The Man with Munnari Eyes

by M L Bellante

  Coleman cut a piece and tasted it. “Umm, that is good. It is sweet and has a bit of a bite to it. Have you ever tried one of these before?” Coleman wondered as Tzeechoe examined the round bulb.

  “What is it, Tondo?”

  “It is onion,”

  Tzeechoe sniffed it and immediately his eyes began to water. “Tondo, it’s killing me. It hurt my eyes. I can’t see.”

  “Stop it, you big baby. It will not hurt you.” Tzeechoe warily looked at the onion, but after his sad experience with rud-bo-t´a-tzo, he refused to taste it. Coleman wasn’t about to risk causing another sickness in the village, so he didn’t press the issue and only took the one onion with him. He knew he’d enjoy his new discovery. He returned to the potato patch he found days earlier and pulled out a tuber, adding it to his collection.

  It was only midmorning and Coleman wanted to look around some more before the team returned to the village. He was sure there were other foods he could find that the Batru had never noticed before. The other men only watched him as he rambled around a large area for another hour but he came up empty-handed. He examined the fruit pods, berries, and nuts his team had collected.

  “I think we have done well enough for today. We should return to the village for the midday meal,” he finally told them.

  By the time they got back to the village, most of the other hunters and gatherers had already returned. It was evident they had hurried back, not wanting to miss the midday meal. Coleman found four green branches and made skewers. Then he cut up some meat, the potato and onion, and made a shish kabob for himself. He made shish kabobs for his three lodge mates, except for theirs’ he used meat and fruit from a pink pod the villagers favored called ghim. Coleman didn’t like it. It tasted bitter and left an awful aftertaste in his mouth; however, the villagers loved it. He wondered why. As he assembled the four shish kabobs, the other villagers watched him, mesmerized by what he was doing.

  When the kabobs were cooked, he gave them to Tzeechoe, Tzeecha, and Atura. The four feasted while the other villagers watched in envy. It wasn’t long before several other skewers were fashioned by the villagers and more shish kabobs were created. Coleman smiled to himself as he watched the People breaking away from their self-imposed traditions that had restricted their growth and culture. He felt he had improved their lives and was gratified, but he began to worry about the speed of change, just as Tahso had warned. Maybe he should step back for a while and let things develop naturally from here.

  His inner voice counseled, In time, you can become a master over these people. You can manipulate them and bend them to your will. They are so naive and trusting of you. He contemplated his thoughts and pondered how to proceed. He literally shook his head, as if coming out of a daydream.

  “Did you say something, Tondo?” Tzeechoe asked.

  Coleman looked into Tzeechoe’s trusting face and replied, “No, my friend, I did not. I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you and the People as my friends.”

  Tzeecha left the gathering and returned a few minutes later leading the betzoe pup on a braided leather cord. “It has been crying since early this morning. I think it misses you.” Coleman gave the betzoe a good rubbing and then started feeding it scraps of meat.

  “When he gets bigger, I will take him on our hunts and see how he does,” Coleman told the people near him. He could tell by their skeptical expressions that they doubted the betzoe would be helpful on a hunt. A few quiet comments could be heard wondering if the pup wouldn’t eat the gods’ messenger. Coleman smiled and continued feeding his new pet.

  A warning shout was heard coming from the village entrance. The men grabbed their weapons and rushed to get there. Coleman quickly gave the pup’s leash to Atura and dashed off. As he approached the village entrance, he could see in the distance a line of three odd-looking animals marching one behind the other, moving toward the village. As they drew closer, he saw a man riding the lead animal and another man mounted on the last one. The men were dressed in brown robes. The animals appeared to be carrying heavy loads wrapped in tarps well secured by ropes. The creatures reminded Coleman of camels, but as they moved out of the tall grass, he noticed that each creature not only had a pair of legs in front and a pair of legs in the rear, they also had a pair of legs in the center of their bodies. The closer they got, the bigger the creatures appeared. These were huge animals, ten or twelve feet tall at the shoulder.

