The Man with Munnari Eyes

by M L Bellante

  “Should have listened to her,” he mumbled to himself. He shook his head as if forcing himself awake. “I will not succumb to self-pity,” he said aloud. “Pull yourself together. You’ve got a long way to go.” Soon, he fell asleep and thought no more of his plight.

  He awoke with his head on his knees. The aches and pains from the night before throbbed with each heartbeat. He slowly opened his eyes and almost jumped when he saw a native standing only ten feet in front of his shelter; the native’s head was tilted back as he sniffed the air. Coleman knew a person could smell his enemy; he’d done it himself more than once.

  He had anguished over stopping when he did, for now he was in a fine mess. These natives must be skilled trackers, able to follow me during a downpour, he thought. He slowly drew his knees tighter to his chest, trying to disappear into a ball of orange shadow. Slowly the native turned and faced him, but with eyes not meeting Coleman’s. He doesn’t see me, Coleman thought. He felt vulnerable, trapped in this hollow of a tree with only one exit. The native moved from Coleman’s line of vision and gave a quiet shout. That’s it; he spotted me! Coleman realized.

  Kill him! the voice in his head shouted. You let the other one go. Now, look where that’s left you. Kill him before he warns the others!

  Coleman shook the thought from his head, jumped up in a flash, and darted from his hideout, scrambling through the ferns and undergrowth. The monkeys in the trees howled insults at the ruckus below and began pelting Coleman and the native alike with fruit pods. Unexpectedly, he felt his legs entwined, and he fell face first into the soggy muck. He quickly regained his feet, tried to take a step and fell again. He looked down and found his ankles wrapped in what looked like a bolo.

  “No! I’m a dead man!” he shouted.

  A fruit pod hit him in the face and pink goo slid down his cheek as three natives slowly and cautiously approached. One held a war club and two others had six-foot-long spears. Coleman fumbled with the bolo, but it was too late. A spear tip touched his chest his gaze slowly climbed its shaft until he was staring into a very stern-looking face. Arms reached down, pulled him to his feet, and held him tightly. He chose not to resist unless directly threatened. One of the natives removed the bolo from his ankles while another pulled both of his arms straight out in front of him. Deftly, the one with the bolo swung one of the balls with its leather cord binding his arms. He felt another strap tighten around his neck as he stood motionless. The native in front of him began speaking, his words falling foreign on Coleman’s ears. He pointed to Coleman’s face and then upward. One by one the natives stood in front of him, staring into his eyes in wonderment.

  “What’s the matter, haven’t you guys seen baby-blues before?” Coleman questioned nervously. With those words, the natives drew back as if shocked. “Haven’t you ever seen a white man?” The natives began talking among themselves, seemingly puzzled over Coleman’s words. “I’m a dimensional traveler from the United States. Will you help me?”

  The natives continued to speak one to another in what Coleman guessed to be increasing consternation and confusion. One of the more agitated natives raised a war club high above his head and then pointed it at Coleman. He recognized the man as the one he nearly strangled to death earlier. Another native stepped between them, grabbed the war club, and lowered it to the holder’s side.

  It appears I have an advocate, Coleman thought to himself.

  A brawny young man tightly held the strap around his neck, almost choking him. As the natives continued to talk, occasionally one would drift over to Coleman and look into his eyes. This was done repeatedly as the discussion continued. Apparently, he guessed, they are trying to decide what to do with me.

  He noticed that each man had the same tatoos as the first native—parallel lines running down their cheeks, some as far down as the man’s neck. The younger natives had fewer lines than the older ones. The native whom Coleman guessed was the leader had a second string of tattooed lines part way down the other side of his face. He speculated that they granted status or denoted the age of the individual or both. As he continued his observation, he determined the lines couldn’t indicate age because the younger natives had only half a dozen or so lines. He also noticed that the leader was the only one who had a large tooth or tusk hanging around his neck by a leather cord.

