“We study peoples all over the world—usually in remote areas—and then write about them. I was sent here by my university to learn your history, study how you live, and then write about you so people in outside society can benefit from what you know.”
The Leader’s brow furrowed again.
“Outside society would be very interested to learn about you,” Rick continued reassuringly.
“Writers are the greatest threat to us,” she mumbled sadly, half to herself.
“Writers? Aren’t the predatory animals of the rain forest more of a threat?” asked Rick. “I mean, when I return to outside society, surely anything I might scribble wouldn’t have any impact on you. You’d be far away here in your valley.”
“I am not nearly as sure of that as you are. If outside society learned about us, it might produce great changes here that we couldn’t prevent. In fact, you’re already a matter of great concern.”
“What can I do to address your concern, Leader? I don’t want to make problems here.”
“We’ll discuss that later, you may be certain. For now, the question is what I do with you now that you know about us. The ultimate decision can wait a bit, but for the next several days, I strongly suggest that you stay with us,” she said, glancing quickly at the guards who nodded in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Staying with you is what I wish as well. After all, I came here to learn about you,” said Rick. “I hope that I will get to know many members of your group while I am here. I plan to make very careful notes so I can get things right.”
Rick had expected the Leader to nod her head in assent, but she remained strangely unresponsive.
“For the time being, it is acceptable, I suppose, for you to make notes. Over time, I hope you’ll come to respect our concerns about privacy. We’ll have many talks, I am sure, but, for now, make yourself comfortable. These four young Euromamo will tend to your needs.”
“I can’t move about on my own? Are you keeping me here in the bunker?” Rick asked.
“For the immediate future, staying where we tell you to stay is necessary for your safety and for ours. You see, we have a battle scheduled for day after tomorrow and, if you wandered off on your own, you might inadvertently cross over the boundary between us and our enemy and be captured as a spy. Spying is strictly against the rules and might lead to a violent encounter between our two groups.”
“You schedule your battles?” Rick asked, somewhat
incredulously.
“Of course. We have for decades, but more about that later. When we learned you were approaching our valley, we were concerned that our enemy might mistake you for one of us and then accuse us of spying on them. Also, we must protect ourselves against the possibility, unlikely though it is, that you may escape and tell our enemy about us. In short, we must discover what you are about, which I’ve just begun to do, so for the near future, stay here in the bunker, at least until matters have calmed down. I regret having to leave you at this point, but I must make sure that our preparations for the battle are in good order.”
As the Leader strode across the bunker, she told the others, “Put on your leather garments the next time you return to your shelters and, of course, everyone may resume speaking English,”
Rick saw hooks in the ceiling of the bunker that he could use to hang his hammock. It would feel good to sleep in it. As the sun descended, the bunker got very dark. In the quiet, Rick thought about his situation.
Should I attempt to flee? I don’t like being held against my will and there’s a battle coming up. Damn it; the Leader told the guards to keep me here, and they seem vigilant. Perhaps the Leader is right that it would be dangerous for me to try to escape. I’d better stay put, at least until the battle is over.
What great good fortune to have found an English–speaking group, previously unknown, deep in the South American rain forest! A complete surprise! The Anthro Department will be fascinated even though Jasovic won’t like the fact that they speak English. When the Leader spoke, she seemed to have a slight accent, European perhaps. Curious.
Better check my backpack before turning in. Doesn’t seem like anything was pilfered. The zippers are closed, and the backpack is just as stuffed as ever. Apparently, the Euromamo respected the privacy of my backpack and my ownership of what’s inside. Honorable of them. I’ll get my hammock out and string it from the ceiling hooks. I’ll bet it won’t take me long to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 3
The Origins Ceremony
The next morning, soon after Rick awoke, the Euromamo began to bustle about the bunker. Some swept the worn stone floor of the large room with a reed broom, while others hung blue banners on the wall and over the doorway. They brought in wooden benches and placed them in two concentric circles around the wall. They worked diligently, and their demeanor was remarkably calm for a group before a battle.
“Does this preparation have to do with the battle tomorrow?” Rick asked a guard with whom he had chatted briefly the day before.
He was relieved to be able to talk with him in English.
“Yes, it does,” the guard responded. “We hold a special ceremony here in the bunker before each battle. It’ll begin after sundown.”
“Can I stay and observe it?” asked Rick.
“Yes, the Leader has permitted it.”
