Mukurob

by André Costa

  Marie was particularly interested in exploring the depths of the impact that previous exposure to exogenous cultures had had on the minds of the little ones. It was up to the elders to reintroduce them to the games of the San culture. Although it was a playful experiment, Marie was thrilled about the possibility of witnessing, in real time, the reverse path the homo sapiens would have walked, from the harsh monotony of life on the farms to an unpredictable, yet exciting, nomadic existence in the wild.

  “Don’t let your mind be tainted by this one, Father,” Edward said, pointing at Jack. “It’s clear that he would never have made a good priest, toying with the Christian faith at will.”

  “Are you Christian?” David asked Edward.

  “Baptist. But I let religion rest until it’s Christmastime. In my hometown, only my dog Bart was Catholic. He was left behind by an old Irishman while he was still a puppy. I found him at a bar the morning after the old man’s disappearance and took him home. My children loved him. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m lucky he couldn’t talk because I’m sure we’d have lived in conflict otherwise.”

  “Even mute, Bart must have been excellent company,” David said.

  “There was no company like his in the world. But don’t tell my wife that.”

  “Ed, come here,” Marie called out from seemingly the same area from which David had heard her moans the night before. The American linguist responded to her call like an eager and obedient cadet.

  “Did you sleep well?” David asked Jack.

  “Probably better than you. I noticed you wandered outside for quite a long time.”

  “Ah, you did. I hope I didn’t disturb you. Sadly, my mind kept winding long after I returned.”

  “Bart was his dearest relative, but Ed doesn’t like chatting about animism. I think if we were in the Middle Ages he would denounce me to the Inquisition,” muttered Jack, pulling a spontaneous laugh out of David.

  “Is he that conservative?”

  “As conservative as a hypocrite can be.”

  “He doesn’t seem religious to me…”

  “Thanks to the good Lord, Father Callaghan. If he were, he would be the leader of an insane sect.”

  Since he had slept most of the morning, David did not have to wait long for lunch. Benjamin and Thomas served the meal at the team table with unusual celerity, even though the German seemed to be limping more than usual. Marie and Edward’s absence from the table was palpable, and, except for David, everyone observed the unfolding of a new conflict with open curiosity.

  Still too shocked by the revelation of the previous night, David averted his eyes from the fighting couple. Yet he could not help but notice Benjamin, standing outside the kitchen tent, watching the spectacle with the cool accuracy of a photographer in search of the best angle.

  “It would be good if you two came for lunch soon,” Andreas called out to his colleagues. “There’s still a lot of work to be covered today.”

  When Marie and Edward finally came to the table, they tried to sit as far away from each other as possible, but Andreas, sitting on the edge of the bench, was intent on ignoring them and did not budge an inch, making the couple’s mission impossible. Old enough to retire and with no further academic ambitions, Dr. Ecklund had no tolerance for time wasted on petty human dramas.

  “Father Callaghan, as you may have deduced from witnessing the shaman’s performance last night, your priestly gifts are not needed here,” said Andreas. “Can you live without the cassock?”

  “Maybe he could retire it altogether,” interrupted Jack. “I heard from a friend of mine, a priest in London, that one of David’s other qualifications is culinary. We are sitting in the presence of a wonderful chef, right here in the desert.”

  “Is that true?” Marie asked. “If it is, I’m sure you could make this meat taste better…”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” David said. “I learned to cook from my mom; mostly traditional Irish dishes. The meat is great as it is, but I might suggest turning it into a stew later.”

  “Suggestion accepted!” sentenced Marie.

  Andreas took advantage of the fact that everyone’s attention was focused on David and turned to Marie, muttering, “I cannot agree with Benjamin’s refusal to sit with us.”

  “Maybe he knows what he’s doing,” answered Marie.

  Edward, who had ended up sitting next to Marie after all, interrupted their whispers. “It’s better this way. I don’t trust him, and don’t want him to know too much about our affairs.”

  “I don’t believe he is as ignorant of them as you think… Ben, come sit with us!” Andreas called out, scolding his American colleague.

  “Thank you, doctor. I’m fine here,” the driver answered, who was having his meal sitting on his haunches in front of the kitchen tent, his plate resting on his knees.

  “Ben will only listen to you if your tone is that of an order,” Marie murmured to Andreas.

  At the other side of the table, David felt as if someone had punched him in the gut and, for a brief second, the food threatened to reverse its trajectory, hindering the flow of oxygen. Jack, who was sitting next to David, quickly noticed his discomfort and slapped him on the back several times to help ease the coughing. After a few swallows of fresh water, his breathing normalized, and only his pale skin betrayed what had occurred.

  “Are you ok?” Andreas asked.

  “Did you see a ghost, Father?” Edward added.

  David forced himself to smile, despite the sudden and uncomfortable realization of whom the male voice from the night before belonged to. Benjamin’s answer to Andreas carried the same irritated tone and force.

  “Do you need anything else, Father?” asked Marie.

