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

  One day, the silence broke. We sat side by side in our boat, holding hands.

  “Do you know where we’re being taken?” she suddenly asked.

  “I don’t,” I answered. “It’s possible the conditions in the forest have changed, and a new reality now rules the forest since the outbreak of the rebellion.”

  “And is he going to be there?” asked Marina anxiously.

  “Who?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “Herbert. The one I thought was my brother.” So she had been told. By her mother or by someone else. Either way, she now knew her past lover wasn’t her brother, and she supposed he was alive and in the forest. Was she right to think so?

  “I do not know,” I answered, once the restless thoughts settled in my head. “But something tells me he is involved with what is happening now and what will unfold in the coming days.” I paused then asked her, “How did you reach the forest?”

  And Marina told me. “Did you get the letter I sent you from the ship?”

  I nodded.

  “After sending it to you, another passenger came to me and said the man I had entrusted the letter to was dangerous and that I mustn’t trust him. ‘We know him well,’ he said. ‘He is looking for a great treasure that he thinks is in the forest and is interested only in money and power.’ I looked at him suspiciously, and he said that during the night, one of the forest people would come close to the ship in a boat and steal his way aboard. Then he would be able to tell me more about what was going on in the forest.

  “I waited for night with fear in my heart, and the forest man actually came. He managed to climb on board the ship without being noticed by the policemen or soldiers. The man who had told me about his visit introduced us. We sat in a secluded corner of the ship, the forest man and I, and spoke. And that same forest man, who looks much like the warriors who are with us now, but knows how to speak the white man’s language, told me stories the likes of which I had never imagined.

  “He told me that many men, belonging to various gangs, are seeking great treasure in the forest. Some are looking for gold or precious stones, others are looking for an infinitely greater reward, a treasure of knowledge. Whoever finds that treasure will be able to enter other worlds and converse with the gods. Meanwhile, everyone is fighting each other, and everyone desires the jungle and its secrets. This is why a few of the tribes have joined forces to protect their endangered home. This is why they allow any Nave who wants to help to join them, even if his intentions are far removed from the will of the tribal elders. And among those Nave, there is one who claims he is Omauha himself.

  “Even though the god is white, the tribal chiefs and the shamans know well who the real Omauha is and have no difficulty in distinguishing between him and the false gods. At some point, the man took out a bottle from his possessions and claimed that with the drink inside he would be able to answer further questions. I assumed it was yage and willingly drank from it. But it wasn’t yage, and I do not know what happened from that point to the time I first laid eyes on you in the forest.”

  I asked her what she had been able to find out about Herbert William, the man she had thought to be her brother. She said her mother had told her the truth about her origins when they were on the ship.

  “The locals regard you as a daughter of the forest,” I told her, “and therefore decided to bring you back to them. Who knows, you might have a role to play in one of their mystic plans? I suppose they have such a role planned for me as well.”

  After a long, thoughtful silence, I told her everything that had taken place in Don Pedro since she had left for the capital. I told her of the skirmishes and the murders and did not skip Christina’s story. I told Marina who Christina’s lover was before she had come to town and of her little girl, Grisella. Finally, I told her about the amorous relationship that had developed between me and the young woman.

  “She’s the beautiful mulatto woman who makes a living cooking, isn’t she?” asked Marina.

  I told her she was correct, and we both went silent for a long while. I supposed she was trying to process all the new information.

  “I can understand your behavior,” she eventually said. “You were lonely and were swept away by her beauty. But I cannot understand Herbert’s behavior. Why did he hide her from me? Why did he sneak like that into my home and my life and conceal the fact he has a wife and a daughter? Why didn’t he tell me we were weren’t siblings, even though he must have known I was tortured by that terrible idea? What kind of person is he?”

  Another long silence followed.

  “You know, Marina,” I said, “something inside me tells me you weren’t raped by the young Mashko warriors the day you were kidnapped, but were given a drug. Herbert has something to do with that, I’m almost certain. Christina, who was attacked in town, must have gone through a similar experience, possibly intended to free you from him, or free him from you, and allow him to move unencumbered in the forest. It could be he too, is looking for the treasure, and maybe it is the same treasure his father found and wrote about in his journal.”

  Our conversation was cut short when the boats stopped for the night. We climbed out and went into the forest to a small clearing that looked familiar and triggered fragments of old memories. We spent some time setting up camp then entered our hut. For the first time since our return to the forest, we clung to each other, and in our own unique way, without words, we forgot the world surrounding us, the destiny commanding us, and were ourselves again, flesh and blood.

  25

  The Reflection

  I went out of the hut with the first sounds of morning. Marina remained inside, sleeping. The air was cool and pleasant. The forest around me seemed incredibly familiar. I had a feeling I was somewhere close to the clasped hands, perhaps even close to the village and the cave. I turned into one of the trails that had recently been cleared, sensing I knew where it would lead me.

