The Blue Disc

by William B. Waits

  John leaned toward Rick and spoke quietly, “This is the worst part of our visits with the Adamamo, even worse than the expense of the gifts we present. Their exchange people act like the pushiest shopkeepers you can imagine, insisting on trying to exchange things with us they have acquired through their trading connections. Of course, we have even wider trading connections than they do and, in almost all cases, already know about the items they are trying to sell us. In sum, they want to exchange with us for things we already have or don’t want to acquire. We have complained to them about their insistence on exchanging but to no avail. They say the income from their exchanges is necessary to support the games they put on for us and other groups in the region. They have a point, I grant, but the fact remains: they drag us though an appalling number of exchange pitches.”

  The young woman continued her effort for a minute or so. For the most part, the audience merely indulged her although her enthusiasm got a smile from a few. Some used this time to get another brew from a nearby server while others drifted away to a nearby hut.

  “They’re headed to the water closet,” said John.

  After the woman’s spiel, Rick got a good look at the hats she was exchanging and recognized them as identical to ones he’d seen in the Euromamo village. She noticed his interest as she perused the crowd, and headed directly toward him, holding a hat out toward him so he could examine it closely. Rick held up his hands and waved them horizontally to indicate “no,” but she was undaunted, continuing to pitch the hats in a lilting voice. He was unsure of what to do, but John stepped forward and cut her off with a few short but firm words in her language and led Rick away. Rick looked back over his shoulder and saw her turn to others, unfazed, using the same musical voice to entice anyone willing to listen about her hats.

  “I wish I had a blue privacy disc that worked on her,” Rick said. “Thanks for saving me.”

  “Believe me, I understand, but she wouldn’t respond to a simple solution like a disc,” he said stiffly.

  After the hat girl concluded, the analysts resumed their conversation about the upcoming game with the same vigor as before. At the end, they took questions from the audience. Some of the questions were very specific and difficult, but the analysts fielded each one of them, backed by strong opinions.

  The rich-voiced analyst announced, “Now’s the time everyone’s been waiting for, the time when the Monkeys and the Caimans will show their skills. Follow us to the field to enjoy this exciting contest.”

  The analysts led the way, striding purposefully down a wide, well-maintained path southward from the village. As they walked, Adamamo offered the crowd hats, scarves, and armbands in the colors of the two teams. Those who took them always gave gifts in return, Rick observed. As they rounded a hill about seventy yards outside the village, Rick stopped short and gazed in amazement at the immense structure that stood before him. All he could see was the outside of it as it completely surrounded the field. It rose about twenty-five feet and extended a full eighty yards long and another fifty yards wide. Over the main entrance was a banner that read, in English, “We Welcome Your Scato.”

  “This is astonishing,” said Rick, in a low voice, to John. “This has to be the biggest structure in the rain forest. It’s even bigger than the entertainment center.”

  “Yes, it’s much bigger. The Adamamo have spared no expense in creating fine facilities for spectators at their games. In this, they’re unparalleled in the rain forest. While our recreational fields and playgrounds are ample and well-maintained, we’ve comparatively little seating at our fields, nothing like this...but then again, we do more playing than spectating. Playing tells us how our bodies are doing and teaches us sportsmanship.” John leaned forward and said quietly, “Notwithstanding the large size of this facility, our total social wealth is easily greater than theirs.”

  As he entered the stadium, Rick paused to take in the sight of the seats circling the field. The Adamamo had labored mightily to construct this stadium. He noticed that above him were rows of large padded seats, mostly unoccupied. As soon as he took his first step upward toward them, John grabbed his elbow.

  “The Euromamo seats are down here,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the smaller, unpadded seats in the lower section.

  “Why can’t we sit up there?” Rick asked.

  “You have to give a lot of gifts to the Adamamo to sit up there, certainly more gifts than we can justify.”

  “So the higher padded seats…”

  “…are reserved for the Spectamamo at this game. During the welcoming presentations, I saw you looking at the gifts the Spectamamo presented.”

  “I haven’t seen such an array of valuable gifts during my time in the rain forest,” Rick responded.

  “Sixteen bags of them, a lot more than our mere six bags. Their exchanges didn’t stop there. On our walk to the stadium, the Spectamamo exchanged for more of the team-colored items than we did. Be assured that the Adamamo keep careful records of the gift exchanges that each visiting group makes at their games. The amount the Spectamamo gave and exchanged entitles them to sit in the padded seats above us.”

  “How are the Spectamamo able to present such gifts if they aren’t as wealthy as the Euromamo?”

  “I don’t know, but I suspect the Spectamamo spend almost all of their disposable income on the games. Doubtless, it’s a terrible drain on their resources.”

  “That’s a lot for padded seats,” commented Rick.

  “Giving up a chunk of their wealth to see these games isn’t the only impact they have on Spectamamo society. After their village developed a passion for watching Adamamo games, they lost interest in active recreation. Not surprisingly, they have become heavier, their bums padded, just like their stadium seats,” John said with a chuckle.

