by Jeremy Bates
He called loudly for a break, consequences be damned.
The leader stopped and studied them. Marty, doubled over and panting, said, “We need to rest.” He pointed at the ground. “Rest?”
The leader said nothing, which Marty took as acquiescence. He sat down on the ground with an aggrieved sigh. Jacky sat next to him, while Rad, still standing, rummaged through her beach bag.
One of the hunters surrounding them—there were eight in total—levelled his spear at her.
“Hey!” Marty said, pushing himself to his feet.
“It’s water,” Rad told the guy, producing a plastic bottle. “Just water.”
The leader said something, and the hunter lowered the spear.
Rad twisted the cap, breaking the plastic seal, and took a gulp. When Marty and Jacky had their share, she dumped the bottle back in her bag.
Marty glanced up the hill, trying to determine how much higher it rose. All he saw were trees and trees and more trees.
The leader set off again.
Groaning, Jacky reluctantly got up. Rad glowered at the hunters prodding them to move. Marty cursed them under his breath.
Yet they all fell into line.
Some ten minutes later they reached the summit. Marty thought he might be sick from the exertion. Rad, who was in the best shape of the three of them, was calling him to come over and look. He joined her at a break in the vegetation. They stood, it turned out, not at the top of a hill but on the rim of a caldera. The bowl-shaped hollow was several kilometers across and rimmed with steep forested slopes and rocky scarps. At the bottom of the depression was a small aquamarine lake shrouded in mist. They were at the lowest section of the rim, likely where the molten lava had escaped the crater before the volcano collapsed in upon itself.
“Huh,” Marty said, struck by the contrast between the lush calm of the caldera today and the extreme violence and chaos that would have accompanied its formation all those millennia ago. “Didn’t expect this.”
“Isn’t it incredible?” Rad said.
“Oh, wow,” Jacky said, appearing at Marty’s shoulder. “We can finally see the sky.”
Marty glanced at the tribesmen. They were a dozen feet away, conversing amongst themselves. “Do you think those guys just took us here to show us the view?”
Rad said, “I think they want to stick us in a pot of boiling water with carrots and potatoes.”
Jacky said, “Not funny.”
“They’re not cannibals,” Marty assured her.
“Then you tell me what they want from us,” said Rad. “The only good we are to them is either forced labor or as a food source.”
Jacky moaned and turned away.
“Jesus, Rad…”
“You tell me what their interest in us is then, Marty.”
He squeezed Jacky’s shoulder affectionately. “You okay?”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“We’ll be back on the Oannes soon enough.”
Shaking her head, she stepped away from him, and his hand fell limply to his side.
∆∆∆
The descent down the caldera’s inner wall was tough on Marty’s knees but easier than the grueling ascent up the outer wall. Even so, the path was uneven and steep, and at one point Jacky tripped on a partly concealed root, slamming into the back of Rad and nearly sending them both tumbling down the slope. Marty too had a close call when he lost his balance on a collection of igneous rocks and slid on his hands and butt for a couple of meters before coming to a jarring halt at the base of a tree fern.
When the ground leveled out again, Marty saw subtle signs of habitation: banana trees stripped of ripe fruit, an axe next to a felled tree, the ashes of a small fire, discarded coconut shells that had been cut open and the meat taken. A short time later they reached the shore of the volcanic lake, which they followed to a village populated with dozens of palm-thatched mud huts. The tribespeople dotted about the settlement stopped what they were doing (preparing food, weaving baskets, sorting flowers and berries) to watch the arrival of the foreigners. Unlike the hunters in their loincloths, they wore more modest sarongs knotted around their chests or waists. The clothing buoyed Marty’s spirit, as it meant they had indeed made contact with industrialized society, which lessened the chances that he and Rad and Jacky were going to end up on the dinner table as the main course. Even so, the stoic reception was unnerving. You would think an isolated tribe would be excited, or at least curious, by the appearance of a trio of outsiders. The stolid looks and general indifference made Marty feel as though they were all in on some sinister secret.
