“We have more paper,” offers Donna, quickly getting up and going over to a desk. She pulls out a tablet and hands it to Sid. “Here, write that down before we forget what we were talking about. In the meantime, I'd better start dinner.”
“Would you like some help?” I Stand up.
“Yes,” says Lydia. “I can help too.”
“No,” says Sid suddenly. “Let Maddie help. I need you to come over here and talk to me about this some more, Lydia. I think you've got some amazing insights that the rest of us might be missing.”
“Thanks,” Donna says to me. “I'd love some help.”
As I cut up a pineapple, I try not to feel too dismissed by my aunt just now. I mean it's totally cool that Lydia has made this poison connection with AIDS. But, in all fairness, I brought it up first Okay, I tell myself, don't be so childish. It doesn't matter who thought of it first. The important thing is that Sid has a great angle for her article now. What difference does it make if she credits Lydia with this instead of me? In other words, get over it, Maddie! Grow up!
EIGHTEEN
Do you ever feel as if you're in fishbowl up here?” asks Sid after dinner. We're sitting in the living room area, and it's dark out now. What was a beautiful view of river, sky, and palm trees earlier is now a sea of black.
“I think it bothered us at first,” admits Donna, “but we got used to it.”
“And living out in the open like this seems to reassure our neighbors,” says Tom. “Shows them we're not up to something.”
“Of course, the bedrooms have more privacy,” says Donna. “The screens don't start until five feet up. So people outside might be able to see your head if they happened to be standing in the right spot, but that's about it. And the openness helps to keep the air flowing through and allows it to cool down in here at night.”
“Do you think the people watch you?” I ask as I try to peer through the screen, still seeing nothing but inky darkness.
“Not usually,” says Tom. Then he chuckles. “But since we have guests, it's possible.”
Sid tells them a bit more about her job as a journalist and the project she's working on now. And Tom tells her about a couple of AIDS cases he's heard about here in the Sepik River region. “I don't think it's common,” he says, “but I have to admit being surprised that it made it here at all. Of course, infidelity is an issue in this culture. Certainly not as bad as in the States, since I've heard that nearly half of American marriages are affected by it. Here it's more the exception, but we do have at least two cases in our village right now. In fact, some of the worst fights we've seen have been between women who aren't happy sharing the same man.”
“Yes,” says Donna, “it can get ugly. The goal of the jealous wife is usually to deform the other woman's face.”
“So when we see a woman with scars on her face.
“Yes, it can mean that she's been the other woman.”
“Or sihiply accused of being her,” adds Tom.
Then Sid tells Tom about the theory of AIDS being like poison, and he listens with interest, nodding and taking it in.
“I can see the correlation,” he says. “Poison in this culture is related to someone who's done something bad or is associated with someone who's done something bad. And it results in sickness and sometimes even death.”
Sid grabs the tablet and starts taking notes again. “So clarify this for me, please. Does that mean a person who believes a spirit has worked poison on him, as you say, will get physically ill?”
“Yes, it's rather mysterious. Some experts think it's totally psychosomatic and that because a person believes he's been poisoned, he will exhibit the symptoms. Others think that the affected person probably already had a virus or infection, but combine that with the poison theory, and he is rendered even more vulnerable.”
“And there have been some strange stories,” says Lydia. “A man in our village had been out walking at night. He said a spirit accosted him and put arrows in his feet. And when his swollen, aching feet were examined, there were actual slivers of bamboo or wood that had to be removed. He got a terrible infection, and my parents eventually had him flown out to get more medical treatment.”
“You don't suppose he simply walked on something like thorns, do you?” asks Sid.
“I don't know.” Lydia shakes her head. “I wasn't very old at the time, but I do remember being spooked by it.”
“We've had similar stories here,” says Donna. “It sort of defies scientific explanation. Of course, the way the stories get told and retold, it's hard to say what's really true sometimes.”
“But connecting AIDS with poison is an interesting way of looking at it,” says Tom. “And it might be a way to educate people in this country, to make them respect that AIDS is a very real thing. If nothing else, it's a good attention getter.”
“Well, it does give an interesting twist to my article,” says Sid. “I'm so glad that Lydia helped us to make this connection.”
Lydia looks a bit uncomfortable now, and I wonder if she feels bad for taking all the credit for this idea. But then she says she's tired and wants to turn in. Donna has already shown us where we'll be sleeping. Sid and I are sharing what was their daughter's room. And Lydia gets a small room with a bunk that doubles as an office.
We visit for another hour, but it seems we're all pretty weary, and before long we call it a night. The bathroom facilities are a bit more primitive here. They have only a bucket shower. But, as Donna pointed out, at least they have an indoor toilet now. Apparently that wasn't always the case. And they still have the outhouse for emergencies, although she warned me that snakes or spiders could be out there and I should “be careful.” I'm thinking it'll have to be a major emergency for me to ever use the outhouse, thank you very much.
“I've never slept under a mosquito net before,” I tell Sid. “How about you?”
“Oh, sure,” she says as she pulls up the net and crawls into bed.
“Its kind of cool.”
