Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  After rebuilding the tapesco, I told the men it was time to hit the sac. I divided the night into watches, mainly for training purposes and I took the first one.

  I sat with my back to a tree near the fire, enjoying the jungle night and the few sounds it emitted. I tried to brush away a thought that had come to me over and over again throughout the day, and the days before. I couldn’t understand why her face kept coming back to me. I didn’t know her. I didn’t even want to know her. Fuck her? Yes! I’d fuck her. She was young and pretty. I’d fuck anything that was young and pretty and when I’m drunk, I fuck anything that walks and had pussy. I didn’t know if she were a virgin like the jungle I was going through, but I supposed it was a possibility, after all, she did not live near Taylor. I smiled. Yeah! I’d have her. Of course, I reprimanded myself for that was really silly and insensitive thinking. She was missing. Presumed dead. And Gus was probably in jail pending murder charges, but here I was absolutely being myself, as usual. I knew Gus and I didn’t think that Gus had the balls to murder someone. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me he liked my sister. What on earth was he doing with a Belize City gyal … and a teacher at that? And he had my sister crazy about him. It was obvious that he liked the girl, but I doubted that he fucked her. He was probably still a virgin as I am sure my sister hadn’t given him anything and I didn’t think Molly gave him any pussy either. Then, perhaps, it was only my male machismo making me think that I was the only man fucking … and, of course, there was Taylor. I shook my head trying to rid me of the persistent image, but the face of Molly Cervantez kept looking at me, kept smiling at me. Within her smile and her large, bright and beautiful brown eyes, I saw a trace of fear.

  I was unaware of how much time had passed when I heard the sound of light rainfall on the canopy above. The drizzle was so light that the drops did not make it through to us except in small areas where the canopy was broken. I checked my watch and realized that my time for guard duty was long over. I handed over to Lance Corporal-the-Bas-Shal and promptly went to sleep … on the ground … on my land … in my beautiful jungle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE MEXICAN BRANCH

  Good Friday. March 31, 1972

  At six-o-clock on the morning of the second day of our expedition, I sent Hulse and Taylor back on the road we had walked. They were to look for the fork and the road to the north that we had missed the day before. Two hours later, they returned without any success having walked all the way back to Juan Branch. I was disturbed that we were having a late start, but had gambled that they would find the fork. They hadn’t and we had in turn lost valuable time. Then, much to my annoyance, more time was lost as all the men said they wanted to shit just after we had started walking. I fought my anger. That could not be a coincidence. I lost my anger, however, as I looked at all six men stooping down in a straight line, their naked asses facing the dense jungle. Hulse was holding on to the roll of toilet paper, instructing the men how many pieces of tissue were to be used. I couldn’t let them see me smile, but I had to say out aloud:

  “Mary Mary quite contrary,

  How does your garden grow?

  With silver bells and cockle shells

  And shitting soldiers in a row.”

  I was given a standing ovation then the men returned to their shitting, which I honestly did not believe was really happening, but I had no intention to look.

  Taylor proclaimed, “I know a better one, Sarge,” as he grabbed the toilet paper from Hulse.

  “Mary had a little lamb

  She took it home to sleep.

  The lamb turned out to be a ram

  And Mary had a sheep.”

  Of course, the men began laughing and complementing Taylor on his great recitation. I was sure that this shitting episode was arranged just to annoy me and they weren’t really shitting at all.

  Parham then decided to add his contribution. “I once wrote a poem to my girlfriend.” He stood up and with his hands to the jungle, he began:

  “Through all the pathways we are going …”

  Parham paused for effect.

  “You are the desire of my loin.”

  Clarke forehead immediately furrowed. There were the beginnings of laughter.

  “When our lips touch and our hips mush,

  I feel like I am dying.”

  There was absolute quiet. Anderson asked, “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t say anything,” replied Parham, as he stooped down again, “but she left mi rass.”64

  I thought the men would fall into their shit, that is, if there were any and I found myself laughing as well.

