by Nahum Megged
“Exactly,” said Francisco. “Slave hunters. He boarded a boat belonging to one of the gangs that do that for a living. Everyone in town knows about it. In the capital too. Everyone is keeping silent about it. These are mercenaries employed by planters and mine owners. They go into the forest to capture slaves who will be forced to work from dawn till dusk. Sometimes these messengers of evil don’t come back, and sometimes they come back with treasures and property they stole from the natives, gathered in the streams, or stole from their masters. And those who manage to return with riches and property convince others desperate enough to go and try their luck in the forest.”
Troubled, I returned to Marina’s house. She sat on the porch, looking with dream-filled eyes at the boats traveling down the river. She hadn’t heard me arrive. I went to her quietly and touched her shoulder. She jumped with fright. I felt as if I’d forced her back from regions she wanted to continue to explore on her own.
“You scared me!” I couldn’t tell if she was angry or frightened.
I sat beside her. “Why did you run away last night?” I asked.
“Because you’re scaring me,” she said. “You remind me of things I prefer to forget — my long-lost father, my sick mother, my brother who might have been murdered. Everything that happened and didn’t happen by the stream where you found me…”
I remind her of her past, I thought, while she makes me forget my past that reaches out with eager hands to find me even here… “Would you like me to leave?” I asked.
“Don’t even think about it!” she replied right away. “I love having you here. You chase away the terrible loneliness that suffocates me in this house.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and she gathered my face in her hands and kissed it.
Tourki approached from the house. “Sir,” she said, “the man from the post office wants to see you, he says it’s important.”
I left Marina and went off to talk to Francisco, who was waiting for me outside the door. Why had he robbed me of the intimacy I so yearned for?
“I apologize,” Francisco said sincerely when he noticed my anger, “but a few minutes after you left this morning, a telegram written in a foreign language came. It is addressed to someone in this house.”
I looked at the paper. It was addressed to Herbert William, Jr. In formal English, the telegram said that according to the directions of his previous wire, the crates he had sent were delivered to Boston, where they were received by a person who presented himself as his representative. The sender of the telegram, probably an attorney, inquired if there were further instructions. Indeed, the dead and the spirits of the forest have many addresses, I thought.
I considered whether I should tell Marina about the telegram but decided to hide it from her for the time being. She might have been tempted to believe her brother was still alive. I thought it was better to reply to the telegram in Herbert’s name and wait for messengers, who in Marina’s absence had emerged from the forest to take belongings that may already be in Boston. It is conceivable one of the metal seekers or slavers had found the young man’s papers, maybe after he’d been murdered, and among them had found instructions about how to contact the attorneys.
I told Marina that I had received a telegram and went with Francisco to send a reply. “Thank you for your message,” I wrote to the anonymous attorney. “Dr. William is currently conducting a research expedition in the forest and sends couriers, from time to time, to bring messages back to him. I will see that he gets your telegram and will be happy to be of further assistance.” I knew I had to wait for developments. I asked Francisco not to tell anyone I had received the telegram and asked that he continue to give me all the telegrams and letters addressed to any of the inhabitants of the house, both present and missing.
When I returned, Marina was interested to hear about my telegram. I told her something to put her mind at ease. I knew that our moment of grace and intimacy had passed. Marina soon left the house, I think to visit one of her friends. I went to Tourki and asked her not to allow any strangers in the house and not to give anything from the house to anyone, even if they claimed to come on behalf of Beatrice or Mr. William. If such a person appeared with a request — she must send him to me.
I didn’t have to wait long. Two days later, a boat came downriver and docked at our jetty. It was still early morning. Marina was sound asleep, while I sat on the porch, watching the boats traveling on the water.
A “converted” man — that’s what the locals called the people of the forest who adopted the culture of the invaders — alighted from the boat. He was wearing an elegant watch and holding a rifle and a sack in his hands. Without fear or concern, the stranger climbed the stairs to the house. It was clearly not his first visit. I wanted to see who would open the locked door for him and what would exchange hands.
