Copyright © 2018 by William B. Waits
Illustrations Copyright © 2018 by Kim Kurki
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-54393-920-0 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-54393-921-7 (ebook)
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
The Dart
The Leader
The Origins Ceremony
The Battle
Battle Talk
The Committee
Yale Med
La Puerta and Up River
The Walkabout
Contacts
Flora and Fauna
All Witch Doctors
Workers
Skivvies
Individual Wealth
The Nihilamamo
Testing Beneficence
Social Wealth
Sex and Marriage
The Hedomamo
Education
Darwin and Others
The Mexamamo
Loudhailer and Porno
The Islamamo
Commandments and Beatitudes
The Soumamo
The Political System
The Adamamo
The Election
To A World Less Able
Privacy
Down River
La Puerta Revisited
New Haven Revisited
The Committee Revisited
Epilogue 1988
Epilogue 2018
Acknowledgments
I thank Mark T. Connelly for reading manuscripts as I developed this novel. His insights for improving it were invaluable. I thank Kate Gallison, who read an early manuscript and offered wise guidance. I thank Kim Kurki for the illustrations that grace the cover and text of the book. I especially appreciated her useful suggestions, her attentiveness to my requests, and her gifted execution. I thank Doris Shapiro for listening patiently while I chattered and for her helpful and supportive comments.
Dedicated to
Mark Thomas Connelly
and
John Anderson Waits II
Prologue
You should know at the outset, I’ve just completed my research in the South American interior, the wildest place on Earth and the most diverse biologically. I lived among the Euromamo for a year, at risk to my life, while I dutifully filled my field journals with notes for my dissertation. I am glad that’s behind me, even if things haven’t turned out as I expected.
Euromamo ways of living struck me as odd at first, but, over time, I found myself agreeing with them. The experience changed me fundamentally, particularly in how I viewed my surroundings upon my return. I see now, where earlier I did not, that we have precious little privacy in our society. Certainly, some of us may fleetingly experience privacy in a park, on a hiking trail, or along a remote country road, but we do not treasure privacy. Quite the contrary. We allow our noisy and intrusive society to badger us and I, for one, am offended. Before my research, I wasn’t this way—so sensitive about my privacy—but I am now.
To explain what happened to change me, I need not go back far into my past because what I experienced before my research is irrelevant. I must only go back a little over a year, to when I prepared to go to South America. I only hope I can write amid the intrusions of modern culture.
Although I tell most of this story in the third person to make it seem less self-centered, this is a mere literary device. This book is about me.
New Haven, Connecticut
July 1986
CHAPTER 1
The Dart
May 1985
Rick wiped his finger across his sweaty brow, causing a drop to trickle into his eye. He blinked to clear his vision, and then looked back toward Raul, who was at the wheel of the boat, steering it up the La Cuerta River, deeper into the South American rain forest. Raul was an experienced boatman, but even he had gotten jittery, suggesting several times that they turn back. Rick had to press him to keep going. After several weeks on the river, Rick was far from the coastal city of La Puerta, and farther still from the comfortable confines of his graduate school in New Haven. He was risking his life to research a group that would be the subject of his dissertation, and he felt very vulnerable. Sure, he had absorbed knowledge about remote places from his seminar books, but what he knew seemed paltry against the slow, massive power of the river and the lush green vegetation along its banks.
Only four days before, Raul and he had stopped by a group that Raul had identified as the Primomamo. Rick thought about studying them but he suspected they had already been contacted by people from outside the rain forest. To satisfy Jasovic, his graduate advisor, he needed a remote, un-contacted group so he asked Raul to inquire about other groups farther up river. After some questioning, the Primomamo mentioned an unusual group living up past big rapids in a place called the Valley of Bad Spirits. He recalled the conversation clearly.
“They have lived in their frightening valley for decades, but the spirits do not seem to harm them,” Raul translated for me. “The spirits have brought illness to others who have ventured into the valley, but this group lives there in health and prosperity. It’s a great power they have.”
“I want to know more about them,” I said, my curiosity aroused.
There was more discussion with the Primomamo who told Raul the valley people were a different color than other rain forest groups.
“How so?” I inquired.
“They’re lighter, a lot like his skin color,” the Primomamo answered, gesturing toward me. Then, scanning Raul up and down, he said, “You’re light too, now that I take a better look at you.”
“Anything else about them?” I asked.
“They have a language that is strange to our ears…meaningless sounds. I’ve only heard it a few times and it sounds every bit as strange as his language,” the native said, gesturing toward me again.
“What’s their name?” I asked.
I listened closely and positioned my pen to record it in my field journal.
“Eu-ro-ma-mo,” the native said carefully.
