When Time is Cracked and Trees Cry: A mysterious novel that takes you deep into a Magical tour in the secrets of the Amazon jungle and the psychological depths of the human soul

by Nahum Megged

  The water had meanwhile boiled. I cleaned the wound with an antiseptic, I gave the youth a drink of water into which I crushed a pill for quieting his nausea, applied some antibiotic ointment, and placed a bandage on the wound. I covered the boy with a blanket to help him overcome the chills. I was angry at myself for not being able to do more and turned to Marina.

  “Did your father ever tell you anything about a glue-like poison that could cause sleeping sickness and hallucinations? Maybe he told you about something that could neutralize its effect?”

  She couldn’t recall anything.

  I explained to Yakura that hostile warriors, possibly Mashko, were somewhere near the camp, and they were the ones who had attacked the young man. I added that despite her request, it would be unwise for me to leave the camp.

  She listened to me quietly, almost submissively. In a weak voice, she said that indeed, she had noticed signs indicating the presence of strangers around the camp, especially near the clasped hands, but she thought that a Noneshi had made her think insane thoughts. I told her that the night before, after she had left my hut, the Noneshi visited me again, covered with war paint, and when he sat with me, several images flew into the hut.

  “In that case,” she said, “it is determined, and we must wait for Omauha to express his will.”

  Marina kept staring at us, as if trying to understand our words. I explained to her about the danger around us, and told her I had a rifle hidden among my belongings. This weapon of doom, which had brought so much calamity to the forest, would help us in a time of need. I prayed we wouldn’t have to use it.

  I returned to my hut. The rifle was in place; I only had to clean it. Then I was overwhelmed by a strange sensation, as if someone had rummaged through my possessions. I looked in my journal. It seemed as if someone, possibly someone not accustomed to holding a pen, had scribbled on the edges of its pages. Or was the scribbling nothing but my attempts to see if the pen could still write? When I examined the hut, looking for evidence of an intruder, I saw something new hanging on the northern wall. At first, I thought it was a long strip of paper, but when I got closer I discovered it was a snake skin. Was it the skin of the snake that had invaded my hut and tried to swallow the sculpture of the dog? And where was that sculpture now? Had Xnen taken it with him to war? And that skin — who could have hung it on my wall?

  I opened my eyes wide in amazement: Xnen was standing, injured, in the hut. I could see his wound bleeding.

  “Xnen, if you’re really here, talk to me,” I beseeched him with a trembling voice. “Talk to me so I’ll know I haven’t gone insane.”

  Xnen didn’t answer. He pointed his spear toward my belongings. My eyes followed his spear. Something stuck out from among my possessions, the same things I had just searched to find my rifle. It was William’s journal! It was real then — it actually existed. I flipped through pages with sadness. It was the same exact journal. It contained Polaroid photographs. I looked at a photograph of the beautiful Yakura giving the camera a cheerful look, then at a photograph of Xnen dressed just like when he had left, a spear in his hand and his wound bleeding. A foreign woman, whom I assumed to be Marina’s mother, had been photographed in a different place, outside the forest. Marina’s photo was there as well, naked as the day she was born… was that any way for a father to photograph his daughter? In another photo of Yakura, a long shadow, not hers, stretched beside her, and I thought it was my own shadow. I recognized it by my posture. Could it be that I had also been photographed without my knowledge? And there was another photograph of Yakura, looking straight at the camera. The expression on her face was so soft and loving. I believed that in her own special way, the girl had a special bond with me.

  The text on the backs of the photographs was partially erased, the water must have bitten into the words, but some parts were still readable. For them, Omauha is an existing entity, situated not far away. According to a story I heard from Yakuman, Xnen’s apprentice, Omauha was white and built a large stone house for himself, and in that house he used to couple with the goddess of the forest every single day, and the priests captured their images with drawings and captured both their essences in the image of the clasped hands. Then, another god arose, a god who had stronger warriors than Omauha’s, and they destroyed the stone house. But the hands kept copulating beneath the leaves and gave birth to more and more forest trees and forest creatures, and Omauha escaped through a tunnel to the mountain beyond the forest.

