by Nahum Megged
I settled Grisella in my lap and stroked her hair like I used do with my children in those distant, remote times. I looked around the pleasant, humble hut. Now and then, I stole glances at Christina, who was in no hurry to cover her exposed breasts. I immediately remembered Yakura and Marina mocking me in the forest hut. Christina noticed one of my looks, smiled at me amicably, found her clothing, and put it on.
We went to the police station together. The chief of police was there with his policemen and the port officer, playing cards.
“Would you care to join us?” The police chief turned to us, a wide smile on his face.
I asked him if he hadn’t felt something strange in town — unfamiliar people, unusual movements. He answered nonchalantly that the town was always lifeless on such a hot day.
“I just stick out my head from time to time, to check what’s going on. Not a soul in sight! Everything is dead!”
We left them and went back outside without telling them what had happened in town while they were playing cards. The doctor hurried off because one of the townspeople required his services. I accompanied Christina to her house, carrying her daughter in my arms. When we reached her home, I lay Grisella on her bed in the shaded room and tried to comfort Christina, who looked extremely worried.
“If the policemen haven’t seen or heard anything,” she said, “it means that the strangers did indeed enter the town as ghosts…and if these weren’t strangers, then danger is lurking for us inside our own camp.”
I stroked her head and promised her in a quiet voice that everything would be all right. Suddenly, she hugged me passionately and pulled me to her room. What happened next took place in a world of dreams and fairy tales. After we woke from our intoxication, Christina went to check on her daughter. Her mind was put at ease when she saw Grisella sleeping soundly. She gave me a shy look. I pulled her to me and hugged her again.
Suddenly I realized that the body had yearned. That it had remembered. That the desire had been so intense that the dam was now breached. And that realization gave birth to another: that Christina had not been raped by the strangers dressed as ghosts, and that on that distant day, Marina had not been raped either. Something had happened to each of them, but it wasn’t rape. Something or someone had marked them, as if preparing them for a mysterious ritual in which I also had a part to play. I also remembered the hotel manager and the way she fondled me right after she had recovered from the drug’s influence. Thoughts began to trouble my mind again.
Christina raised her head and said defensively, “Do not think me to be a…”
I hugged her and stroked her head. “You are a wonderful woman, and I must thank you for another miracle in my life. But I’m afraid you’ve been marked, I don’t know by whom. Those same people know things about you that I don’t. I don’t think you should stay here, in such a secluded corner of the town.
Christina looked at me, and her eyes indicated her agreement. “All the casualties,” she said, “are related to the same complex story playing out in the forest. The attackers must be afraid that we will stand in their way. On the other hand, they could have killed us and didn’t… I wish I knew who they were.”
I suggested that until the ship came, she should come and live in Marina’s house.
She smiled again and said, “I’m sure you understand that this is impossible.”
I asked her to be careful and to watch over her daughter, then I kissed her forehead and left.
When I arrived at Marina’s house, I found Tourki standing at the front door. She placed a finger on her lips, asking me to be silent. I went to my room and found Yankor there. I went to the wise old man and held on to him like you would cling to a single kindly spirit hovering among a host of evil ones. I embraced him and, unlike the way of the forest people, even kissed him.
We were silent for a long time until I asked, “Have you come to take me?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, but it shall come to pass soon.” A few moments later, he told me what he had seen in town. He arrived on the boat guarded by the snakes, the lords of the forest. He disembarked and the rest took the boat and docked some distance from town.
I asked him if his friends had thrown pebbles at me and then healed me.
“I guess you still haven’t learned not to ask,” he answered. Then he went on to tell me how he had gone to the place where his hut had once stood, because he had to offer a sacrifice in the sacred cave. There, in the cave, he found Christina, and they performed the ceremony together. When they left the forest and headed to Don Pedro, Christina said she sensed eyes watching them, but they couldn’t see anyone.
The town was drowsy, and Francisco was probably the only one who noticed him, and possibly that Nave living in the hotel. At the house jetty, he saw a different boat, surprisingly similar to the one he had arrived in. It frightened him. He was afraid that strangers had taken over their boat and those who had remained on it were murdered, but he hoped for the best and put his trust in the snakes. He went to the place where the boat was supposed to wait for him and discovered both the boat and his friends safe and sound. There were two boats, then, almost identical. The next morning, when he returned to town from his hiding place, he saw a few Nave walking to the hotel. Sometime later, he saw them walking to the house I lived in, then to Christina’s house. Later on, he saw me walking with another man, bending and picking up invisible things scattered on the footpaths of the town. He hid next to the house and convinced Tourki to let him in.
The story was almost complete.
“And what did the strangers look like?” I asked.
“Their faces were covered by bandanas, so I couldn’t see,” the old shaman answered.
I showed him the thorns and asked him if he was familiar with them.
His face paled. “This is the last weapon of the swamp lord, those who had opposed Omauha. This weapon was grown by the evil spirit Mahuari, and it grows only in a single swamp in the forest. Even the etuko, the sorcerers, do not dare to use this weapon.”
