Amazon Nights: Classic Adventure Tales from the Pulps

by Arthur O. Friel

  He shambled up toward us, heading for the demon-house, followed by the same men who had trailed him last night. He looked even more sodden than when I had last seen him, but not so drunk; the look of a man who had slept off some of his liquor but was stupid from the sleep and from the drink still working in him. His guardians were heavy-eyed, and it was easy to see that they had been awake all night.

  I expected him to pass as before, but this time he halted near us and stared at Pedro. And Pedro stared back with disgust plain in his face.

  "Phew! What an animal!” my partner sniffed. “The rest of these people look clean. Why do they not wash this beast or throw it to the alligators? An alligator will eat anything—and the fouler the better."

  "This is the noble gentleman who brought us here. The Barrigudo, of whom I told you. Embrace him and give him thanks."

  "Ugh!"

  Pedro gulped as if sickened by the thought.

  "I would rather touch a corpse that had lain in the sun. He is worse than the Spotted People. But I can thank him, unless the wind changes and blows his scent this way."

  Changing then from Portuguese to Tupi, he spoke to the man.

  "You are he who brought me here and called your Pajé to heal me? I am grateful for my life. If I have anything which you or Pajé want, speak. You shall have whatever I can give."

  The Barrigudo made no reply. He only stared stonily at us both. His eyes, though, held an expression I did not like—a look that seemed anger. Yet why should he be offended? Such an uncouth creature surely could not understand what we had said of him in Portuguese, and he would scarcely resent Pedro's offer to reward him.

  But, as I say, he made no answer. He gave one sour grunt and plodded on.

  "You said you had to put a gun in his face to make him guide you,” said Pedro. “I can believe it. We owe him no gratitude."

  And we forgot the drunkard as quickly as we could, not even watching to see where he went.

  Strolling slowly, we walked among the little houses of the Indians, who received us with a quiet dignity which increased our liking for them. Before long we found with us the tall guard who had told me of the orders and had come each time with the women bearing food.

  "Are we still under guard?” I grumbled.

  Looking slightly surprised, he said no; I knew the orders and of course would heed them, and he came only because his father wished to see us. When we asked who his father was, he astonished us by replying—

  "The chief."

  Somehow we had not thought of a chief in this place, and still less had we thought that a chief's son was one of our guards. I did not know whether to consider this an honor or an indication that the real ruler here was Pajé. But I said nothing on this point. To make talk as we crossed the clearing I remarked that the dirty servant of Pajé was drunk again.

  He nodded, as if I had said the sun was hot or water was wet. Pedro, still disgusted, asked him the same question he had asked me: why they did not make that man keep himself clean. The Indian said they could not do so without treating him roughly, and in that case he might sulk and refuse to call Pajé when needed.

  "And no one else can call Pajé?” I asked.

  "I have said so."

  "But in time he will rot himself to death. Then how can you reach Pajé?"

  "We can not. But he is strong and will live many years."

  "Perhaps. Yet he might leave you at any time and go to another tribe."

  The Indian's face grew grim. The fat man would not go away alive, he said. And I saw that the barrigudo, though he did as he pleased, was not much better than a prisoner.

  We found the chief to be old, thin, but clear-eyed and shrewd-brained. He asked us many questions and answered none of ours. When we left his mud house we had learned nothing new, and we felt that, so far as he was concerned, we were neither welcome nor unwelcome here. The servant of Pajé had brought us to the place, and if he and his headless master wished to amuse themselves with us it was nothing to the head of the tribe.

  Outside, as we stood a moment talking with the young chief, a man came up with three fine fish. One was a splendid surubim, as long as my leg, beautifully spotted and striped. The others were tucunares, with the big eye-spots on their tails. The man laid them down respectfully before the young chief, who glanced at them, then picked up the surubim and started away toward the House of Voices.

  "The finest fish goes to Pajé,” said Pedro as we strolled back to our hut. “Let us see whether he comes out to receive it."

  We saw nothing of the monster, but we soon heard something from him. At the doorway of the round house the tall young savage stopped, spoke, laid the fish down, and backed away; then stopped again, seemed to listen to a voice, backed once more, swung on his heel and came straight to us.

  "At the sinking of the next sun the gamba drums will beat,” he told us.

  "What does that mean?” Pedro yawned.

  "It is the night of the full moon, when demons are restless. Many voices will be round about. Demons of water and air and earth will be near. No man may stay in his house, lest a devil seize him in the dark. All must gather around the House of Voices, where the drums will beat and Pajé himself will protect us. Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow night there will be no sleep."

  With that he strode off toward his father's house.

  "Demons seem to rule this place, Lourenço,” my partner said. “Voices in the air—a monster without a head—devils who seize men in their houses when the moon is full—I shall not be sorry to leave it all behind me."

  He spoke half in jest, but he expressed my own thought. We had already been delayed too long, and I had seen more than enough of this devil-ruled village.