  When the lead mount neared the village entrance, the procession stopped. The lead rider kicked his mount’s neck and it kneeled on the ground. The following two creatures did the same. The man in front stepped off his beast and walked toward the gathered villagers. The chief and Tahso stepped forward and waited for the man to reach them. Coleman could tell the visitor was a bit concerned about the greeting he would receive by the way he scanned the villagers. It was as if he were looking for signs of hostility. His eyes fell upon Coleman and he stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Coleman noted that he was just out of range of a spear’s throw.

  The man shouted in Coleman’s direction, “Are you the chief?” He had a strong accent that caused Coleman to struggle in understanding what he had said.

  Coleman quickly walked over to where the chief and Tahso were standing and shouted back, “No, you must talk to this man. He is the leader of the village.”

  “I have come to trade. May I enter your village?” the stranger called back.

  The chief looked to Coleman for advice. “He’s difficult to understand. What does he want? Why has he come here?” the chief asked.

  “I think he wants to trade with the villagers. He looks harmless. You should let him enter. He may have some things the People can trade for. That is how he makes his living; trading things,” Coleman guessed.

  “Yes, you may enter,” the chief shouted to the foreigner.

  The man waved to his companion and walked into the village on foot, leading his beast while the other man stepped off his mount and followed his leader with the other two pack animals right behind him. Their intimidating size made the villagers step back as the animals neared. The ground vibrated as the beasts marched past. The handler, who looked much like the leader, only younger, found an open area near Tahso’s lodge and commanded the animals to kneel and rest on their bellies. He began unloading the merchandise.

  Coleman examined the leader as he approached the chief. He stood well under six feet tall and was a little overweight. He had brown eyes and dark-brown hair graying at the temples. The light-colored skin of his face and hands was tanned and wrinkled. He wore a brown robe over shirt and trousers. His feet were protected by leather sandals and his legs sported long stockings. The stockings disappeared under pants that came down to mid-calf.

  The leader introduced himself. “I am Myron. I’ve traveled far to trade my goods. Examine my wares and let us trade.”

  Coleman continued to struggle with the man’s accent that required him to listen carefully to decipher his words. The chief cocked his head as if he too were trying to figure out what was just said. Myron could tell that the chief either didn’t understand him or had no idea what trading meant. He pulled a brightly polished, palm-sized piece of metal from his robe and held it before the chief. “Let me present you with a gift, Your Highness. I have more and I will trade for hides. You do have hides, don’t you?”

  The chief took the metal piece and examined it. He turned to Coleman. “What is this thing?”

  “It looks like a mirror,” Coleman answered. “Look into it.” Tondo took the chief’s hand and moved the mirror in front of his face.

  The chief gasped. “There is someone in this!” He then turned it and examined its back and edges.

  “No one is in there, Your Highness. It is your reflection, just like in a pool of water,” Myron instructed.

  The chief looked into the mirror again and, with a smile, he said to Myron, “You may talk with the People.”

  “Excellent, Your Highness. You will not regret your
decision,” he responded.

  “As long as you treat the People fairly, there will be no problems. If you try to take advantage of them, I will be very unhappy,” Coleman warned.

  Myron’s head snapped in Coleman’s direction and the trader glared at him for a moment. Quickly, his expression changed from anger to amazement as his gaze scanned Coleman’s tall, tanned body from head to foot and back again. His gaze became transfixed on Coleman’s eyes. “You are not from this tribe, are you? At first, I thought you were a light-skinned native, but you are much different. You have the eyes of Munnari. I have never seen this before. I have traveled all my life, but I have never seen anyone with eyes the color of the blue moon. Tell me, where are you from?”

  Coleman pondered the merchant’s words for a moment, trying to interpret his message. “I am from a place you have never visited. You could travel all your days and never find it,” Coleman told him.

  “Ha! A mystery. What brings you here?” Myron asked.

  “An accident brought me here and the People saved my life. I am in their debt.”

