Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  Molly Cervantez was not a big woman, but there was no loss of womanhood. I could not see any bruise marks on her back, but as I watched her I felt my anger rise and rise. How she must have suffered when her thumbs were ripped off. I had to save Molly, as I had commanded myself, that would be my mission, and by saving her I would also save myself. It would be difficult for I was not even certain what kind of enemy I was up against, what I would be escaping from or into. However, I had no intentions to die, no intentions to remain in a cage.

  As Molly sat on the stool in the middle of the creek, two Royal Flycatchers131 perched on her head. They looked magnificent with their crests open into a colorful fan, swaying their head from side to side. The male’s crest was a spectacular scarlet with a black border and purple spots. The female’s was similar except that it was golden. The birds used their feet to comb her hair while Ringed Kingfishers132 and Green Kingfishers133 darted into the water then rose above her, shuffling in flight, causing water to cascade over her body. Several Black Spider Monkeys134 rubbed down her body with branches of buttonwood135 that were covered with greenish and white flowers. Molly Cervantez was right. Something was happening. If she did not know what was happening, I certainly did. Sisimito was getting a wife, a Sisimita, and that’s why Molly was still alive. She was to be married to Sisimito. Me? Why was I alive? I didn’t know, but I did grasp that if I didn’t escape, I would soon be dead.

  The animals kept up their rituals until they were satisfied their jobs were done after which they left. Many ts’unu’uns 136 or Purple-Crowned Fairies137 crowded around her, drying her hair and skin with their rapidly moving wings, their beautiful blue-green backs, gardenia white underparts and purple crowns moving lightly and gracefully beside her. When they were through, they too left.

  Molly sat still for a time, the only movement being the nervous tapping of her feet in the water. She got up, suddenly, and ran up the path to my cage. She was captivating and I knew that Tóolok was fighting hard not to move, but he lost the battle and moved. Molly’s curled brown hair, even though short, danced with every step she took. Her brown eyes, large and beautiful, sought mine and found them. My eyes strayed, however. Her breasts were firm and moved only lightly with the steps she ran. Her nipples were pink and seemed aroused. I looked at her firm yet soft body. She had reached my cage and her eyes still sought mine, but my eyes were elsewhere, seeking the total beauty of her form. I heard her calling my name; it sounded as if she were far away.

  “Stephen,” she whispered, as loudly as she dared, and she grabbed at my shoulders. I looked at her and I could see in her eyes that she knew what my eyes had been seeking.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, trying to pull my senses from her body. “I’m very sorry.”

  “He’s going to marry me, Stephen. He’s going to marry me. You must stop it,” she cried, terror marking her eyes. “He says there will be a big party tonight. You are part of the entertainment. That’s why he has kept you alive. Tomorrow he will kill you and eat you. He’s going to marry me, Stephen. You can’t let that happen to me.” Her voice was soft, but grave and insistent, demanding, not hysterical.

  “What can I do?” I heard the hopelessness in my voice. It was not the voice of Sgt. Stephen Chiac. “Let me think,” I grunted, knitting my brow. “There’s going to be a Party! A party! Somehow, we have to use the party as a means of escape. The party must give us an opportunity. It’s might be all we’ve got, Molly, because it will be difficult to get out of this cage. It’s all we’ve got. We have to scheme … plot.”

  “We don’t have much time.”

  I closed my eyes, thinking, then I smiled, hopefully. “What happens to me at parties, Molly? What do you think happens to me?”

  She looked at me and then answered a bit hesitantly, “You get drunk?”

  “Yes! I get drunk. That’s it, Molly. We have to get him drunk.”

  “I don’t even know if he drinks alcohol.”

  “Who doesn’t drink at his own wedding?”

  “I have to go, Stephen. He’ll hurt you if he finds me here.”

  “Wait! Let me think this out.”

  “You have to hurry.”