  David wanted to look up at Marie but failed. His fork slipped from his fingers, and his lips trembled, unable to utter a sound. Instead, he shook his head and kept silent for the rest of the meal. If he had the shaman’s power, he would have transported himself back to the coziness of his living room in Newcastle West, listening to Bach or Brahms, while organizing his irreprehensible thoughts for the dominical sermon. A simple life dedicated to thesis and speeches, without a commitment to practical validation, except during the challenging moments in the confessional. But even then, a thick rustic piece of wood protected him, keeping human folly at bay.

  “Tell me, Father, are you interested in history?” Andreas asked, purposefully interrupting David’s introspection.

  Pulled from the privacy of his thoughts, the young priest nodded once more in silence. He would not have studied as much philosophy as he had if the knowledge of the past had not caught his interest. But it was the many debates with Father Duane, rather than his books, that had awakened his sensibility to an unbreakable fact about the human condition: poor and puerile.

  “Then you must be aware that those who know history should not have a religion,” said Andreas.

  “Is that so?” David was surprised. Andreas’ assertion, being quite out of the blue, could indeed have given birth to a fruitful dialectic, but the moment was wrong. David’s mind and heart were not at the same pace. Like the German’s legs, one was stalking the other, as if emotion and reason had begun to mistrust their role in assuring his moral code.

  “That’s a Manichean idea!” stated Marie.

  “Go on, Andreas!” said Jack.

  “Well, everybody here knows that history is nothing more than a collection of insanities and tragedies stemming from the fight between ‘truths.’ This battle is actually the evil offspring of imagination. It sets humans apart in all societies and all times. Hundreds of millions, maybe billions of people have been victimized for defending a different truth, or just for having an interpretation of their own,” continued Andreas.

  “I think David is not yet used to your feline talk, Andreas,” said Marie.

  “And does he have a
choice?” inquired Edward.

  With an air of complicity, Marie squeezed Edward’s cheeks with both hands, alternating between a grimace and a smile. “It’s good to be American, isn’t it, Eddy? You don’t see any contradiction between what you learn in the science lab and in your Church sermons.”

  “We are practical in America, that’s all. Life is too short to question some traditions,” replied Edward.

  At that moment, David caught sight of Benjamin. The driver stood the same place as before, only now free of his fork and knife. As he registered the desolate look Benjamin gave the couple, David’s mind conjured lascivious images of silhouettes blending in the bright and starry night, flesh against flesh. In just a few seconds, his fancy was filled with what had escaped his senses the night before. In his mind, the love scene became vivid and torrid, playing out to the sound of magical songs and rhythmic beats made by clapping hands. It was more than David could bear; he shut his eyes and took hold of the steering wheel. When he reopened them, he bowed his head in silence.

  “Did I somehow upset you, Father?” asked Andreas.

  “No, not at all,” replied David, realizing that it was healthier to anchor himself in the conversation than be a hostage of errant thoughts. “I figure that you refer to truths advocated by religions.”

  “if the subject is not too inconvenient…” added Andreas.

  “Whatever the human quest for the truth might be,” interrupted Marie, “it certainly does not lie in the religious institutions, with their dogmatic manuals and rituals. Sorry Father, we know how all of this is very much contaminated by human hand.”

  “Contaminated? My dear, how can truth be reached if humans are removed from the equation? Truth is by nature a human concept, it can only exist in our head,” questioned Andreas with a half-smile—a default facial mode which carried the most caustic effect.”

  Marie’s sudden harsh opinion and Andreas’ sharp comments made David regret letting himself be dragged into the spot light, but it was too late.

  “So, how does it sound to you, Father?” asked Edward.

  “Well…” started David, with his eyes now kidnapped by Marie’s. “I suppose Dr. Ecklund is right, we can’t disregard our human condition, can we? So maybe the truth is nowhere to be found but in each one of us… We are the truth.”

  Father Callaghan’s words caused a brief, albeit introspective silence. It was the wrong crowd, he immediately thought. He wondered how Duane would have behaved in this most unusual circumstance—in an African desert surrounded by anthropologists. But no matter what the two have shared, David could only picture the old priest in his reading chair with his whiskey glass effortlessly balancing on his knee. In his sixty years of priestly life, Duane’s comfort zone was never challenged by big cats.

  “I think Father Callaghan is referring to what in his Church is called ‘the Christ within,’” Jack broke the silence.

  “An honest statement, I’d say…” Andreas raised his glass in a toast.

  “Well put, Father, though easier said than verified.” Marie blew a kiss towards David.

  With uncanny speed, Andreas’ hand shot out to intercept the imaginary kiss. “You already have too many victims around here, Marie.”

  “That’s right, Andreas! So, let me kiss this old sinner here,” said Marie, leaning over the table and holding Edward’s nape so he couldn’t escape. The gesture was not exactly lewd and might even have passed for an innocent exchange between friends who had finally made peace with each other. And Edward, smiling, was almost able to avoid the kiss, had Marie’s gesture not been so determined.