  Soon, the leader walked over to Coleman and looked him in the eyes again. He gave a huff, spoke the word Munnari and glanced heavenward, then back to Coleman. He turned around and gave a clear command. All the natives fell into a predetermined formation surrounding Coleman. The group began to move, and with a shove, Coleman started walking, struggling to keep pace with the others.

  The men continued their trek. Coleman had no sense of time. The perpetual gloom of the jungle made it impossible for him to tell what hour of the day it was. The natives moved almost silently in the undergrowth while Coleman stumbled and slogged his way forward, his bare and tender feet suffering with every step he took. Several times he caught the annoyed gaze of a native as his heavy footfalls contrasted so noisily with theirs.

  One of the lead natives held up his arm, and the party stopped. The point man tilted his head back and sniffed the air. Quietly he said, “Bataro.” All the natives grinned in delight and one even licked his lips, but no one made a sound. The strap around Coleman’s neck was drawn tighter and his guard whispered something in his ear, most likely a warning to keep quiet. The party fanned out with the spearmen taking the lead. Coleman noticed the spearmen had placed their spears in a lever device held in their hands. He recognized the spear and lever as an atlatl—a device which could propel a spear with great power and accuracy.

  Coleman held his breath as one of the men took careful aim and loosed his spear. He heard the wail of a wounded animal that sounded like a swine. All the men, except the one restraining Coleman, rushed to the sound. He could hear war clubs crashing down on the wounded beast as it continued its death shrieks. Quickly, all was quiet again. The hoot of a startled monkey overhead was the only sound. Coleman’s guard slapped a firm hand on his shoulder and said something that had the ring of kindness and gratitude to it. Coleman turned and looked at his guard whose broad smile and glimmering white teeth made Coleman smile widely, as well.

  Shortly, the party returned with four of the men supporting a long pole with an enormous boar suspended from it by its feet. It was as ugly a boar as Coleman had ever seen. Even though the animal had already been gutted, the four men struggled with the massive beast. The leader was carrying a green woven basket in both arms. As he approached Coleman, he tipped it so Coleman could see that it contained some of the innards of the boar, most likely the heart, liver, and other delicacies the men probably favored. Laying atop the gore was a tusk like the one the leader wore. He patted Coleman’s head with a bloody hand and said Munnari and some other words that Coleman couldn’t begin to decipher.

  “I hope this is a good omen,” Coleman muttered. All the men turned their heads and stared at him. “What’s with you guys and what’s this Munnari I keep hearing?”

  Many of the natives repeated Munnari and then one man, the target of his assault, began a tirade of hostile and angry words. The leader confronted the agitator and pushed the basket of entrails into his grasp. The angry young man stopped his diatribe and fell silent.

  Soon, the party was on the move again. They trudged onward until Coleman heard running water. They walked into a small clearing and Coleman recognized it as the gushing spring that had given him both comfort and terror the previous night. He instinctively scanned the area, worried that the horrid beast was hiding in the shadows. The men stopped and dropped their loads. Two by two they partook of the fresh water while the others alertly scanned the periphery of the clearing. Coleman’s guard motioned him toward the water and they both took their turns. After everyone drank, they rested.

  Coleman was beginning to feel hungry again, so he reached into his undergarment with his tethered hands and pulled out a f
ruit pod. He broke it open and took a bite. His guard eyed him suspiciously at first and then grinned. Coleman offered him a bit of the fruit and his guard gratefully accepted. The other men looked at them and began to mimic monkey sounds as they pointed fingers of derision at the two. Coleman rolled his eyes and pulled out a second fruit pod and offered it to his deriders. A couple of men came forward and took the pod and began sharing it with each other while the rest of the party mocked and howled in laughter.

  “Sorry guys, but that’s all I’ve got. It seems I lost a few in the scuffle.”

  The laughter suddenly stopped and the men gawked at him. Comments were passed from one to another as the men stared in Coleman’s direction.

  “Quit looking at me like I’ve got two heads,” he grumbled.

  That came off a little too stern, he thought. His angry victim began another diatribe, but Coleman calmly turned and sat on a nearby log, his gaze fixed on the angry man until his grumbling subsided.

