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

  “There were fifteen of us, and two local forest people served as escorts and guides. We reached a mining camp and found it deserted. The remains of dead bodies taught us what had happened to the local residents. We decided to stay in the abandoned camp, but before we could settle in, a rain of small arrows assaulted us. When we woke up, we found ourselves in this hellhole.”

  “When did you get here?” I asked.

  “Two days ago, I suppose,” answered the port officer.

  “Strange,” I said. “I was already here and didn’t see you arrive. Do you remember how they brought you into this house?”

  Before either of them could answer, the converted man gestured for me to come to his corner. I approached him and saw an opening covered with a net, with stairs descending from it. It seemed the blow to my head had been harder than I thought, because I was suddenly overcome by a spell of dizziness and could no longer stand on my feet. I fell down, and a gateway to another world opened before me.

  And there I was in a house filled with smoke or mist, and someone commanded me to swallow poison, because the time had come. Without argument, I brought the glass to my mouth. You sat beside me and suggested that I lie in bed, so I could make the crossing with tranquility. I felt tired, my head was heavy, but I refused to get into bed. I felt like someone who had undertaken a journey, yet I was sitting down. I saw exhaustion and sadness in your face, and with wonder, I told you that only a moment before, I was about to commit the act and drink the poison. From your reply, I realized you thought of the potion as a bringer of life rather than death. “This is what happens when you want children,” you told me, and I didn’t have strength enough to correct your mistake. I was overwhelmed by fatigue, but my eyes refused to close. I thought I began to move forward, and a clown ran next to me, his pants constantly falling down…

  Hands suddenly held me and pulled me from the world of truth. Water was splashed on my face, and I opened my eyes. Herbert was leaning over me.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  “With the help of your bodyguards,” I answered.

  “We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Herbert. “One of the guards realized it was you we were looking for and called me. I was able to save your life.”

  I managed to stand on my feet and look around. We were in Herbert’s room in the round house. Various maps and papers were scattered on the table.

  “Come see,” he said to me. I went to the table and recognized a map that had been torn out of Herbert, Sr.’s journal. “I think I know where the center of the ancient civilization was.” He leaned over the map, holding a pencil. “It is here, under Omauha’s mountain. The channel system leads there.”

  “You know that your father was already there,” I said softly. I was convinced this was known to him, but his eyes widened with wonder. “Yes, he was there,” I said. “In the journal I had, he tells about the place and what he saw there. But he doesn’t speak about the ancient ones there, only about later immigrants.”

  He continued to look at me but said nothing. He seemed to be deliberating about how he should reply. “I had the journal,” he said at last, “but I hardly had an opportunity to read it. As far as I know, there are several copies of the journal, and the one I had was probably copied by someone else. It didn’t have my father’s handwriting. A few nights later, the journal disappeared. I don’t know who took it. There weren’t any strangers in the camp, only locals of the Mashko tribe. I found out it was with you, but I knew you weren’t the one who stole it. I learned who had brought it to you, but the man was murdered and took the secret of how he got it to the grave. If my father had really been there, at the cave, that solves a few mysteries that have troubled me, but not all of them.” He grew silent, and a great sadness was reflected in his eyes.

  I told him about the white prisoners I had met at the stone house. I told him I thought they weren’t man hunters or hired killers, but good men who had had to escape from the town. “They could know something about the journal,” I added, “because some of its torn pages were found among the property of the murdered chief of police.”

  Herbert wasted no time. He crossed to the door and said something to one of his bodyguards. Before long, the two white prisoners were brought into the room.

  “So you’re in charge of this entire place?” the port officer asked in his coarse way. From the looks on the three men’s faces, I gathered they knew each other well, probably from Herbert’s time in Don Pedro.

  “Let’s get straight to the point,” said Herbert. “Do you know the whereabouts of the professor’s journal, and do you know anything about pages that were torn from it, including a map like this one?” He picked up the map from the table and presented it to them.

