Tupa. I’m surprised to hear such a name. It sounds too soft, too innocent to be the name of a gigantic beast who could kill me with one swipe of his paw. I see he is smiling at me again, and I briefly wonder if he can read my thoughts as well. Perhaps he lied about not being a jungle spirit.
Though I cannot see the sun through the great canopy of trees, I know that dusk is near. It is too late to make my way to the river and offer prayers to the karawara now. If the hunting party truly has returned, then father will be worried about me. I must return to my village. I hope the jaguar will let me.
As if he can read my thoughts he says, “You should be getting back now, little bird. Time to fly home to your nest.”
I am not eager to get back to the village. I cannot decide whether my reluctance has more to do with having to deal with Maor or with being stuck in the village and unable to leave. Once my father finds out about Maor, I know he will expressly forbid me to leave the village, and I will be stuck working in the gardens and doing the women’s work indefinitely. I’m certain that father will ask his second and third wives, Tatuie and Hana, to keep their eagle eyes on me. If my mother were still alive, she would no doubt help me to escape into the jungle for at least a little while, but since she’s been gone . . .
“Are you sad?” Tupa asks me.
“A little,” I answer truthfully.
“Don’t you wish to go home?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s probably better that you return to your people rather than spend the night alone in the forest. Don’t you agree?”
“But I’m not alone,” I say, wondering where this boldness inside me has come from. “I’m with you.”
The jaguar’s whiskers twitch. I have the distinct impression that he is trying not to laugh. He begins to groom his other paw. “I’m sorry, but it’s nearly time for me to go home to my family as well. I will walk with you awhile, but I must leave soon. I, too, need to get back home before night falls.”
I feel the frown form on my face and wonder why I should feel sad to lose the company of the most frightening of beasts.
“Do not worry,” he says. “I will see you tomorrow if you are once again brave enough to enter the jungle alone.”
I smile. Morning cannot come soon enough.
Tupa begins to climb down the tree, his claws holding him vertically in the air until he takes a great leap to the jungle floor below. I am far less graceful and take much longer to navigate my way down the twisted vines ensnaring the wimba tree. My stomach growls, and I find that I am glad to be going home, at least for something to eat.
We walk side-by-side through the jungle. Tupa’s head bobs near my waist when the path is wide enough. When it is narrow he slinks ahead, all silence and deadly grace. Goosebumps grow on my arms as I watch him. He is soundless as we proceed through the jungle, and I feel that I’m as loud as a pack of monkeys traveling next to him. I do not have his grace or stealth, and every step seems like an announcement to the world of where I am.
The dying light filters through the trees and dapples the path in shades of gray. It is about to rain, as it often does this time of day. I usually try to be under the roof of my village’s shabono, our communal house, when the rains come so I do not get drenched in the sudden onslaught. Today I will not be so lucky.
Tupa stops and sits facing me. “I must go before it is too late for me. Will you be all right to make it back to your village from here?”
I nod just as the rain begins to pour in sheets on top of us. The jaguar rises and begins to walk away, back into the depths of the jungle. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say.
The great cat pauses, turns his head, and smiles at me with a grin that makes me both frightened and elated. Within seconds he has vanished. For the second time, I wonder if he really is a jungle spirit and is testing my faith. Perhaps he is part of my imagination.
I shake my head, unable to understand it. I know only one thing for sure: I’ll be returning to the jungle tomorrow.
I pick up my feet and try to jog back to the village, though it is slow going with the damp ground sucking at my feet with every step I take. As I walk, I try to decide whether or not I should tell my father about Tupa. I think he should know, but I am concerned that he will worry too much and not believe that Tupa is safe.
Safe? That’s not the right word. Undoubtedly, Tupa is not safe. He is anything but safe. He seems good, though, and kind. I weigh the pros and cons of telling my father about him as I continue to pull my feet out of the mud. I am concentrating so hard on treading through the muck and on what I shall say to my father about Tupa that I don’t see danger until I’m nearly standing on top of his feet.
Maor.
Chapter 3
THE CLUB COMES flying out of nowhere. In the rain, I don’t see it. I only hear the swoosh of raindrops and wind flying toward me, a precursor to the pain just before the club strikes me alongside the head. I spin and crumple to the ground, the mud softening my fall. My mind has gone blank, paralyzed by fear, and I must force myself to move. I cannot simply lie there in the mud and let Maor assault me.
My head pounds with pain, and my vision is not quite right. Everything is darker than it should be. Nevertheless, I push myself up to my hands and feet and prepare to stand and run.
A second blow hits me on the back, crashing between my shoulder blades and throwing me back down to the soggy ground. I know what he is doing. He is demonstrating the extent of his power and of my weakness. He will claim me and then rule me, keeping me in his thrall with his club and fists if I dare object.
I scream when the next blow strikes the back of my legs. Something cracks. I scream even louder. I hope I am close enough to the village for someone to hear me, but the deluge of rain is so strong that I can barely hear my own voice.
“You are mine now, Rosara,” Maor says, standing over me, his feet planted in the mud next to my head. “It’s useless to fight back. I claim you as my own.”