I went to the door that led to the jetty and came across a young servant I had seen only once before. I asked him what he was doing there when he should have been on his way to school. With pronounced self-confidence, with true pride, the boy explained that Mr. William, Sr., had appointed him, before leaving for the forest, to be in charge of all his possessions. He added that William had instructed him to obey anyone coming in his name and identifying himself by saying a certain greeting.
“And what is that greeting?” I asked.
“May the maker of thunders bless us,” the boy answered without hesitation.
“And how should you reply?”
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
“And what language do you speak?”
“The language of the Ixi, my mother’s tongue,” the boy answered.
“And the young gentleman knows the language?”
“Oh, yes! It is the first language he learned… it is not very difficult.”
I thanked the boy for his dedication and told him that while we were together in the forest, Herbert had asked me to take care of his affairs. I also told him he must act as usual and meet the messenger without telling him I was hiding behind the door. I told him I had to be certain it was a real messenger and not a spirit an evil sorcerer had sent to hurt the inhabitants of the house. “And as you well know,” I added, “there are many such evil spirits!”
I hid behind a bamboo partition. I had learned the language of the Ixi years ago, when I had first set out to study the rainforest denizens and their cultures. There is a lot of resemblance, doubtless even blood ties, between the Ixi and the Yarkiti. The visitor lightly tapped on the door. Greetings were exchanged, and the stranger handed the bag to the boy. He asked that its contents be placed in the house, preferably during the evening hours, when the owners were outside, that way witchcraft could be avoided.
“The contents of the little bundle tied to a single stick should be placed in the woman’s room,” he said, “and the contents of the bundle tied to two sticks should be put in the man’s room.” This time, he added, he was only bringing things and wasn’t taking anything. Then he left.
I immediately emerged from my hiding place and told the boy he should follow the instructions he had received: When the mistress and I were outside, he must place the contents of the bundles in the rooms. That way, I said to him, we would be protected from witchcraft. I went up to the porch and saw the boat owner steering his boat to the town port. I went straight to Francisco and described the mysterious “converted” man to him. From there, I rushed to the docks. Just as I had expected, I saw the converted man going straight to the post office. I waited until he returned to his boat with packages of food and went on his way.
I returned to Marina’s house. I told her nothing of what had happened. We quietly ate our breakfast. She left the house, and I hurried back to the post office. Francisco told me the stranger I had described had asked if any telegrams had come for the residents of the large house. Just as we had agreed, Francisco had told him no telegrams had come. After that, the stranger ga
ve him two telegrams and two large envelopes and asked Francisco to take care of the wire and the mail. I asked Francisco, who enjoyed playing detective, to show me the mail the converted man had entrusted to him and promised to return it intact.
Both telegrams were addressed to a law office whose address I already knew. In one of the telegrams the messenger inquired if the items he’d sent had arrived, and in the other he asked the attorney to relay a message to the members of the Society for the Preservation of the Forests that the plan was proceeding as planned. The two fat envelopes were full of photographs of forest people. They bore the same address as the telegrams. I sealed the envelopes, thanked Francisco for his help and promised I would tell him anything I discovered.
I went back to Marina’s house. Old Tourki was waiting for me by the door, looking very distressed.
“Sir, a disaster happened! The boy was bitten by a poisonous snake. It happened in your room, and I don’t know how the snake was able to get in there.”
I instructed her to call the doctor and immediately went to Herbert, Sr.’s room. First, I shut all the windows so the snake couldn’t escape. Then I took some antivenin that I always carried in my bag. I quickly injected the child with the serum, hoping I had guessed the species of the snake correctly. I had. When I returned to my room, I discovered a small and extremely venomous snake hiding in the closet. I recognized the species from my days in the forest. I knew that the snake was not dangerous for the time being because it had just bitten someone. With a walking stick I found in the room, I drew the snake out, grabbed its head and placed it in a little sack.