  A short while later, I reached a spring. In the small pool beside it, a forest woman was bathing. I immediately recognized her. I remembered how keen her senses were, a huntress’s senses. But despite the fact I approached her quickly, not trying to muffle the sound of my movements, she did not turn her head, as if she were immersed in a dream and couldn’t hear me. I went into the pool and gently pressed my hand to her shoulder.

  “You are here!” she said but still did not turn to me. I knew that it wasn’t a coincidence she was bathing there so early in the morning, rather than in the spring close to her village.

  “Yakura, why won’t you look at me?”

  At length, she turned her face to me. Tears welled in her eyes, and she stood close and hugged me as tight as she could, soaking me to the skin.

  “Why didn’t you stay there?” she said through her tears. “You have come here never to return again!”

  Now there were no more doubts in my heart: This was to be my last journey, and Yakura had come to warn me, possibly hoping I would still be able to escape. Maybe Xnen had sent her to test me, or it could be she was acting on her own, out of love and compassion and contrary to the laws of her tribe.

  “Yakura,” I whispered, “I’m so happy to see you…what may come, will come. Let’s be happy together now.”

  The sentences we exchanged were abrupt, as the conversation was difficult for both of us. She told me we were close to the village, in a place I might have visited during one of my travels, a Sekura camp the villagers are not allowed to live in. Then she told me new and unusual things would be revealed to me in the forest, and I would not always be able to distinguish between reality and hallucination.

  “Many things you thought you knew are unknown to you,” said the manifestation of the goddess with her eyes watering.

  We stood there in a silent embrace, our feet in the water, when I noticed two figures looking at us, each from a different direction. At the end of the path
leading from the night camp to the spring, Yankor peered at me. From the other end of the spring, at the end of an unfamiliar trail, Xnen watched me. Yakura, who had also noticed the newcomers and could even have known they would be coming, didn’t hurry to let me go. After some time, she let her arms fall, spread her hands and turned them to the heavens, as if commanding me to choose my direction. I gently stroked her head and turned to Xnen.

  The marikitare happily smiled at me. We fell into each other’s arms and embraced for a long while. Then he held me at arm’s length, looked at me with bright eyes, and nodded. Yankor looked at us from the other end of the spring, the same smile on his lips, a smile of deep satisfaction. From the corner of my eye, I saw Yakura rise from the pool and turn to walk away down the path. Her eyes were downcast, and her steps were slow and heavy.

  Xnen let go of me and went to Yankor. They conversed in whispers and with busy gestures. I tried to interpret their gestures and to understand their inaudible whispers. It was obvious they were speaking about me, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying and what role I had to play in their plans. After a time, they turned to the trail and walked together toward the camp I had come from. The forest suddenly woke with its many voices. I smiled when I remembered Marina and eagerly followed the two shamans.

  The camp had awoken in the meantime. The hut I shared with Marina stood in the exact center of the camp, not far from Yankor’s small hut. The warriors were busy painting their bodies, while one of them prepared the sun seed next to a bonfire that had burned through the night. I asked myself whether they were going to war or preparing for a ceremony. Then Xnen and Yankor appeared and the warriors went silent. Yankor and Xnen removed their clothes and both shamans, completely naked, went to the bonfire, kneeled and began to inhale the sun seed. The warriors joined them, passing the long reeds from nostril to nostril.

  Xnen abruptly held his face as if he were afraid to look at something then scratched the top of his head. He picked up an abandoned spear from the ground, stuck it into the earth next to the bonfire, and erupted into a wild dance. The warriors surrounded him and hurled their spears near him without harming him. Everyone howled like beasts. The young women stood a short distance away, holding flowers and water.

  The loud voices must have woken Marina, because her head emerged from the opening of the hut. She first looked at the girls then at the warriors dancing around the two shamans. Her eyes remained blank, as if she were finding it difficult to grasp what was taking place or understand in what magical place she had woken. Or she might have been drugged again. It was obvious that she hadn’t noticed me, even though I was standing by myself, completely exposed, not far from the hut.

  Xnen ran from the center of the camp, as if chased by angry spirits, and Yankor ran after him. He caught up with Xnen next to a group of tall trees at the edge of the camp and pulled him back into the circle of warriors, wounding invisible enemies with an arrow he was holding.

  Marina came out of the hut. It seemed that she had begun to understand what was happening around her. And while she was chasing the sleep from her eyes, a few of the girls went to her and pulled her to one of the corners of the camp. Her clothes were removed and replaced by a leaf dress. Wrapped in a forest gown, the beautiful girl wore the image of Minare. A few warriors came to me and seated me on the ground. They took off my Western clothes, dressed me in a garment made of tree bark, and placed a crown of thorns on my head. Dressed in our new clothes, Marina and I were taken to the middle of the camp, she at the center of the group of female dancers, and I at the center of the group of male warriors. The shamans kneeled before us and waved their arms. I realized we were in the middle of an initiation ceremony or a rite of entering a sacred place, and even though the road we were to take unfolded before us slowly and deliberately, I knew not where it would lead.