I told Yankor that the thorns had been scattered in the hotel, in Marina’s house, and on the paths in town.
“None of us would ever do something like that,” he said. “This was done by those who came on the other boat. They have found the place, and I do not know who could have taught them about the thorn of nausea and death.” He was momentarily silent then added, “The enemies are very close to the corner of corners, and we are drifting away. I think we must hurry. Your return to the forest might take place sooner than planned. Let’s hope the real Omauha will take pity on us and help.”
I couldn’t help notice the word “real.” This meant that fake gods were roaming the forest as well. I asked Yankor if he knew what the strangers were looking for. After some consideration, he answered.
“These are not foreigners. They are a reincarnation of some of the first ones. They are seeking the center, because everything depends on it. The last war is coming ahead of its time, you might need to leave even before the ship arrives…”
He stood up, left the house, and called out to me a moment later. I went outside and looked in the direction he pointed. In the center of town there was a scarecrow, and on his head was a mask of a pale, hollow face. The ghosts had marked the heart of the town with their flag.
22
The Teacher
Peace returned to Don Pedro the following morning. It seemed as if everyone was trying to hide from each other. Yankor vanished in the same mysterious way he had appeared, while George and Clara did not show their faces in town. I walked about close to the hotel but couldn’t bring myself to go inside. Francisco, on the other hand, looked calmer than ever and was mainly busy planning his upcoming trip and searching for a location for his new home.
“Costa Rica seems like the ideal country to me,” he said when I sat in his office to hear some fresh gossip and catch up on the goi
ngs-on in town. “I was there twice before I came here, when I was looking for ways of evading my creditors. It is a peaceful, nonviolent country. It has no military and barely any police. The president travels everywhere by bicycle. Businesswise, I’ll be comfortable enough there, though not like here, where every financial initiative is an instant success.”
I casually asked him if he had seen Christina, and he said he had run into her once, and even then she did not ask if a telegram or a letter had arrived for her, as she normally did. He hadn’t seen any of my other acquaintances, not even briefly.
I went to the town store. I was hoping to find my absent friends there. The storekeeper’s eyes widened when he saw me, as the servants of the house normally took care of the grocery shopping. I looked at all the half-empty shelves and that’s when I understood why the townspeople dressed the way they did and why the town children were so strangely fond of terrible plastic toys. Since this was the only store in town, it had the power to determine how people dressed and even influenced their culinary habits. My eyes fell on a box of cookies I disliked but that the local children were very fond of. I decided to buy it. The cookies would help me encourage the children to tell me what they had seen and heard. When I paid for the cookies, I asked the shopkeeper if he had seen the hotel manager or Christina. He smiled, pulled aside a dark curtain that separated his store from his home kitchen, and there was Christina, standing at the stove and cooking. She turned her beautiful face to me and blushed.
“You all left me!” I said in mock complaint. “I’m walking around town, seeing no familiar faces, old or new. You’re all hiding from me.”
She made excuses by saying that she had cooked for homeowners expecting guests arriving on the ship, which, according to the port officer, was due to arrive in a day or two. “I’ll just finish cooking something here, and if you’d like, we could meet next to that hut,” she said and looked around to make sure no one had heard her.
I assumed she was referring to the place where Yankor’s hut used to be. I asked her about Grisella, and she answered me with a happy smile.
“She likes it in Marcella’s kindergarten. She has so much fun there!”
Children were playing next to the main square. I asked them if they wanted some of the cookies I had bought at the store. They instantly huddled around me like bees drawn to nectar. I asked them why they weren’t in school, and they told me the only teacher in town had been ill for the past few days, and that was why there was no school.
“Children of all ages study in the same classroom?” I asked, and they explained the teacher mainly taught the older students, and they, according to his instruction, taught the little ones. I asked them to lead me to the house of the sick teacher.
We reached a large hut at the edge of town, not far from Christine’s home. Close to the teacher’s house, I saw a strange structure made of tin and cement and realized it was the school. A weak voice from the hut invited us inside. We walked down a small corridor to an inner room, which was slightly cooler, where a young man was lying on a hammock. He was swarthy, and the dark color of his skin seemed to belie the pallor of his illness.
A small table stood next to the hammock with a book and some stationery. An earthenware pitcher of water rested against a wall in the corner, with a wooden ladle for pouring or drinking. I looked at the man, who wore an undershirt and shorts. A small mustache was sketched under his nose, his face was unshaven, and his deep black eyes gazed at me with curiosity. I introduced myself as the man living in Beatrice’s house and explained that the children had told me he was sick and they wanted to help. They were concerned there was no one to care for him during his illness.
He told me the doctor came by twice a day and that his good neighbor Christina was bringing him food and doing his laundry. I looked at the man’s face, and I couldn’t shake the thought that he looked like the masks worn by the so-called ghosts that had broken into the hotel. It was as if his face had served as a model for the mask. I asked him about his illness, and his hesitation let me know he preferred not to discuss it in the presence of his students. I gave the children who had led me to his house the box of cookies and asked them to share it with the rest of the children.