  The two men shook their heads and explained they knew nothing. Herbert interrogated them a little, stared at them hard and long, and then signaled the guards, who removed the port officer and the policeman from the room.

  “Don’t worry,” Herbert told me after they had been taken away, “they will not be harmed. I’ve ordered them to be released and housed in a little hut in the camp. My men will keep an eye on them… Now, back to the business at hand,” he suddenly said in a livelier tone. “Would you be willing to come with me, when the time comes, to the cave below the mountain? I am afraid that one of the copies of the map has found its way to the gold and diamond seekers, and if they get there first, everything will be destroyed. Unless we act quickly and with conviction, all that will be left of the ancient ones’ wisdom will be some fragments of tablets and statuettes gathering dust in museums!”

  He sat down and suddenly seemed deflated. It was obvious he didn’t expect to get a positive response from me. I said my farewells, but he didn’t bother to answer me; he didn’t even glance at me. I passed the blank-faced guards and returned to my hut.

  “How were you injured?” Yakura asked me when I went inside, pointing at my head.

  “I fell while walking on one of the trails leading into the jungle,” I said feebly.

  Yakura looked at me skeptically, and in order to avoid her scrutiny, I suggested that the three of us go to one of the streams to bathe and relax. Yakura and Marina gladly accepted my offer.

  “We will be able to treat your wound there,” said Yakura and smiled. On our way, we met a warrior wearing a huge mask with strange ropes dangling from it. The ropes looked like a coil of vipers. Yakura and the masked man drew away from us and whispered together. Something in the man’s movements looked familiar, but I couldn’t match the man’s appearance to any of the images I had conjured from my memories. At some point, the two turned down one of the paths, and Yakura signaled for Marina and me to follow.

  When we reached the stream, instead of stopping to bathe and rest, Yakura and the masked man continued on their way into the forest. We responded to Yakura’s signal again and followed them.

  The more distance we placed between ourselves and the camp, the louder the noises of the forest grew. We could hear animals growling, perhaps even on the prowl, but Yakura turned and gave us a reassuring smile. In a small clearing, we came upon a large pit dug between the trees, with several more beside it, covered with grass. A terrible cacophony of animal sounds issued from the large pit. I carefully leaned over the hole and discovered a multitude of carnivorous animals. Most were pumas, but there were some other large jungle cats. Some of the animals were sleeping, others were walking around comfortably, without threatening each other. I spotted a single tapir, but strangely, the predators had not harmed it, and it lay peacefully in the corner.

  Marina and I went to Yakura and the masked man, walking with slow, measured steps, afraid to fall into one of the grass-covered pits. Yakura’s companion pointed at one of the pits, and we saw a coil of snakes inside.

  “The entire area is surrounded by traps like this one.” Yakura turned to us. “If anyone attacks the camp, he
would have to find a way to avoid them.”

  We took care to walk in the footprints left by Yakura and the masked man, crossing over large, empty pits on wide branches that served as bridges. Before long, we stood before a tall tree, rising from the opening of a cave.

  The four of us entered the cave. Several corridors branched out into the dark space. Yakura and the masked man led us down one of the passages till we reached a series of well-tended rooms. It was obvious that people were still living in them. Armed, masked men were standing beside a wide opening, and beyond them, I saw people of all races. Some were carving stones, others were carving and processing wood. I couldn’t believe my eyes: Among the laborers, I recognized the man from my country, who, to the best of my knowledge, had been led to his death a few days before.

  Marina recognized my shock and pressed herself against me, trying to soothe me. I tried to point at the man and explain to her what I had seen, but the words refused to come. I felt like I had lost my voice. When the man turned to me, and I saw his gaze, I was staggered, because I discovered all emotion had been wiped off his face. He acted like an automaton, with no sign of recognition. Someone had taken over his soul, and through the soul, had conquered his body. Yakura urged us to continue walking, and Marina and I obeyed her as if we too had lost our willpower.

