Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  After travelling another four hours, we came to the small creek called Juan Branch. March was the month with the least rainfall in the area; yet, the creek had a full steady stream of clear and clean water. Juan Branch flowed at the bottom of a small vale formed by the hill we had walked across and the spur of a taller mountain to the north. As the creek was indeed filled with ‘sweet water’, we refilled our canteens, at times having trouble avoiding the small fishes that abounded. We rested a short while in the shadowed moist and cool environment of Juan Branch. It was only the deep shade in some areas that withheld a little of the beauty of the small rivulet. Butterflies were plentiful. There were blues, yellows, whites, blacks, browns, hundreds of the orange and black Monarchs, all flitting among the many colorful bromeliads that grew from the cracks and crevices of the branches and trunks of the trees. An occasional epiphyte was so colorful that one could have mistaken it for a male bird ritually displaying its colors to a potential mate.

  Illustration 11: Juan Branch: Pte. Taylor, R., Pte. Anderson, H., Mr. Harry Parham.

  Illustration 12: Juan Branch: Mr. Harry Parham, Pte. Hulse, M.

  Clarke was busy with his cameras and Parham was again taking notes so I stretched out on the bankside eating a bun, my boots partly in the water of the creek.

  “Try not to get the inside of the boots wet, Sarge,” cautioned Anderson. “We want to avoid foot problems as long as possible.”

  I smiled at the reprimand. “Thanks, Medic.” Private Anderson was the one in charge of the medical supplies and the only one, other than me, who had done the Red Cross First Aid Course. I pulled my boots onto the bank and took out our expedition map from a plastic case in my bergen. Private Hulse came over and together we tried to pinpoint where we were. The map was printed in 1964 but was probably just a reprint of a much earlier map. Therefore, its accuracy with respect to roads and camps was questionable. Mountains and rivers, however, did not usually move in a lifetime and as that map was all we had, we were going to use it as best we could.

  We identified where we were without any difficulty, about one mile east-southeast of Campo Chico.56 It would prove very helpful should we find the remains of Campo Chico because, just beyond that camp, the map showed a fork in the old road. One road led to the north across Lindbergh Hill and towards Don Pedro Camp. The other would take us generally westwardly towards Sali Si Puede Camp57 and make the eventual route to Victoria Peak longer. I closed the map and got the men together to resume the journey. We had covered seven-and-a-quarter miles in six hours and twenty-five minutes of walking.

  I saw Clarke looking at me. “What’s the matter,” I asked, hoping that there wasn’t a problem … like ‘I want to go home’. I really didn’t want a problem from the civilians.

  “What is Tóolok?” he asked.

  I didn’t expect that question. I looked at him, startled, then I smiled, relieved that it wasn’t a request to withdraw. My men laughed out loudly and I had no choice but to join in. “Tóolok, is the Maya word for lizard and is the name of my kak.58 Corporal Shal gave it that name.”

  Clarke’s jaw dropped and he looked sideways at Parham, who looked back. They both appeared quite flabbergasted at my comment.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Clarke,” I remarked, between laughs. Corp says that my kak looks like a tóolok because the skin over my kakhead has an extra piece that hangs. Have you seen a lizard standing upright on a fence? Clarke did not answer. “Every now and again, a piece of orange colored skin pops out from under its neck when it’s excited.”

  “The corporal called it that?” asked Clarke, his voice very hesitant.

  I laughed again. I was actually enjoying myself. “Corp and I have been bathing naked in ponds and rivers from we were little boys, Clarke. Now that we are men, Clarke, we still bath naked and, sometimes, there’s only one woman to go around and so we share.” The men were holding on to their stomachs, amidst guffaws. Parham was beginning to smile. “Other times, there are two women, but why waste money on two hotel rooms when we can share one. After all, our salaries aren’t that great. And that extra piece of skin on my kak, Clarke, it is an erotic stimulus.” I thought the men would roll on the ground. “Okay, men! Enough of Tóolok. We have a mountain to climb, not a woman,” I was finally able to say.

