Due to the tendency of savage people to express the past in the form of myths and fantastical stories, I could hardly say which portions of Sinanie’s answer were factual. However, if indeed these men had lived when such beasts roamed the forests of New Guinea, I could scarcely imagine a lifetime of such a span of time. Such changes would no doubt take hundreds of years, perhaps thousands, or perhaps even many thousands. Had I not already seen impossible things made entirely possible by the clay of the Lamotelokhai, I would have dismissed this notion altogether.
Now I do not know what to believe.
One other recent event is worthy of describing before the day’s light fades. Yesterday I had the opportunity to accompany three tribesmen on a hunting excursion. This was the first time I had departed from the village for any substantial distance, but Sinanie and Matiinuo were unconcerned that I might run away. They likely knew as well as I that I could not return to the Humboldt Bay tribe, and I certainly was not capable of living by my wits alone in the wilderness.
The three natives I accompanied were Teatakan, Ot, and Korul, the very men who had been injured, and perhaps even killed, by Penapul’s men. They had recovered fully from the attack and now bore only faint scars that appeared to have healed for many months. I had the impression that these three men loved hunting above all other things, and in fact they provided the majority of animal meat eaten by the tribe.
In a matter of only a few hours after leaving the village, the hunters had killed three bandicoots. These were of the same large type my assistant Charles had shot many days ago, before he was murdered. The bandicoots were peculiarly docile, even to the moment of their death by arrow or spear, as if they were the most stupid of domesticated livestock, existing solely for slaughter and consumption by men. Upon asking the hunters about this, I learned that this behavior was not a phenomenon of nature, but was indeed due to these bandicoots being somewhat domesticated by the tribe. Rather than confining the creatures to pens near the village, in which they would have to be cared for and fed, the beasts were allowed to freely roam the forest of the region. Then hunters, such as my three companions for the day, could go in search of them when the village’s dwindling supply of meat required it. This I found to be notable. Other Papuan tribes were known to have domesticated dogs for help with hunting, but I was quite sure none were known to have domesticated animals of any type for the purpose of harvesting.
Immediately after killing each of the bandicoots, the men butchered them using the same sharpened bamboo wedges they had once used to sever my heel tendons so that I would not run away. Notwithstanding my distressingly perfect memory of this barbarous act, I was impressed by their skilled and efficient manner of removing the meat and skin. They expertly cut the skin from the body in one large piece, removed the meat and other edible organs, placed these upon the skin, and then gathered up the edges of the skin and tied it off, thus creating a sack to be easily carried.
Teatakan told me they would typically hunt these bandicoots until each hunter had a skin sack full of meat to carry back to the village. However, on this occasion, since I was there to carry one of the sacks, they became quite excited for the opportunity to pursue an additional creature, a cassowary. I told them that my assistant Charles had killed a cassowary, and that I had found the meat to be delicious. Upon hearing this, the hunters laughed as if I had intended for my story to be amusing. When I asked why this was funny, they indicated that they did not believe this to be possible. They explained that the cassowary was the most elusive of all game and could be killed only by the most skilled hunters, most certainly not by a man such as myself, who had no hunting experience. Rifles were apparently unknown to them, and I made no further attempt to explain. I became quite curious to see how, without a gun, they could kill such a large and swift creature. They referred to their hunting technique, as well as to the few men capable of achieving it, as kayareumala. Kayarie was the name given to the cassowary, and mala signified making war, which further indicated that they considered the hunting of cassowaries to be a more serious venture than the hunting of other game.
We walked perhaps a mile to a place where cassowaries were known to frequent. Korul and Ot went off to find supplies that would be needed for kayareumala. Teatakan stayed with me and began gathering grass fibers and rolling them together between his hands, creating thin and flexible cord. As he did this I asked him to tell me more about kayareumala. The following is his response, to the best of my ability to translate.