“Yeah,” she says sleepily. “Just don't forget to tuck it in securely around the mattress in the morning. Otherwise, you might go to bed and find that something has sneaked in. Donna told me that once in a while a snake will slip into the house, and her son, Aaron, found one in his bed one night.”
“That's a lovely thought,” I say, going around the entire bed to check that my net is tucked in on all sides. It looks secure. Then I glance at the light that's on the table between our two beds. “How do you turn off the light once you're in bed?”
She sort of laughs. “You turn it off first? she says. “Then get in bed.”
“Oh.” So I turn off the light and then stumble around in the darkness trying to get into my mosquito netting. It's a trick to get it tucked back around the mattress so that nothing can sneak in during the night. That comment about the snake in the bed was pretty unnerving.
I lie there in the darkness, and before long I can tell that Sid's asleep. But I'm having a litde problem. It's like I'm afraid to stretch my feet to the foot of the bed because I keep imagining a snake down there. I mean, how do I know this mosquito netting has been securely tucked around this bed for however long since someone last slept here? What if it has been open and a snake slithered in? The image of a sleeping snake curled at the end of my bed is so creepy that I'm sure I wont be able to go to sleep now. Still, I hate getting out and turning on the light and making noise. I timidly stretch one foot down a few more inches, holding my breath and expecting some serpentlike thing to sink its sharp teeth into my toe. Then I pull my foot back up and curl into a ball. I know this is perfectly ridiculous. There's probably not a snake in my bed. And yet I cannot shake that image.
Finally I can stand it no longer. I pull the mosquito netting out and leap out of my bed and turn on the light.
“What's wrong?” demands Sid, blinking in the bright light. “Another earthquake?”
“I'm sorry,” I tell her. “I thought something was in my bed.”
“Oh.”
So I pull back the top sheet and lightweight blanket and carefully examine every square inch of the bed. I poke around and eVen look under the bottom sheet and in the pillowcase.
“Anything there?” she asks sleepily.
“No,” I admit as I start putting my bed back together and retucking the netting into place.
“Think you can sleep now?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say as I turn off the light. “Sorry about that.”
She just makes a groaning sound and rolls over. Still, I'm glad I checked. Now I can relax and sleep in peace. And before long I hear Sid's even breathing that tells me she has gone back to sleep. Hopefully, she wont remember my paranoia in the morning. I take a deep breath and roll over on my side so that I'm facing the wall where the screen begins partway up. But I see the weirdest thing! In fact, Im pretty sure I'm hallucinating. I sit up and blink my eyes as I look out the upper screen at what appear to be hundreds of tiny lights, slightly flickering. What is going on? I clear my throat, hoping I'll wake Sid again. But she just keeps sleeping. I blink again and look at the lights, wondering if it's some kind of alien spaceship out there, hovering behind the house. Then I remember how this house is built on an old burial ground, and I wonder if there really are some unhappy spirits gathering tonight. I know it's crazy, and I know my imagination needs to settle down, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what is going on outside. It's so strange.
I don't know how long I sit there in bed, afraid to move, afraid to say anything, just staring at these lights. And I begin to wonder if they're hypnotizing me, getting me into their power. Maybe they'll work poison on me and I'll get sick and die in the morning. Finally I can't stand it, and I'm afraid I'm going to scream. But instead, I close my eyes and begin to pray. I beg God to protect mefrom whatever this thing is, even if it's just my own overactive imagination. I sit there and pray for a long time. I'm about to open my eyes again to see if that weird phenomenon is still there, but I don't. I decide that I don't want to know. Instead, I will focus on God. I will imagine his protection wrapping around me just like this mosquito net. And then I make myself lie down. I take a deep breath, and I remind myself of the Bible verse that says to take every thought captive to Jesus. And that's what I do. Only by the grace of God I'm sure, I finally go to sleep and do not wake up until morning.
Sid is already up, her bed neatly made and the mosquito net securely in place. I can hear voices in the house, and I know I must look like the lazy one. So I hurry and get up and dress in the only other outfit I have to wear, since we packed ultralight. Then I pull my hair back into a ponytail and go out to where they're just setting the table for breakfast.
“Sorry I slept in,” I say.
“No worries,” says Donna. “I'm glad you slept well.”
I consider this, remembering what I saw last night or what I think I saw, and try to decide whether I want to risk sounding totally ridiculous by mentioning it. Finally I decide, What does it matter if I look ridicuhus?
“Uh, I saw something weird last night,” I begin in an unsteady voice.
Well, this gets everyone's attention, and they turn and look at me with curiosity. “What?” asks Donna.
“I know it might be my imagination,” I admit, “but it looked so real…”
“What was it?” demands Sid with a concerned look. I think she's worried that I'm losing it.
“Well, I looked out the screen, and it was like there were a hundred tiny lights out there.” Then I start talking fast. “They were glimmering in the dark, and it was so weird I almost thought it was aliens or spirits or something, but I told myself it was just my imagination going nuts on me, and then I had to pray, I mean really pray, so I could settle down and go to sleep. But then I did. Go to sleep, I mean. I guess I was sort of hallucinating, huh?”