The guard excused himself and walked to the other side of the bunker to adjust a banner hanging there. Rick wished he had been able to converse longer, but he was, nevertheless, pleased at the prospect of observing the ceremony that evening. He could finally start his research on the group in earnest. Until then, he passed the time peering through the small windows, but he couldn’t see much of what was going on. In the late afternoon, his anticipation was heightened when two women brought in two lit torches apiece and placed them in holders on the wall. Rick immediately noticed their intricately carved handles and enjoyed the golden glow they gave to the interior. Shortly thereafter, about twenty Euromamo, mostly men, filed through the stout doorway, went to the large chests that were placed along the wall, and withdrew long leather tunics. By the torch light, Rick could see that the tunics had stripes and other designs on the front and back. They were certainly more brightly colored than any he had seen the Euromamo wear thus far. Blue predominated, but they had other colors as accents. After donning the loose-fitting garments, the Euromamo went to a basin that had been placed on a large heavy table, almost like an altar, and washed their hands. Once they had cleansed themselves, they returned to the benches where they sat quietly. Others, mostly women, entered the bunker and stood at the back. The Leader then entered the bunker, and everyone rose. She walked purposefully to the nearest of the chests and withdrew a tunic that, while similar to the others, was even more colorful and magnificent. It had bright blue circles on the front and back, blue epaulets, and a wide blue leather belt. After donning her tunic, the Leader turned to face the room. Every eye was riveted on her.
“Fellow Euromamo, hear the bell and heed the words of our Scribe who will now recount our origins,” the Leader intoned.
She gestured toward an older man, wearing a blue-striped tunic with red trim, standing behind a lectern directly across from her. Next to the scribe, a woman sat behind a carved table on which was a ten-inch-tall bell suspended from a wooden arch.
With solemn deliberation, she pulled the clapper chord, ringing the bell and filling the bunker with its rich tone. The Scribe began speaking in a deep, stately voice.
Our Brit forebears were hearty and brave,
Among them nary a knave.
Adventure filled their minds,
Prompting them in 1750 to save
To buy the ship that they craved.
As the Scribe completed the verse, a Euromamo sitting against the wall struck a muffled drum, punctuating the recitation.
The Cork was sound,
A worthy vessel they had found,
To carry
them west across the sea,
To buoy them there to rich new ground.
With fruit and meat for all around.
A beat on the muffled drum was heard again and would be after each verse that followed.
The voyage from England was long,
With storms wild and strong.
Over many months at sea,
Battered by fate’s wrongs,
But clinging ever to their song.
Captain Gallant was their Leader,
Steering the boat on at a regular meter,
Courageously west toward new lands.
Across the Atlantic he did guide her,
To build a society with mind and matter.
This is the origins story of the Euromamo, Rick thought. Where they came from, who they are, and what they are about. He pulled out his pen and a field journal and wrote furiously.
Our forebears had packed their food,
To tide them through their hungry moods,
But they daily watched their stores decline.
No use though to engage in feud,
Nor in behavior rude.
They knew they were near the end,
When they entered the Caribbean.
‘New shores ahead,’ they said.
‘Fruit for you and me and
Maybe a spot of tea and....’
But before landfall could be had,
A storm came up, quick and mad,
It rocked the good ship Cork,
It frightened girls and lads,
Yea, even their brave dads.
The Cork must find shore,
The crew yelled, ‘We can take no more.’
All knew that they must find
A harbor they could adore,
To save their bodies and their stores.
Captain Gallant was courageous,
Resolute before the dangerous,
But where to bring the Cork to anchor,
With maps that were not meticulous,
Maps distorted, even ridiculous,
On their passage through the Carib Sea,
Land had appeared where it should not be,
Thrust up out of the water magically,
Other map-land not there, surprisingly.
Would their dreams never be?
The sole goal was to anchor,
To escape the sea’s ire and rancor,
To save the Cork and all aboard,
To bar the sea from boasting, ‘I sank her;
I took the ship and its anchor’.
Gallant peered into wind and rain,
Seeking land but all in vain.
Into the ink of night he still looked,
Bent forward, his neck did crane
As the wind whipped his tawny mane.
There were three muffled beats of the drum after this verse rather than one, heightening the tension in the bunker.
Then there was an awful crash,
That tore the mainsail from its lash,
The bow had found coral or rock,
Into a hard block it was mashed,
Ending the voyage in a dash.
The timbers strained and creaked,
Gallant called out, ‘Report on leaks!
Is the water rushing in?’
That would threaten all, brave and meek,
All those who did a new land seek.
‘Sound, Sir, except for the left bow
Where there’s a hole down low
With a rock sticking through it.
We need to plug it but can’t think how.
If we knew, we’d have done it by now.’
‘Can we get off this rocky pier?’
