The medicine man would make a huge cigar, and with great ceremony he would blow the smoke from this thing on the place where the sick man's pain was worst. Then he would suck that spot for a time, and at length he would stand up and take out of his mouth a long whitish thing looking much like a worm. This evil worm, he would say, was what had caused all the trouble, and now that it was out the sufferer would get well. The truth was that the white thing was no worm at all, but a soft plant-root which he had hidden in his mouth before beginning work.
Did this Pajé of theirs draw worms from their bodies? I asked. They looked puzzled and a little offended. The taller one replied that Pajé did nothing of the sort, and that he and his people were not wormy. I asked them what sort of man Pajé was. And who was the fat, dirty man who had led me to the House of Voices? Surely he was not Pajé?
Both grunted scornfully at this. No, the fat man was only a lazy drunkard and the servant of Pajé. Yet he was valuable to them because he was the only one who knew how to call Pajé when his help was needed in time of sickness. He could talk with the air-devils, too.
So the men of the town watched over him carefully when he was drunk, and saw to it that no alligator or snake or other evil thing should destroy him while he was helpless. If they should lose him they would have no way of reaching the ear of Pajé.
For Pajé was not a man like themselves, but a demon-spirit who came there when summoned and took the shape of a great headless creature without arms. When he did appear it was always inside the House of Voices. This house once had been that of an old medicine man who had little power and who finally had died suddenly in the night, leaving the people with no medicine man at all.
Then, many moons later, a drifting canoe had brought them the fat hairy man, who at that time was not fat but almost dead from starvation. They had fed him and put him in the empty house of the dead medicine man to recover his strength if he could. And he had grown strong, and after a time he had found a way of calling the air-demons, and after that he had brought Pajé himself to cure them.
As you may suppose, I did some more thinking and puzzling about this. Then I asked how Pajé worked on wounds or hurts if he had no hands. They said they did not know—even the men whom he cured did not know.
A man would be taken to the House of Voices, they said, and the fat servant would take him inside. Somehow the hurt man would always fall into a deep sleep before anything was done to his injury, and although he might stay there for days he would remember little or nothing of what went on around him while he lay there. Only a few had ever seen Pajé himself, and those few could tell only that he was a monster with a deep voice that made them quake with fear.
In driving out the spotted sickness, they added, Pajé had not been seen. The fat man had gone about and ordered certain ones to come later to the House of Voices. When they obeyed, much afraid but not daring to remain away, they had found the house empty of life.
But the air-devils had spoken around them, saying queer things and singing as if far off, and finally commanding them to drink deep of strange water in a big gourd on the floor. The same persons had to go each day for a time to the house and drink of the same water, and at length the sickness and the spots had left them. And this kept on until all in the town were well.
They asked me what had come to me in the House of Voices, and I told them. When I asked them in turn how I had reached this place where they now guarded me, they said that while they watched the House of Voices from a safe distance—for nobody ever went near that house unless called—they saw me tumble out of the door as if thrown. Then a loud voice had come, telling them to take me away and guard me. And they intended to guard me well until further orders.
WHILE WE talked the sun sank low. It glared in at the doorway, half-blinding me. I moved aside, and instantly my guards grew tense. There was small chance for me to jump them now or later—they were too wide-awake, and probably expecting me to do that very thing. Watching the path of light lengthen across the dirt floor, I remembered the words of the headless giant:
"Three suns shall set, two shall rise. When the third sun sinks low this man shall walk again."
The first sun now was sinking. Forty-eight hours must pass before I should know whether the promise was true or false. To remain here in useless idleness was all against my will.
Yet, even if I did break out of my prison, what could I do to help Pedro? Nothing. Against his fever I was helpless as a babe.
"How far is the House of Voices from this house?” I asked.
They looked suspiciously at me. Then one replied:
"Not far. Why do you ask?"
"If Pajé should call to you from there could you hear him?"