“The kayarie (cassowary) is the spirit of a woman, and all kayarie originated in the world of women. I, and other hunters, we are from the world of men. In order to catch a cassowary, we must pass into the world of women. To do this, we must achieve yikeulaka, which means to be possessed by the spirit of a cassowary. When we enter the world of women, we must be very careful, as women have wisdom that is different from the wisdom of men. We must be careful, or we will be tricked and harmed, perhaps killed. The first of us to achieve yikeulaka will be the one to try to catch a cassowary. The others will drive the cassowary to him. Then we must leave the world of women and not return to it for many days. If we have success and catch a cassowary, we will carry the meat and feathers to the village. The others will eat the meat and adorn themselves with the feathers. But we, the kayareumala, must never eat the meat or we will not again be allowed to enter the world of women. And we must not lay with a woman for many days, or we will not again be allowed to enter the world of women.”
This explanation served to heighten my desire to witness the process. Before long, Korul and Ot returned with the needed supplies, which included leaves of a female pandanus, three pandanus flower heads, each about the size of a large mango, and a handful of small brown mushrooms. I observed with some curiosity as the men fashioned the pandanus leaves and flower heads into cassowary masks, held together by the fiber cords Teatakan had made. These masks, which were striking in appearance and ingenious in design, featured beaks made from the long, rigid pandanus leaves, and the pithy flower heads were arranged to represent the cassowary’s large horny calque or helmet upon the top of the head.
The hunters then divided the small pile of mushrooms and ate them, after which they began to dance, mimicking the bird in its search for food among the trees. This went on for some time, and I began to wonder if they had any intentions at all of hunting cassowaries. No less than an hour passed as they danced about, their movements becoming ever more tipsy and haphazard. I began to suspect that the mushrooms the men had consumed had some intoxicating effect upon them.
At last Ot stopped dancing, and his body seized with violent trembling. This, I was later told, indicated that he was the first of the three men to achieve yikeulaka. Apparently he was now possessed by a cassowary’s spirit and could enter the world of women. When Teatakan and Korul saw Ot’s trembling state, they rushed to him and supported him by grasping his arms. Soon the trembling subsided, and Teatakan told me—much to my relief—that they were now ready to hunt the cassowary.
We placed the three skin sacks of bandicoot meat in the forked trunk of a tree to keep them safe, and we put all of the hunting weapons on the ground below, with the exception of Ot’s bow and one arrow. Still adorned with their cassowary masks, the hunters led as I followed, and we slowly and silently made our way up the densely-forested slope of a rather substantial hill. Finally, when the ground was becoming level near the hill’s summit, the hunters stopped and stood very still. I then saw ahead of us a large cassowary. The bird, apparently unaware or uncaring of our presence, was searching for food. Its motions reminded me of the men’s dance. We carefully retreated down the slope until we were out of the bird’s sight. Without a word spoken, Teatakan walked up the hill to the left, Korul to the right. Ot, his eyes peaking out from his mask, nocked his arrow and positioned himself behind a thick tree. He waved his hand at me, indicating that I should move further down the hill, which I did and then stationed myself behind a tree. I watched as Ot waited for Teata
kan and Korul to circle behind the bird from both sides, presumably to drive it straight down the slope. This seemed to me to be an unlikely consequence, as the bird could just as easily run off in any other direction.
However, I was soon surprised to see the cassowary walking unhurriedly down the slope, rather than running with great rapidity as I had expected. Teatakan and Korul followed slowly on either side, far enough behind it so as to avoid driving it to complete panic. When the bird would drift to the right, Korul, who was on the left, would stop, and Teatakan would continue moving, gently forcing the bird back to the left. In this way they were able to drive the cassowary within range of Ot’s bow. At the critical moment, Ot, remaining mostly behind the tree, bent his bow and shot the cassowary.