  “Tóolok!” chuckled Clarke, shaking his head. Then, he smiled.

  We started climbing the steep spur of Lindbergh Hill and just some three hundred yards from Juan Branch found the remains of what could have been an old logging camp. There was a rusted drum and part of the thatched roof of a shed.

  “I don’t think this is Campo Chico,” said Hulse. “It’s too close to Juan Branch.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And when it flooded this area would probably be covered.”

  “Maybe it was just a resting spot by the river,” suggested Clarke. The men laughed out loudly and I had to smile.

  “That’s not a river, Clarke,” upbraided Taylor. “But then, I suppose you don’t have rivers in Barbados. That’s a creek.” Clarke grunted and smiled. It had suddenly become obvious who would be the target for additional humor during the mission.

  “Let’s go,” I shouted. “Let’s keep looking to the right for the fork or else we’ll end up going to Sali Si Puede.”

  We searched for the remains of the road to the north but could not find it in the undergrowth. Every five or ten minutes, Hulse would give me the compass reading. We were travelling west-southwest and uphill and the actual walking conditions were less demanding than I had initially thought they would be. I knew, nevertheless, that the only reason for it was that we continued to come across and walk on an old road. Even after all the years since the roads were used for logging, they still kept fighting against the jungle, trying to keep their existence intact, if only for their historical significance. The roads were losing ground, however, for the jungle was adamant in covering them and forever hiding any evidence of the history of their intrusions.

  I saw that the uphill climb was taking its toll, especially on Parham. Luckily, we still had a skeleton of the road so we did not have to do much machete work. At four-o-clock, I called a halt. I knew that darkness would come suddenly upon us and I wanted to have a camp set up so that we would be comfortable. I also wanted to assess how the civilians would react to the jungle at night. There was no water where I had called the halt, but I expected that the Mexican Branch would not be far off. I sent Hulse and Parham to do a reconnaissance of the area west of us to see if they could locate the Mexican Branch or any other source of water. They returned in fifteen minutes having found a small creek. Parham and Taylor then went for water while we proceeded with making camp.

  I was never one for elaborate camps; yet, I thought that I should make the camp as clean of the litter that covered the jungle floor, as possible. Sleeping on the ground never bothered me and I was not really afraid of the creatures of darkness, large or small. I did have a slight fear, however, of a small worm, centipede, or other insect crawling into my ear as I slept, or a scorpion getting into my clothes and placing Tóolok in danger of being stung. It had never happened.

  Hulse and Taylor had chopped some small branches to use as rakes and we started cleaning an area over the old road. They began cutting down a few small trees from which they were going to fashioned a tapesco, a triangular platform raised about five feet off the ground. I didn’t think it necessary, but when Hulse had strongly suggested building tapescos, during our initial meetings, I had decided not to object.

  “Let me help with the chopping,” offered Clarke.

  “Stick with the rake for now,” grinned Taylor. “I don’t want your soft Bajan hands to get blisters so early in the trip. The medic will put me on detail.”

  “My hands aren’t soft,” mumbled Clarke, looking at his hands. “Remember Barbados is sugar cane country. I’ve used the machete before.”

  Taylor came over and felt Clarke’s hands. He shook his head saying, “Not in a long time.” I couldn’t help
but join in the laughter. “But you and Parham could begin moving the crutches for the tapesco into place,” finished Taylor.

  A tree trunk or stout branch with a crutch at its upper end was placed at each apex of the triangular tapesco and each was tied to a tree, with rope we had brought along for this purpose. Three long sturdy trunks were placed from crutch to crutch to form the base of the elevated platform. Once those were placed and tested to be solid enough, the platform itself was made from branches two to three inches thick. It was just becoming dark when our engineering was done.

  Nighttime, March 30, 1972.