  “But many among the Euromamo were also excited about seeing these games, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, many Euromamo like them. However, the Spectamamo are fully devoted to watching the games whereas we’re devoted in only a half-ass way,” John said with a smile. “In our opinion, it’s expensive enough just to get in.”

  Once they settled into their seats, Rick looked at the field. Near each end was a large pole about ten-feet tall and a foot in diameter. A third pole the same size stood in the middle of the field. The center pole had two large rings tied to its top so they hung loose on either side. A boundary made of white powder surrounded the field that Rick guessed was made from a crushed soft mineral. A midline divided the field in half.

  The Adamamo horn players, who’d entertained earlier during the reception ceremony, entered the field from underneath the stands, followed by drummers. Their rousing music lifted everyone’s spirits. While they were playing, the athletes entered through the same passageway under the stands, looking splendid in green or orange uniforms. Rick counted fifteen players per side.

  “They’ll do a bit of a knock about at first,” said John.

  “The teams are large,” Rick mumbled.

  “Only eight per side play at any one time.”

  “OK,” said Rick as he watched them run about. “They seem fit.”

  “The Adamamo are known for producing superb athletes, and these games showcase the strongest and fittest among them. Moreover, in recent decades, they’ve recruited good athletes from other groups to play on their teams, so you could say these are the best in the region.”

  “How do they get athletes from other groups to come here? Don’t they want to stay with their own people?”

  “The Adamamo place great temptations before them. For example, the recruited athletes don’t have to hunt, fish or perform any other labor, as they would in their native villages. They only train and play in the games. For this, the Adamamo compensate them very handsomely and they’re held in high esteem…and then there are the young women….”

  Officials brought out two ropes, orange and green, that were about two inches in diameter and about fifteen feet in length.

&nb
sp; “We made the ropes for them out of fiber plant,” said John.

  The officials placed the ropes perpendicular to the midline, then they held up two colored balls, about the size of grapefruits, and placed them at midfield.

  “What’s the goal of the game?” asked Rick.

  “You try to pull your rope into your end of the field and wrap it around your goal post twice while the other team tries to prevent you from doing so. You can also score points by putting your team’s ball through either of the rings on the center pole provided the scorer is held up by a teammate while he puts the ball through the ring. The other team, of course, tries to prevent the scoring, while trying to score points with their own ropes and balls at the same time. Thus, teams have to play offense and defense at the same time and in different parts of the field. The first team with ten points wins. You get double points if you take your opponent’s rope or ball and score with them. Although the play is somewhat rough, rules against fouls keep it reasonable.”

  Before the game started, one of the trumpet players blew three notes and the athletes stopped what they were doing. About forty or fifty Adamamo, positioned at the bottom of the stands, began to climb up the stairs holding items over their heads or carrying bags of items by their sides. As they ascended the steps, they tried to engage spectators in conversation.

  “More Adamamo efforts at exchange,” said John, thoroughly disgruntled. “It’s so bad of them. Right when everyone’s ready for the game to begin and they charge up the gangways with their stuff, chasing scato. Hard not to get barking mad at them.”

  “The Adamamo don’t make the products they exchange at the games, do they? If they did, it seems like they could expand their economy.”

  “They could, but they make virtually no products to exchange; they trade for them and then sell at a profit. Although they can survive as middlemen, their economy is two dimensional: trade and games.”

  “Do you ever exchange for anything offered by a vendor?” asked Rick.

  “Very rarely. Once, I kept track and only one item out of twenty interested me in the least, yet I had to listen to them chatter on about the other nineteen. I ended up not even exchanging for the one.”

  He then paused to recollect.

  “Ten or twelve years ago, I remember exchanging for a belt with an unusual buckle. I think the Mexamamo had made it.”

  “That’s not many exchanges,” replied Rick.

  One Adamamo woman who was walking up the steps of the stands had a sign on her box of goods that said in English, “Buy My Shit.”

  “Is she aware of the crudeness of her sign?” asked Rick.

  “No telling if she knows, but it certainly reflects their attitude. They use the phrase commonly when offering their goods to us for exchange.”

  Rick looked through the stands, observing the Adamamo hawking goods. The Euromamo seemed to merely tolerate the conversations. Many broke off the conversations as soon as they could and a few even yelled out to start the game. The Adamamo smiled, seemingly oblivious to these responses, and continued offering their items. Luckily for Rick and John, no Adamamo approached them.

  After about five minutes, the trumpeter blew the same three notes as previously and the official raised his arms, whereupon eight players from each team took their positions for the start of the game. The official tossed the orange ball to the Caimans and the green ball to the Monkeys. Then two Caimans grabbed the end of the orange rope and two Monkeys grabbed the other end of that rope. The procedure was the same with the green rope: two Monkeys and two Caimans. Once positioned, the teams stood glaring into the eyes of their opponents. At the signal of the official, they began tugging fiercely at the ropes. The Monkeys quickly added another teammate to tug on the green rope and pulled the Caimans down the field and almost got the green rope wrapped around their pole before the Caimans fought back. While the Caimans’ defensemen were occupied with preventing the rope-wrap, their other teammates were able to put their ball through a ring on the center pole. The Monkeys contested the score, but the official ruled it counted. Throughout the play, some Adamamo moved throughout the stands offering beverages and snacks in return for gifts.