  “Okay, soldiers. Clean your asses and let’s go … and don’t do this again. Shit at night or early morning or I’ll leave you behind.”

  “Sarge!” they all shouted.

  Putting things together also took longer than it should have as the men were still breaking out into occasional laughter. We finally resumed our march at ten-o-clock, walking generally westward.

  I was not sure if my agitation at the lost time was showing or if it were the humidity and daytime heat, but the men grew generally quiet, even somber, and I didn’t want that. We had to remain excited about what we were doing. Even Clarke’s shutters were not as frequently heard as before. The only noise was the almost monotonous, absolutely regular sound of Taylor’s chopping. Occasionally, there was a curse as an insect bit him or a branch or thorn tore at his skin.

  Within an hour, we reached the Mexican Branch. I was leading the group, at that time, and much to my surprise, as we approached the river, I saw that the remains of a lumber camp that appeared to be pretty much intact. There were four thatched sheds, three of which surrounded a larger central shed and the air held a distinct fruity smell. We did not need to reconnoiter the area, but I thought it would be a good training exercise so I raised my left hand and the men, immediately, fell to a crouching position, their rifles alternating from Anderson, who was immediately behind me, to Bas who was the rear guard. Of course, the civilians did not know what was happening or what to do and both of them ended up stumbling over the men who were crouching down. My eyes told them to sit quietly and shut up and they did, embracing their knees. I indicated to Taylor and without a sound he was beside me.

  “Go to the left for about fifteen yards and get a good view of the camp,” I murmured. “I’m going to send Hulse to the right to check out the whole camp.” He nodded and faded into the jungle. I beckoned to Hulse.

  “Go to the right and reconnoiter the camp and report back.” Hulse nodded and within moments, he too had faded silently into the jungle.

  I could see that the civilians wanted to ask me what the hell was going on. I simply put my finger to my mouth and they remained absolutely quiet and immobile. There was concern, but no fear on their faces so I concluded that the lives they lived had little fear, if any. I wanted to guess at what they were thinking but knew I would possibly have to smile. A misplaced smile could destroy the seriousness of a training exercise.

  Bas had turned around and was facing the rear, occasionally looking towards me at the front. I gave him no indication of what was happening. There were times when Bas puzzled me. We were the best of friends … brothers … yet, when we were on patrol, he never allowed the friendship we had to infiltrate the relationship of sergeant to lance-corporal. Sometimes, I wanted him to be friendly. Sometimes, I was lonely. There were times when our duties were done and there could be a bit of laxity, but he rarely approached me unless it had something to do with our mission and then he was usually brief. His behavior continuously warned me that when we were in uniform, camaraderie was extremely important, but friendship between ranks was a danger as it could result in making a difficult decision unmanageable. I loved my friend. I owed him a fokin lot.

  Private Hulse returned as quietly as he left. “There’s no one there,” he advised.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” I instructed, standing up. “Taylor,” I shouted. “Come in.” Ta
ylor did not answer. I looked around to Bas and he looked directly at me. I felt his muscles tense. Immediately, he made himself aware of every sound in the jungle around us. His black glassy givnat eyes saw every movement, that of a leaf or of an insect, and he knew the reason for that movement. He heard and saw what we did not. “Taylor,” I shouted again.

  “Coming, Sarge,” he answered. I heard the civilians let out their breath while the others relaxed just a little. Bas looked to the ground and kicked the dry mud with his boot, stirring a little pocket of dust. Taylor returned and I was about to ask him why he didn’t answer right away when I noted a shadow of perplexity on his face. I decided to wait a little before I debriefed him. I led the section into the camp and each soldier took one of the sheds while Bas and I went into the largest one.

  Illustration 15: The Mysterious Mexican Branch Camp.

  Illustration 16: Pte. Hulse, M. at Mexican Branch.

  “Fok,” shouted Anderson, from one of the sheds.