  We reached a room guarded by a company of blind warriors and moved past them. Inside the room, on a large stone table, were many vases containing bundles of plants and various types of stones. In smaller, almost flat containers, snails crawled about. As if I were in a dream, I felt that I needed no explanations. I knew I was inside a laboratory where drugs were manufactured, drugs intended to wipe out a person’s will and consciousness. On another table, illuminated by an unknown source, a couple of pages were placed. I handled them with curiosity. They were made of a material I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t paper produced from wood pulp, neither was it a parchment produced from the hide of animals. The pages contained drawings of leaves, roots, and animal organs. It was a guide intended for the laboratory workers, I thought. Just then it came to my mind that the cave system we had entered probably contained other creatures I had not yet seen. I reflected on the fact that the word my mind had conjured was “creatures” rather than “people,” and a shiver passed through me. Marina clung to me in fear and closed her eyes.

  Why had Yakura brought us here? And who were the creatures, or people, controlling what was going on in the cave? Briefly, I considered the possibility Herbert wasn’t the real ruler of the camp. He was sending people to be killed by jungle cats, but he didn’t know the predators had been drugged and were uninterested in attacking or devouring. He ran the camp with a firm hand, but a short distance from his headquarters, other creatures were at work, directing his actions without his knowledge. And the tribal chiefs, who were they obeying? Did they feel the dual nature of what was taking place? I remembered the words of Yankor, attributing to me the ability to distinguish truth from falsehood, but I wasn’t comforted. I felt completely helpless. In the ambiguous world I had found myself in, I lost all ability to distinguish between reality and delusion.

  We kept walking until we reached a wide space that seemed uninhabited and looked like any other natural cave. There was an opening in the ceiling, and a ray of sunlight came through it. A mound of stones stood in the center of the cave. Following the masked man, we climbed the stones and exited through the opening in the ceiling. We found ourselves in another clearing, and not far off I recognized the small stones that were used for the Sekuras’ temporary huts. The masked man disappeared, and Yakura led us silently back to the camp.

  On our way, we passed a new hut. The port officer and the policeman sat next to it. They greeted us and thanked me with warm words. Marina and the two men exchanged surprised looks.

  “I will explain to you later,” I told Marina, and we turned to our hut. Yakura brought us fruit and water. We ate and drank in silence. Marina spoke to me with her frightened eyes and clung to me as if she could find a cure for all her fears in my body. I hugged her tightly, and Yakura smiled at us and soon left the hut. I thought we’d talk about what we had seen, but we were overcome by a great tiredness. We crawled to our hammocks and closed our eyes.

  I was sitting with my parents, speaking with them about a coming trip. My parents seemed more relaxed and loving than ever. Their financial situation must have improved. They explained to me that this time it was their turn to take a vacation. In that case, I told them, I would postpone my trip, wait at their house, and set out when they called me to join them. They smiled at me happily.

  Suddenly, I found myself in a huge cave, with the Noneshi looking at me. He wore a large mask with snakelike strings dangling from it. His visage changed again and again. And with each transformation he wore a different image, from a different time in my life. In the end, a white man stood in front of me, wearing European-style attire, his face adorned by a small triangular white beard, his hair gray and curly. He looked at me and smiled.

  “You are a part of the grand plan,” he said.

  I asked him why he was wearing so many images.

  “They think us to be gods,” the man answered, “and we are revealed to the forest people through the mists of vihu or yage. Many foreigners have recently come to the forest, each with his own dream, and we must protect ourselves from them so they won’t reach us.”

  I tried to ask “Who are you?” But before I was able to open my mouth, the old man’s image transformed into the image of the Noneshi again, until it disappeared completely.

  I woke up drenched in sweat. Marina was stroking my head. “You’re feverish,” she said. “You were crying in your sleep.”

  I looked at my watch. I had been sleeping for more than half a day.

  “I had strange dreams,” said Marina. “I dreamed that we saw pits with wild predators in them and entered a system of caves led by a masked man, and suddenly he changed his shape and wore other images…”

  I didn’t tell her I had just woken from the very same dream.