  The warriors and the girls tore at their hair, shrieked loudly, and cried pitifully. Marina and I stood side by side, awkwardly, staring at the scene before us. Soon after, the two shamans dropped before our feet completely exhausted, and the ritual was over. The warriors went to the spring, probably to remove the body paint. The girls washed their bodies with the water of the gourds they were holding then immediately went to prepare the meal.

  When we finished the great feast of fruit, the camp was quickly dismantled and we set off down the footpath to the spring. We continued down the trail Xnen had emerged from when I was with Yakura in the pool and quickly reached the village. I was astounded by what I saw. The new village was exactly like the old village, the one I lived in before the deluge had washed it away. I looked at the huts, the trails and the round house, fascinated and amazed. I suddenly recalled the photographs I had seen in Herbert, Sr.’s journal. Could it be that they had been taken before my previous visit in the forest, in a village that resembled this one, just as it resembled the one before, and all the rest of the villages built before or after it?

  I didn’t speak a word to Marina and even feared to look at her face, so as not to disrupt the sense of completeness the ritual and the renewed encounter with my past had aroused in me. The village looked as if it had just woken from a perfectly ordinary night to a perfectly ordinary day. The warriors and the girls dispersed to their homes, and our belongings were taken to a hut at the perimeter of the camp, which resembled in its shape and position the hut I had lived in on my previous visit. From afar, at the other end of the village, I recognized Yakura’s hut. Everything was incredibly familiar, yet unrealistic, as if we had found ourselves inside a reflection, a vision coming to our eyes from the surface of the great river. We didn’t know what to do or what we should say to each other to restore reality to our lives and speech to our lips. As so many times before, we gave in to the connection that fills the places where thousands of words remain unspoken.

  We woke from the dream in which we had sunk, put on our clothes and fell into another silence, waiting for a sign. Suddenly, we heard bare feet climbing the ladder. It was Yakura. She looked at us and did not break the silence. She looked nothing like the girl who cried in the stream, but like a woman performing her task. With a movement of her head, she beckoned us to follow her. Below, two young warriors were waiting for us with Yankor.

  “I will not go with you,” said Yankor, breaking the long silence. Then he addressed me. “You must see through the eyes that are in your heart,” he said. “Your other eyes will see many things, but you possess the ability to distinguish between lies and truths, even when the lie disguises itself as truth.” Then he addressed Marina. “You too, will see many things that will appear to be lies but are true and many things that will appear to be true but are false. You also have a special ability to see and understand. Join the eyes of your hearts together, and don’t make mistakes. If you do, Omauha will fail. But do not worry! If you listen to your hearts, you won’t be able to make any wrong choices.”

  He gave me pouches filled with powders and leaves and explained to me in a few words how to use them. Then he parted from us and disappeared.

  We began to walk, Yakura to my right and Marina to my left, a warrior ahead of me, and a warrior behind. A winding, well-tended footpath led us out of the village. The heat became unbearable. Our bodies craved water and were covered with sticky sweat.

  After an exhausting walk, we came upon a forest clearing that had a group of structures intended for a temporary camp. The leading warrior stopped, and I understood we could sit. We heard the sound of running water, and realized we were allowed to drink as well. The first to do so was Yakura. She’d found a brook among the low bushes and kneeled down to drink. We drank from its waters and washed our faces. A small pool formed not far from there. Marina took off her clothes and went into the small pool with Yakura. Soon, the two of them forgot the world about them, and began to playfully splash water at each other. I watched them, afraid to disturb their tranquility, astounded by the living beauty. The warriors ignored the girls, and w
ith expressionless faces made themselves busy cleaning and preparing for the setting of the camp.

  We ate nothing, not even fruit, we only drank from the water of the small stream. I guessed we were about to enter a reality that demanded fasting and purifying. The hours remaining until dark passed slowly. The two women amused themselves in the water, while the warriors continued setting up the camp. When darkness fell, a fire was lit in the middle of the clearing, and the three of us were put in a shelter whose floor was covered with leaves. We placed our heads on them and fell asleep immediately.

  In my dream, the Noneshi appeared, looking so much like the young warriors accompanying us. This time he opened his mouth and spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” he said. “Now we will finally know who is genuine and who is false.” He sounded a bird’s whistle and disappeared.

  26

  The Encounter

  I was awakened by the sounds of the pre-dawn jungle. I got up, and Yakura quickly followed. I left the hut and the camp, curious to explore this new part of the forest. Yakura followed me like a shadow. When we were a quarter-hour away from the camp, she placed her hand on my back and began to stroke it. My body yearned for her, but a firm, insistent voice echoed inside me, forbidding me to return her caresses.

  “Yakura, where are we going?” I heard the words coming out of my mouth without meaning to say them.