  The other god was Turagnan, god of the long shadow, whose image is that of a tree. He had left the forest, but nevertheless, Omauha wouldn’t return to it before the Nave gave back to the forest what they had taken from it and recognized that the forest belongs to Omauha only, even though he had once been beaten. When I remarked to the shaman that gods were invincible, he answered, “That is what the leaders of the tribe believed and because of that felt they had to leave their tribes when beaten. Only the marikitares, the shamans, remained, those who know that gods and men are imperfect and that is why they need to come together, like Omauha’s and Minare’s hands, clasped together to ignite the fire that doesn’t burn, because it is the fire that would give birth to the perfect world.”

  I asked Yakuman if Omauha was a Nave, and he shook his head. “The Nave are many,” he said, “and only one Omauha faces them, unique and infinite. And in order for the world to return to what it had once been, he must become one with Minare again. Then the stone hands would return to life, stroke the face of the forest, and the Yarkiti, those who live in the skin of the forest, would rejoin those who live in the god’s blood and veins.”

  He explained that when this happened, the world would be different, and even the Nave, the white people who destroy the forest, would help rebuild Omauha’s stone house. Mother Earth, who lives with her daughter Minare, will see her wounds heal and the bones torn out of her living body restored. The Nave’s thunderbolts will be silenced. The animals will return to the forest, and everyone will live together again — the gods of the sun and the earth, the forest and the water and the caves. On that day, all things will have their proper place under Omauha’s sky. The wounds of the earth will heal, and all other wounds will heal with them, the wounds of the soul as well, and the world will be a world of smiling people. Everyone will realize the wounding of the earth and the harming of Omauha and the forest trees had brought about the birth of the spears and the curare. The children of the forest and the foreigners kill each other so that the dead bodies would be like a bandage dressing Mother Earth’s wounds. But the great pain we are trying to alleviate came about because we couldn’t find a place in our hearts for the Great Spirit. We must be reflected within ourselves like on the surface of the streams (deleted)… the day will come (deleted)… the mountain will connect to itself and the covered stone will smile.

  I had never heard that myth, nor had I ever heard of Yakuman, the shaman’s apprentice. Could it be that the tribe was still hiding such great secrets from me? And the journal — who had placed it there and why? There were few who could have done it. Perhaps it was Yakura, when she had come to my hut at night and asked me to leave the camp. Could it be that she wanted to remain by herself with William, the father or the son, but he mustn’t see or be seen by Marina and me? And maybe the injured youth and the stalking warriors were nothing but an invention, filled with strange intentions… but what were those intentions?

  Xnen’s wound stopped bleeding. He raised his spear, went to the corner where I had left William’s journal, placed it in his leather bag and went out of the hut. I could hear his feet going down the tree trunk ladder. Spirits do not need doors, and their feet make no sound. He was a spirit, but he acted like a living being. I must have lost my mind.

  The vision was gone. Once more, I heard naked feet crushing dry leaves, once again feet climbed the tree trunk. Marina stood in front of me in all her beauty, wearing short pants and a t-shirt taken from the
bundle of clothes we had found next to the stream. Her mouth curved into a smile, and she looked at me fondly.

  “The boy has gone. He probably felt better and left. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, and now he’s gone. I told Yakura, and she didn’t seem surprised. She only asked me to tell you the danger has passed.”

  I looked at the beautiful young woman restored to life. “Have the real, or imagined, enemies left?” I asked.

  “Yes. This is what Yakura says. She thinks you can hide the rifle now.”

  We both went silent. There was still daylight, but my mind was occupied by nocturnal thoughts. The silence began to burden me.

  “Marina, when did you last see your father?” I asked.