He grabs my hair and flips me over. The pain is so great, I cry out again and try to pry away his hands as he drags me farther into the jungle, away from the village. He leaves the trail to the village and pulls me into the deep undergrowth. My screams never stop, but I know that no one can hear me. I am alone.
He releases the clump of my hair, and I fall against a tree root. My head cracks against it and I see nothing. No rain. No man. No jungle. Only darkness.
When my vision returns, I know I have been unconscious for only a few moments. Maor has lowered his club, and I see him kneeling next to me through my barely open eyes. I hear a groan and hardly recognize my own voice.
“This will be easier if you don’t fight, Rosara,” he says.
At first I think perhaps he is right. Perhaps I shouldn’t resist, should give in to the inevitable.
But when he puts his hands on my shoulders, panic wells up through my chest, hot and quick. Of course I will fight. I will fight and I will die. I will not let him claim me.
I struggle, trying to push Maor away from me. He pins my arms down and I thrash my legs. I open my mouth for another scream and bite at him. His shoulder is just out of my reach. He is getting angry, frustrated that I will not cooperate.
He lets go of me and sits back on his heels. I try to push my body away from him, try to get my feet under me, but the moment I put weight on my foot a searing pain runs up my leg. I collapse, defeated. I will not be able to escape from him. He bends down, keeping his eyes on me, and grabs his knife. I can see it in his eyes—if he cannot have me as wife, then he will kill me.
A blur crosses my vision, and in an instant Maor is no longer in front of me. He is lying on the jungle floor, not moving, and the rock-hard root of a tree next to his head is covered in his blood.
I do not see where the jaguar has come from, but instantly he is there, as if he has magically appeared out of the rain. Tupa, the jungle king—my new friend—pads across the ground toward me and lowers his face to mine.
<
br /> “Are you hurt, little bird?” he asks me in his frighteningly deep voice.
I stare at him. How is he here? How can he be here? I am shaking hard, no longer from fear but from immense relief.
“Rosara, are you hurt?”
I snap out of my daze, and nod. “A little,” I say. “My ankle . . . it may be broken.”
“You will not be able to walk, and I can’t leave you here with that man in case he awakens. I think you must ride upon my back, and I will take you back to your village.” The great beast sits down completely and stretches his legs out in front of his body. “Can you pull yourself onto my back?” he asks.
I nod my head, yes. The great cat maneuvers his body close to mine and I roll toward him until I am able to throw my arm around his neck. I marvel at how soft his fur is beneath my fingers. I have never touched a jaguar before. I expected his hair to be rough like his voice. It is anything but. I stroke his hair for a moment, lost in the feel of it.
Tupa purrs. “That feels wonderful, but I think it’s time we got you home.”
Heat flares in my cheeks. I’m not sure why I feel so embarrassed. I gingerly lift my hurt leg and push it over the beast’s back. A moment later, I am lying on top of him. I don’t know how I will keep from falling off.
“Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” he says.
I obey. The moment my hands clasp together around his thick neck, he rises up. My legs slide down either side of his middle, and my body rocks in sync with his sleek gait as he walks slowly and silently through the jungle to my father’s village.
For the first time in my life, I am thankful for the daily downpour of afternoon rain. It means that no one will be loitering about the village. Everyone will be under the semi-circular roof of the shabono, waiting until the clouds pass and the rain lets up. There will be no one to interfere as Tupa carries me into the village.
With the rain pouring, I cannot hear the villagers’ gasps of astonishment as Tupa walks into the village, but I see surprise in their faces. Everyone rises to watch as Tupa carries me through the center of the village and around the curve of the shabono to where my father is standing with his spear in one hand and his club in the other. A quick glance shows me that all the men are standing ready with their weapons. Many of the women, too, hold weapons and push their little ones behind them. Tupa doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he does not care.
We reach my father’s plot, and Tupa lies down on the ground. He speaks just loud enough for me to hear: “I will leave you here and let your family care for you. I must go now before it is too late, but I am eager to see you again.”
The jaguar’s body shifts, and I slide off his back onto the sopping, muddy ground. He stands and stares at me a moment before his head bows down to mine and he licks my cheek. His sandy tongue is rough and soft all at once, and I am filled with warmth.
I look up and he is gone. I catch only the briefest glimpse of his tail as he bounds back into the forest. I place my hand on my cheek where he touched me. So tender, just like a kiss.
The moment passes, and my father is kneeling next to me, the rain snaking down his bald head and onto his face. “Rosara,” he says, “what happened? Why were you . . . Never mind, you’re hurt. There will be time for questions later.”
Father lifts me into his arms and carries me under the protective shelter of the shabono, where his second and third wives begin to fuss over my wounds. I am hurt worse than I realized. Bruises spot my skin black, not unlike my jaguar friend’s. Though I see the marks where Maor wounded me, I do not yet feel their pain. I am still in shock. I lie back and rest on a straw mat while my father’s wives apply healing herbs and salves to help seal my wounds.
Father shoos away curious villagers, promising to explain all after I have been cared for. He sits cross-legged next to me on the ground. He doesn’t speak, just watches. But I know questions are whirling through his mind.