  “Molly. You’ll have to act as if you’re going along with the wedding, that you’ve decided to love him and marry him, have his children.” Molly glared at me in disbelief. “You have to play the role or you won’t be sleeping on leaves beside his bed, you’ll be sleeping on it … and I’ll be fokin dead. Tell him that it’s a tradition in your family to have a special drink at your weddings. Tell him that you want a large amount of balché bark138 to make a drink. Get large gourds, stuff them with the bark, then add water and honey. It makes an intoxicating drink. Make sure that you don’t drink any, if possible. See that he drinks it … a lot of it. And I’ll need a machete to get out of this fokin cage. Find my machete.”

  “Balché. I have to go.”

  “Balché,” I reminded her. “And my machete.”

  “You’ll need clothes.”

  “Fok the clothes if it’s a problem. Machete. Balché.”

  “Balché,” she repeated, as she hurried back to her stool in the creek. A short while later, I saw her get up and in her beautiful nakedness walk to the entrance of the cavern. Sisimito left the thighs he was smoking, meat that I had forced myself to think of as that of a mountain cow, and approached Molly with a rocking gait, not having any knees. His motion was very confusing for his feet were pointed backwards and, yet, he was coming towards her. It was the first time I saw him look directly at Molly and even while looking at her, the emotionless expression on his face did not change. Even though the face of the hairy brown gorilla-like creature was somewhat human, his large flat flaring nostrils, the thick lips and deep set emotionless eyes were a still-life of evil. Molly spoke to him and, immediately, some of the howler monkeys left for the jungle and I urged myself to believe it was for the balché bark.

  Molly stood in the open at the entrance of the cavern, her short hair barely moving in the light wind, the sun warming her naked body. Small yellow flowers were falling around her and the ground was beginning to glow as the sun was reflected on the bright yellow petals. The golden shower was from a giant ceiba tree139 that stood at the mouth of the cave. Its trunk measured about eight feet in diameter and had imposing buttresses of about ten feet. A tree with that size trunk was probably over one hundred and fifty feet tall and its canopy probably spread over one hundred and twenty-five feet, flowering high over the jungle and out of my view. A flock of xhom-bzans,140 also called yellowtails because of their golden tails, was flying around Molly, gurgling and squeaking loudly. A large howler monkey with pronounced facial features and sporting a heavy black beard brought a stool for her to sit on. As soon as she sat, some of the xhom-bzans landed on her lap. Others carried thin green vines in their beaks, actually long strips torn from a leaf, or the tougher fiber made from a leaf’s midrib. They flew down and dropped the jungle ‘ribbons’ on Molly’s lap. As a youngster in the jungle, I had watched the xhom-bzan weave its nest many times and I was always amazed by their mastery. The beak served as a shuttle, threading the thin ribbons alternately over and under other strips. That was not the only skill that was required. The bird had to be able to assess how taut each strip was to be pulled and, at that same time, envisage the final shape of what it was building. The female birds, especially, were great weavers, curving the walls of their nest in or out as they desired. I was not certain what they were building at that time, but they were very busy about Molly.

  Each bird, without hesitation, began weaving by wrapping the end of a long strip around Molly’s waist, forming a circle. That was held in place with one foot while manipulating the free end with its beak. A bird secured the circle by pushing the short end through the wrapping and so tying a half-hitch. The long end was then curved round and back to the first knot. Several of those circles were made and soon the birds had a narrow belt around her waist. From the belt, they began lengthening e
arthward, adding more and more pieces of the green jungle ribbons. The birds continued working, hanging downwards and working from the inside, using their beaks to thrust one fiber under the other, and then delicately grasping the free end and pulling it tight, so creating an interlaced fabric of great neatness and uniformity.141 Some birds weaved while others brought the vines, every now and again changing places. As the skirt lengthened, they widened it, allowing it to fall outward from Molly’s body. The xhom-bzans worked diligently and rapidly, weaving, flying in, flying out. At times, they bumped into each other, flew into each other, gurgled or squeaked at each other, their cry sounding like a rusty hinge or a broken engine. But the work continued frantically and a bright green skirt was being weaved about Molly.

