by Sawyer Caine
Father Dawes stepped up to Nekana and reached for her outstretched hand. “Hello, my dear, I’d like to introduce you to your English companions. This tall fellow with the dark, unruly hair is Lord Alfred Heathwood, and his green-eyed companion is the American, Frederick Warren. I’ve appraised you already of their mission, and I’m sure you’ve informed your brother of it as well. I know Lord Heathwood is wanting to be on his way so I won’t keep you young people, but do please be careful,” he said as he bowed to us and then turned to go. I found myself wishing that he would be going with us.
I turned to Nekana and smiled, extending my hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Nekana,” I said.
She took my proffered hand firmly in her own but did not return my smile. She then turned to Frederick who extended his hand to her as well.
“Ma’am,” he said, nodding to her, “Pleasure.”
She nodded to him as well. “If you gentlemen will get onboard, we can be off. I want to tell you both before we get started, I won’t tolerate any untoward behavior. You will both behave decently. I won’t have you mistreating my brother either. He’s here to guide you and hunt for us, but he isn’t your pack mule and neither am I. You will both carry your own things. Is that clear?” she asked in a firm, authoritative voice.
Despite her abrasive nature, I found myself liking this brash, young woman. She was an independent lady in a man’s world. I understood how she felt. “Of course we will be respectful of you both. We are most grateful for your assistance. Frederick and I are in your capable hands,” I said.
She glanced up at me but spoke no further and took a seat on the wooden raft next to her intriguing brother. He looked up at us and Nekana took his wrist in her hand, leaning up to speak into his ear. I heard her talking in their native tongue which was very beautiful to listen to, then I heard her speak our names as she gestured toward us. I nodded to Nekai again and Frederick did the same. This time he did smile, and I was paralyzed where I stood.
I felt as if that angel in the garden had chosen to pay heed to two worthless humans and give us the grace of his fair countenance. I noticed Frederick moving in my peripheral vision, but I was unable to look away from that angel sitting with his bold sister. This was senseless. I was becoming distracted by this native boy, and I couldn’t understand why. It reminded me, in a most uncomfortable way, of the first time I’d ever seen Frederick and of how I’d become obsessed with him in quite the same manner.
“Come, Alfred,” Frederick encouraged as he sat down among the luggage and gear. “We’re ready to go.”
I managed, somehow, to uproot myself from the bank and step onto the raft. As the two raft men pushed off with their long poles and steered us toward the center of the huge Orinoco River, my distraction with Nekai waned as the reality that we were now really and truly on our way, finally set in. And so onward into the Amazon, Lord Alfred Heathwood and your handsome, young American lover! Go forth and conquer! But to conquer what exactly? As I sat musing on those silly childish thoughts, I chanced to glance up and noticed our bewitching young guide staring back at me in his uniquely curious way. I found that same hypnotic feeling beginning to steal over me once more, and I fought it. I fought, also, the sudden overwhelming urge to grasp Frederick’s hand in mine. Though we sat side by side, our elbows touching in the cramped quarters, I thought better of such a bold, public display of affection. Our native companions would most likely find it offensive, and that was no way to begin. I sighed and turned to watch the riverbank rolling by. When I was brave enough to look up at Nekai once more, his attention had shifted to his sister. They were deep in a conversation in their language that I couldn’t understand.
“What’s the matter, Alfred?” Frederick asked, noticing my obvious state of nervous energy.
“I’m just worried that something bad might happen to you and it will be my fault for dragging you along with me on this ridiculous trip,” I lied. It was the first time I’d ever lied to him.
“Don’t worry; I’m having the time of my life,” Frederick assured me.
I chanced a slight press to his hand and gave him a genuine smile. Nekai was exotic but Frederick was my life.