  I heard the faint, almost silent, sound of a bird’s wings beating. “What’s up, Anderson? Frightened yourself?” I shouted loudly. It was time to relax a little.

  “Just an owl I startled. It flew away,” he replied.

  “What kind of owl was it?” I asked.

  “How the fok should I know … Sarge,” he answered.

  “If you don’t know your fokin flora and fauna, soldier, how the fok will you know what to eat when you are in jungle training?”

  “He’ll fokin starve,” shouted Taylor. “Two things I’m never out of, one is food and the other is pussy.”

  “Who the fok’s talking to you, Taylor?” shouted Anderson. “You and your old crutches. Anyway, you’re certainly out of pussy out here.”

  Clarke laughed.

  “Well, the Bajan’s laughing,” announced Taylor.

  “Okay! Who ordered ‘Time Easy’?” I asked.

  As the men continued their observations, the barely audible sound of a creek or small river cooled the heat of the day. The sweet smell of clean mountain water filled my head. I allowed myself a smile. “Icim! It was most likely a Mottled Owl. They’re the commonest in the country. Anyone see a nest?”

  “No, Sarge.”

  “It shouldn’t be out hunting at this time of day. Owls usually hunt at night,” I added, before returning my interest to the large shed. There were a table, stools, beds, and a fire hearth. The general area was overgrown with secondary bush as the road into the camp had been. That was natural, however, for a camp which had not been used for many years. Yet, as I stood in the shed, a presence touched me. The shed had not been vacant for as long as we were thinking, and it certainly hadn’t been used recently by loggers. The furniture were all covered with thick dust, but as I picked up a stool that lay on its side, I noted that the seat had only a slight film of dust, unlike the others. I walked over to the beds. One of them had layers of kuhoon paam65 leaves, brown, but still intact. On the others, the fronds were torn apart and pulverized by time and the elements.

  Bas cleared his throat. “Someone was here not too long ago,” he observed. He felt the kuhoon leaves that were still intact. “One to two weeks since cut.” He wrinkled his nose as if smelling the air.

  I lifted my head and frowned. “Smoke. There’s still a faint smell of smoke.” Bas nodded and we walked over to the fire hearth.

  Bas looked closely at the hearth, lightly touching the pieces of wood that were left there. “This has been used recently.” He glanced up at me and I saw questions in his eyes and furrows lined his forehead. “No one is supposed to be in this part of the jungle, Sarge. Also, there are no leftover cinders.”

  “Perhaps, they burned completely,” I suggested.

  Bas pulled away one of the larger pieces of wood and hurled himself backwards, completely lifting me off the ground and carrying us some five or six feet, knocking over the table and the chairs, both of us hitting the ground with the flat of our backs. I heard the sound of running boots approaching, then the men were there staring down at us, the soldiers trying their best to hide their grimaces after short-lived expressions of concern. The civilians were actually holding their mouth with their hands. Not one of them said a word; neither did Bas.

  “What the fok,” I grunted, gaping at Bas. Clarke, immediately, reached for his camera. “Don’t you fok with that,” I roared. I saw Clarke struggling to control his laughter and Parham turned his head away. “As you were, men” I shouted.

  Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! The sound of crazy deranged laughter came from the nearby jungle and we all turned towards it, but we did not see the kos. There was only the jungle. My jungle.

  “As you were, men.” I repeated. “As I told you before, it’s only a kos … a hawk. Back to what you were doing. Take a break. Jig if you wish. Anything. Just get out of here.” The men slipped away slowly and silently, very amused, then they were running, howling with laughter.

  I glared at Bas.

  “Hashishi Pampi,66” he whispered to me. I stared at him, not believing what he had said. He got up and stretched out his hand to pull me up. If it were anyone other than Bas, I would have ignored that hand. One of us could have been hurt and I wanted no accidents on the walk, especially avoidable ones. He pulled me up.

  Bas and I stepped slowly over to the fire hearth, Bas leading. He cautiously moved about the pieces of wood. There was nothing there. He was obviously puzzled but shared nothing more.