‘No, we’re hung up good, Sir,
And the tide’s going out,
So tomorrow we sink, I fear.
When the tide comes in, we’re finished here.’
Gallant said to stay with the ship.
‘To shore,’ he asked, ‘how long the trip?’
No one had seen a place to land,
A place to unload their grips,
And find sweet water to wet their lips.
So they spent the dark night
On the Cork, companioned by fright
Riding out the blustery storm
Hung on the rock’s height
With no live enemy for the brave to fight.
They did not move with the waves
For the first time in many days,
But the stillness of their boat
In the midst of darkness did not allay
Fear of sinking with morning’s rays.
During the night, they moved their stores
Stacking them up so that only those lower
Would taste the briny sea.
Which would they need more?
Which leave to sink beneath sea’s roar?
How far were they from shore?
No question engaged them more.
At first light, land graced their sight,
A patch of land, delighting to their core,
Making their hopes of survival soar.
They had six small lifeboats
To keep lives and stuff afloat.
Passengers took most of the space.
No room for attitudes haut,
No time to take a vote.
Gallant said take knives, swords,
Guns and powder from the hoard,
A little food, but no pots to cook in
On this first trip. They moved toward
The boats, women going forward.
The cannon had to be left,
In spite of its fighting heft
It was much too heavy
For a small loaded craft,
Bobbing on a shallow draft.
A mate grabbed the ship’s log,
Stashed it away to block wet fog.
It might guide them back
Along the route they had come
When their New World adventure was done.
Gallant’s wife Ann took the ship’s bell,
Held it under her arm very well,
Saving it as a relic of the Cork.
Proof of the boat, forever it would tell
Of the reef they struck, the reef from hell.
The woman gave the bell a crisp ring. Of course! Rick realized, it was the bell from the wrecked ship Cork. Looking closely through the darkness, he could make out the ship’s name on the side of the bell.
Ashore, they huddled on the beach,
Keeping all the group in reach.
Sheltering themselves from the rain.
Gallant peered out, his eyes did seek
The Cork. Had it survived its leak?
In time, the rain did stop
And there was the Cork still atop
The rock that had stabbed its bow.
Gallant got up with a bound
To organize the boats for another round.
Off from the beach they did row,
Pulling the oars with backs low,
Trying to beat the incoming tide
Which might loose the Cork’s bow
And take all down in tow.
But halfway out, the Cork did sink.
Without fanfare, quick as a wink,
It slipped into the deep,
Thankfully, before they had linked
Their small boats to be pulled into the ink.
When the life boats did return,
All gathered so they could learn
About their ship and stuff
And how their lives had made a turn.
Who of them could make wood burn?
Gallant spoke, a forceful man,
‘There is no return to England.
The Cork has gone down
Taking the tools needed by our hands
To take us home to King George’s land.
‘We and our descendants will live here
In this strange land and fight our fears.
We’ll build new lives the best we can do
O
ur eyes open, without a tear,
Our minds alert, forever clear.’
His speech was bracing and true
And a spur to action, too.
They soon found that the reef
That broke their boat bow in two,
Kindly gave them fish in lieu.
They learned, wandering around,
That others claimed this same ground.
They walked not on vacant land,
Ready to be dotted by English towns,
Perched on green Cotswold mounds.
At first, with natives there was peace,
But then civility ceased.
Quarrels became spats,
Fights with no surcease.
Alas, they had no title, no lease.
With no ship to ride the waves that rose,
The sea was to them foreclosed
So they fought their way south, up river
No time to strut and pose.
Pack the boats but not their woes.
They pulled the boats loaded with stuff,
Stuff they feared was not enough.
Courage it took from those brave souls,
To push into the interior yet they must.
No benefit to gripe or fuss.
The river current was strong
And tired them all ‘ere long.
Soon rested, they pulled their boats again,
Not pausing even for a song,
As they moved their stuff along.
They encountered groups fierce and able,
Lacking a known tribal label.
None allowed others on their lands,
Our forebears invited some to feed,
But soon followed squabbles, then deadly deeds.
More men were killed than their mates.
Poison darts brought them dark fate.
Women guarded camps and kids
But couldn’t shield from native hate
Their men dying at a high rate.
Four years, they fought up river,
When they heard a tale that made some shiver
The Primomamo told them of a valley fair
With no people there because arrows from a quiver
Could not kill the evil spell-givers.
Gallant called a meeting straightaway
And told them this was a special day.
They had found a place where they could settle.
With no one about to drive them away,
A valley where they could safely stay.
The Blue Disc Page 3
