by M L Bellante
“That be todo!” Coleman growled. “We not let Chashutzo die. He hunt after he heal. We fix leg.”
“Even Tahso can’t fix this,” Tzeechoe said pointing to the bone protruding from Chashutzo’s thigh.
“Tondo, can you heal Chashutzo?” asked Ayascho. Coleman felt like backhanding the young man for running when he needed his help, but he took pity on him and just nodded.
Coleman kneeled over Chashutzo and carefully examined the wound. The bleeding had stopped, indicating that no damage was done to an artery or vein.
Coleman instructed the men standing around him, “Get two long, straight poles; much longer than Chashutzo tall.” The men dashed off and returned in less than five minutes with the poles. Coleman placed them on the ground and indicated he wanted the men to weave cords of leather or vines between them. Although they had no idea what they were doing this for, the men followed Coleman’s instructions, and soon they had finished a sturdy stretcher. “Okay, I need four straight poles longer than Chashutzo’s leg.”
The men disappeared into the forest and returned in short order with the poles.
“I need something to tie poles to leg.”
Again, the men disappeared into the undergrowth, returning in a few minutes, each held up long strands of vegetation that looked like horse hair. They began braiding it into strong cords.
When they had finished, Coleman had several six-foot-long cords for the bindings. He then looked at Chashutzo and said, “I set bone. My friend, it hurt.” Coleman quickly set the bone, hoping there weren’t any blood vessels damaged in the process. Chashutzo gave a scream that frightened the other men, but the deed was quickly done, and the bone was in place. Coleman carefully put the poles around the leg and tied them securely in several places. The pain had caused Chashutzo to pass out, but he quickly regained consciousness. Coleman examined his eyes and saw they had dilated, “He go into shock,” he told the others, although they had no idea what he meant. “Okay, put him on stretcher . . . um, that,” he finally said, pointing to the contraption they had built.
With Coleman and Tzeechoe securing his injured leg, the other men carefully lifted Chashutzo while Ayascho positioned the stretcher under him. Coleman could see, several of the men now understood what all their efforts were for as they smiled at each other and talked about how they could carry Chashutzo back to the village. The men heard a rustling in the brush nearby, and they turned to face the perceived threat. The four other hunters struggled into view carrying the two halves of the gorga suspended from carrying poles. They had left the choice entrails behind because they could only bring the two halves. Chashutzo weakly ordered two of the hunters to return and quickly retrieve them. Coleman took a head count to make sure no one was missing. Everyone was accounted for.
It wasn’t long before the others returned with two large, leafy baskets full of gorga innards. Coleman examined the baskets and could see they were filled with heart, kidneys, lungs, and a few other things he was afraid to identify. He also noticed one of the beast’s huge fangs resting atop the gore in one of the baskets. He then organized the men, assigning two to each pole with half a gorga carcass suspended from it, four to the stretcher, and Tzeechoe leading the party back to the village, carrying a basket of entrails. The thoroughly lost Coleman brought up the rear, also carrying a bloody basket of entrails.
It was now midafternoon and Coleman guessed it would take them a couple of hours to get back. Tzeechoe led them to the Sweet Waters. They each took turns refreshing themselves in the pure liquid. Chashutzo was in shock and this worried Coleman. They couldn’t stay here long, so Coleman got the party moving after only a short rest. As they started, a light drizzle began to fall, cooling the men in their labors.
After another hour had passed, the men reached the village. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were scattered, exposing large blue patches of sky. The shout of welcome was sounded from the village as the inhabitants began to gather. At first, there was jubilation, but it quickly changed to worry as they saw the men carrying Chashutzo on the stretcher.
The tahso and the chief were waiting for the men as they entered the village. “What has happened? Why are you carrying Chashutzo?” the chief asked.
“His leg is broken and the bone came through his skin. Tondo has fixed it,” Tzeechoe answered. The tahso examined Chashutzo and shook his head.
Coleman walked over to him and grabbed his upper arm. “Tahso, I do all I can do. He in shock and must have your magic.”
“I cannot fix his broken bone.”