As soon as the children were gone, he immediately began to tell me of nausea and vomiting, and a terrible tiredness accompanied by sleeplessness. I asked him what the town doctor had told him, and he said the doctor had not determined the source of his illness, but he supposed it was some sort of endemic virus.
I examined the floor and immediately recognized the thorns. I thought about the children and Christina walking barefoot, and how they might have contracted a severe illness even the forest people feared. I asked the teacher’s permission to collect the thorns. To my surprise, he refused. He explained the local healer had scattered them on the floor to keep away evil spirits and the evil eye.
“Aren’t you afraid the children will get pricked and become as sick as you are? This is a completely human illness that has nothing to do with the world of spirits.”
He raised his eyes and titled his head quizzically, and I explained that to the best of my knowledge the thorns were the cause of his illness.
“Such thorns are poisonous and cause all the symptoms you described,” I said with certainty.
After a short hesitation, he allowed me to collect the thorns. I approached him and saw two thorns stuck in a toe on his right foot. I asked where I could find a needle in his house, and when I found it, sanitized it with fire, and removed the thorns.
“You’ll be able to teach as soon as tomorrow, and despite the heavy heat, it’s best that you wear closed shoes. And watch out for thorns!”
I asked him who was the healer who had scattered the thorns, and he said it was a healer who had recently come from the forest, and therefore wasn’t familiar to many people. He lived outside Don Pedro, in a hut not far from where the river leaves the town. I remembered the hut that Clara and George had left after their mysterious rendezvous. Maybe they had discovered something in the hut that endangered him, and he decided to fight back. But why would they want to intimidate Christina as well? And what did the teacher have to do with everything that had been taking place?
I couldn’t decide if I should go to Yankor’s hut first, as Christina had suggested, or try to find the healer. Likely because of my death wish, I decided to seek the healer. I left town on the path winding along the riverbank, and a short time later came upon the trail going up to the hut. When I got closer I was surprised to discover Christina sitting on a wooden beam by an extinguished fire.
She looked up at me and said, “I knew you’d find the place.”
Behind the bushes, next to something that looked like a small animal pen, someone was moving among the branches. “Is that the healer?” I asked and pointed at the enclosure. Surprised, Christina followed my eyes and asked what healer I was talking about. The bushes were still again, and the figure was gone. Once again, I placed the blame on my fertile imagination.
We sat together silently. I studied Christina and glanced occasionally at the pen. According to the teacher, the healer was supposed to live in that hut. Or perhaps I had misunderstood him, and he had spoken of one of the more remote huts, those built in the trees. The silence weighed on me, and I saw that Christina’s eyes were lowered to the ground, as if she were deciding whether she should open her mouth and speak.
I looked straight into my young friend’s face and told her about what had happened in the house of her neighbor, the teacher. She raised her eyes from the ground, looked at me, then lowered her eyes again. Once more, neither of us could find the right words.
“Did you know the healer’s thorns were causing the teacher’s illness?” I asked.
She looked at me with pleading eyes, as if asking to change the subject. I decided not to give up.
“It’s not reasonable that such a poison, known by so f
ew, would serve as a medicine against evil spirits. The healer-sorcerer who lives around here, in this hut or in another one nearby, has something to do with the thorns that were scattered in town and harmed you as well.”
Her eyes remained downcast, and her stubborn silence continued. “And why did you assume I would know you spoke of this hut and not the place Yankor’s hut once stood?”
When she raised her eyes to me, they were drenched with sadness, as was the voice that came out of her mouth.
“Yankor’s hut is long gone,” she said, “so naturally, I wasn’t referring to it. Yankor told me you once walked around here and even visited the more distant huts, where the Yarmuki live. They turned Yankor into their marikitare. I thought that if you headed for the farther huts, I would see you passing here. And I don’t know anything about a Mestizo healer who lives around here and uses the poison Yankor told you about.”
Could it be that Yankor was the healer who had spread the thorns? I asked Christina about her meetings with the old marikitare. She answered that she had met him for the first time when her lover had left the town and disappeared in the jungle. She wanted the marikitare, with his special power, to tell her what would happen between her and the man who had deserted her. And he had indeed seen everything and known everything.
Her father had been right about him. He was living with Marina in her house, and she accepted the situation because she loved him very much and he had given her a daughter. But now her opinion had changed, and she no longer wanted him.
She spoke rapidly now, freely, as if she suddenly couldn’t wait to unburden her heart. Herbert was her first lover. She’d found it very difficult to part from him and continued to eagerly wait for him. But when she had received the message about his imminent return a few days ago, something in her heart had simply broken. What had happened between us was her cry of liberation. Yankor was also encouraging her to forget the man who had disappeared in the forest. He explained to her that the man’s forces were forces of evil, even though there were some light-filled clearings in the dark forest of his heart and some of his dreams were good. If the forest people didn’t find a better way, so the shaman had told her, he might lead them to ruin. She had asked Yankor to explain himself, but he insisted he had said too much already and only because of his concern for her, when he should have remained silent.
