by Nahum Megged
I had not heard that explanation before. Neither had William written a word about it in his journals. “Why have you invited me here with your eyes?” I asked.
“Because you do not hunt like the other men or bring fish from the river for the night meal. I wanted you to help me so we would be ready on time.”
The dog looked at me with his deep, shiny eyes, and I imagined he was wagging his tail and mocking me. In Yakura’s eyes, I was like one of the village women, and in my heart, I had imagined something entirely different when I had seen a young woman inviting me to follow her with a smile. Indeed, I was becoming delusional.
I arranged the mats according to Yakura’s instructions then climbed to the upper level to bring down the ceremonial feathers and the fruit. When I picked up the feathers of a forest parrot, I noticed something glinting between them. It was an elegant writing pen. A single word was engraved on it, but I could not read it in the faint light of the hut. I placed the pen in my pants pocket, carried the feathers and fruit to the lower level and said goodbye to the smiling Yakura.
When I reached my hut, I moved some of the roof branches to let more sunlight in and looked at the pen through the magnifying glass I use when I research the forest plants. Even without the magnifying glass, I was able to recognize the name engraved on the pen — William — but I needed it to read the date written beside it. The numbers marking the day and month were blurred and unreadable, but the year was completely clear: It was the current year, but as far as I and others knew, the researcher had been in a far-away Tepoi on a distant continent for several years. Was this pen the real reason I had been invited into the round hut?
I immediately wrote down everything that had happened, hoping I wouldn’t find ruined pages again that would make me doubt my memory or sanity. Outside, the skies began to fill with black, threatening clouds. The other Yakura must have known what she was talking about when she mentioned a heavy rain would fall during nighttime. Despite my pain, the nausea, and dizziness, I decided to go outside the village. I hoped the mysterious cave would be revealed to me again, the one the villagers had claimed existed only in my hallucinations.
The skies did not bode well. Birds and monkeys moved nervously among the trees, trying to find the best hiding place before the storm commenced. The pain in my chest and the end of my right thumb intensified. Still, my curiosity drew me on, into danger, into the place from which there might be no return. I stumbled repeatedly, yet I kept walking. Lightning and thunder exploded in the skies. A snake trying to grab a final meal slid next to my feet, chasing a vole, running for its life. A jaguar crouched next to the first spring, drinking from its water. I knew I should go back, otherwise the forest predators would soon take pleasure in my flesh.
I stroked your head and asked forgiveness for asking you to go out into the rain together, as if there weren’t any children at home and we were still two teenagers. Our son shivered from the cold. We tucked him in his bed, covering him with blankets and kisses. I held your hand just like I had held it under the nocturnal waterfalls…
I was startled by a terrific noise — lightning had struck the earth. Primeval fire and light. A sight the likes of which I hadn’t seen in the forest before. And when the noise had died, in the silence beneath the rain, I saw the burned black spot and the fire trying to rise and break through the downpour. There was no danger of the flames spreading; the heavy rain could extinguish even the fires of heaven. The jungle was completely dark, and I hoped my feet would remember the way back to the village. Had I turned back a moment earlier, I would now be a charred lump. My nostalgic reflection had saved me.
Xnen and two of the warriors, their faces painted bright red, grabbed me by the arms.
“Why did you leave?” asked Xnen.
I didn’t know how to answer. It was good that they had found me, because the water blinded me and the trail had disappeared. The storm intensified by the minute, and the battle of fire and water raged like the war to end time. I managed to walk only because they supported me. Once more, lightning found its way into the forest, crumbling a rock and leaving a large crater in its wake. The gods were angry.
In the village, everyone was frightened. The forest clearing the settlement was built in had turned into a lake. Cleverly, the villager had built the huts on stilts. Warriors, teenagers, and women tried to strengthen the thin poles, sunk to their waists in water. A few of the warriors held their battle bows, cried out, and let their arrows fly into the sky. Xnen danced in the middle of the new lake as if he had turned into a blowing wind. Children and teenagers connected wing-like branches to their arms and attempted to stop the wind with their flight. A pitched battle was going on between the great marikitare and his warriors and the Sekura forces that had sent their soldiers to strike the earth. The noise was astounding. The round hut in the center of the village gave in — the stilts weren’t able to withstand the cataracts coming down from the sky and the blows of the wind. Everything fell, and all that the other Yakura and I had prepared was washed away with the force of the water. Soon, this place would not be a forest, but a part of the great river, and the primeval crocodiles, who are always eager for war, might appear.
After the round house collapsed, the rest of the huts fell one after the other. The warriors’ dance turned wilder, and Xnen increased the volume of his voice in an attempt to stop the sea. Lightning flashed in the sky before darkness reclaimed the world.
Then there was sudden silence. The rain’s wrath was softened. The water drained through newly created channels to the old water holes. Exhausted from their efforts, Xnen and the warriors stared at the dying rain.
The terrible extent of the destruction was immediately revealed. Only two huts still stood, as if the storm had passed over them — mine, and on the other end of the camp, the hut belonging to the first Yakura. And there she was, proud and beautiful, completely naked, spreading her arms wide as if embracing the sky.