  “About two years ago. He left on one of his mysterious journeys into the forest. We were never able to discover what his destination was. Mother knew he would sometimes go deep into the jungle, to a place where he had a second house. She must have known about his other wife, maybe even about his children, but she didn’t know that the Yarkiti live where he was going.

  “He left and never came back. Mother became mute after that, as if her mouth had been sealed by an invisible force. Mother might have believed that with the magic of her silence she would be able to bring back my father, who had embarked on a journey from which there was no return. She kept silent about my relationship with my brother as well.”

  Tears washed Marina’s beautiful face, a face as brown as earth, that instead of receiving the rain poured from the heavens, rejected it back into the universe. And that universe contained her light cotton shirt with her breasts tucked inside it. I was overcome with desire. I wanted to go and comfort her but dared not do it, fearing she would sense the struggle inside me. She didn’t make it easy for me. Slightly bent, hugging her own body, her shoulders hunched, she sat beside me on the mat, leaning against me and waiting for my hand to hold her. She needs a comforting father, the thought struck me. Her head rested on my chest. My one hand was wrapped around her, the other stroked her hair.

  She raised yearning eyes to me, almost touching her face to mine. With a quick movement, she took off her shirt and her supple body was revealed to my astonished eyes and my longing body. I don’t know how much time passed, but we lay together for long minutes that turned into endless hours, connected on the floor, while unspoken words connected to unspoken words. And the mouth ran across the neck and the body, and the hand played with the vibrating earth in the form of a woman, and we joined and separated and rejoined, and our bodies and souls refused to part.

  A shadow was suddenly painted against the opening of the hut before slipping away and disappearing. Was it Yakura?

  8

  Flight

  The sensation of being watched immediately broke the spell that had overtaken us. Marina fumbled around for clothes to cover herself.

  “What will she think about us? What must she think?” she sobbed with a broken voice.

  I brought her head closer to mine, hugged her rigid body, and whispered, “This would not be the first time she has seen such acts, not in this hut, true, but in the camp… the Yarkiti do not hide them or feel any shame about them. She understands, Marina. She understands.”

  Her body relaxed, and she rested her head on my legs, stroking them before breaking into tears again. Maybe she was afraid to go out of the hut before dark, and stayed with me because of that. When night fell and darkness wrapped around us, we became intoxicated with each other again and the reality outside the hut became completely lost.

  I was awake, but also lost in a dream. The beautiful young woman lay in my arms, and I could feel nighttime dreams beginning to form inside her. Now and then, I wanted to move a little, go for a walk outside to get some air, but I dared not disturb her.

  She woke up after midnight. It took her a few moments to realize with whom and where she was. She dressed quickly and went to the doorway.

  “Take a flashlight,” I said. “There are all sorts of creatures roaming about the camp at night and you are barefoot.” She smiled and returned to me. She leaned down, kissed me, and left with the flashlight. I felt all the wrinkles of time on my face smoothed away.

  She went outside, and I immediately followed, to see what she was doing, to make sure nothing happened to her. When I reached Yakura’s hut, I saw the light of the flashlight through the branches that served as a wall. A few minutes later, the faint crackling stopped, and the flashlight was turned off. Goodnight to you both. I returned as if in a trance to my hut and couldn’t decide what had been most breathtaking — the image of the injured Xnen, William’s journal with the myth I now remembered almost verbatim, or the lustful look and naked body of Marina, glued to mine.