Before Ot had released his arrow, I had thought that this unusual cassowary hunt would be nearly finished soon after shooting the bird. I was quite mistaken. As I later learned, an arrow could rarely kill an animal as large as a cassowary, at least not instantly, which was why bows were seldom used in fighting other tribes. Instead, the arrow’s purpose was to cause the bird to have a brief moment of surprise and confusion. At the precise moment Ot’s arrow was released, he dropped his bow and ran with full rapidity directly at the bird. The arrow pierced the cassowary, startling it for the briefest moment, and then the bird began running. However, Ot was so close behind the arrow that the bird had insufficient time to gain full stride. Ot leaped headlong for it and managed to grasp one of its legs. The cassowary, weighing more than a hundred pounds, turned upon its attacker with the fury of an injured beast.
The cassowary is known to be a dangerous bird, with a powerful beak and toes armed with long, curved claws, which could inflict serious injury to anyone so unfortunate as to be attacked. Ot was instantly engaged in a vicious fight to the death, while Teatakan and Korul, and even myself, were still too far away to lend immediate assistance. I arrived at Ot’s side before the others, and by this time he had managed to straddle the bird and grasp its slender neck in his hands to choke it. I attempted to grasp its thrashing legs but could not do so without great risk of encountering the formidable claws. Suddenly, and with the great desperation seen only in a dying beast, the bird twisted itself in such a way that Ot tumbled off to the side. Then the bird’s legs both caught him in the abdomen and sliced downward with a revolting sound. Ot released the bird’s neck, and it immediately rose to its feet and ran away, disappearing into the trees. At that moment Teatakan and Korul arrived, and they gazed down with surprising calm at their wounded companion.
Teatakan was the first to take action. He rolled Ot onto his back. I then saw that the worst of Ot’s wounds would have been, under any normal circumstances, quite fatal. It was an immense and dreadful gash from his rib cage, through his abdomen and groin, and down his right leg nearly to the knee. The gash lay open in such a way that his intestines could be clearly seen, some of which had been torn open, their contents strewn about within his abdominal cavity. I could not imagine how the Lamotelokhai could heal such a grievous wound, even if it were possible to carry Ot to the village in a timely fashion.
While Korul and I attempted to hold the gash closed to prevent spilling of the entrails, Teatakan opened the small pouch hanging from a cord around his neck. From the pouch, he brought forth upon his fingers a lump of clay, presumably from the Lamotelokhai, and spread it upon the torn skin. Such a small amount of the clay seemed to me to be an absurdly trivial measure when considering the wound’s magnitude, and I thought that Ot would most assuredly expire from excessive bleeding before any medicinal benefits could occur. Teatakan then joined us in attempting to hold the wound closed, and for some minutes we continued this, the only sounds being Ot’s miserable cries from below and the singing of honeyeaters from the trees above.
Finally, it seemed that Ot’s skin was beginning to fasten itself together. We pulled away our hands, and the gash remained closed. Korul stayed with Ot while Teatakan and I gathered enough long sago leaves to build a rough shelter for the night. Rain began falling as darkness set in, and we spent the night under the shelter. Although I could sleep scarcely more than a few minutes at a time, I must say that I felt oddly as if I belonged there in those miserable circumstances, with savage hunters who desired to treat me as one of their own.
By the first light of morning, Ot was able to walk, although only slowly. We returned to the tree where we had left the three sacks of bandicoot meat and found that one of them had been torn open and partially eaten by some unknown arboreal creature. We began walking with the remaining meat back to the village, and soon the hunters were laughing and discussing how they might tell the tale of the hunt to the other villagers. It was as if they had experienced such things on many occasions before. By the time we neared the village, Ot was able to walk just as swiftly as any of us.
However, this fateful excursion held one last distressing surprise. Just as we approached the village edge, we came upon two natives. We apparently startled them, as upon hearing us approach them from behind, they turned and ran. For a brief moment I caught a glimpse of their faces.
The two natives were men I knew to be from Penapul’s tribe at Humboldt Bay.
16
May 24, 1868
I am beginning to believe a great burden is upon me, one that I am not qualified nor inclined to bear. The natives have suggested that I may be the man they have waited for, the man who would speak to the Lamotelokhai in new ways and would somehow take it away from the village. As they tell it, the Lamotelokhai has informed them that the arrival of such a man is inevitable. Perhaps I am that man, and perhaps I am not, but with each passing day my fear of the Lamotelokhai’s power grows ever stronger.