The leader of the hunters stopped before one of the thatched huts and gestured for Marty to enter. Pushing aside a hanging reed matt, he was forced to duck, as the doorway was not made for someone of his height. The hut’s interior was roomy enough that he could stand upright again. Jacky and Rad followed him in, and they huddled in the middle of the dark room, alone for now, frowning at each other.
“What the hell is this?” Rad said finally.
“At least they didn’t lock us in,” said Marty.
“They may as well have,” Jacky said. “Where are we going to go? You wouldn’t get anywhere before one of those hunters launched a spear into your back.”
“Did you see the way they were looking at us?” Rad said.
“You mean, not looking at us,” said Jacky. “It was like they didn’t care about us one way or another.”
“That’s good,” Marty said. “It means they’ve seen people like us before. They’re used to seeing people like us—rangers, or surveyors, or government people of some sort. They certainly didn’t make those sarongs they’re wearing. That means they’ve made peaceful contact with the modern world.”
“So if we’re no big deal, why are they holding us captive?”
Marty didn’t have an answer to that and said, “Are either of you two aware of any indigenous tribes living in Sri Lanka?”
Jacky nodded and said, “The Vedda.”
“They used to be called ‘Forest People,’” added Rad. “Because they lived deep in the country’s forests before the Buddhists arrived, and the Dutch. Nobody knows how long they’ve been in Sri Lanka, only that it’s been a really long time. Perhaps since the Stone Age.”
“And they’re around today?”
“A few remote tribes still practice hunting and gathering. But most of them have started adopting modern customs, turning their reservations into tourist traps, or integrating into Sinhalese and Tamil villages.”
“So these villagers could be Vedda?”
“I don’t know who else they’d be.”
“Have Vedda ever been known to kidnap people before?”
“You think they’re kidnapping us?” Jacky asked.
“We’re certainly not here of our own free will.”
“But they’re going to let us go?”
“I’m sure of it,” he told her. “In fact, I’m sure this is just some big misunderstanding.”
∆∆∆
Less than ten minutes later a hunter returned and brought them through the village to a larger hut. Inside it, a well-fed man sat on a woven mat atop an L-shaped mud bench. He had a full head of wild gray hair and a snow-white beard that clashed dramatically with his tawny skin. Incongruously, he wore a blue-and-yellow cricket jersey, black gym shorts, Adidas flip flops, and four wristwatches, two on each wrist. Behind him on the wall was a weather-worn oil self-portrait in which he wore a white sarong and held a bow and cocked arrow. At the end of the bench were an assortment of glass and plastic bottles filled with different colored liquids.
Marty exchanged looks with Rad and Jacky. The man could have been a street hawker touting his wares on a busy Colombo street. When the hunter bowed in respect, however, Marty realized the old guy was likely the chief of the village.
He stood and approached them. Surprisingly, he took Marty’s right hand in both of his and offered a firm double handshake, keeping eye contact
the entire time. He greeted Rad and Jacky in the same manner and then, smiling broadly, said, “Hello.”
∆∆∆
“Thank the Lord!” Rad blurted, laughing shrilly. “You speak English!”
The chief stared at her, still smiling.
“My name’s Martin,” Marty said. “What’s your name?”
He looked at Marty and nodded.
“Um, this is Jacqueline, and this is Radhika.”
He kept nodding.
“I don’t think he speaks English, after all,” Jacky said, speaking through a smile.
“Hello,” Marty said.
“Hello!” the man said.
“Is that the only word you know?” Rad asked.
He smiled at her.
“Vanakkam,” Jacky said, which is an approximation of “hello” in Tamil.
The chief pointed at her feet and said, “Shoes!”
“Shoes, that’s right,” she said, nodding agreeably.