  After about twenty minutes of play, the trumpeter blew his horn and the athletes stopped. Adamamo moved once again through the stands with their items, offering to exchange them with spectators for gifts. They talked to anyone who would listen, and to others who wouldn’t listen. A Euromamo only three rows down from Rick walked away in mid-conversation from the Adamamo trying to get him to exchange for decorated gourd cups.

  “Isn’t that a rude way to treat a host?” Rick asked John.

  “We think they’re the ones who are rude, Rick, for approaching us so often. We walk away from their overtures all the time. Both the Adamamo and the Euromamo have come to expect it. When it happens, the Adamamo just move on to another target. Believe me, they aren’t fazed with what you characterize as our rudeness. They’ve little sense of what’s cricket and what’s not.”

  During the next five minutes, Rick saw five other Euromamo brush off Adamamo exchangers in the stands, either by walking away or by turning their backs to them. Looking up, Rick saw the Adamamo had better luck exchanging with the Spectamamo above him.

  Finally, the trumpeter blew his horn and the game resumed. The competition was fierce, with the Monkeys leading until the Caimans stole their rope and scored with it, a deft move that changed the dynamic of the game. Rick was getting into it even though the official stopped the game every twenty minutes so the Adamamo could work the stands with their bags of goods. It was an enormous distraction.

  Halfway through, there was a longer break during which the teams left the field, leaving pretty, young female Adamamo dancers to entertain the crowd. Rick couldn’t help but notice their provocative attire. In rain forest groups other than the Euromamo, women commonly went bare breasted. That was the case with Adamamo women, except that the dancers wore shelf bras that supported their breasts from underneath but provided no coverage for their nipples which had been painted in team colors.

  “Some brassieres that they have on,” Rick observed to John, trying not to leer.

  “They’re modeled on the brassieres that our Euromamo women still wear. The Adamamo thought our garments somewhat quaint and adapted them for their dancers.”

  While the young women entertained, Adamamo continued to push exchanges in the stands. Throughout the second half, the score remained close but, toward the end, a Caiman defenseman knocked down a Monkey who was holding up his teammate for an attempted score, causing a loud uproar in the stands. Soon thereafter, the Caimans captured the Monkeys’ green ball and put it through a center ring, thereby achieving a hard-fought victory. As the crowd filed out of the stadium with John, he saw the Leader a few steps ahead of them on the broad path that led back to the Adamamo village and caught up with her. Rick was always interested her insights.

  “Quite a game,” remarked Rick, opening up the conversation.

  “Yes, indeed. Very fine,” responded the Leader. “I thought the Monkeys had it in hand until they lost their ball toward the end. I assume John gave you a synopsis of the rules.”

  “Yes, he did. It was very helpful.”

  “What did you think about the game, Rick?” she asked.

  “They are remarkable athletes, to be sure, but what struck me most was the number of interruptions during the game so the Adamamo could conduct exchanges. There must have been ten and many were at crucial points of the game, just as the teams were building momentum.”

  “Twelve interruptions,” interjected the Leader grumpily.

  “If I didn’t know better,” said Rick, “I’d think the exchanges were more important than the game.”

  “Maybe you do know better,” said the Leader, with a wry smile. “They drive the event.”

  “Are the Adamamo successful in making a lot of exchanges at their games?”

  “They say they do and we have no evidence to disprov
e it. What I know is that I have lost patience with it over the years. These days, it’s difficult to sit with equanimity while people are trying to exchange something with me that I already own, or have no interest in owning. Mostly the latter. I’m narked just talking about it.”

  “A lot of us feel that way, Leader,” offered John.

  “Have you talked with them about reducing the number of exchange offerings?” asked Rick.

  “Many times. It’s a main point of our discussions with them. We say we’re tired of their constant entreaties to exchange, but they insist they’re vital to financing the games. We remained at an impasse for years,. The breakthrough came when we told them we wouldn’t attend their games if they constantly hounded us to exchange. Only then did they agree to limit the number of episodes per game to eight and agree to not stuff flyers in our pockets at any time.”

  “Stuff flyers in your pockets?” asked Rick, incredulously.

  “They did it regularly and it was awful. Sometimes our pockets even got torn as we tried to turn away while their hands were still inside. We got them to stop that, but you can never be sure they’ll abide by our agreement.”

  “Were there other issues?”

  “Yes. We wanted their huts to be sanctuaries where we would be free from their overtures. Finally, they agreed to that. This allows us to enjoy some peace while we’re here and to have civil discussions about various matters of interest. I’m going now to talk with the Adamamo Chief about the excessive number of exchange periods—twelve of them! Well over our agreement on eight.”