It would take a long time for them to build another village, there or somewhere else, but I was lucky, my journals had been saved. Something pricked my upper thigh. William’s pen in my pocket, I had left it open. It was a clear sign that I hadn’t hallucinated this time.
Night moved on in utter darkness. I did not know where they’d managed to find dry wood, but bonfires were lit all over the devastated camp, spreading light and protecting it from forest predators. I saw the quartz-eyed dog next to a broken pole, completely unharmed. I cleaned off the mud and leaves and held it with the joy of rediscovering an old friend thought to be lost. I carried the statue to my hut then returned to help the villagers.
When I grew tired and the pain in my chest worsened, I went to Xnen and said I was going to lie down in my hut and that it was open to anyone else who needed some rest. Xnen said I should go and rest and that no one would enter my hut or Yakura’s. Minare, who had moved the waters of the forest, and Omauha, who had struck the earth with his lightning, knew what needed to be preserved and why. When the morning came, we would sit together to discuss all that had happened and all that would take place next.
I returned to the darkness of my hut. Some force I couldn’t name pushed me back outside with a terrible violence, as if I were forbidden to remain inside. I stood at the opening and took out a small flashlight from one of my pants pockets. Happily, it wasn’t harmed. I turned it on and shined the light around the inside of my hut. Right in front of me, between the ropes of the hammock, a snake coiled. I froze. I could have lain in the hammock in the darkness never to rise again.
Panicked, I went to the camp, hunted down Xnen, and told him what I had just seen. His face clouded. Warriors accompanied Xnen and me to the hut, their spears at the ready. The snake was gone, but his tracks could clearly be seen on the leaves blanketing the floor.
An insane idea suddenly flashed through my mind. “Let’s go to Yakura’s hut,” I told Xnen, “perhaps the snake is there.”
&nb
sp; These words were enough. The marikitare and the warriors hurried to the other end of the camp with me trailing behind. This time they were holding long torches, and while crying out like eagles, entered the empty hut. A huge snake lay curled in the center of the floor, trying to swallow something. The warriors surrounded it with their torches. One of the warriors pinned the snake’s head to the ground with his spear, while another pressed upon the snake’s body and throat to make the animal expel whatever it had swallowed. The quartz-eyed dog was slowly ejected from the jaws. I had no doubt it was the same snake that had recently been in my hut.
Xnen cleaned the statue and smiled. “This is a good sign,” he said. “We have saved one of Omauha’s gifts.”
I had so many questions I wanted to ask but was unable to give voice to. The warriors took the snake away from the camp. I waited for them, shivering from cold. When they came back, they told me they had returned the snake to its domain, to “the other water,” and before they released it had made it swear never to return to the village. The snake would not try to take Omauha’s animal again, the one who awaited the moment it could bark again, like it had once done, when the clouds had been created with a bark.
4
The Forest Without a Forest
In the morning, I saw the full extent of the ruination. Seven of the villagers had died in the terrible flood, seven out of ninety, including the other Yakura, who had entered my life only the day before. Had she known her actions in the round hut would be her last in the forest and the land of the living?
Following a difficult and restless night, the pain in my chest had increased, possibly because I felt responsible for her death. I had followed her because her eyes looked inviting. We had been together and apart in the hut, which the spirits also visit. When I had discovered William’s pen, I grabbed it like a thief and quickly abandoned her, accompanied only by the statue the water snake had wanted to pull into the depths.
Sadness clouded everyone’s faces. The survivors wondered who would provide for them. The forest was injured, the animals had left, the tobacco and banana fields had been ruined. The tribespeople wouldn’t be able to prepare the vihu now. Without it, how would they be able to speak with the gods and the spirits, whom they needed more than ever? How would they burn their dead and turn their living bodies into graves that held the memory, without the vihu?
Xnen appeared helpless. Joyless, he walked among the survivors and tried to encourage them. “The gods have spoken,” he said. “Now we shall answer. I will need a lot of vihu in order to get there, to the place that contains the rock on which they sit. They must explain to me what they want, so they don’t unleash their wrath upon our heads again. Even without vihu I must go there. I must learn what I do not understand now!”
Silence.
Yakura went to him, whispered in his ear, and gently stroked his head. The young woman and the old man looked at each other as if they alone knew the difficult answers to all the questions yet unasked.
Many days would pass before they would be able to bury their dead in their bodies. And what would happen until then? What would become of the wounded and the sick?
Despite the burdensome heat, the earth refused to dry, and until it dried, the villagers wouldn’t be able to rebuild their huts. For some reason, contrary to their custom, they did not seem ready to travel, to find a better place to erect their houses. Somewhere that had been untouched by the flood might be found, where they could renew their planting, fishing, and hunting. If they stayed here, they might die of starvation. Meanwhile, they ate the filthy remains of the food they had stored before the disaster. The meat and fish had already begun to rot and might sicken them.