  Only a few of the birds could weave at a time; yet, other than the weavers and the flyers, hundreds of the xhom-bzans were congregating around Molly, squeaking and gurgling continuously. Suddenly, they began to form a column with a rank of four, radiating outward from Molly to and into the jungle. I had been mesmerized by the display the weavers were putting on and, for a time, I had even forgotten the dangerous situation I was in, but I was soon brought back to the horror I faced. The second bird in each file began, at a furious pace, pecking out the feathers of the bird in front. The feathers were then grouped in three piles, the first for chestnut colored feathers, the second for black, and the third for gold. Some of the flyers were taking the feathers, one by one, and attaching them to the skirt in alternate rows of black, chestnut, and gold. I watched as the birds stripped themselves until only fine down was left. I saw them tremble as if cold in their nakedness, but they trembled not from cold, but from fear. Each xhom-bzan, as soon as it had been stripped, walked without hesitation into the open jaw of the waiting Bocotora clapansaya.

  I was horrified as I watched each bird, its eyes tortured by fear, walk into the large open jaw. It was nauseating to see each head being crushed as it disappeared, and then the wings and body following. At times, the feet still moved although the body was already in the maw. Yet, the weaving continued relentlessly and the skirt became more beautiful and more birds died. I don’t know if Molly was aware of what was happening to the xhom-bzans, but she must have seen where the feathers were coming from, how the birds were tearing them out of each other. I didn’t want to look anymore, but I kept on looking. Suddenly, the skirt was finished and the xhom-bzans were gone, either eaten or, if still feathered, having flown into the trees near the cave where I was held captive. The Bocotora clapansaya closed its jaws, at last. I retched. The kos had perched on my cage, mocking me once again, Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  The beautiful song of the xan-cotí142 caught my attention. Several of the small birds, grouped in pairs, were flying towards Molly singing their duet Katy-Katy-yu-baby-di-cry. I loved the xan-cotís and whenever I was in the jungle, their song always kept me company. Even when I was alone, hunting or just walking, when I heard their song I was never lonely. But I was in a strange world, Sisimito’s World, and my xan-cotís were under his spell, carrying the orange golden flowers of the ki-bix vine143 in their beaks. Some landed on her head and they began weaving the flowers into a wreath, using her hair as needed. When that was finished, they attached the delicate leaves of the chin-chin-pol-ojo144 about her shoulders and her firm breasts. I could not see her breasts as she sat with her back towards me, but I knew they were there for having seen them once, they were forever in my eyes. When the xan-cotís were finished, a Black Spider Monkey gave Molly a bouquet of calaloo flowers145 and, eremuil, the wild coffee,146 the latter’s fruits red-orange in small clusters.

  The huge Black Howler came back and Molly got up and walked into the cavern and up to the ledge across from me. She looked at me, briefly, and she appeared to glow in enchantment. Yet, there was sadness and fear that the unnatural allurement could not hide as she remained standing as if uncertain of what to do. The alpha howler placed the stool by her and she sat. The animal then got a gourd and some herbs from one of the shelves. After placing the leaves in the gourd, the alpha went down to the creek and filled the gourd then came up to my ledge on my side of the cavern. It looked me directly in the eyes and I could feel it telling me, “I brought you water and herbs to bath with. Now bathe! You smell of piss and shit.” I didn’t wish to follow the instructions of that animal and I had no desire to bathe for Sisimito’s wedding, a party I did not want to attend. But I did want to bathe. I needed to bathe. I had to get rid of my stink, feel human once again. I heard noises behind me and turned around. Several spider monkeys were emptying gourds of sand between the stakes, covering the areas where my shit lay. They were making sure that my cage and I were presentable for whatever sport they planned to use me in as part of the wedding festivities. I looked at the herbs the monkey had placed in the gourd of water. There was wild sage,147 tambran, toom-pa’ap,148 and a few others.

  I had my bath, rubbing my entire body with the wet leaves, always trying to keep my thumbs hidden. Luckily, my hair was short, as required by army regulations, and naturally oily so I didn’t have too much difficulty in cleaning it. I then got to my limbs and torso, my armpits, under my balls, Tóolok and, lastly, between my ass crease. It was not a shower, but I felt better. I washed my hands again then poured the rest of the water and leaves over me after which I sat in a corner of my cage that was not wet. The kos looked at me, Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. I flung the empty gourd at it and it went off squawking through the entrance of the cavern, taking its deranged laughter deep into the jungle.