  Since there was nothing to do, we did nothing but eat, sleep, and argue about Pajé and his fellow demons until the night of the full moon came. In that time Pedro's strength flowed steadily back into him. And when the sun dropped low and we saw men carrying the long log drums to the House of Voices, the old reckless twinkle was in his eyes as he said:

  "Since we must sit up and evade the devils, let us start a pira-purasseya fish-dance with some of these good-looking girls while the drums beat. Ask the young chief to bring out some cachassa, too, and we can make a real night of it."

  "Playing with girls and rum is no way to dodge the devil,” I told him.

  "But if you have a handsome girl and plenty of drink, why care if the devil does get you?"

  I knew well that he cared little for women or liquor. But I retorted:

  "Your friend the Barrigudo has plenty of rum. See what it has done for him."

  "Ugh!"

  He wrinkled his nose as if I had put something offensive under it.

  "I hope I shall not meet him again tonight. He spoils my appetite as well as my thirst."

  "Have courage. I have not seen him since yesterday, and he probably is sleeping off more drink. We are not likely to be near him."

  I was wrong. We were soon to be much nearer to that Barrigudo than we expected. And before we parted from him—Well, senhores, you shall hear.

  THE SUN slid down and was gone. Fires sprang up around the House of Voices. The thunder of the big gambas filled the jungle, each beaten by a man astride the log, pounding the skin head with his knuckles. The clatter of caracasha rattles broke out. And all the Indians, big and little, hurried to the round demon-house where they could be safe. Walking more slowly, we followed.

  The fires surrounding the House were many but small, none being very close to the curving wall. We found that there were really two rings of these fires, with a fairly wide space between the inner and the outer circle; and in this space the people arranged themselves.

  As we approached, the young chief came out to meet us and pointed to a spot where we were to squat. When we had settled ourselves we found the old chief himself beside us, staring at the ground. The young chief sank down on the other side of us.

  Nobody spoke. Talk would have been useless in that boo
ming, rattling uproar. Patiently we waited for Pajé to walk out, or for something else to occur. But we waited long and nothing happened. The drummers and rattlers kept up their work without a pause, and everyone else squatted or sat motionless while the bright moonlight flooded the clearing. At length I tired of it and arose to go back to my hut.

  At once the young chief sprang up and blocked me. Other men also arose and moved toward us. Shouting in the tall fellow's ear, I told him I did not want to stay here, and that I would risk being carried off by devils. I wanted to get into my hammock.

  But he yelled back that the danger was not mine alone. If a demon got me, that demon would keep coming back each night and taking others. And when I still insisted on going, he added that no man could be allowed to imperil the rest in that way, and that anyone trying to leave the fire-circle would be killed at once.

  I sat down again.

  Then came a sudden break in the drumming. The door of the House had swung open. Out from it came the barrigudo. He lifted a hand. The racket of the caracashas ceased. With the end of the tumult the place seemed still as death.

  "Pajé, master of demons, has come,” he said in a throaty tone. “Be still."

  We were still. And in the stillness we heard whisperings and squeakings in the air above and around us. The air-devils also had arrived.

  Thin voices spoke from nowhere—in the grass, up overhead, at the very walls of the House. And they spoke one word only:

  "Hewy! Blood!"

  A singing voice answered them:

  "Ehe ahrahm! Ehe ahrahm! Wait a while! Wait awhile!"

  Another singing voice, high and sweet, played around in the air over us, saying nothing—only singing without words. But then, from the smoke-hole at the peak of the House, a harsh little voice croaked:

  "Hewy! Hahmbuya heh! Blood! I am hungry!"

  And another voice, sharp and squeaky, cried:

  "Heyimbeh! Kunyimuku! A heart! A young girl!"

  Fear showed plain in the faces of the Indians near me as they heard the demands of the dreaded demons. All stared at the roof. I too looked up there; but, seeing nothing, dropped my gaze and glanced along the line of terrified eyes gleaming in the light of fire and moon.

  For a moment all was very still. Then out rolled the sonorous tones of Pajé himself:

  "Seek ye the blood and hearts of beasts, not of my people. Begone from this place!"

  The command came from within the House. The Barrigudo was not in sight. The door stood partly open, and in the dimness beyond it I saw a giant figure—tall and thick and headless—standing in smoke. Others saw it too. Pedro drew in his breath sharply, and the old chief gave a startled grunt. Slowly the door swung shut.

  Queer snarling noises sounded on the roof, as if the hungry demons raged at the command to go. Silence followed. When it had lasted for the space of a dozen slow breaths, Pajé spoke again.

  "So ye would snatch at the lives of young girls, the mothers to be? Ye would drink the blood of the strong men? Then I, Pajé, will give my people to drink of that which will not harm them but will burn you if ye touch them. Slave, take this bowl and give to all except the two strangers."

  Again the snarls sounded above, with broken cries of rage. The door opened, and out came the Barrigudo, grunting under the weight of a tall clay jar of liquid. This he set down beside the old chief.

  "Three swallows,” he growled. “Then pass on. Do not step outside the fire circles. You and you"—looking at Pedro and me—"stand inside the inner ring. You get none of the drink of Pajé."

  Wondering, we obeyed and stood watching. The Barrigudo tilted the jar. The old chief drank three times from it, arose, and made room for his son. When the young man had taken his three swallows he also moved on. And one by one, in their turns, men and women and children stopped at the jar, drank, and passed along between the fires.