Unlike the tribespeople, fruit constituted the bulk of my diet. I consumed as little as possible of the meat they ate. Dietary supplements I had brought from my world helped me compensate for the lacking nutrients. And I had another advantage: The gods had kept my hut and my belongings safe, allowing me to go and rest at any given moment, while the villagers were homeless and helpless. What little they’d had was now gone.
I went to Yakura. The girl did not smile as she normally did but raised her eyes to me.
“What will you do now?”
She merely shrugged, as if only the gods of circumstance had any answers.
“Something must be done,” I said. “You can’t eat continue to eat carrion. We need to reach a nearby stream. The water has receded, and fish aren’t harmed by floods. We need to go fishing and bring new food. It is the only way to save everyone.”
Again, the only answer I received was a helpless shrug. Would I now have to bury the last of the Yarkiti?
I left the village and walked to the nearby stream to look at the pool the Yarkiti fished in. Nobody tried to stop me or asked where I was going. They had more than enough concerns of their own. In spite of the great flood, the path was still completely visible. Now and then, I was delayed by a tree felled by the storm, but I was always able to find a way around it. The scars the storm had left in the forest were visible all around. A lone monkey looked at me without fearing I might try and hunt it. I walked as if in a dream, when a new clearing appeared in front of me, one that wasn’t marked in the map of my memories, as if the wind had uprooted the trees and shrubs and painted a circle. The bare space looked like a crater, cleared and cleaned by an army of unknown creatures.
I climbed on a large stump left by the flood to look at the wonder. At the center of the clearing, an unusual tree was growing, with a small shrub right next to it. A large carved stone stood next to the tree, as if it were a stage on which sacrifices were made to the tree. A sacred tree? It wasn’t just the hand of nature at work here, but the hand of man as well, whether recently or in days long gone. Oddly, the waters of the flood and the storm had not entered the circle. It was strange and unsettling. Normally, the rain had an even greater effect in clearings.
I climbed down from the tree stump and walked into the clearing. I considered the possibility this was an alternate camp, built an eternity of days ago, when the upriver villagers had come for the reconciliation ceremony, but I quickly dismissed that idea. There were no traces of huts or inner footpaths.
I continued to walk about the large, clean circle and something caught my eye. A pen rested on the ground. I picked it up with awe. I knew what I had found, yet still I gazed for long moments at the beautiful object, refusing to believe my eyes. The same name that had been haunting me was carved in it. Now I was in possession of two of his pens. A shiver took hold of me. It couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t be!
“Who are you?” I shouted loudly. “Where are you?”
I thought I saw a shadow slipping between the trees. I knew there was no reason to run after it. It was likely a figment of my imagination, seeing what must not be seen.
The spirits show their forms to eyes stricken with enough fear to see beyond the visible. Or it had merely been a monkey or some other jungle creature.
I looked at the clearing again to try and understand its secret. Did it stand on higher ground? Had the trees surrounding the clearing served as a dam? I briefly considered the possibility the miracle had something to do with the special tree that grew in the middle of the circle, then a practical thought struck me. This miracle could be utilized. The villagers could erect a new settlement there, as well as bury their dead. From there, they would be even closer to the streams, and the many tree limbs scattered around would make the building of the huts easier.
The idea encouraged me. Sometimes the gods provide the cure along with the disease. I suddenly thought of the temple with the clasped hands and wondered if the ancient ones had possessed the secret of this place and others like it, places safe from the storm’s harm.
I decided to return to the camp and allowed my feet to lead me there. Pathways connected to pathways, then split to form others. I knew I was close to the village, yet the landscape ar
ound me was completely alien. The presence of so many paths indicated this area, which I wasn’t familiar with, used to be bustling with life. I didn’t see any signs of an abandoned camp —the remains of huts or cooking fires — but the system of paths indicated the continuous presence of human life. The tangle of trails merged into a central, wider path. I walked along it, hoping it would lead me to the solution of the place’s riddle, perhaps even the solution to another riddle. The flood — of what era? — had left that part of the forest unharmed, a place only a short distance from the stricken village. The trees stood erect, even though the silence of the canopy spoke of the absence of animals and birds. There was only the buzzing of the cicadas.
It’s not possible, I said to myself. I might have been under the influence of the marake ant’s poison again. Was I hallucinating? I decided to continue, even if the path I followed did not exist, and I was seeing nothing but roads coming together and splitting in my mind’s eye.
I don’t know how long I walked before reaching a place where the main road divided again. Next to the crossroads, I recognized the remains of a settlement that had recently been left behind. A grid of small stones, normally used as foundations for hut posts, was clearly marked. It seemed likely the huts had been dismantled and taken elsewhere. This was unlike the Yarkiti, who never take anything with them on their travels. I looked at what remained. The place seemed different from any villages I had seen, even those of other tribes, as if the camp wasn’t intended to house people for long, but merely for a few hours while on their way somewhere else.
Aha! There I was again, forming baseless stories in my imagination. Next to the stain of a bonfire was a vessel full of a yellowish-white powder, vihu. I knew the sun seed mustn’t be moved far from the place of its creation, because the Sekura might also want to use it in order to make their way to even higher realms.