"We could hear him."
I nodded and said no more. If the House of Voices was within easy call I too could hear any cry coming from it; and the voice for which I would listen was not that of the misshapen Pajé but of Pedro. At the first sign that he was not being well treated I would fight my way to him somehow. Otherwise I might serve him best by waiting.
So I settled myself to wait the sinking of the third sun.
Before night came other guards arrived. One of them brought my hammock, which I slung inside my prison hut. Women also came, bringing food—a big pot of thick stew which seemed to be partly of fish and partly of sweet turtle-meat. The savory odor of it put so keen an edge on my hunger that I completely cleaned out the pot.
Lying back in my hammock to smoke after eating, I spied a little smile on the face of one of the new guards. All were watching me intently. Before my cigarette was half-smoked a heavy drowsiness came over me. And as the darkness of night fell on the jungle town, the darkness of sleep numbed my mind. The vigil of the jailers had been made easy by some drug in my food I think, senhores, that I was kept drugged most of the time for the next two days. I know that I felt dull and sluggish, that sleep came very easily, and that it was hard for me to keep awake long at a time. There was no chance for me to walk outside and shake off the drowsiness, for I was not allowed to leave the hut. Always guards were there to block me with ready spears.
Suspecting that my lethargy came from something in the food, I refused to eat anything the next noon, but this did no good; for I had a great thirst, and the water I drank must also have held some sleeping-powder. Both nights I lay like a dead man, and both mornings I woke with difficulty, long after the sun was up. The time slipped away in a sort of daze, and it was not until after noon of the third day that this feeling left me.
Then, rousing myself from a siesta, I found that once more I was wide-awake. In the doorway squatted the same two guards whom I had first seen there. As I arose they also stood up.
"What is the word?” I demanded.
"No word has come."
"My comrade—does he live?"
They lifted their brows as if to say that was a question which no man could answer. When I insisted on a reply the tall one said:
"Only Pajé or his servant can tell. Pajé has not spoken, and the fat drunkard has not been seen. The House of Voices is closed. What lies within it we know not."
"And no sound has come from the House?"
"Yes. On the night of the day when you came a hoarse voice babbled broken words as if struggling in fever. That is all. We have heard nothing more."
I chewed my lip and looked at the sun-shadows outside. The third sun had not yet sunk low, but it was beginning to slip down the western sky. The time of which the monster had spoken would soon come. And then—what?
The next two or three hours, senhores, were the longest of my life. I tried to sit still and talk about other matters; but my eyes always were on the creeping shadows, and at times I had to stride around the room to keep from springing at the sentinels. When at last the light began to glare in at my doorway and crawl across the floor I could no longer hold myself back.
"The time has come,” I said, stepping toward the men. “Stand aside."
But they fronted me with
weapons low.
"When Pajé orders it—” the taller one began doggedly.
I growled. My toes gripped the floor. But just as I was about to leap at them there came a shout outside.
"The House opens!"
We hung there as we were—poised, watching each other, but listening. And then sounded a thundering voice.
"The closed door opens. The open door shuts. Slave of fever, thou art free. Guards of the free man, your task ends. Go forth, ye two, but go not hence."
Slowly, as if not quite certain that they understood the words, the watchmen at my door lowered their weapons and glanced out. At once I walked between them into the open. My gaze darted to the House of Voices. Outside it, staring around as if bewildered, stood Pedro.
"Pedro!” I called, running toward him.
"Ah, Lourenço!” he answered, smiling in a relieved way. “So you are here."
He walked to meet me, but his step lacked its usual lithe swing. His face was drawn, his eyes and cheeks hollow, his skin pale. But he was alive and free of fever. I nearly seized him and shook him in my joy, but restrained myself in time.
"What place is this?” he asked, glancing at the Indians who were gathering. “Who are these people? How came we here? What has happened?"
"You have been sick."