  At length the old chief returned, having walked all around the house, and sank into his place facing the door. Everyone in the circle except Pedro and myself had taken of the drink, and the jar was almost empty.

  "Let the drums beat,” muttered the Barrigudo.

  The old chief cried out shrilly. The thundering of the logs broke out again. Pedro and I, not knowing what else to do, squatted where we were. When we tired of squatting we lay down on our backs and watched little clouds drift across the big white moon.

  For some time the drumming went steadily on, and I became so used to it that I began to grow sleepy. If this was to last all night, I thought, I might as well take what rest I could there on the ground. So I shut my eyes, and was dozing away when I noticed that the drumming seemed to be growing weaker. The drummers were tired, I thought, and should be relieved. But I did not bother to look at them until Pedro softly gripped my shoulder.

  He was wide-awake and grinning. He moved his head toward the nearest drum. I looked and found that its drummer was no longer astride it, but lying beside it. He seemed asleep. Beyond him another drummer was swaying drowsily, and soon he slipped off his log and lay still. Only two of the dozen drums now were booming, and soon there was only one. Then that one stopped.

  But the place was not silent. Now that the drums were quiet we could hear a chorus of snores. All around the circle lay Indians sound asleep, and others were drooping forward and slumping down on the earth. Both the old chief and his son lay as if dead.

  By ones and twos they all slipped down and remained where they dropped. We heard a short, hard chuckle from the door of the round house. In the opening, his teeth gleaming in his dirty face, stood the Barrigudo.

  As we looked at him he walked away from us, around the house. Returning to the door, he went in, remained a moment, and came out with an atura basket on his back. In his hands he held our guns and machetes. Straight to us he came.

  "Come,” he grunted.

  He was sober, or nearly so. He walked away with a sure, steady stride. We arose and trailed behind him.

  "Get your hammocks,” he ordered, pausing before our hut.

  Swiftly we untied our beds and slung them over our shoulders. Across the moonlit clearing he swung then to the edge of the deep jungle shadows. There he halted.

  "A torch. In the basket."

  I dipped a hand into his atura and found at the top a fagot of twigs and bark. Pedro lighted it. The Barrigudo took the flaming bundle and started on. I walked along behind him, Pedro coming after me. Under the trees it was very black in places, but our leader never hesitated. Before long we reached water.

  The fat Indian held his torch out, and we looked down into our own canoe. He dropped our weapons into it and motioned for us to get in. Throwing in our hammocks, we did so. As we picked up the paddles he turned away.

  "Wait! What does this mean?” I demanded.

  "Wait! You shall see what it means,” he retorted.

  His torch moved a few yards along the bank, dipped, wavered about, then stood still. In a moment it moved outward. A paddle dipped. The barrigudo also was afloat.

  Along the narrow inlet the boats moved until they entered a wider space where the moonlight shone down. Here the barrigudo pulled the torch from its fastening at the bow, plunged it hissing into the water, dropped its charred stub into the bottom of his canoe, swerved to the right, and slid on along the wide furo.

  For hours we worked steadily westward, saying nothing. To me, after the days of inaction, it was a joy to feel my muscles loosen and stretch, to be going somewhere, even though I knew not where or why.

  Pedro too, though not so strong as before his sickness, moved with his usual swaying stroke. The barrigudo, however, with his big belly and his weight of fat and his muscles rotted by rum, soon found his task harder and harder.

  Often we heard him gasp and grunt as if driving himself beyond endurance. But he kept on doggedly, though splashing more and more, until we marveled that he could still move. Not until the sinking of the moon made the channel very dark did he quit.

  Then he dropped his paddle noisily into h
is canoe. Wheezing and groaning, he slumped forward, clasping his huge stomach. We drew alongside and waited. After a time his distress passed and he straightened up.

  Beside us opened another narrow cove. He swung his head toward it, lifted his paddle, and shoved his boat into it. When well away from the furo he stopped again.

  "Keep awake,” he said hoarsely. “I must sleep. If anyone calls do not answer. Wake me at sunrise."

  Exhausted, he laid himself down in his canoe, gave a long sigh, and slept.

  "What do you make of this, Lourenço?” my partner asked.

  "Nothing, unless he is escaping with us,” said I. “Yet for us it is not really an escape—we should soon have been freed. But we shall see."

  "Would soon have been freed?” Pedro puzzled. “Were we not free to go at any time after I left the House of Voices?"

  "No."

  And for the first time I told him of the hiding of our canoe and the orders of the young chief.

  "I wish I had known that,” he grumbled.

  "Yes, and you would have made trouble for yourself. We are out of the place now, so forget what is past. You had better sleep a little too. I will keep watch."

  He retorted that he was no child and could watch as well as I. Yet after he smoked a cigarette he did curl up on our hammocks, and soon I was the only one awake.

  When the sun had burned away the morning mists I touched Pedro and prodded the barrigudo. Pedro sat up a little stiffly, but with a smile. The slave of Pajé and of liquor had hard work to sit up at all, but after several attempts he managed it. He scooped up some water in his hands and drank it thirstily. After blinking a minute he again took up his paddle.