“Do not fix broken bone. Use your dust and feathers. He very sick.”
Tahso guided the stretcher bearers to Chashutzo’s home. His wife and children were beside themselves with grief. Coleman had to restrain them from falling upon his wounded and broken body. “Stop! You make him feel bad! Go away!” he finally yelled in frustration, terrorizing Chashutza and the children. They retreated and sat near the wall of the lodge, bellowing their grief and fear. Coleman turned and faced the shaman. “I not know what power you have, but I have felt it. Chashutzo needs it now, so use it!” he bellowed.
The tahso was not accustomed to being talked to in such a rude and threatening manner, but he knew the truth when he heard it. He began chanting, pulling his feathered fan from his bag. Chashutzo closed his eyes and basked in the power that radiated from the tahso.
Coleman quietly moved over to the family and held out his arms to the youngest son, probably no more than three years old. The child jumped into his grasp and wrapped his arms around Coleman’s neck. The other boy, around eight years old, quickly rose and embraced Coleman and his brother in a hug. Coleman reached out to their mother, and they locked hands on each other’s forearm.
After a few minutes, the older boy drew away and stared into Coleman’s eyes. “Munnari,” was all he uttered, and then he crawled over to his mother’s embrace.
The tahso chanted for nearly an hour and then abruptly stopped. He turned to the family and said, “Pray to the gods of Munnari for this man’s life. I have done all I can,” and then he left.
Coleman gave each family member a hug and began to follow the tahso. Before he exited the hut, he turned and warned, “Do not move him. His leg must not be moved at all until it heal.” As he left the lodge and stood up, he found himself facing the chief.
“Tondo, the other men have told me what you did today. The power of Batru is in you. No one has ever killed a gorga before, yet now you have—and alone. The hunters told me what you did for Chashutzo. Will he live?”
“I not know. It up to Chashutzo and your gods. He strong and I think he heal in time.”
“The village has been blessed by your presence, Tondo.”
Coleman nodded his head in acknowledgment and then he felt exhaustion overcome his body. He had been through a lot this day and hadn’t taken a moment to think about himself. The chief seemed to read his thoughts and dismissed him to return to Tzeechoe’s home. When he arrived, Atura handed him the waterskin. Coleman drank and handed it back to her. “Thank you, Atura.”
“Todo!” she growled. Coleman laughed but didn’t feel like correcting himself. He slumped to the floor and rested.
It wasn’t long before Tzeechoe and Tzeecha entered the lodge excitedly. “Tondo, the chief has called a special celebration tonight, after we eat. He wants to honor you,” Tzeechoe announced in a delighted voice.
“What that mean?” Coleman asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but I think he will give you the gorga’s tooth, an award like no other ever given.”
“Okay, I guess that good,” Coleman muttered tiredly. “I rest now.”
“Yes, yes, rest. You’ve earned it,” Tzeecha chimed in.
Coleman began rubbing his sore feet. They were torn, bloody, and aching. “This stone age life is tough on the body,” he grumbled in his native tongue. The three villagers looked at him and then at each other, no one having a clue as to what he had just said. Atura kneeled and began
wiping his feet with dampened fur, removing the mud, dirt, and dried blood. For the first time since he’d known her, she looked at him with respect. “Except for Chashutzo broken leg, today be good day,” he finally said to the assembled group. All nodded in agreement.
For the next couple of hours, the group rested in the lodge. The women hummed a gentle tune while Coleman dozed. Tzeechoe, who was unconscious during most of the struggle with the gorga, squatted, waiting for Coleman to awake. He had many questions but did not want to disturb the Sutro P´oez. This morning Tondo was only a visitor; this evening he was the hero of the village.
Coleman’s body shuddered and then his eyes opened. The women and Tzeechoe greeted him with smiles as he raised his arms above his head and stretched. “How long I sleep?”
“Not long. You are very tired,” Tzeechoe said.
“I very hungry. When we eat?” Coleman asked. Just then, a shout was heard and the women left the lodge. Tzeechoe smiled and pantomimed eating. “I wonder what gorga tastes like?” Coleman asked as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“The Sutro P´oez will be given the heart of the kill. You will gain the strength of the gorga,” Tzeechoe declared.