I think back over how Tupa walked through the village and brought me directly to my father’s plot without having to ask me where to go. I have questions of my own as well. Chiefly, how did Tupa know which man was my father? How did he know where to take me?
Chapter 4
THE RAIN FINALLY stops. My father speaks only five words. “Tell me what happened, Rosara.”
I tell him then. Everything. How Maor hunted me through the forest. How I hid right next to a jaguar without even knowing. How Maor attacked and tried to claim me as his third wife. How he is lying in the jungle right now, unconscious, perhaps dead.
I feel only a bit guilty for hoping he is truly dead. I’ve never wished that about anyone before, but I do now. Part of me hopes that Tupa goes back to finish him off. Part of me fears that he will.
Father’s frown grows deeper as I tell my story, but he doesn’t speak or ask any questions. He only listens. This is what makes my father such a good chief of our village. He waits until I am finished with my tale before he speaks, and even then he thinks long and hard before he says anything.
“Something will need to be done,” he says, and then stands and walks across the village grounds to tell the villagers what has happened. I am not sure what Father means. Is he speaking of Maor? Or Tupa? And what does he think should be done?
Several men gather around as he relates what happened to me in the forest. The men take their weapons and follow my father into the jungle. I wonder who exactly they are hunting—Maor or Tupa.
It isn’t long before gossips share my story with everyone in the village. But, other than my father’s wives, no one comes to talk to me. No one offers sympathy for the treatment I experienced at Maor’s hands. I am sad but not surprised. This is the way of our tribe. Men have claimed their wives thus for many generations, perhaps from the beginning of time.
Most claimings are not so violent anymore. Many are even consensual, between two adults who love each other, choosing to be together. This was the way of my father and his three wives. But some are not. Some are about power and position. If a man is powerful enough to take a woman against her will, then she is lucky to have such a strong husband.
The thought of it makes my stomach clench. I close my eyes and will myself not to vomit. Images of Maor attacking me fill my head, but I force them away. Instead, I concentrate on the memory of Tupa’s soft fur, his rumbling voice, and his golden eyes. I do not even notice how tired I am, but soon I fall asleep.
When I awaken it is to the whoops and hollers of men emerging from the jungle, carrying Maor on their shoulders. The night is dark, so I cannot see if he is dead. Whispers from the women fill the air, and soon I learn that Maor is not dead, merely unconscious. They think he will be fine and even wonder what great strength he must have to survive the attack of a jaguar.
This news fills me with dread. In attempting to take me as his third wife, Maor was obviously asserting his desire to become head of the village. Now, with villagers proclaiming that he possesses superhuman strength, it will not take much for him to convince them that he should be chief. I shudder at the thought of Maor as leader of our tribe.
When Maor awakens, he is surly and quiet. He makes no great boasts of his strength and ability and says nothing of trying to claim me. He returns to his plot under the shabono, where his two wives minister to his needs. Father returns to our plot and, though he says nothing, I see the concern in his eyes.
It is only a matter of time before Maor makes his move against both of us.
The birth of the new moon has come and gone again before I can walk unassisted, and even then I am painfully slow. After so many days of lying under the eaves of the shabono and watching the rest of the villagers move freely, I am bored to tears of frustration. Father doesn’t want me to step out from under the shabono, but Tatuie and Hana vow not to let me out of their sight in the garden. I am even glad to be able to help work in the garden and pull weeds away from the young plantain trees and cassava roots.
Though I am grateful for their kind watchfulness, I wo
uld much rather be strolling through the jungle. I try to continue to be thankful when my back and ankle are throbbing from the work of pulling weeds. The jungle is so near that I have difficulty concentrating on my work as I sense its pull. A glasswing butterfly flits through the air and catches my eye, dragging my gaze along its path to the flowering jungle blooms in the trees surrounding the village. I see a blur of golden fur coated in spots, and then it is gone.
Tatuie hollers at me to stop my daydreaming, and I tear my eyes away from the jungle that I love so much. I look up to see Tatuie staring at me. I was not the only one to see the jaguar.
Forcing myself to concentrate on pulling weeds, I can’t help but smile to myself. Tupa is waiting for me.
I grow stronger each day as my ankle sets and continues its healing process, but inside me the pain of not visiting my beloved jungle is festering like a disease.
I catch a few more glimpses of Tupa hiding in the trees or crouching in the undergrowth, watching me. I long to speak with him, but I am afraid to draw attention to my friend. I am not the only one who has noticed him lingering around the village, and even though every one of the villagers watched him bring me to safety, there is talk that he is dangerous.
Whether Tupa knows about the villagers’ talk, I do not know. But if he does, he does not seem to care much, as he continues to come and watch over me every day.
The moon continues through its cycle once again. Birth, life, death, and then rebirth. The rising tension is so thick that I can almost see it hovering in the air. Though Maor has not mentioned his failed attempt at claiming me and is still just one of the village warriors, other villagers are seeking his counsel much as if he is chief. I see the worry in my father’s eyes.
I have also caught Maor’s gaze on me several times. Though he always looks away, I know my ordeal with him is not over. I fear he will try to claim me again the moment he has a chance. Even with Tupa watching over me, there is no guarantee that I will be so lucky a second time.
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 26