  A flash of lightning foretold the coming of another drencher. Thunder rolled across the sky and the men stood up in unison.

  Now, I’ll see how these guys cope with this rain, Coleman thought.

  Soaked to the skin, men collected their things and began moving quickly through the jungle with Coleman in tow. His captors seemed to give the storm no mind. Water washed over their almost naked bodies while Coleman’s clothes soaked it up and stuck to his skin, but the pace of the march kept him warm. After another hour or so, as the rain began to subside, they came to a large clearing. In its center, Coleman could see a village surrounded by a wall of logs reminiscent of an old-time western fort. In front of the wall was a deep ditch filled with upturned spikes.

  As the men stepped from the jungle, a cry of greeting came from the village. The leader replied, waving his spear above his head. He shouted, “Bataro!” and the village began to empty as a throng of joyous natives poured forth. The men with the pig, which Coleman assumed was a bataro, led the way while he and his guard brought up the rear. Men, women, and children gathered around the slain beast and began chanting and dancing in celebration. The party continued their grand march toward the village. One-by-one, the onlookers passed their gaze from the bataro to Coleman and a stunned silence slowly crept over the throng. All eyes were on the tall stranger in the orange garments.

  When all was quiet, Coleman stopped and spoke, “My name is Coleman. I’m a dimensional traveler from the United States. Does anyone speak English?”

  An audible gasp came from the gathered assembly. Every individual stared in silence at him. Soon, he could hear the murmur of their strange language. The only discernible word he could make out was Munnari. It seemed to be repeated over and over in whispers. A young female draped in skins tied tightly about her waist stepped forward and looked deeply into Coleman’s eyes. She touched his cheek with her fingers and then touched her cheek and slid them down her tattooed lines. She uttered something loud enough for all to hear, something with the word Munnari in it.

  “What does Munnari mean?” Coleman asked her. She cocked her head to one side and a strained look came over her countenance as if she were trying to understand the unfathomable. She slowly backed away, and Coleman’s guard gave him a gentle nudge forward.

  The party moved through the opening in the wall followed by a subdued crowd murmuring to themselves. Once inside, Coleman could see many lodges and huts. They were covered with fronds to protect the dwellings from the rain. He could see no window openings and the doorways were covered with animal hides. Smoke rose from the center of many of the roofs. He passed one that was different from the others. Hanging on poles near the doorway were feathers, bulbous tubers, several bones, and various animal skulls. Coleman couldn’t help but stare at the grisly and unnerving sight.

  The leader of the hunting party came to Coleman and he and the guard guided him to a lodge near the center of the village. Holding the door covering, the native stepped backward, then motioned for Coleman to go through.

  When Coleman entered, he could see that the dwelling was illuminated by a central fire. The upper walls were exposed while the lower ones were covered in skins with many woven mats covering the dirt. The lodge was about twenty feet in diameter, and the hole in the center of the roof was about twenty feet above the floor. Coleman could see that these dwellings were well built and probably permanent. The hut was warm and offered comfort and refuge from the rain.

  The leader removed Coleman’s bindings, handed a skin filled with liquid to him, and pantomimed taking a drink. Coleman examined the skin, removed what looked like a cork, sniffed the spout, and took a tentative sip. It was water. He took a deep quaff and handed it back to the leader. The leader took a drink and passed it on to the guard to whom he said a few words, and then he left the lodge.

  Coleman followed him with his eyes, then turned and looked at the guard. “Okay, now what do we do? You wouldn’t have a chess set around here would you?” The guard looked at him in puzzlement. “Of course not.” He thought for a moment, “My name is Coleman. What’s yours?” The guard just shook his head. This required a different strategy. “Coleman,” he said, and patted his chest. “Cole-man,” he said his name slowly hoping the guard would begin to understand.

  A light seemed to turn on in the guard’s eyes as he grasped what Coleman was referring to. The guard attempted to repeat Coleman but failed miserably. His C was too harsh and guttural, and the letter L was more like an R. His attempt sounded like q-owr-mon.