"Yes, I know I have been sick, and I must have been crazed—I thought I was dead and roasting in hell with some huge headless devil watching me. I feel now as if I had been through purgatory, at least. But what—"
He stopped, staring around him again. I saw that he swayed on his feet.
"You are safe and sound now,” I said, slipping an arm around his body. “Come and rest in my hammock, and you shall hear all about it."
And I drew him on toward the hut which had been my prison.
Indians, men and women, crowded beside us and behind us as we went, muttering among themselves but smiling at us. At the doorway I halted and spoke to them.
"My sick comrade is well again but very weak. Will you, my friends, bring food to make him strong?"
Several at once answered that they would do so.
"And do not put into it the thing that makes men sleep,” I added. “I have slept overmuch."
At this most of them looked blank, but two of the older men grinned in a knowing way. We passed into the house, which now was unguarded, and Pedro slumped into the hammock.
"My legs are water,” he muttered wearily, “and my head is a whirlpool."
Squatting against the wall, I waited for his weakness to pass. Soon his eyes opened and he repeated his questions. I told him all I knew.
"So I was not so crazed as I thought,” he mused. “There is a giant without a head. And singing voices. I heard them too. I thought they must come from heaven, and wondered why I was in the other place."
His brow wrinkled, and I saw he was puzzling over what I had told him and what he had seen and heard. Presently he added—
"Are you sure we are in our right minds?"
"No, I am not,” I grinned. “But we are alive, and that is something. Tell me what you can remember."
"It is not much. I became horribly sick while paddling. My head split and my body burned. Voices came and went, some singing, some speaking.
"At last I felt that I was awaking from a frightful dream. I looked around and saw fire, awful things back in the shadows—snakes and skulls and spiders—and a demon without head or arms. I was sure I had died and gone below. But I felt no pain—the demon did not torment me. Then he was gone—"
"How did he go?” I cut in.
"I do not know. I saw no opening anywhere, no light except one small fire. The monster was there and then was not there. It must have been night, and I must have slept a long time after that, for the next thing I can remember was just before I came out and saw you.
"The place was lighter then, and there was a small hole up overhead where brightness showed—the sunshine outside. Not a living thing was in sight anywhere. Then a door slowly opened and I looked out into the daylight.
"And, Lourenço, nobody opened that door. I looked straight at it and saw both sides of it as it swung, and nothing touched it. It opened itself."
We stared at each other. I shook my head, for I could make nothing of it.
"And then?"
"Then a voice came. A queer little voice that seemed to come from a jaguar skull. It told me to arise and go. And I got off a strange flat hammock—it went out from under me as I did so, and I fell on the floor. I crawled through the door on hands and knees, fearing it might close again before I could reach it. While I was scrambling out another voice sounded behind me—a deep voice that said—'The closed door opens—the open door shuts?’”
"Yes. So you heard it. As soon as I was outside I stood up. Then I saw you."
We were silent for a time, thinking.
"Here is another odd thing, Lourenço,” he added then. “The deep voice spoke in the Tupi tongue. But the odd little voice from the skull, telling me to go, used our own language—Portuguese."
"Deus Padre! That is strange!” I muttered. “No man here except ourselves speaks Portuguese—"
"Here is food,” announced an Indian voice at the door.
A man and two women stood there. The women held bowls. The man was the taller guard who had watched me during the day. He held no weapon now, and as I went to the door he pointed to each of the bowls in turn.
"This broth for him—this stew for you,” he said.
Moving his lips close to my ear, he went on in a whisper:
"In his broth is a little of that which makes sleep. Sleep gives strength. It is the order."
"Whose order?"
"It is the order,” he repeated.
"And is my meat also heavy with sleep?"
He grinned.
"No. You have slept enough. Now make your own sleep."
"Who watches us tonight?"
"There is no watch. But it is the order that you stay here until the man with you is strong. Until then your canoe is hidden."