  I looked across to Molly. She was standing by the table and two files of howlers were approaching her. One file carried pieces of bark, the other large gourds. The gourds were already filled for water was splashing out of them as they were carried. As soon as a gourd of water was placed on the table, Molly added bark it. In all I counted thirteen gourds that were soon to become thirteen gourds of balché beverage.

  I had not seen Sisimito for a while and already the sun was canting towards the west. As the ceiba tree continued carpeting the ground with its golden flowers, the animals continued preparing for the festivities. Two large howlers were in charge of smoking the meat, which I had to keep reminding myself were mountain cow thighs. They knew what they were doing for they kept adjusting the fire so that just the right amount of smoke and heat cooked the thighs. Spider monkeys brought rocks from the creek and piled them upon each other until they reached a height of about two and a half feet. The topmost layer was flattened and lined with leaves, thus providing a tabletop. Several of these were made and as the evening preparations wore on, they were used for various purposes.

  Many fruits, gwaava, tambran, pyaa,149 mengo,150 papaaya,151 sweetsap,152 sowasap,153 sak-ya,154 maami, and box-haaz155 were displayed on one table while gourds with drink were placed on another. It could have been chocolate as branches of the cacao tree were placed between the gourds as decoration.156 On another table, the gourds of balché were placed. Between those gourds were a variety of wild flowers and vines with decorative leaves. There were two other rock piles that were a little lower in height and I guessed those would be used as seats. A tribe of howlers piled thick short stumps of wood in a pile near the creek. The alpha howler approached those monkeys smoking the thighs and a howling roaring argument ensured. Finally, however, some of the howlers took some burning sticks from the smoking pit and the pile of stumps near the creek was lit.

  Suddenly, there was silence. The birds, the monkeys, the mountain lion with the owl on its back, even the kos, were nowhere to be seen. The only sound was that of the crackling bonfire. The only smell was that of the smoked meat. The only presence was that of the Bocotora clapansaya at the entrance of the cavern, unable to move because of its distended gut. I looked towards the other ledge where Molly still sat on the stool. I called out to her and she glanced at me but did not answer. Her carriage terrified me for she seemed lost, unable to fight what was happening to her. She turned back to the entrance of the cave, wat
ching the scene, watching the jungle I once so loved. I lay back against my wooden bars, hiding my hands between my legs. I did not know what to do. I closed my eyes, wishing I could fall asleep, wishing I was with Bas. I felt so tired, always so tired, locked up in my cage.

  I must have dozed for I was awakened by the sound of marimba music, a sound so sweet in so sinister a place. Night was coming and the blue sky was slowly darkening. Yet, with the daylight that remained and the illumination coming from the bonfire, there was enough glow for me to see the happenings under the ceiba tree. The song was Luna De Xelaju,157 one of my favorite marimba pieces.

  Six dwarfs were playing, one of them much older than the others, probably the taat. He was about three feet tall, wore a white beard, a wide-brimmed maroon hat and was dressed in a white baggy shirt and pants, the cloth shining like satin. I concluded, immediately, that the older dwarf was definitely Tata Duende,158 another mean character I had been told about as we listened to stories beside the fire hearth at nights in my village. The other five looked much like the older dwarf, only younger and were dressed in the same fashion. Like Sisimito, they all had only four digits on each hand and their feet were turned backwards. It was bizarre watching them tap to the music, their feet tapping backwards. I was likewise astonished at the agility they manifested as they played, not having thumbs. Four of the young dwarfs played the marimba, the other played a pair of drums that were made from hollow tree trunks and animal pelt. Tata Duende played a string instrument that looked like a guitar but sounded like a fiddle. Seated on small colorful stools below the marimba were about a dozen Duenditos159 whistling the melody of the song the Tata Duendes were playing. All the instruments were decorated with the beautiful and sweet smelling Dama De La Noche160 white orchid. I shook my head in disbelief and in belief. I was naked, locked in a cage, facing horror and death. Yet, I was listening to sweet music played by the Tata Duendes accompanied by the Duenditos whistlers.