He pointed at Rad’s feet, then Marty’s, then his own, saying, “Shoes! Shoes! Shoes!” Then he pointed at the hunter’s bare feet and said, “No shoes!” This observation caused him to burst into croaky laughter.
Marty and the girls laughed hesitantly, and Marty tried introducing himself again. He pointed to his chest, saying, “Martin.”
The chief pointed at Marty’s chest. “Martin.”
“Yes!”
“Yes!”
Marty pointed at the chief’s chest. “Name?”
The chief touched his chest. “Name.”
“So he knows ‘shoes’ but not ‘name’?” said Rad. “Who taught him English?”
The chief held out his arms, showing off his wrist jewelry. Three of the watches were analogue and one was digital. None were working. He said, “Watch.”
“They’re very nice,” Marty said, then raised his own wristwatch. “Watch.”
“Watch!” the man said, staring at it. He pointed at Rad’s bare wrist, then at Jacky’s, then at the hunter’s, saying, “No watch!” each time. This once again cracked him up.
Marty found the old man’s materialism amusing and laughed as well, this time genuinely.
The chief pointed at Marty’s watch again and said, “No watch.”
Marty frowned and said, “Watch.”
“No watch.”
“Watch.”
“No watch!”
Rad said, “I think he wants your watch, Marty.”
“The hell he does!”
“Where do you think he got his watches from? They’re likely gifts from previous visitors. You better give yours to him as well.”
“I’m not giving him my bloody watch, Rad. It’s a Rolex.”
“Give it to him, Marty,” Jacky said. “Maybe then he’ll let us go.”
Cursing under his breath, Marty unclasped the Rolex and held it forth in offering, the eighteen-karat gold gleaming brightly. The chief accepted it with both hands. After a perfunctory examination of the gift, he slid it onto his left wrist next to a fifty-dollar Casio and said, “Friend.”
∆∆∆
The chief showed his new “friends” around the village, attempting to communicate using random English words, facial gestures, and hand signs. He summoned one of the tribesmen to demonstrate how they made fire, and another to show them how to properly aim a bow and arrow. Eventually they ended up at a long table in a spacious communal hut, where an old woman served them areca nuts rolled in beta leaves, as well as coconut shells filled with a very potent moonshine. Marty didn’t plan on taking a second sip of the horrible-tasting brew (and neither did Rad or Jacky judging by the distasteful expressions on their faces), but the chief prodded them to finish every last drop. The old woman returned at some point—Marty’s head was spinning by then—with a platter of venison and honey. She topped up their coconuts with more moonshine. The food was good, and the hooch started going down easier. Marty knew Pip would be getting concerned that they hadn’t yet returned to the Oannes, and he must have suggested a half dozen times that they wrap things up and head back. Nevertheless, Rad and Jacky weren’t listening to him. They were clearly inebriated, and their attention had become fixated on the chief as they playfully teased him about his wristwatches and choice of clothing (knowing he couldn’t understand what they were saying). They were also trying to teach him everything from new English words to elaborate handshakes and nursery-school clapping games. It was a ridiculous scene, especially considering they had once considered the tribe to be a bunch of bloodthirsty cannibals.
At a little past two o’clock (Marty glimpsed the time on his relinquished Rolex), a group of dancers performed a frenetic number for them, which involved rhythmic drums and leafy branches and fast, flat-footed hopping that made it appear as though their bodies were vibrating. Marty guessed it was a ritualistic performance, perhaps some communication with the elements, or a pagan god. Whatever the purpose, it was mesmerizing to watch, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle.
Nearing the climax, a young female removed a skull from a plant-weaved basket, thrusting it high into the air as she quivered and juked in circles, headbanging, black hair screaming.
“Holy shit!” Rad exclaimed.
Marty was speechless.
The skull was merfolk.