  29

  The Homeless Man

  I went out of the hut in the early morning. A new hut had been built overnight next to the port officer and the policeman’s. I wasn’t able to help myself. I climbed the stairway and carefully moved aside the branches covering the doorway. I saw two hammocks, bearing two sleeping women. I carefully approached them. Clara was sleeping soundly, but Christina nervously shifted in her sleep, as if trying to chase a nightmare or an irksome bug. I was afraid she would fall, but then I saw both women were tied to their hammocks. I quietly left the hut and continued to walk about the camp.

  Echoes of the dream we had shared, Marina and I, floated to the surface of my mind and disturbed me. I didn’t know if the laboratory I had visited was real or part of some hallucination. I had no doubt, however, that one man I had seen there, whom Herbert had ordered sacrificed to the gods a few days earlier and who seemed to have been resurrected, had played an important role in my past. The story he had told me in the large house, when he had pleaded for his life, sounded strange and questionable and did not fit my memories. But by then, I wasn’t sure of anything.

  And suddenly I remembered him and saw that face again, in front of my eyes. It had happened many years ago. He was waiting for me next to the gate of my house, eyes staring, dressed in tattered rags like a homeless man. When he saw me, he began to tell his story to me, and I stood and listened.

  He was just an ordinary man, so he said, until he became possessed. A nameless voice instructed him to write a book. If he would write it, he would save the world, which was about to be destroyed. The divine calling burned like fire in his bones. He quit his job, was thrown out of his house, and ceaselessly toiled on his book — writing, correcting, and proofreading it to no end. He had decided, maybe because he had read one of my articles or had heard something about me, that I was the only person who could help
him. He was wrong, of course. I wanted to do something for him, but my fear of his madness had gotten the better of me, and instead of inviting him inside, I asked him to leave.

  When you heard this story from my mouth, you were very angry at me. You couldn’t understand why I hadn’t tried to lend him a helping hand. His face haunted me for long months after that encounter, and I constantly berated myself for not having helped him.

  Maybe because of that feeling of guilt still somewhere inside me, I had confused him with the neighbor who, according to rumor, was suffering from shell shock, or perhaps I had merely hallucinated the story of the murder… Or maybe the story had indeed been told to me, there, in the round house, but that man wasn’t a confessing killer, but a homeless author destined to save the world, who had arrived in some inexplicable way to the forest to make up a story for me… Or I could have imagined it all, from start to finish. And I? Could be I’m nothing but the hero of a story I concocted in order to save my ruined world.

  I returned to the hut, Marina was already awake. Her eyes stared at me, but it seemed as if she didn’t notice me. That man’s face constantly flashed before my eyes.

  “Look me in the eye,” his voice told me. “I want to see if you are lying to me as well.”

  That sour smell that poured off him then, years ago, the odor of self-neglect and misery, suddenly assaulted my nose. I shook my head and chased the sight from my eyes, but the acrid smell wouldn’t dissipate. I looked at Marina with concern. Her face indicated that she was in great distress and in a very, very distant place. Her eyes were expressionless, but there was still panic in them, even helplessness. When she walked about the hut aimlessly, her right shoulder slanted downward, like the Yarkiti women’s during a time of great pain or an argument.

  I told her I had seen Clara and Christina at the camp, in a hut especially built for them and that they were both sleeping. Her blank eyes indicated that she didn’t understand my words and needed my assistance. I hugged her, thinking the warmth of my body would wake her from that state of shock, and led her outside the hut. Yakura came toward us and looked at Marina with concern. I didn’t have to explain anything. The daughter of the forest immediately laid her on a bed of leaves, and began to massage her forehead, gently, at first, then with a growing intensity. Now and then she stopped and opened Marina’s eyes, but they immediately closed every time. After many minutes, Yakura stood, asked me to continue to massage Marina’s forehead, and said she would return soon with something that might help.