I was intrigued by the description of the Euromamo and prodded Raul to get directions to the valley, but he seemed strangely reluctant. I didn’t give up though, pressing him until he agreed to get the directions. Raul resumed his discussion with the Primomamo, translating each statement, which I carefully recorded in my field journal. It took some time because of the language difficulties and also because I wanted the best description of the landmarks I could get, as well as their exact sequence so I could check them off as we went up river. Even with careful notes, it would be difficult to pick the landmarks out of the abundant foliage.
“From his description, I estimate it’s over one hundred miles to the Euromamo,” said Raul. “That’s just miles, of course. According to them, there’s a big set of rapids before the valley and there may be other rapids. I tell you, Rick, I don’t like doing this. I’ve never been up the river this far so I don’t know what’s ahead. Where’s the channel for my boat?
Where are the submerged logs and rocks? It’s risky travelling unknown sections of the river.”
“But you handle the boat with such skill, Raul, even though you don’t know this part of the river,” I responded. “Why are you skittish?”
He grew quiet and cast his eyes downward.
“It’s the spirits in their valley.”
“All the groups along the river have spirits, don’t they?”
“Yes, but these spirits are the most fearsome of all. Since I was a niño, I’ve heard about this valley. That’s the main reason, for sure, why boatmen don’t come this far up. I never knew anyone could live there.”
“He says the Euromamo are doing fine there,” I countered.
“Yes, mi amigo, but he also said that they do fine only because their special powers can hold the spirits at bay, powers that I don’t have. Why not go back down river and study another group? We passed several that you could research. Why is it that you are stuck on the Euromamo?”
I had no good response; however, after more discussion and the promise of four hundred additional dollars, I convinced Raul to go the additional hundred miles, and that included portaging around the large rapids in the last tributary. The deal was made and we returned to the river.
The channel of the La Cuerda became narrower and shallower. Raul was very attentive at the wheel of the boat and told Rick to get in the bow and watch for sunken logs and other obstructions. From time to time, Raul got Rick to read from his notes the descriptions of the landmarks along the way to the Euromamo. As they passed each landmark, Rick checked it off. So it went the next day as well. The banks of the La Cuerda slid by in unbroken greenery. Neither Rick nor Raul struck up a conversation. As Rick checked off the landmarks, he knew they were getting close to the Euromamo. Then Raul spotted a tributary of the La Cuerda going off to the right just as the Primomamo had said it would.
“It’s the Stommore,” Raul said. “It should take us toward the Euromamo. I’ll have to guess where the channel is,” he added wistfully.
If Raul was concerned about the channel, Rick knew he should also be concerned. He leaned even farther over the front of the boat, peering into the murky water as the boat plowed forward. The current was smooth, so the boat didn’t rock as it carried them toward the valley. The air felt good moving over him, drying some of the sweat in his shirt and cooling him off. He still couldn’t relax though, because of the uncertainties of what lay ahead.
Finally, Raul called out, “There’s the Bel Ami, the last river we go up,” as he turned the boat into the mouth of the tributary.
They were only about six miles from the drop-off point they had agreed upon. Rick took a deep breath. About a mile ahead, he could see a ridge of high ground where the rapids waited for them. As the boat rounded a gentle turn, he saw the cascading water glisten brightly in the sunlight. As the boat got closer, a cloud of mist hit his face, briefly refreshing him before the sun burned it away.
About thirty yards before the rapids, Raul turned the boat toward the left bank and held it steady in the current beneath some overhanging branches.
He called in a strong voice from the rear of the boat, “Use a second line this time, mi amigo. Losing the boat at this point would be the end of us.”
Before Rick began tying the boat to the branches, he remembered to check the limbs for snakes that might be sunning themselves there. He carefully secured the boat and was gratified that he had gotten better at tying knots, a valuable practical skill that anthropology graduate school had not taught him. They were on land for the first time since they had left the Primomamo. As they walked the entire length of the rapids, Raul probed the water to his right with a long piece of bamboo he had cut with a hatchet.
“I don’t think we can get the big boat through here, so we’ll take what we need and paddle the last five miles in the canoe.”
“Paddling up river is going to be a lot of work, isn’t it?” asked Rick.
“This far up river, we can’t take any chances with the big boat. We have to paddle if you want to get to the Euromamo.”
In twenty minutes, they had unstrapped the canoe from the side of the boat and loaded it with Rick’s large backpack, water, and two paddles. Rick expected that they were going to leave immediately, but Raul pulled the boat behind some trees and reeds growing in the water to help hide it from river traffic. He chained the boat to a tree as an extra precaution.
“My boat will not be safe here but we have little choice. I’ll have to drop you off and get back here soon. I’ll leave a few rifle cartridges out to warn any visitors that I’m armed, although this far up river they probably won’t know what they are.”
Before they began the hard work of pulling the canoe up the rapids, Raul pointed out a small flat clearing a few feet higher than the surrounding land where they sat to rest.