  “It was probably a snake or a lizard,” I suggested and I immediately knew I had made an error in saying that. Bas studied me, his face empty of any emotion. Bas did not make mistakes. I offered nothing else, just stood staring at the fire hearth.

  “Corporal.” I spoke quietly. “It may only be a hunter that camped here.” I shrugged my shoulders. “We’ll keep this to ourselves, at this time.” He nodded. “Hashishi Pampi? Aren’t they just folklore, Bas? Do you believe they really exist?” I shook my head as he did not respond. “No need to say anything. No need to alarm the men.”

  “There are teeth marks on the wood. The burnt parts have been eaten off,” he stressed.

  I picked up one of the pieces and there did appear to be teeth marks on it. “Must be some animal.” Then I began having an odd and weird feeling. Let’s go,” I urged, suddenly.

  The civilians were busy. Clarke was actively taking photos of the logging camp and especially of two Scarlet Macaws that had perched on a large Rum-p’ok 67 tree growing in the center of the camp. The parrots were eating the yellow ovoid fruits, a large amount of which covered the ground giving off the pungent odor I had initially smelled.

  “Clarke.”

  “Yes, Sarge?” He looked at me and I could see the deep interest and enjoyment he was experiencing.

  “There aren’t many more of those left in the jungle,” I muttered, referring to the macaws. “People rob the nesting sites for the young ones. Want to make them pets, but they don’t make good pets. They can be quite destructive, as a matter of fact. They can rip apart all the fronds of a coconut tree in a week. They should be left to the jungle where they belong … but my people … my people. I’d like a picture of those when we get back.”

  “Sure, Sarge,” he answered, returning to his photography. “I’ll make sure you get them.”

  Parham was writing notes. I thought that the other men would have been resting, but the camp seemed to have caught their interest and they were examining it with great curiosity. I was happy to see that a piece of history had gained their attention. Many times, I had seen us leave our history to foreigners to appreciate. I decided to give the civilians more time to document the site and Taylor and myself went ahead to scout the road leading from the camp. I did not have to go far to see that the road took a definite turn to the southwest and, thus, most likely on to Sali Si Puede. I felt somewhat despondent at that fact, but soon relaxed on returning to Mexican Branch. Everyone had striped and was bathing in the river. I looked at Taylor and said “Might as well,” and we joined th
e fun in the cool mountain stream.

  As I swam in the deeper ponds, kicked water, ran over the small rapids and even shouted, I could not help but feel happy to be in what must be one of the few remaining pristine jungles in the world. Fishes were abundant and so tame that I could put my hands out and touch them. King- fishers were everywhere and, occasionally, I heard the call of the macaw parrots and other sounds I knew were associated only with my jungle … the jungle I loved. Too soon, I had to walk up onto the sani-bay68 and shout, “Let’s go, men.”

  We dressed once we had found our clothes. The curses that accompanied the search were not only standard, but very original as well. Hulse had a stream of strange ones including “Flippin-potato-cloth-dog.” I never did find out who hid the clothes, which we found quickly, and I did choose to ignore the fact that a group of cursing naked men running about boulders on a sani-bay did not look very military, but then, maybe, it did.

  We resumed our walk and just after midday found what seemed to be a road forking off to the north and I decided it was worth investigating. The map had not indicated a road there, but as the maps were outdated and possibly inaccurate, we followed the road only to discover that it came to a dead end after a few hundred yards.

  We were about to return to the road going southwest when Parham decided to climb a tree to see if he could get a look at Victoria Peak. He removed his boots and socks and I was astonished at how quickly he scaled the rough bark of the jabin69 tree. There were many tall trees to the north where Victoria Peak was, however, and they blocked Parham’s view. He was able to look to the east and southeast and saw the mountains we had already crossed. His only comment on those mountains was, “They look high no brute.” If it had been one of my soldiers, the comment would have been “Those fokin mountains are fokin high, Sarge.”