Chapter Five
We floated down the wide, rolling river and the dark, churning waters carried us toward our destination. Our raftsmen were very skilled at keeping us in the center of the swift moving current with their long poles. I sat up straight and stared ahead, watching as the thick, dense jungle closed in around us, and the last straggling huts of Tucupita disappeared into the undergrowth. The canopy of lush greenery overhead shut out much of the glaring sunlight and once inside, the temperature dropped perceptively. It was a much needed relief from the suffocating, moisture-laden heat we’d been forced to put up with in the town. I found myself thoroughly enthralled with the fascinating scenery surrounding me. Frederick, a botanist, was studiously observant of all the many intriguing plants and flora we passed.
I looked earnestly for the wildlife I knew lived in the canopy. I could hear a cacophony of bird sounds and screeches I could only presume came from the monkeys. I noticed Nekana watching Frederick and me. When I turned to Frederick and commented that I wished I could see the beasts making the racket, she whispered something to Nekai. He looked back at us, then rose and made his way, on remarkably steady legs, to where we sat.
He knelt down and touched my shoulder. I nearly gasped when he did. I looked up into his black eyes and was spellbound by the seemingly innocent depth I saw in them. He smiled and pointed up into the canopy above us. I looked in the direction he was indicating and saw the little howler monkeys about which I’d read so much in my grandfather’s letters. He’d described the little beasts as being overly curious and quite a nuisance, making off with pieces of equipment and anything they could scavenge. I found them to be rather adorable looking. I smiled at their silly antics as they tossed bits of bark and leaves at us. Nekai reached down and picked up a small piece of driftwood. Raising his muscular arm, he tossed it up into the canopy toward the little monkeys. One of them reached out and caught the driftwood and to my complete amazement, threw it back at him.
Frederick and I laughed aloud at this astonishing sight. I was shocked to see Nekana smiling as well. It seemed the strictly business, young lady did have a soft side as well. She was clearly protective of her younger brother but seemed more than happy to indulge his childish behavior when it was all in good fun. Nekai threw the wood back up to the little monkey one last time, and the beast threw it down at us again as we sailed beneath the tree and drifted on along the slowly narrowing river. He sat down cross-legged, facing Frederick and me. He reached out curiously and touched my silver cigarette case that I’d placed beside me on the raft. I opened it to show him what was inside. I removed a cigarette and lit it, passing the first one, as always to my Frederick. Nekai watched as Frederick and I smoked our cigarettes, his head tilted to the side with that childlike look of curiosity. Nekana noticed and spoke to him in their language, then informed us that she’d told him what the cigarettes were and that it was similar to their ceremonial pipes.
“Tell him we are celebrating our trip and our good fortune in finding such charming companions,” I asked of her.
She gave me a sarcastic look but conveyed my message. Nekai smiled and lowered his head shyly. I noticed a slight blush to his cheeks and wondered about it. Could he truly be as innocent as he seemed?
*
After nearly an hour of steady travel along the river with Nekai pointing out the wildlife for us along the way, we noticed that the vegetation on either side of the river was starting to look civilized. Nekai joined Nekana in the front of the raft, but he remained standing like the raft men and strained his eyes ahead.
“Gentlemen, we are coming into the outskirts of the Warao village. This is our home, and we expect you to be courteous. Speak through me only. Nekai and I will give you a tour and show you where you can pitch your tent. We’ll stay here ton
ight and obtain all the supplies and pack mules we will need for the trip. We’ll head out at first light in the morning. Our father is anxious to meet the two of you,” Nekana told us.
The raft sailed on for nearly twenty minutes, then the first of the Warao huts came into view. The Warao people were river dwellers who lived in round, open-sided huts built up on stilts near the banks of the river. They slept in hammocks hung inside their huts and had a fire pit in the center of the hut for warmth and cooking. Besides the hammocks, the only furniture in the huts was a few carved benches in the shape of animals. This I knew not from sight, but from the drawings in my grandfather’s ledgers. As our raft drew closer to the docks, many small, naked children ran down to the riverbank to greet us. I heard some of the older boys calling to Nekai. He leapt off the side of the raft and waded to the shore to greet them, grabbing up one of the small lads and swinging him around. I watched him running up the bank toward the older boys who seemed to be close to his age. I turned to Nekana.