Tom and Donna start laughing. But Sid looks slightly terrified, and Lydia is simply smiling.
“I saw it too,” says Lydia.
“You did?” Okay, now I want to hug her. “Really? I'm not going crazy:
“No,” gasps Donna, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard.
“It was the fireflies,” says Tom.
“Fireflies?”
“Yes,” says Donna. “They love that tree, and sometimes they come from all over and meet there, covering it like a Christmas tree. I'm not sure why. But isn't it a beautiful sight?”
I blink. “Yeah,” I admit, “it really was. Except that it sort of scared me.
“I can understand that,” says Donna. “After the things we'd been talking about and being in a strange place, it would be pretty unsettling.”
Now I smile. “Well, I feel kind of silly, but I feel better too. I mean, I'm glad I didn't imagine it.”
“Why didn't you wake me up?” asks Sid. “I would've liked to see it too.”
I laugh now. “After I woke you up thinking there was a snake in my bed?”
“There was a snake in your bed?” asks Donna with a horrified look.
“No,” I say quickly. “I just thought there was. I kind of imagined it. And that's probably why I thought I imagined the firefly thing.”
“Well, I wish you'd awakened me,” says Sid. “It sounds amazing.”
“It was,” I tell her. “But you were sound asleep.”
After breakfast, Donna invites Sid and me to tour the village. Lydia is into a book that Donna loaned her, and since she s seen the village before, she stays behind. “Fm on holiday,” she reminds us with a smile.
“That's right,” says Sid. “You should be able to do what you want.”
Donna guides us through the quiet village, which seems mostly empty except for elderly people, small children, and an occasional dog. She explains that it's because the women are working in their gardens, and the men are fishing or hunting or hiding out in the “men's house.”
“What's the men's house?” I ask.
She takes us over by the river and points to a jutting piece of land where a long, rectangular building is situated by itself. The sides are open like the church back in Lomokako, and sure enough we spot about a dozen men sitting over there and a trail of smoke coming out.
“They go there to smoke their pipes and gossip,” says Donna. “Like a men's club in the States.”
Sid laughs. “Some things just seem universal.”
Then Donna takes us into a house where she checks on the health of an old woman. The houses in Kauani are similar to Lomokako as far as building materials go, but otherwise they're quite différent. First of all, they're built up high, and you have to climb a steep ladder to get inside, which makes me wonder how some of these elderly people get up them. It seems a bit precarious to me, and I can tell Sid isn't comfortable. Of course, I know these ladders get much shorter during the wet season when the river rises and the people can tie their canoes to the door.
Their houses are square instead of round, and their roofs are a lot higher too. I suppose that helps the air circulate and keeps the place cooler, since it's much warmer here in the lowlands. But, like the Lomokako house I visited, this one also has a cooking fire in the center. Lined with stone and dirt, it somehow manages to burn without burning down the house, which I'm guessing would be highly combustible.
Donna introduces us to the old woman and gives her some medicine and water, then helps her to lie back down. The woman gives us a weak and toothless smile, then closes her eyes.
“She's not long for this world,” says Donna. “But she's a Christian, and she's ready to go.”
As we're leaving, I notice some green wrapped bundles on the edges of the smoldering fire. “Is that kaukau?” I ask, remembering the sample I had back in Lomokako.
“No, that's saksak”
Sid's confused now. “What are you two talking about?” So I explain about kaukau and how I sampled it.
“Would you like to sample some saksak?” asks Donna.
“No, thank you,” I say quickly. “But maybe Sid would.
”
Sid holds up her hands. “I pass. But what is it?”
“Its related to tapioca,” explains Donna. “Its kind of thick and pasty. But they dont sweeten it. They just let it smoke on the fires, and when it s done, it's similar to thick mashed potatoes with no seasoning.”
“Sounds yummy,” says Sid.
“Would you like to see how they make it?” asks Donna. “Its pretty interesting.”
We agree and leave the house, climbing back down the tall ladder. Below, she takes us over to where several women are working around a tree that's been cut down. At first I think they might be making a canoe, but then Donna explains.
“Its a palm tree called nipa. First they cut one down, then they split it open with an ax and begin to remove that fibrous material you see there.” She points to some light brown stuff that looks like straw. “Once that's removed, it's washed in that vat.” She points to where another woman is pouring water over the fiber and pounding on it- smashing and pounding again and again. Then she releases the water, which has turned a whitish color, by opening a chute, and it's collected in a wooden bowl.
“They boil this liquid over here,” says Donna as she takes us to where the third woman is stirring a mixture in a large metal pot over a fire. The contents look like a thick, pale gray pudding. “And when it's ready, they wrap it in the banana leaves to smoke over their fires.”
“How did they ever come up with this process?” I ask. “I mean, what made them think they could chop down a palm tree, smash up the fiber, turn it into water, and cook it into something edible?”
Donna laughs. “It is rather odd, isn't it? Maybe God showed their ancestors how.”
I consider this possibility as we head back to the house to make lunch. If you think about it, its pretty amazing that humans have figured out so many things-ways to survive, to make food, to create medicine, whatever. Maybe God really did show them.
Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea Page 16