  “That’s good,” Coleman said in an encouraging tone. “What’s your name?” as he touched the guard’s chest with his open hand.

  The guard’s eyes brightened and he said something that sounded like a series of consonants rammed together.

  Coleman attempted to repeat the sounds he’d heard, and it evoked a chuckle from the guard. “This is going to be harder than I thought,” he mumbled. He plugged on. “What does Munnari mean? Munnari. Do you understand?”

  The guard looked into Coleman’s eyes and repeated, “Munnari,” and pointed upward.

  “I guess Munnari means the blue sky, right?”

  His guard’s expression turned to deeper puzzlement; then he repeated, “Munnari,” followed by more words accentuated with unfamiliar sounds.

  A feeling of weariness came over Coleman as he grappled with his exhaustion from the day’s adventures and his fitful sleep the previous night. He continued the faltering conversation with his guard. Both he and the guard quickly became fatigued and impatient with their lack of success, so Coleman stepped away and sat down on a floor mat.

  The guard sat down, too. Outside, the steady beat of drums followed by chanting entertained them. The guard smiled and uttered a sentence with the word bataro in it. Then he smiled and mimicked eating.

  “Ah, bataro means pig. Bataro, pig,” Coleman leaned his head forward, indicating it was his guard’s turn to say the words.

  The guard repeated, “Bataro, peeg.”

  “Yes, yes. Bataro, pig. That’s it, you’ve got it,” Coleman affirmed with a smile.

  The guard rattled off a string of harsh consonants, ending with, “Peeg, peeg, peeg!”

  Coleman just shrugged his shoulders and merely said, “Bataro, pig.” They both fell silent and intently listened to the drumming and chanting.

  Coleman could tell that night was approaching. From time-to-time, the guard would put another small log on the fire. The chanting eventually rose to a crescendo, then abruptly stopped. The guard smiled and gave an extended commentary on something concerning the bataro. He ended it by pretending to eat. Shortly after that, the skins covering the doorway were pulled aside and two female natives entered holding folded leaf packages. The smell of cooked meat wafted over the men. The women handed each of them a leafy package and quickly retreated, but not before they both took a brief look into Coleman’s eyes.

  Unfolding his package, the guard grabbed the seared meat with his hands and began to eat while Coleman watched. The guard stop
ped, looked down at Coleman’s folded package and said, “Bataro,” and bit into his own portion.

  Coleman, carefully unfolding the leaf, stared at the meat and felt his hunger. He picked it up and took a bite. The taste of the meat was surprising. “That’s odd. Bataro tastes like beef.” The guard just smiled and continued to devour his portion.

  After they had finished their meal, both men leaned back and relaxed. A few minutes later, the guard rose, moved to a collection of animal furs and rummaged through them. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for: a large, supple hide with thick fur. The guard returned to Coleman and handed him the fur and motioned with his hands that it was intended to be used as a blanket. Coleman draped the fur over his shoulders and sat staring into the fire.

  A female entered the lodge and Coleman recognized her as one of the two who had brought them their meal of bataro meat. The guard wrapped his arm around her shoulders indicating that they had a special relationship; probably husband and wife. Coleman returned a smile at the revelation. The two built a comfortable bed made of furs in front of the doorway and then retired for the night. Coleman laid back and after a few minutes was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  HANGING IN THE BALANCE

  Coleman had a restful night’s sleep for the most part. He awoke a couple of times when he heard the crash of thunder near the village. Rain fell most of the evening, but the lodge was a dry and comfortable shelter. The fire slowly died, but the coals kept the room warm. Before dawn, he awoke and lay staring at the hole in the center of the roof and the brightening sky above it. When he went to move, he immediately felt the pain from the injuries he had sustained the night before. He heard the guard or his wife rustle under their blanket of furs. After a couple of comments, they arose, collected their bedding, and stowed it away in tightly woven wicker-like baskets.