Chapter 21
MARTY
When the performance ended, Marty hurried to the dancer with the skull. She held it aloft proudly, allowing him to study the sagittal crest, the pronounced brow ridge, the bulbous frontal bone. The mutations were all nearly identical to those of the skull in the dry lab on the Oannes, and it all but confirmed the merfolk in the belly of the great white wasn’t an outlier. There were more of its kind nearby. They lived somewhere around this island.
You’re close, Marty-boy! You’re getting so damn close!
Jacky and Rad and the chief joined him, and the chief began talking incomprehensibly about the skull. Marty would have given anything to have been able to understand him.
“Where?” he demanded.
“Where?” the chief said.
“For the love of God,” Marty griped. “How do we get through to him?”
Jacky pointed at the skull, then raised a hand in a salute over her eyes, pantomiming looking around.
“Where?” the chief repeated.
“Yes, where?” Marty snapped. “Where the bloody hell did you find it?”
“Easy, Marty,” Rad said. “He doesn’t understand.”
“I know he doesn’t. But it’s a simple question, isn’t it?”
She touched the chief’s wrist to get his attention. She pointed at the skull, then shrugged in feigned bafflement, turning left and right, as if she were searching for something.
The chief spoke a word they had come to associate with the moonshine.
“We don’t want anything more to drink!” Marty said. “We want to know where you found that!” He jabbed a finger at the skull.
The chief stared at him blankly.
Rad said, “Maybe you can come back with a Vedda translator, Marty?”
“Know any good ones?” he asked sardonically.
“They would have found it on the beach,” said Jacky. “Where else would they have found it? It washed up, or maybe a complete merfolk washed up, and they only kept its skull? Either way, isn’t that all that matters? That it washed up on the beach? Now you know merfolk are definitely in these waters.”
Rad said, “She’s right, Marty.”
“I know she’s right. It’s just… Perhaps there are more somewhere, more remains. Perhaps the skull is from a graveyard of sorts. Something like that… A discovery like that…”
“Hey,” Jacky said, “where are you going?”
The chief had started walking away from them and gestured for them to follow.
∆∆∆
He led them out of the village and through lush rainforest for about ten minutes before coming to a depression carved into the vegetation. At the bottom was the crumbling mo
uth of a cave, overarched by an eldritch, gnarled tree with beards of moss and lichen veiling the darkness beyond. Just inside the cavity was a stockpile of resources from the village. The chief quickly went to work creating a fire in a nearby stone-ringed pit. He retrieved a torch that lay next to the pit, smeared the cloth-wrapped end in what appeared to be animal fat, and lit it in the fire. Holding the brightly burning torch above his head, he gestured once again for them to follow.
“Where’s he taking us?” Jacky asked. “There clearly won’t be merfolk bones in a cave.”
“I’ll go,” Marty said. “You two can wait here.”
“Forget that!” said Rad. “I live for creepy crawly cave walks.”
“I guess I’m coming along too then,” Jacky said. “After you, Marty. And try not to trip and break your ankle, because Rad and I aren’t strong enough to carry you back out.”
They didn’t have to worry about tripping on anything, as the floor of the cave was unnaturally smooth and free from typical rocky debris. Marty realized it was not a limestone cave but a volcanic lava tube. When the volcano in the center of Demon Island erupted however many thousands of years ago, the surface of the flowing lava would have inevitably cooled and crusted to form a roof above the still-flowing stream of molten rock, and when the last of the lava drained away, all that remained behind were empty, snaking tunnels.
And if I’m not mistaken, Marty thought excitedly, some of the tunnels most certainly connect with the ocean, making the discovery of merfolk bones a distinct possibility after all.
Soon the tunnel opened to a cavernous hall with twenty-foot ceilings. It appeared to be a dead end, but the chief went confidently to the left side, where there was a small fissure in the wall. The passage was so tight they were forced to duckwalk and shimmy through. They emerged in another large tunnel in which they could once again walk comfortably upright and abreast of one another. They knew they were still close to the surface because here and there tree roots broke through the tunnel roofs, dangling down like spidery appendages.