  It had been a long day and I decided to halt my reminiscing. As I sat, leaning against the chac-pom tree, a few yards away from the camp watching the men, I felt very happy. To me it was the most beautiful sight in the world. The site was very clean and the tapesco large enough to have all of us sleep on it. Parham was writing the field notes and Clark had one of his cameras in his hand, looking about him, trying to catch the last picture before nightfall. Lance Corporal-the-Bas-Shal, as he was good-humoredly called, had lit the kerosene hurricane lantern and was reading from his Bible. Anderson was beside him, studying the expedition map he had gotten from me. Narrow beams of fading sunlight that found narrow spaces in the canopy above, lit the area giving our camp a focused look amidst the overgrown alameda. Tall ferns, over ten feet in height, hung their fronds over the camp. Hulse was being busy as usual and was making a small fire. Bas left his Bible and began supervising Hulse’s attempts. We were not going to cook, but a warm cup of coffee or tea was going to be good. For supper we would have poada bons or janikayks 59 and cheese, or canned corned beef.

  Even with the sounds of the night creatures, the jungle at night is a land at peace. In the towns or villages there is the sound of people talking, or working, the sound of an occasional vehicle, or music. In the jungle, if there is no breeze, if there is not a river or creek nearby, there are times when time drifts on and on soundlessly for hours. A dead leaf falling from a tree is loud enough to awaken someone. That did not mean that the creatures of the darkness were not moving about. It simply means that we did not hear them. There were toads, frogs, slugs, snails, bugs, centipedes, millipedes, earthworms, nematodes, ants, moths, mosquitoes, and there were scorpions with their painful stings, but we didn’t think about them. And there were also bigger animals like bats, owls, mice, skunks, raccoons, badgers, and snakes with their poisonous fangs, but we also didn’t think about them. And there were even bigger animals. Then there were others according to legends. We had entered those creatures’ domain and they would want to know who we were. They would seek us out, cautiously, silently. On the other hand, we, the invaders, would not necessarily want to know who they were and, most times, would definitely prefer not to meet with them.

  Yes! It had been a good day. We had made good progress and the men were in high spirits, laughing and talking. We were an army mission, not in a foreign land, but an expedition in our own land. We anticipated no enemies. Difficulties? Perhaps. It would, nevertheless, be difficulties that the land itself had to give out and we would deal with them as they came. That was my land … my jungle. There would be nothing strange.

  We had all eaten and placed our bergens on the tapesco, for safety. Parham, Clarke and I were seated on the tapesco while the others sat around the healthy fire. We had taken out our flask of brandy for the one allotted shot per night. One of the men had turned on a small battery radio I had brought so we could keep abreast of news, and music was playing quietly in the background. It wasn’t Bas. It wasn’t me. We preferred the natural sounds of the jungle.

  We were all relaxed, but I was, somewhat, still concerned that we were on the Sali Si Puede road and not the one going north. It was not that that would, in itself, present greater hardships. It was simply that by going west, we would be adding additional miles to our walk. I had given myself five days, up to seven, for the expedition and I wanted to remain within that framework. And, after all, there was all that cold beer and that warm body waiting for me … any warm body … actually, there were many warm bodies waiting for me. Haha!

  Lance Corporal-the-Bas-Shal suddenly lifted his hand to quieten us. I saw each man, except the civilians, place their hand on their rifle. The only sound was that of the radio. I nodded my head, indicating to the radio. It was switched off. The effect of the complete silence was almost overwhelming. I saw Clarke start to fidget. I looked at Bas, my eyes indicating that I wanted to know what was happening. “I heard a creaking sound …like something breaking,” he murmured. We listened, not moving. I knew, immediately, that the men, especially the civilians would be thinking of a jaguar or a mountain lion. I was thinking more of a mouse … that was until I heard the creak myself. It was loud, too loud to be made by a mouse. I frowned and Clarke, who was beside me, opened his eyes wide. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him reach for his camera from out his bergen. For a few seconds there was nothing then the creak returned very loudly, just behind me. It seemed to be right upon us.

