge or, for that matter, everything else?” Coleman argued. “I must help you. I am responsible for your home burning down. It is my duty. It is I who will be shamed if you will not allow me to help.”

  “You do not understand the Batru Code,” Tahso said, his voice hardening. “I do not understand your words, but I know our Code, which says that each man must grow his own strength and not allow others to weaken him. How can a man grow strong if others are helping him?” Tahso’s eyes had narrowed to a glare.

  Coleman looked around the hut and saw that everyone was looking at him with a mixture of pity and horror.

  Atura stood a little closer to Tahso. “Do not do this,” she said, cold as ice. “Do not be todo and try to help.”

  He had obviously missed something. It seemed like the very idea of helping was offensive. He wasn’t going to win this argument by force of character. It was him against the entire history of the Batru. It was a history that Tahso had committed entirely to memory. He needed to attack this issue in a different way.

  “What if Tzeechoe came while you were away and broke all your baskets?” he said, turning to point at Tzeechoe.

  Tahso looked confused at the sudden turn in the conversation. “He would be punished by the People according to his crime.”

  “Could his punishment be that he make you new baskets?” Coleman asked.

  “Of course. He would have to right his wrong,” Tahso said.

  “So, you mean that Tzeechoe would get stronger for destroying your things?”

  Tahso looked startled. “I have never thought of it that way before,” he said, visibly shaken by the idea.

  Coleman let his voice become gentle and said, “Bad things happen to all people, Tahso. That is just the way it is. It is how we deal with the will of the gods that sets us apart. When we see a friend made weak by their will, we are made weak, too, because they cannot hunt or do their work for the People. But, if we all help him, then all of the Batru can grow stronger together.”

  Tahso looked deep in thought. Everyone in the hut waited for him to make up his mind. Finally, he said, “Your words are right, Tondo. This way of thinking will be uncomfortable for many to understand and some may think them from Munnevo. But I feel the Whisperer in your words. I will let you help me.” He said the last words with a grimace.

  Coleman turned to Tzeechoe and asked, “Will you take this chance to grow stronger with me? Will you also help?”

  “Yes, Tondo, I will help.” Obviously, he was uncomfortable with breaking the village traditions, but his friendship and the respect he’d gained for the visitor swayed him enough to acquiesce.

  “Tzeecha, will you help?”

  Tzeecha looked at her husband and he nodded his head in permission. “Yes, Tondo, I will help, but I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Do not worry about that. I do not know what to do either. I am sure Tahso and Tzeechoe will guide us. Atura, will you help?” A startled look crossed her face and was quickly replaced with a look of stern annoyance. It was the look that Coleman had seen many times in the past as she tutored him. “Will you stay weak or grow with us? Do you see Tahso as a house builder or as the tahso of the Batru?” Coleman queried, already aware of her answer.

  “Yes, I will help Tahso. This is not the Peoples’ way. The others will not like it.”

  “When the others come to watch, we will put them to work. Tahso’s lodge will be done very quickly, I think,” Coleman postulated.

  “And if they come, they will call all of us todo!” Atura blustered.

  “Better todo than weak!” Coleman barked back and roared with laughter. Tzeechoe and Tzeecha shortly joined him. Tahso looked puzzled, then he too began to chuckle. Atura shook her head and began to snicker.

  Tahso, Atura, and Coleman exited Tzeecho’s home and quickly marched to the lodge of Atura’s father, Tumtuo, as the rain pelted them. Tahso pulled aside the doorway cover and all quickly filed into the deserted dwelling. Coleman felt his foot kick a solid object on the dirt floor. In the meager light, he saw a stone and picked it up. It was a flint used to spark a fire.

  “I will start the fire,” he said.

  “No!” shouted Tahso and Atura simultaneously.

  “With this,” Coleman said as he held up the flint stone, revealing it in the subdued light filtering through the hole in the roof.

  Atura quickly snatched the stone from Coleman’s hand and curtly stated, “I’ll do it.”

  While Atura lit a fire, the men carried in Tahso’s belongings. Most of his things had been saved from the inferno, mainly because he had very few possessions. Coleman expected a man of his importance to have more belongings, but he realized that this society wasn’t based on the accumulation of things. Tahso owned little. He seemed only to favor his staff and the animal bones and skulls that had hung near the entrance of his old lodge.

  Coleman felt it was time to delve more deeply into the history and culture of this tribe. From what he could tell, the tribe was barely hanging on. There were few children in the village and nearly no elderly. Could disease or plague have decimated their number or was there a more sinister shadow in their history? Could the gorga have weakened the tribe? He felt he needed to learn more and tried to think of ways to invigorate the tribe that had welcomed him as one of their own.

  Yes, you can do it. You’ll become their greatest leader and the example for all to follow, his inner voice advised.

  After all Tahso’s belongings were stored and a fire lit, Coleman sugge
sted that the surviving habaga fruit be prepared. Tahso’s eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face. “Yes, yes, that is a good idea. It has been a hard day and habaga would make it end better.” Coleman noticed Atura’s smile when Tahso uttered these words.

  “Ah yes, thanks to Atura we have this great treat,” Coleman reminded him. Atura lowered her head, somewhat embarrassed by the attention. She continued preparing the fruit, occasionally glancing toward Tahso.

  Tahso walked around the lodge examining the few items remaining of Atura’s family: a spear, a knife, and a bolo were stored near the doorway; bedding near the fire; a few articles of clothing and a string of bones in another out of the way place. Atura’s gaze followed Tahso as he made his way around the room. Coleman studied them both and thought he saw tears forming in Atura’s eyes. She finally noticed him watching her and turned away, wiping her face with her forearm.

  “The habaga are ready,” she muttered as her voice broke just a little. She handed each of the men a portion and waited.

  “Please, Atura, help yourself,” Coleman said politely. Atura looked at Tahso, and he nodded.

  “We have you to thank for this treat, Atura. Tell me again how you got these?” Coleman asked, encouraging her.

  Atura related for the two men how she had climbed to the top of the jungle canopy many days ago and had hidden a green habaga bunch in the leaves. The monkeys seldom climbed that high and, unless they could see the fruit, they would not venture so high. She told the men how, when the monkeys saw her retrieve the habaga fruit and begin to descend with it, they howled in anger and one of the bolder ones attacked her, clawing at the fruit and biting her arm.

  “And when it bit me, I hit it in the nose with my fist,” she said.

  Both Coleman and Tahso laughed, and Coleman slammed a fist into an open palm, producing a loud smack. “That is one monkey who will not touch you again,” he gleefully declared as Tahso nodded in agreement. Atura couldn’t help herself and began smiling proudly.