  David, sitting beside the young and beautiful scientist, was beginning to understand the extent of her spider web. Marie was exchanging coy looks with Jack when the sudden sound of cans being thrown stole everyone’s attention from the lunch table. A character, forgotten for some time, returned to the stage. Benjamin, with furious red eyes, looked at Edward like a bull about to horn el matador. In no way did the Herero man resemble the desolate figure he had been the last time he was noticed.

  Andreas was the one who best and most rapidly realized the gravity of the situation, taking giant giraffe steps toward the driver.

  “Enough, Benjamin, that’s enough!” Andreas said, pulling the driver by the arm and taking him to a place far from the onlookers.

  David learned a few hours later that Benjamin had been fired and had left the campsite. The episode caused the priest mixed feelings. He thought that he could have somehow helped to prevent the conflict, as if having partial knowledge of the love triangle granted him a spiritual obligation to those involved.

  “Could this not have been avoided? Maybe we should have intervened,” David said to Jack.

  “They are simply three people in the wrong place at the wrong time,” replied Jack. “One tries to affirm his atavistic chauvinism over a sexually emancipated woman; the other attaches himself to brief moments of luxury to forget his looming return to a marriage of appearance; the third uses both of them to get what she wants: neither one.”

  “David listened to Jack with close attention. His new friend’s observation made a point far beyond the object. He did not see in the former seminarian much of his own existential unrest, and that was intriguing.”

  His mind had been confiscated by Karen’s brutal death, for sure, but what if the conflict had never been absent in his soul, he thought. Maybe it has been dormant through prayer only, mechanically eased by method and by habit, just like a bureaucrat concentrates on his tasks so as not to realize the valuable time wasted in intrinsically useless work—for both himself and for posterity. In the case of Louis Callaghan, David remembered, the routine caused him the tragedy of missing his son’s childhood entirely.

  A sacerdotal life essentially aimed at the fulfillment of rites seemed now to David as senseless as inopportune. This was not a new drama, but his interaction with Jack had begun to give it better shape and content.

  “So, you knew about Benjamin?” asked David.

  “Not exactly. But I know Marie, and I knew about Edward. She’s an interesting woman—so sure about what she wants for humanity, but completely ignorant of her personal wishes, which is why she is infantile with her instincts. They call that female emancipation,” he snickered.

  Chapter X

  About ten years ago, Marie worked as an assistant in Professor Ecklund’s classes. Respect and differences were born simultaneously. The latter, about the subject that captivated them both, the San people of the Kalahari, had in fact strengthened with time.

  To Andreas, the San people kept their culture relatively unaltered throughout the last thirty thousand years, at least. The egalitarian ideology and the practice of sharing in their social organization would have suffered very little influence from exogenous cultures. An anthropological approach based on the traditional ethnography, whose roots trace back to the mystified Victorian view of the bushmen in the reports of the first travelers through the region.

  Conversely, Dr. Steene’s view was what in the academic field is called a revisionist—which, when said by Dr. Ecklund, sounded like an offense. The fact is that the truth was very distinct to her. The original San culture would have reached its death with the arrival of cattle farmer peoples of Bantu origin in the Kalahari at least a thousand years ago. Contrary to the notion of cultural continuity and integrity of the San people, Marie came to question if the bushmen of the Kalahari were even originally hunters and gatherers. That condition could very well have been the result of a historical and unfinished process that had relegated them to the bottom of the social and economic pyramid of southern Africa, as the peoples of the area were divided between those who produced their own means of survival and those who lived in nature.

  Dr. Ecklund rebuked by affirming that the project was a unique opportunity to monitor their reactions and study the social relationships of the group in
the exact “magical moment” when they were reinserted into their original culture.

  Back at the campsite, they were considering how to conform those different approaches in a most heterodox project when three children—a girl of about ten and two slightly younger boys—smiled as they walked past followed by Jack and David.

  “Is there something we can help with, Andreas?” Jack asked.

  “Make these children have fun, and you will have my blessing,” Dr. Eckund answered with his known half smile.

  Jack smiled back, conscious that the task would not be hard. In the San people’s culture, children do not have any other commitment besides playing. In fact, having free time for recreation is a necessity to San individuals of all ages, who spend a large part of their days in long conversations, playing music, sacred dances, story narratives, and telling jokes about one another. It is traditionally a society whose egalitarianism includes the genders, subtly separated only because of functional activities—the women occupy themselves with the harvest and the preparing of the food, while the men dedicate themselves to hunting. The elders are the exception, seen as a kind of moral reserve, but do not represent a clear hierarchy.

  The challenge that unites them all is the water, the most precious commodity in the Kalahari. The dry spells last for several months, and the water holes can dry out entirely. One of the most inventive survival methods of the San people is sucking the water up directly from the earth through a straw and then storing it in an ostrich egg.

  David smiled at the children and imagined what it would feel like to be a member of their family, to be timeless and eternally childlike, without the knowledge of so many subjects that do not pertain to a simple life. He wished to ignore sins and conventions and dive entirely into the present moment, without expectations or remorse.

  “Do you want to play?” Jack asked the children in good English.

  The spontaneous answer came with enthusiastic features and erratic feet movement, but it did not last long.