  Hulse jumped up, held tightly on to his rifle and stared into the darkness of the surrounding jungle while Clarke and Parham hurled themselves away from the noise. I felt myself leaning backwards, falling, and I saw Clarke and Parham rolling over towards me, then their bodies slammed into mine and we were tumbling through the air. I hit the ground and was, immediately, covered by the two civilians and most of the tapesco flooring. I pushed whoever it was from off my face and saw Hulse pointing at the crutch nearest me. He and the other soldiers started howling with laughter. I glared at the tree crutch. It had split right down the trunk, causing the tapesco to collapse.

  I stood up, guardedly. Above the laughter of the men, deep from within the darkened jungle, the unexpected sound of crazy laughter, Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, made the men halt in their mirth. If it were not dark, I would have seen hairs standing and koal seed.60 “It’s only a kos61 … a hawk,” I explained, then I turned to Hulse.

  “What happened, Hulse?” I asked. “I thought you were supervising the building of the tapesco.” I was already aware and glad that no one was hurt and nothing broken. However, I was fokin angry that an accident had even happened. I didn’t want accidents.

  “Sorry, Sarge,” Hulse replied, rubbing his chin, trying to subdue his laughter. “I suppose the crutch I used was too young. A virgin.”

  Taylor started to laugh again. “You should know better than using a young virgin crutch for a tapesco, Hulse. You have to use old husk,62 a crutch that can stand up to a lot of weight. You disappoint me man.”

  “Oh, shut up,” retorted Hulse, good humorously.

  “A young virgin crutch,” murmured Clarke, smiling and shaking his head. He was examining his cameras, presumably to see if any were damaged.

  “Are there virgins in Barbados, Clarke?” asked Taylor.

  “Well, here we go,” I chuckled.

  “Yes,” answered Clarke. “Of course, there are.”

  Illustration 13: Preparing the Camp Site. Privates Anderson and Hulse, and Mr. Parham.

  Illustration 14: The Tapesco. Private Anderson and Mr. Parham.

  “Then what are you doing, Clarke?” challenged Taylor. “How come there are still virgins in Barbados? Aren’t you fucking at all?”

  “Of course, I fuck. I fuck all the time … but I can’t fuck every girl in Barbados. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to,” Clarke responded, looking directly at Taylor.

  “Well, we Belize man must be different from you Bajan man. There’s not a virgin living near my house,” boasted Taylor, proudly puffing out his chest. The men were laughing, even Bas.

  “To the Virgins to Make Much of Time,” announced Hulse, sitting down near the fire and poking it with a stick, causing the embers to glow and sparkle. He continued:

  “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

  Old time is still a-flying:

  And this same flower that smiles today,

  Tomorrow will be dying.

 
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

  The higher he’s a getting

  The sooner will his race be run,

  And nearer he’s to setting.

  That age is best which is the first,

  When youth and blood are warmer;

  But being spent, the worse, and worst

  Times, still succeed the former.

  Then be not coy, but use your time;

  And while ye may, go marry:

  For having lost but once your prime,

  You may forever tarry.”63

  “Correct,” agreed Taylor, as the men grinned. “You have to convince the virgins to lose that bit of flesh or else they may never get the chance to lose it again … and then that cherry will turn into a raisin or worse yet, a prune.”

  “That’s not all the poem is about,” countered Clarke. “The poem talks about marriage… not just sex.”

  “Marriage! That word ain’t in my vocabulary,” answered Taylor.

  “Hulse! You ought to recite your prayers like you recite poetry … if you call that poetry,” grinned Bas, amused.

  The men continued joking and I was happy to see them so relaxed. I would not have bothered to rebuild the tapesco, but the men wanted to. After ‘Engineer Hulse’ surveyed the damage, he concluded that the reason for the collapse was indeed that he had used a young crutch. It was decided among the men that should we decide to build another tapesco, Taylor would look for the crutches as he was more familiar with older crutches than younger ones.