“What?” Coleman stammered.
“The heart of the kill is given to the p´oez and he can share it with his family or eat all of it himself. The heart holds the power of the beast and that power is passed on to the ones who eat it.”
“I want sutro juicy steak,” Coleman mused.
Tzeechoe cocked his head and laughed, “Tondo, you are very funny.”
Just then, the women entered the lodge and the smell of roasted meat wafted over the men. “Hmm, that smell good,” Coleman said licking his lips. Atura placed two leaf bundles in front of him and pointed to the one on his right. He unfolded the leaf and gawked at a large, raw gorga heart laying in front of him.
He looked at the villagers and said, “It not cooked. What I do?”
“You eat it,” Tzeechoe said in a surprised tone. Coleman dropped his gaze from Tzeechoe to the raw heart and just stared. He had forced himself to eat strange offerings from friendly villagers on some of his Ranger missions, but he never liked that part of the job.
“Eat it,” Atura commanded. “It will make you even more powerful.”
Coleman’s eyes brightened as a thought came to him. “I share with friends.” He drew his waist knife and cut the heart in half and handed Tzeechoe the largest piece. He then cut the remaining half in two and pointed to the women to help themselves.
Atura grabbed the knife from Coleman’s hand, cut one of the pieces in half again. She picked up the largest piece and held it in front of Coleman’s face. “Eat!” she scolded. Coleman reluctantly took the raw piece and bit into it. The villagers smiled as a look of disgust and revulsion crossed his face. Tzeechoe gulped down his large piece and looked invigorated and proud, pushing out his chest. The women ate their share, and all closely watched Coleman as he forced down every bit of the piece Atura had pushed upon him. He then unfolded the other leaf, picked up the roasted meat, and took a bite.
He looked at Atura and said, “It tastes like chicken.”
Atura’s expression turned hard as she barked, “Todo!”
Coleman, Tzeechoe, and Tzeecha began to chuckle, and soon their chuckles turned into roaring laughter. Coleman rolled on the floor, laughing uncontrollably, releasing all the stress from his day. Try as she may, Atura could no longer contain herself and she, too, began laughing uproariously. When all had exhausted themselves, they relaxed. Atura gave Coleman a smile and said, “You are the Sutro P´oez, yes, but you are still todo.” They all began laughing wildly again.
The big celebration was set to begin not long after. The women had learned that the chief had asked the tahso to tell the story of how the Batru came to be. After asking the three villagers what this was all about, Coleman learned that the tahso was not just the village shaman but also the oral historian for the tribe. Since the Batru had no written language, births, deaths, and major events were passed down from generation to generation via oral history.
As they continued to teach Coleman some of the more intricate details of Batru life, a drum sounded. Soon, several more drums joined in. They rose to their feet and exited the lodge. Coleman scanned the partly cloudy sky and found the silver moon’s waxing quarter directly above the village. “What that one’s name?” he asked, pointing to the silvery moon.
Atura answered, “That is Munnoga, the middle moon. It keeps balance.” Coleman continued scanning the sky, but the other two moons had not risen.
“The blue moon name Munnari, and the red moon name Munnevo, right?”
“Yes,” Tzeechoe said, “Munnari is the good munna and Munnevo is the evil munna.”
“Why?” Coleman asked.
“You will learn that tonight. Tahso will tell us the story of how the Batru came to be.”
Chapter 7
A STARTLING DISCOVERY
The villagers slowly moved to the great lodge. Teenage drummer boys stood in front of the doorway facing each other, beating their drums with a club-like drumstick. The villagers passed between them and entered. The chief stood facing the assembly with the tusk-men sitting cross-legged in front of him. The adult males squatted or sat across the fire ring facing them, and the women and children gathered near the structure’s walls, forming a large half-circle. Wood was stacked in the fire pit but was unlit. Coleman noticed Chashutzo lying on his stretcher in front of the tusk-men and quickly moved to his side and knelt.
“They should not move you. Bad for leg.”