When the doctor arrived, I told him I had administered the antivenin and gave him the bundled snake so he could prepare more. The doctor injected the child with a sedative, and we all hoped we had acted in time.
The boy fell asleep, and I went to my room to see what had been sent in the sack for me. I easily found the wooden tube that had held the small snake and a box that had probably held the tube. The child’s curiosity had probably saved my life. They were likely hoping I would open the tube and be immediately attacked by the snake. The rest of the things I found, mainly empty journals, all seemed worthless and I assumed they were intended to conceal the snake. But then I discovered a few pages I recognized. These were pages that had been mysteriously torn from my journal during my stay in the forest. I rushed to Marina’s room to check the bundle that had been left for her. I found it hard to believe whoever had sent the snake wanted to harm Marina, but I was still concerned for her well-being. Among the things sent to her were clothes, postcards, and photos that must have been in her possession before the expedition was attacked, as well as letters from her father, bearing no stamps or return address. I decided to hide everything from her. I didn’t want that world to haunt her again and was concerned that she would be tempted to believe her father or brother was still alive. Nothing is more dangerous than false hopes.
Word of the snake had spread through the town, prompting Marina to return home anxiously. I told her the serum I had in my possession had probably saved the boy’s life.
“Poor boy,” Marina sighed. “We found him when he was young child. His parents were either dead or had been captured by slavers, and he was probably raised by some apes that adopted him, sheltered and protected him from the other animals and provided him food. That was all we could understand from his confused words.”
I told her I would stay to take care of the boy and that she could go back to her own affairs. “I’ll send Tourki to fetch the doctor if we need him again.”
The child opened his eyes. The serum had worked in time, and his life was no longer in danger. As soon as he saw me, he immediately began to speak.
“Sir,” he said, “I had it coming… I shouldn’t have opened something that doesn’t belong to me, but that box made me so curious!”
I explained to him that was precisely the idea: to draw the eye and make the hand follow. “I told you about evil sorcerers,” I said. “Now you see what they can do.”
The boy was amazed by my words. “If those are sorcerers,” he said, “then surely they don’t belong to my tribe! Sorcerers do not send snakes. They command snakes to bite if they need to, just like that, with their mouths and minds! They don’t send them in a box. Only those who learned the ways of the Nave would treat an animal that is Minare’s companion in such a manner!”
I shuddered to hear the name of the goddess. It made me recall Yakura and filled me with an intense need to see her. I had hardly thought of my friends, the Yarkiti, in the past few days. The friends who had opened their doors to me and treated me as if I were one of their own, perhaps believing I was a shaman or a visitor from the spirit world. Maybe someone had convinced them the test of the snake would help them determine my true identity. If the snake didn’t harm me — I was a spirit. Should it kill me — I was nothing but an impostor. I was bothered by that thought, even though I found it hard to believe my friends had sent the snake.
Once again, I saw Yakura in my mind’s eye, and once again, I was struck by longing. Desire for the girl who lived with me in this house and who had turned away from me since we’d left the forest. Craving for the girl I had left behind in the jungle, a girl whom I believed, as did her tribe, to be a goddess. And yearning for my children to whom I would return only when this journey ended, a journey designed to lead me back to the man I had once been, the man erased by disaster.
And yearning for you, all the time, for you. I thought you had visited me in my dream again… doors kept opening and closing, and I heard footsteps in the background. Were they your footsteps? Were you coming to see me in the distant realms you had never visited?
I held the boy’s hand and asked him what he could remember from his childhood. Almost nothing, he answered. He remembered being found in the forest and how wonderfully he had been received in the large house. He was immediately treated like a son and they saw to all his needs. “I know how to read and write in the language of the Nave!” he said with pride. “The old and young masters are good people. They taught me several of the forest languages, and how to write with Nave letters all the stories of the Ixi people I had heard in my childhood. The young mistress hardly knows me. So many of the forest people work in this house! She is very attached to Tourki, who had raised her since she was a baby.”