I scowled at him, but he had spoken sense. Pedro must gain strength before we went on, even though the water was ebbing steadily away.
"Where are our guns?” I demanded.
He turned away without reply. The women put down the bowls and left us. Saying no more, I took Pedro's broth in to him. He sniffed at it, tasted it, and drained it to the last drop.
I ate my own stew more slowly. When I set down the empty vessel and glanced at Pedro I found him sleeping as peacefully as a tired child.
A woman carrying a bundle came to the door, dropped her burden, and went away. The thing she had left was Pedro's hammock, brought from our canoe.
As I picked it up I saw another figure come lurching along from the direction of the House of Voices. It was fat and hairy—the barrigudo man who had led us there.
With the hammock under my arm I stepped out to meet him. Frowzy and filthy he might be, but he had guided my dying partner to the spot where death's hand was warded off, and now I would say my thanks and offer him reward. Yet I did nothing of the kind. For as he came near me I saw why he staggered. He was drunk—stupidly, disgustingly drunk.
His bloodshot eyes were glazed and set, staring straight past me. His heavy mouth sagged. He breathed thickly, and he hiccoughed. He reeked of liquor as if he had spilled a quart of it down over himself. His look, his reeling gait—and his smell—were those of a man who had wallowed in drunkenness for days. Sickened, I stood back and let the sodden brute stumble past, then swung on my heel and returned to our hut.
There, as I threw another look after him, I noticed that he was being trailed by two armed men. The words of our guards came back to me—that this bleary creature was the only one who could summon the great Pajé, and so he was always protected from danger while drunk.
Perhaps, I thought, the monstrous Pajé was the devil himself, and this servant of his had bartered his hope of heaven for unlimited drink. If ever I saw a man who seemed
to have sold himself, body and soul, to the king of all rottenness, the Barrigudo was that man.
But the Barrigudo's future was nothing to me, and I gave him no further attention. After slinging my hammock I curled up in it. And all that night Pedro and I slept peacefully side by side.
I awoke late, but earlier than Pedro. The morning light showed that his color was better and his face did not look quite so hollow. He had rested almost twelve hours when at length he stirred, yawned, blinked at me, and lazily demanded a cigarette.
"Do we go on today?” he asked between puffs.
I shook my head.
"Not until you can swing your paddle again."
"I can swing it now."
"For a time, yes. But not all day."
I did not tell him that our canoe had been hidden and that we were under orders to remain here. That would only have made him determined to go at once and to fight anyone trying to stop us. And he was in no condition for fighting.
"So you are afraid you would have to do all the work?” he laughed. “Perhaps you have it right. I feel lazy this morning. Yet we should start onward soon. The water must have sunk while we stayed here, and we are far from the Javary."
"There will be water enough. And I like the cooking of these Indian women."
"Oho! So that is it! The broth they gave me last night was delicious, it is true. I could eat more now, and meat with it."
"You shall have it."
Calling an Indian boy near the house, I told him to get food. He went away, and soon the same women and the same guard came with the clay bowls. The man looked at Pedro, smiled in a satisfied way, and went out.
After he had gone I thickened my comrade's broth with some of my turtle-meat, and we both ate our fill. When he had smoked again he arose and stretched himself.
"I am going to walk and see the place,” he said.
And he went out, lounging along languidly but with far more sureness in his step than he had shown when last he walked. I followed.
Outside we stood and looked long at the House of Voices. For the first time I noticed that it was round. The wall curved away in a circle, and its high pointed roof also was round. An odd thought came to me—that the demon's house was bigger outside than inside; for my memory, though somewhat hazy, told me that its one room was rather small. But as I thought again I could see why it might have seemed small—because of the things that were in it: the heads on the wall, the fire in the middle, the flat hammock, the body of Pedro, and that giant figure looming up in the smoke. And then I forgot it, for again the barrigudo man appeared.
Amazon Nights: Classic Adventure Tales from the Pulps Page 18