  “I knew these were good people,” Myron said and turned back to the chief. “Come, Your Highness, and I will show you things you have never even imagined before. These are goods from all over the known world. They can be yours for the right price.”

  It didn’t take Coleman long to realize that Myron was a bit of a con artist, and possibly a rogue, but he would let the man deal his wares so long as he didn’t abuse his invitation. He thought it might be an excellent opportunity for himself and the villagers to see that there is a much larger world out there. Also, he wanted to learn from these traders about the world he was on. They had clothes of woven cloth and they wore quality sandals. Coleman thought he saw the hilt of a sword or long knife under Myron’s robe. These items told him there were some advanced societies beyond the boundaries of this wilderness he found himself in.

  Myron’s companion had already laid several woven blankets on the ground and covered them with merchandise. Coleman took a second look at the young man and noticed he had a tattoo of a circle with an ‘X’ in it etched into the center of his forehead. Coleman looked down at the merchandise and his eyes were immediately drawn to what appeared to be a shiny brass-colored short sword lying next to its scabbard.

  He knelt on one knee and reached for the sword, “May I?” he asked Myron’s assistant before he touched it.

  “Yes. My master does not mind if you handle the wares. Don’t cut yourself; it’s very sharp,” he warned.

  Coleman hefted the piece and moved it in the air. “This is unbelievable! I have never seen a brass sword before and it is in such beautiful condition,” Coleman declared to Myron.

  “Brazz? I don’t know what brazz is, but this fine blade is made of gravetum. The only thing better you can find in all the world is a sutro gravetum blade, but only a very few can afford such a masterpiece. You will find that this one will meet your needs quite well. Its edge will remain sharp under normal use and it will never lose its gleam. You can have this excellent blade for only two-hundred large skins,” proclaimed Myron.

  “Did you say two-hundred?” Coleman thought he misunderstood the offer. The merchant simply nodded. Myron’s proclamation started a murmur of surprise and discontent among the villagers standing nearby. “I am sorry, Myron, but no one in this village has that many large skins to trade,” Coleman informed him as he placed the sword back on the blanket. “What about this?” he asked as he pointed to a heavy pot and lid that looked like a Dutch oven.

  “Ha, that gravetro pot will only cost you fifty large skins.”

  Coleman rubbed his head and replied, “I doubt you will make many trades today. The People use their skins for clothes, shelter, and daily needs. We are a poor village.”

  “I notice your people make wicker baskets. I see one over there and another over there. I might be enticed to part with some of my other goods for them,” Myron suggested.

  “Tzeechoe is an excellent basket weaver. Maybe he would be willing to trade,” Coleman said as he faced his friend. “Is there anything here that catches your eye?” he asked Tzeechoe. Coleman could see he was drawn to the sparkling, beaded necklaces on display on another blanket.

  “I think Tzeecha would like that one,” Tzeechoe said as he pointed to a multicolored beaded necklace. Coleman thought it was the gaudiest thing he’d ever seen, but he said nothing.

  “Ha, I’m sure your Tzeecha would love to possess such a beautiful trinket. What do you have in trade?” Myron asked.

  “The basket you finished a couple of days ago, are you willing to give it to Myron for the necklace?” Coleman asked Tzeechoe.

  “Yes,” Tzeechoe replied and trotted off to his lodge. A few minutes later, he returned with a large basket about three feet tall and eighteen inches in diameter. Woven into the basket was an intricate design of dark-brown reeds in the shape of diamonds that contrasted handsomely with the light-colored wicker. “I will give you this if I can have that,” Tzeechoe said as he pointed to the gaudy necklace. The young merchant looked to his senior for guidance and waited.

  “Tzeechoe, ha? Oy, let me examine this beautiful basket,” Myron said as he was handed the basket and studied it with a trained eye. “This is exquisite work; yes, a real craftsman made this. Tell me Tzeechoe, did you weave this yourself?”