  It was two in the morning when I sank back into my hammock

  and I immediately returned to my childhood. I skipped across the bare floor of the humble room and waved my hands joyfully, then, incredibly, I could fly! I couldn’t believe it was happening to me, but I was flying, hovering in the air, flapping my arms like bird wings, and my happiness knew no bounds. I was only sorry that my parents weren’t able to see me hanging like that, between the floor and the ceiling… and if I told my teachers how easy it is to fly, what would they say? The window was open, and I rushed outside through it. A cloud covered the eye of the sun, and I no longer felt the oppressive heat. I flew above the sleepy plain of my hometown. How dry it was! Not even a drop of water, no stream, not even a fountain, just a few chinaberry trees as erect as sentinels guarding nature, and the intoxicating aroma of the purple flowers. The smell enveloped me, and for a moment I couldn’t feel my body. I was completely lost in that stimulating aroma. One scent was replaced by another, mixed with another, and I moved between the perfumes and reached a place that had forgotten the dryness. The forest was spread before me, and in it I could see water rushing between opening leaves, and the murmur of water joined with one final fragrance rising from the forest. I struggled with my deep desire to close my eyes and give in to the mesmerizing burbling. Then suddenly I felt my arms growing tired. Unless I continued to flap my arms, I would fall between the branches and my dream wound end… a feather drifted up in the air and tickled my nostrils. What if I sneezed? Would I fall down as well?

  I sneezed.

  Yakura was sitting on the hammock next to me, tickling my nose with a feather The darkness before dawn still reigned outside, and a wide smile brightened her face and the entire hut. Without thinking about it, I smiled back.

  “She is sleeping soundly,” said Yakura. “I thought that since you are on your own and didn’t want the Noneshi to come, I would come to your hut.” And without any apparent reason, she began to chuckle uncontrollably. I held her shoulders as they shook with the rhythm of her laughter. The forest people were right: She had the shoulders of a goddess.

  I sat up in my hammock. A breakfast of nuts and bananas was on the floor, waiting for me. “You are so wonderful, Yakura,” I said, and before turning to my food, I excitedly told her my dream of flying.

  “And you didn’t take any yage?” Yakura asked, her smile hiding a serious look.

  “No, I didn’t take any yage, even though the scent of the flowers intoxicated me, somewhat like the sensation that accompanies the drinking of the yage or the sniffing of vihu…” I inhaled the air of the hut through my nostrils, trying to find traces of the aromas that had accompanied me on my dream. “Marina knows how to rest,” I said without understanding why. I took water from the dried pumpkin, washed my face, and ate from the nuts and bananas with Yakura.

  “Yakura, the rain is late again. I’m afraid of the rain that is late in coming, then strikes all at once in its rage, especially now that Xnen is so far from here.”

  She answered me with a reassuring smile and suggested we go outside so we could enjoy the pleasant early morning hours together before the scorching day arrived. I changed my clothes, shaved, then lef
t with her. I told Yakura I wanted to go by her hut first to check on Marina. All the villagers were still sleeping. Even the early risers had not yet woken. Marina was lying on the mat in the middle of Yakura’s hut, sound asleep. A powerful smell of flowers reached my nose, and I felt I was leaving my body and floating again. We walked down the path leading to the clasped hands.

  The forest was slowly waking. A snake clung to a tree backlit by distant lightning. Was rain coming? The animals appeared more alert and active than ever, probably because of the early hour I wasn’t accustomed to. Yakura laughed and became as playful as a child, skipping on the road just as I had done in my dream. Then she emerged from behind me and hugged my neck. When I turned to her, she gave me an inviting smile, as if I were Omauha himself. I didn’t know how to interpret her behavior. What she had seen the day before at my hut could have made her feel both happy and relieved. Her movements were freer and her entire beautiful body seemed to speak, as if a heavy burden had been taken off her young shoulders. I joined her games as if my youth had been restored following the childhood dream, the skipping and the flight, all emerging from across the vast, forgotten distances of time. When the natives had first told me about their vihu flight, I knew exactly what they meant, because I used to fly as well. During my childhood, I used to fly like a bird, and I could have sworn it had actually happened. I could see the world from above.

  I didn’t feel tired from the walking, nor did I suffer from the heat of the forest. I wanted to get to a stream as soon as possible, or to one of the brooks of the river, to wash away the night sweat. We reached the place of the altar stones. I assumed Yakura had led me there for a reason. We walked together to the sculpted stones that had become for me, following the myth I read in William’s strange journal, a symbol of the copulation of Omauha and Minare and the hands that would stroke the forest at the end of time.