For the first time since I was brought to this village, I have a strong desire for a stiff glass of brandy, or perhaps an entire bottle, as it would help to becalm my mind so that I may write these words with objectivity and then sleep without troubling dreams. Today I experienced an event that may forever haunt my soul. I considered foregoing the distress of writing its particulars in this notebook, but as I have already taken such pains to include all relevant information here, I feel obligated to describe it. If the Lamotelokhai should ever make its way to civilization, by my hand or by another’s, this notebook may provide a warning. Or perhaps at the very least it will provide important insight.
I awoke this morning in a state of melancholy. In my new life here, I am comforted by the respectful way the indigenes have now decided to treat me and by the scientific pursuit of a better understanding of the Lamotelokhai, a worthy and stimulating endeavor. Yet not a day passes in which I do not long for the company of old friends and family, and particularly of my betrothed, Lindsey, whom I fear I may never see again.
In recent days the villagers have stopped taking me to the Lamotelokhai’s hut for my experiments. Instead, Matiinuo has told me I may visit it whenever I wish, although he did stipulate that at least one tribesman was to be there to witness what might occur. Hence, this morning, after pacing about my hut in an unsuccessful attempt to distract my thoughts from distressing subjects, I found Sinanie and went to the Lamotelokhai. Upon placing my hands on the lump of clay, I had no particular requests in mind, so I simply spoke aloud to it in English, as if it were a human being.
“I am confounded by my situation,” said I. “I feel that I can no longer presume to know what is right and wrong, what is benevolent and malicious. However, I do know that I wish to see Lindsey, although I am uncertain she would favor the man I am becoming. I wish to place my hand upon her cheek, and to tell her of the wondrous things I have seen.” I pondered what I had just said, and I nearly laughed at the absurdity of speaking in such a way to a lump of clay, regardless of where it had come from or who had created it.
In hindsight, I now know that I should steadfastly avoid the Lamotelokhai’s hut when my mood is desperate. However, at the time I could not recognize my own mistake. I said to the clay, “Ignore what I have previously asked of you. I
wish to be with my beloved Lindsey. If you never grant another request, please at least consider this one.”
And then it was too late. I no longer was in the Lamotelokhai’s hut. Instead I was standing in the drawing room of my Georgian house in Fitzrovia, London. It was just as I remembered it. I inhaled the fragrance of wallflowers and moss roses, as several bunches had been arranged elegantly in vases upon my piano. The chairs and tables were arranged just as I had left them. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me.
“Samuel, what a pleasant surprise!”
I turned about, and there before me was Lindsey. Her chestnut-colored hair was braided and pinned into a low bun at the back of her neck. She was wearing my favorite skirt and bodice with sleeves, both of soft lavender dye and simple embroidery, and neither with the elaborately trimmed confections of high fashion.
For a moment, I naturally assumed the Lamotelokhai had placed another vision into my mind. However, in all previous visions, I had been merely an observer, in which my presence was of no consequence, nor was I even detected by those I observed. Now, though, in this vision, Lindsey gazed directly at me, awaiting my response.
“Lindsey,” I said, stammering. “It is you, as if I had never departed.”
“Yes, Samuel, it is I, and I am so happy you are here with me now.”
She walked gracefully to me and placed a hand upon my cheek. I felt the warmth of it and smelled clove perfume on her wrist. Fearing that she might vanish if I were to move, I carefully raised my hand and placed it on her cheek. At that moment, I knew she was real. As I gazed at her face, my eyes were drawn to my own hand against her pale and clean skin. My fingernails were uncut, and the skin was darkened by many weeks of unwashed dirt and healed scars. I looked down at my own body and was suddenly quite mortified, as I was still completely naked but for the filthy gourd tightly fitted upon my sexual organs. I withdrew my hand and stepped away from her.
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