  Tzeechoe proudly smiled and replied, “Yes, I have made baskets since I was a boy. My father’s father taught me how. Many others in the village can do it, but everyone says mine are the best.”

  “I think this one is worthy of that necklace you have your eye on.” Myron reached down, grabbed the necklace, and held it high above his head. He then turned and faced the gathered villagers. “Tzeechoe has just traded one basket for this beautiful necklace. You can do the same. Bring me your skins and baskets. Bring anything of value and maybe we can trade.” He then handed the necklace to Tzeechoe and slapped him on the shoulder. “Take this with my blessing, young man. I’m sure your Tzeecha will love you all the more for such a special gift.”

  Coleman shook his head and leaned over to Tzeechoe and whispered, “I wonder if he has any snake oil in his kit.” Tzeechoe looked at Coleman with a confused expression and then smiled when Coleman started to chuckle.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, Myron plied his wares as the villagers gathered around the displayed merchandise in awe at what they saw. Many asked Coleman questions about the unusual items the merchants had displayed. The villagers milled around the offerings the remainder of the day but there was little trading. A few small skins were traded for loose beads and another basket was traded for a metal comb. All in all, it had been a disappointing afternoon for the merchants. The villagers had little they wanted to trade, therefore, as the shadows grew long, Myron and his companion started packing up.

  Coleman had spent the afternoon observing the goings-on. He wanted to make sure that Myron didn’t cheat the villagers and, though he always traded to his benefit, his offers were generally fair. During this time, he had noticed that Myron’s companion was subservient to his ‘master,’ as the young man called him. Coleman thought this a little strange but kept his concerns to himself.

  When all was packed, Myron strode over to Coleman and said, “We will leave at first light tomorrow. I must say, of all the places I’ve visited, this is the poorest and the most isolated.”

  “They may be poor in goods, but they will learn and grow. I am sure by the next time you come this way, they will have more worthwhile things to trade,” Coleman replied. Then he offered, “Would you and your helper join us for our meal tonight? I would like to learn more about your travels and the places you have been.”

  “I am hungry and tired of dried meat. I would be pleased to join you,” Myron answered. “What will you be serving?”

  “We will have shish kabobs. Have you ever had shish kabob?”

  “I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “When
the meal is ready, I will get you,” Coleman told him, and then he walked back to the lodge.

  CHAPTER 13

  DINNER GUESTS

  Coleman broke tradition again by collecting several cuts of raw meat that he took to Tzeechoe’s home. He gave them to the women and instructed them to make shish kabobs for six. When asked, he told them that they would sit around the lodge fire and enjoy their meal with the merchants.

  “I want to learn about all the places they have been,” he told his companions. “This is a great opportunity for all of us to learn about the world beyond the trees.” No one disagreed or argued with him. Even Atura was curious about what these strange looking men could tell them. Although tradition would be broken again, she made no protest.

  When all was ready, Coleman went to the traders’ camp and invited them back to the lodge; however, he was surprised when only Myron followed him. “What about your helper? Is he not hungry, too?” Coleman asked.

  “He must stay with the animals. They get restless when left by themselves,” Myron told him, though Coleman could discern it was for a different reason that the young man remained with the goods. Coleman suspected he remained as a guard to protect the merchandise.

  “The food is ready, and I will bring him some,” Coleman offered.

  “Don’t worry about him. He will be all right,” Myron said with an air of indifference.

  “I will make sure he gets a warm meal,” Coleman said somewhat irritated at Myron’s laissez-faire attitude toward his young helper.

  When they reached the lodge, Coleman introduced Myron to Tzeecha and Atura. “Ha, the beautiful Tzeecha. I see you are wearing the necklace your bondmate got for you. It shows your beauty even more,” Myron puffed with such zeal that it made Coleman cringe. Nevertheless, Tzeecha was eating it up. Coleman noticed something in her countenance that he had never seen before: conceit. She seemed to assume an air of haughtiness. Coleman was very disappointed in her, yet he said nothing.