“This is an important spot, Rick. This is where you should wait for me to pick you up in a year when you have completed your research. It’ll be easy to find because it’s at the bottom of the rapids.”
“OK, the clearing it is,” said Rick, swallowing hard at the thought of living a year in the wild.
They used a rope to pull the canoe along the channel and bamboo poles to guide it past fallen trees near the bank. It was hard work. Rick was soon soaked with sweat, but he had spent so much time since they left La Puerta resting on the deck that it felt good to use his muscles again. Once at the top, they were too fatigued to get back on the river in the canoe for the last leg of their journey so they prepared to sleep, this time in a hammock on the shore rather than on the boat. This was Rick’s first time off the boat and he was keenly aware of his exposure to predators. If that wasn’t enough, during the night, clouds covered over the sky, carrying with them a drenching rain. It was a bad night. Nevertheless, early the next morning, they got on the river and began paddling, sweating profusely as they forced the boat up river against the current. The land rose steadily on both sides of them, turning into the walls of a valley. So this was it, Rick thought to himself—the Valley of Bad Spirits—at least that’s what the Primomamo and Raul had called it. Myths commonly have at least some factual basis, he knew from his seminars, so what was the factual basis for the claims of powerful and dangerous spirits in this place?
Raul’s head jerked to the right, and he immediately stopped paddling to examine something on the bank. Rick hadn’t seen anything.
“What is it?” Rick finally asked, somewhat frustrated at his inability to see what interested Raul.
“Cut saplings. Right there,” he said, pointing. “Not gnawed, you see, but cut clean with something sharp. You’re here to meet the Euromamo, aren’t you?” he said. “You may meet them soon. Let’s tie the canoe, amigo. I tell you, the sooner I get back on the river and away from the spirits, the better I will feel.”
The two of them paddled the canoe against the bank just above the cut saplings and Rick threw a rope over a stout tree limb and tied it securely. Raul tied an additional line off the back.
“Watch where you step, Rick,” Raul cautioned him.
Once ashore, they made their way through the lush undergrowth to examine the cut saplings more closely.
“Those cuts look fresh to me, so people are nearby,” said Raul. “You won’t have to hunt for your Euromamo group much. They’ll find you soon enough. You can count on that.”
The wood chips around the base of the saplings were large and sharp-edged, Rick noted. They had been cut with a blade with a good edge, perhaps even a steel blade, except that indigenous people this far in the rain forest did not have steel blades, at least according to Rick’s courses. Raul got back in the canoe and handed Rick’s backpack to him. Stood upright, the backpack looked small against the lush green backdrop of the rain forest. It was all he had. They rested for a few moments on the bank.
“I have to start back to my boat and La Puerta as soon as possible,” said Raul. “I got you here. That was our deal.”
“I know
you’re going to leave soon, Raul,” said Rick, “but I was hoping that you would stay with me until I make contact with the Euromamo. Here alone, if I don’t find the Euromamo soon, I’ll be in trouble.”
“My boat is tied below the rapids with no one to watch it. Besides, I’m starting to feel sick and, for all I know, it may be the spirits poisoning me for bringing you here. I’ve got to get out of this valley while I’m well enough to make it down river.”
“The spirits are really weighing on you, aren’t they?”
“I can’t get them out of my mind.” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“OK. I understand. Just don’t forget about me, Raul. One year from now I’ll meet you at the clearing below the rapids.”
“I won’t forget. I’ll pick you up just as we agreed.”
Raul got back into the canoe while Rick untied the mooring lines and threw them in. Raul smiled as he carefully paddled the canoe away from the bank and turned it downstream. He offered, as a last gesture of camaraderie, to take Rick back with him to La Puerta.
“Thanks, but I’ll stay,” said Rick in a grim voice, unconsciously fingering the handle of his survival knife. “I’ve got to do my research.”
“You are a determined fellow, Rick. Good luck to you. See you in a year,” Raul said as he made his first strong strokes with the paddle.
“Take care, Raul.”
“You, too.”
Officially, Rick had been trained to do fieldwork in anthropology, but he had never felt more vulnerable than he did as he watched Raul’s canoe get smaller and smaller until it vanished around a bend in the river. He felt totally alone in the rain forest…except for any Euromamo who might be nearby. He reminded himself that, during the trip up river, Raul had taught him how to build a raft that he could ride to the coast. He had taken careful notes. To give him comfort, Raul had reminded him that the current would always take him toward La Puerta.
Rick looked down at his hands, then at the rest of his body. He had no special skills. He was not quick like the big-clawed cats. He lacked the teeth of crocodiles. He didn’t have the agility of gibbons or the shells of turtles. He was without the speed and jumping ability of antelopes. His hearing, eyesight and smell were dull compared to the species around him. His body was terribly unspecialized…except for his brain. He’d have to use it well as it was his only feature that gave him a chance of survival.
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