“Are those other boys your brothers?” I asked.
Her mouth closed in a tight line, and she looked down at the raft. “No, our three older brothers are dead, our mother as well. A rash of disease broke out among our tribes a few years back, and those you see here today are all that is left of our once great people.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured as we stood and followed her and the raft men onto the shore. “Shall we help with the unloading?” I asked her.
“No, the men will remove your things and bring them up to my father’s hut. You can set up your tent close to it if you like. It would be the safest spot,” she answered. “Come, let me take you to our father.”
We followed her up the bank and through the center of a little village that seemed to be arranged in a circle around a large, central bonfire pit. I wondered if it was ceremonial. Toward the back of the circle was the largest of the thatch-roofed structures. It was toward this hut that she led us. I could see Nekai standing inside it, talking animatedly to a man whose face was obscured from me. As we drew nearer, Nekai came out onto the steps of the structure, tugging the older man along with him and pointing excitedly toward us.
“That man with my brother is our father. He is the shaman of our people, a leader of sorts. He is the one who carries the prayers and requests of the people to our Gods. Be respectful to him,” she advised.
“How should we show respect?” Frederick asked.
“Bow when I introduce you. I will interpret for all of you.”
The shaman was a handsome man, and I could see the resemblance to both his children. He smiled and extended his hand to Frederick and then me. Nekai stood beside him, beaming and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Nekana turned to him and spoke and Nekai slipped past us and took off in a brisk walk toward the rafts men who were dragging our luggage and trunks toward the building.
“Nekai will show them where to put your belonging. Frederick and Alfred, this is my father. His name is Raulo,” Nekana told us.
“Please convey to him our great appreciation for his hospitality and for allowing you and Nekai to accompany us on the journey,” I requested.
Frederick and I stood listening as she spoke to her father and he nodded, then gestured for us to follow him inside the hut. Nekana walked behind us and reached up to pull a hanging blanket down over the open front of the hut, shielding us from the rest of the villagers. She walked all around the inside of the hut, pulling the blankets down and closing us in. The central fire was the only light. The shaman gestured for us to sit around the fire on soft mats. He had taken a long, wooden pipe from inside his robe. He lit it in the fire and handed it to Nekai who had joined us and was sitting just to the right of his father. I watched the boy draw on the pipe and tilt his head back to exhale the aromatic smoke.
“What is in the pipe?” Frederick asked.
“A plant similar to peyote,” Nekana replied.
Frederick glanced at me as Nekai handed the pipe over to me. I gave the matter not a second thought and took a long draw from the proffered pipe as well. The smoke was fragrant and thick and I found the after effects to be most pleasant. We all took several drags from it and then the shaman put it aside and spoke. I could have listened to his deep, rolling voice all afternoon, but Nekana soon translated.
“He is asking the Gods to protect us on the journey and to bring his children and their new companions back safely to this place. He prays for success and good fortune for us. This trip is to be a test of sorts for my brother to see if he is ready to join the men of the tribe and complete his own journey toward manhood. If he is able to return safely to our father, he will have earned the right to go through the coming of age ceremony. Our father hopes this will be the case. He is now asking for you to show him the idol.”
I was startled. I’d not realized that Nekana and Nekai knew the reason for the trip. I chose to hide my stupefaction and instead reached for my duffle bag, taking from within it the cursed little statue and handing it, still in its wrappings, to the shaman.
He flinched visibly as he took it from me. Nekai leaned over to watch as his father unwrapped the idol and held it up. As he turned it about, the flames in the fire danced quickly away from it as though the fire itself abhorred the thing. The shaman quickly covered it and handed it back to me.
“He says that there is a strong curse upon the idol and upon whoever removes it. That same curse has been on our people ever since it was taken. Sickness and pestilence have followed us all these years. He hopes that your bravery in choosing to bring it back and restore it in its rightful place will lift the curse,” Nekana said.