I stroked the boy’s head until he fell asleep. I knew the immediate threat had passed but felt I still didn’t understand what was going on around me. I considered whether I should consult Francisco. In the end, I decided to ask Tourki to call for the marikitare she considered to be the greatest shaman in town. It’s best that he come to chase away the evil that has invaded the house, I told her, and to make sure the boy would recover. His shadow might have forsaken him when the snake sprang out of the box.
The marikitare soon showed up — an elderly man, leaning on a carved walking stick, tapir skin bag slung across his shoulder, full of stones and herb bundles, arrow-shaped sticks and dry leaves that looked like strips of paper. He told me I was the first Nave who had ever requested his services. He immediately recognized that the boy belonged to the Ixi tribe. He bent over him and began to chant, occasionally screaming or yelping. He held a bundle of herbs, directing the evil that had spread through the boy’s body back toward the bite mark on his foot. If the snake had bitten any other part of the boy’s body, he would have died instantly, but the skin of the sole is tougher, and its toughness had hindered the fangs and venom. The shaman pressed his mouth against the wound and sucked the evil out of it. After that he took out a flask — I assumed it contained yage — took three long sips and closed his eyes. Shortly, he sank into a stupor and his eyes turned completely white. He raised his head and began to mutter then took a bowl and spat into it several times.
When he opened his eyes, he told me, “The snake had chased away the boy’s spirit and now that the danger had passed, it came back to him. I saw
the hands sent by Minare’s messenger. Some of the hands were as dark as mine, others as white as yours. The snake was sent to you, and the boy prevented it from reaching its target. I saw your spirit at the foot of a mountain. There were fields of tall grass all around you, and I saw more visions, but they were hidden by smoke. It is not the boy who needs my help; it is you. I can give you the treatment you need only at my house, on the mountain next to the forest. Come and see me tomorrow.”
I wanted to pay him, but he was insulted and rejected the money.
“Powerful forces are at play,” he said, “and we need the aid of the gods.” Then he stood up and left.
12
The Great Rebellion
I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept hearing murmuring sounds coming up the stairs, rising from the river. Before getting into bed, I had made sure all the doors of the house were locked. Still, I kept going downstairs to check the source of the noises and discovered they were coming from inside my head, again and again. Finally, I was overcome by fatigue. The moment my eyes closed, the Noneshi appeared, having found a way to emerge from the forest. As usual, his entire body was covered by war paint, but this time instead of a spear, he was holding a rifle in his hands. He walked about my room, examining the walls. There was a full moon that night, and its light filled the room with silvery beams. The luminous glow sharpened the dark outline of the Noneshi’s body, a messenger from the world of the dead. This time I knew I was dreaming. The warrior moved his hands like the magicians I had seen as a child. His clothing, a sort of toga made of satin, dropped to the floor, and Yakura emerged from beneath it.
Yakura examined me, then looked at the strange room. I knew she found it hard to understand such an alien living space. Her hair was gathered in a thick, black braid. At the end of the braid, I saw the snake opening its mouth and staring at me with hostility. A shiver passed through me. It couldn’t be, I thought. My eyes were misleading me! The kindhearted Yakura couldn’t possibly be carrying the snake. Yakura flew around the room, searching for a way out. The Noneshi put down the rifle and chased her. A bright, intimidating moon appeared in the window, its white face covered by a red mask. The red moon opened its mouth like an animal but couldn’t capture Yakura, who flew into the night. He let her go and grabbed the foot of the Noneshi chasing her. The Noneshi cried out for help. From whom? A black bird with a crown of red feathers squeezed its way through the slit of darkness surrounding the moon and pulled the Noneshi to it. He lost his footing and jumped, with a yelp, after the bird.