Chashutzo grabbed Coleman’s forearm and said, “This has been a special day and will be a wonderful celebration. I will not stay in my lodge. When I die, I can tell the gods I hunted with the Sutro P´oez.”
“You not die if you do as I say. You die if you move too much,” Coleman warned. He then took his place with the adult men, Tzeechoe at his side.
When all the villagers had arrived and positioned themselves, the drummers entered the huge edifice and seated themselves near the doorway. They continued pounding their drums with a slow, monotonous beat. When the last drummer was seated, the chief called for a blessing from the gods of Munnari, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and sat on his stool. The drummers resumed their beat and it quickened. Suddenly, the tahso burst into the room. He was dressed in full shaman regalia. He wore a headdress of antlers and a cloak of feathers, which ran the full length of his arms, and down his back to below his waist. His loins were girded in black fur like the ghee Coleman had seen earlier in the day. Gourds were strapped from his knees to his ankles and they rattled with every step he took. In his left hand, he held the feathered fan Coleman had seen so many times before. In his right hand he clutched the staff adorned with the animal’s skull. Tahso’s painted face and chest made him appear even more macabre than usual.
As he began moving around the outer perimeter of women and children, the men began chanting. Coleman did not understand the words or even if they were words at all. Suddenly, the men stopped chanting and the women started a different chant. After a minute or so, the women became silent and the men began chanting again. This went on, back and forth for several minutes. It was as if they were calling to each other. While the chanting continued to rise in volume, Tahso danced. He whirled and jumped, dipped and spun. From time-to-time, he would stop and wave his staff in front of the faces of the villagers. When he did this, Coleman could see fear grip those near the staff, only to be replaced with relief when Tahso moved on. Coleman watched in puzzled awe as the spectacle continued. When Tahso strode past Atura, Coleman noticed her expression. It was one that he had never seen on her face before. It wasn’t the fear he had seen on others. It was a look of admiration; no, it was a look of adoration. A wry smile crossed Coleman’s face as a plan was hatched in his mind.
Tahso’s dance lasted for a while as the male villagers chanted their tune with the female villagers answering. With each round, t
he tempo grew quicker, the chants became louder, and Tahso whirled faster. Just as they reached a frenzied peak, he stopped and raised his staff high above his head. Tahso pointed his staff at the fire pit, and the wood stack exploded in flame. The effect was so violent and unexpected that Coleman fell backward. The men jumped to their feet and began slapping their chests with open palms while the women let out their long, wavering, high-pitched shrieks.
Coleman found himself seated on the floor mat, surrounded by a forest of hairless legs. Tzeechoe reached down and yanked him upright as the men continued slapping their chests and the women shrieked louder and louder. Tahso proudly strutted around the lodge, his sweaty chest puffed out and his steps deliberate.
Coleman watched Atura out of the corner of his eye. She was completely enthralled by Tahso’s performance and demeanor. Nevertheless, Coleman’s analytical mind scrambled to figure out how the shaman could pull off such a spectacular stunt.
Surprisingly, he felt Tzeechoe’s elbow in his ribs as he motioned for Coleman to slap his chest like the other men. He gave Tzeechoe a sheepish grin, and he began slapping his chest like the others, allowing himself to be caught up in the moment. Tahso strutted to the chief’s right side and proudly sat on a stool made of logs.
The chief stood and raised his arms. The drumming stopped, the villagers became silent, and the men reseated themselves on the mats. The chief lowered his arms and slowly looked over everyone as he began speaking.
“My brothers and sisters, may the gods of Munnari bless you and keep you safe. They have certainly been kind to us this day. Never in the life story of the Batru has a hunting party returned to the village claiming victory over the gorga. Never have the Batru tasted of the most dreadful beast of the forest. Never have the Batru feasted upon that which would feast on us all. But today, my brothers and sisters, you have feasted, you have partaken of gorga strength. Chashutzo, our great hunt leader, has been severely injured by the gorga’s attack, yet he lives. Tahso strengthened him, and Tondo has given us hope that Chashutzo will live.” With those words, the men gave a guttural shout, which caught Coleman by surprise.