I looked up at her and then at the shaman. He smiled again. The lines of care that marked his face seemed more like the signs of a man who had carried the burden of great sorrow and worries. I suspected it was so. We took our noon meal in the hut with the shaman and his small family. The village women had prepared a delectable array of native dishes including fish taken from the river and some of the vegetables they grew in their own gardens. For our drink, we had a potent fermented brew they made themselves and sweetened with the fruits they harvested in the nearby jungle. That, in addition to the pungent smoke we’d imbibed earlier, left both of us feeling rather jovial.
*
We struggled to set up our large canvas tent next to the shaman’s hut. We finally managed it and positioned our trunks, folding tables, and cots in what was, to us, the most civil arrangement. I unpacked the Victrola and placed it on a folding table near Frederick’s cot, then rummaged in his trunk for a record. Frederick sat watching as I cranked up the antique player and set the record on the velvet-covered turntable beneath the needle. I flipped the switch, and the celestial sound of the Miserere filled the little canvas tent. Drawn, perhaps by curiosity and perhaps by the unworldly sound of the music, Nekai lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, letting the flap drop behind him and staring at the Victrola in amazement.
Nekana was not with him, and I could not explain the music to him. He smiled and crept closer to it, putting his head down near the player, looking into the carved, wooden horn as if believing he would find the singers inside it. He crept back and turned to Frederick and me, grinning from ear to ear and pointing at the Victrola. Frederick laughed and spread out a tiger skin rug on the floor of the tent, gesturing for Nekai to rest on it if he chose. He sat down on the rug and listened to the Victrola as it gave forth the inhumanly enchanting chords of the Allegri Miserere. He could not understand from whence the sound came, but he was spellbound nonetheless, his fair countenance rapt with the beauty of the music. It was something so foreign, so magical that it was beyond his comprehension and yet that mattered not at all to him, as it would have to more cultured men such as Frederick and me.
Frederick watched him with patient amusement, then my love rose and took forth from his packing crate a delicate, paper lantern with the shapes of moons and stars cut into its sides. It was designed with wires to support it so it could be
set over a candle or lamp. Frederick placed it carefully over the hurricane lamp on his folding table. He then called Nekai’s name and waited until the boy pulled himself out of his reverie over the music and gave my love his attention.
The handsome, dark-skinned boy leaned back, his long, black hair almost touching the ground where he sat, resting his weight on his hands as he tilted his head up to watch in awe and innocent amazement. With the flick of his wrist against the paper lantern, Frederick sent the shadow shapes of moons and stars spinning around the tent. Nekai turned his head to watch as the shadows chased themselves about, silhouetted against the canvas of our tent. His face lit up with a smile that brought tears to my eyes, and he drew up on his knees, reaching out with both hands as if to catch the shadows. And as he did so, the piercing C of the lead soprano crescendoed to an ethereal high note. In that captivating moment in the half light of the candles, he appeared to me a kneeling angel beseeching God to take him back to heaven. Surely there has never been, nor will there ever be again for me, a vision more rapturous.
Then as that high C decrescendoed, a hot and startling desire descended with it through my body and centered itself in my groin. I felt the flush in my face, and I was ashamed of my arousal. How could I feel such a thing in the very presence of my Frederick and for this innocent, young, native boy, whilst listening to a song that had been written to honor a psalm from the Holy Bible? It was beautiful and blasphemous, and it was, without a doubt, the most utterly carnal and primitive experience I’d ever known.
As the music ended, Nekai turned to me with a distraught look on his face and jumped up, pointing to the Victrola and gesturing helplessly for both Frederick and me to come to him. He obviously wanted to hear the music again. Frederick chose another record and placed it on the player, showing Nekai how he must dial the crank to power the player and then flip the switch to turn it on. I sat down on my cot trembling. I couldn’t understand what had just happened to me. I’d broken out in a cold sweat. Thankfully, Frederick was so preoccupied with entertaining Nekai that he failed to notice.
