Calling Crow

by Paul Clayton

  Senor Francisco Mateo stood next to Diego. Diego’s hand was wrapped in a rough woolen bandage, treated with some spider webs the barber had found in the below decks to speed up the healing process. Both men were silent as they took in the scene. After a while Mateo turned to Diego. “They are not as big as the two fellows we caught at latitude thirty-two, but they still appear bigger and stronger than the Arawaks.”

  “Si,” said Diego, “they evidently have a good life here and plenty to eat.”

  As Mateo watched the Indians on the beach, he worried about Diego’s state of mind. He could see a storm brewing in the man. “Diego,” he said, trying to gauge the man’s mood, “how many do you think there are?”

  Diego’s eyes narrowed as he took account of the village. “Based on the number of huts, I would estimate at least two or three hundred.”

  Mateo laughed quietly. “And all of them almost as naked as the day they were born.”

  Diego frowned. “What need have they of clothes? Did Adam and Eve wear clothes?”

  “No,” said Mateo, his tone becoming more serious, “and neither do little children need clothes. But once they’re baptized and grow up, then they’re better off with them, eh?”

  “They would be better off if we put to sea right now and left them alone.”

  “Ah,” said Mateo, “you think too much.” He laughed good naturedly. “If this is allowed by the Council of the Indies, then I shall lose no sleep over it.”

  Mateo watched Diego, knowing the man was intensely sad. But it was a misplaced sadness. It could not change the world. “Diego, their world is rapidly coming to an end. It is far better that we find them than some of the others, eh?”

  Diego sighed. “I was very wrong to agree to such a thing as this. If there were a way home I would leave now.”

  “Come,” said Mateo. “Your sadness is uncalled for. Our prayers have been answered. Now these soldiers will no longer cause trouble, and those Indians on the beach? Why, even they will benefit. They will have to work, but so does every peasant in Castile, but they will be baptized and taught God’s laws.”

  Despite his own words, Mateo felt Diego’s melancholy infecting him. He looked at the Indians and tried to shake it off. They were more victims of their own primitiveness than they were of the colony, so why should he feel bad about this?

  Mateo patted Diego on the back. “You and I, my friend, we shall be much richer than when we left Santo Domingo.”

  “Si,” said Diego, “we shall receive our thirty pieces of silver.”

  Mateo was about to reply when one of the sailors called up to them that the boats were ready. Mateo and Diego climbed into the first boat, and it was lowered with a great deal of squeaks and clatter and shouted orders. The crowd of Indians on the beach thinned as the boats neared, and by the time they landed, there were only a couple dozen left. These were mostly old men and women who stood close to one another with fearful expressions on their faces.

  Mateo led his men up toward the dwellings which were scattered among the trees at the edge of the forest. He formed three squads of four men each, one harquebusman and one crossbowman among each. He addressed them on the sand under the hot sun.

  “Fan out and search at least a league into the forest. The others may have cleared out for good, or they may be hiding, waiting to strike. Use your harquebuses to signal if you come under attack.”

  The men nodded grimly and walked off.

  Mateo led the way up into the village. He stopped before the first of the huts. In the topmost branches of a tall pine tree just behind it, a large blackbird crowed a warning at them, as if left behind by the Indians with instructions to guard the village. Mateo and the others laughed at its threatening tone and went inside.

  The hut was a simple affair, its circular walls made of woven cane, with empty racks or shelves upon which the natives evidently slept. From a pole running across the top hung a few small animal skins. Finding nothing of interest, they walked outside and into the next hut.

  “Over here,” said a small mestizo colonist named Rodriguez. He spoke softly with a voice one would use in church. “Look at this.” He stood before a sort of tapestry with smooth colored stones woven into it. It was a scene of half a dozen Indians surrounding a stag and shooting arrows into it. He softly ran his hand over it. “This is crude, but not unlike many of our own frescoes, is it not?”

  “Si,” said Diego, “it is beautiful in its simplicity. Something like this takes intelligence and skill.”

  Mateo gave the fresco a quick look and laughed. “It is quite rudimentary, if you ask me.” As he walked off to inspect a skin hanging from one of the rafters of the hut, a runner came in.

  “Senor Mateo,” the man said between gasping for breath, “we found something, a hut off by itself-- ” The man coughed, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Well,” demanded Mateo, “what of it, man? Speak!”

  The man quickly made the sign of the cross. “Senor, it is filled with unspeakable horrors!”

  Mateo nodded grimly. “Lead the way.” He followed the man, and Diego and the others hurried to catch up with him.

  Chapter 11

  In the darkness of the hut, a colonist held a torch aloft while another held a crossbow at the ready. In the flickering light, Senors Francisco Mateo and Diego Vega stared grimly at the neatly piled stack of bones at their feet, while all around the shadows shimmered with menace. Both Mateo and Diego had cloths tied round their mouths.

  “This is all the evidence we need,” said Mateo as he nodded at the bones. “According to the Council of the Indies, if the Indians are cannibals they can be legally taken to work the plantations. See how neatly they’ve chewed the meat from the bone.”

  One of the colonists laughed nervously as they continued their surveillance of the shadows.

  “But, Francisco,” Diego protested, “this does not prove that they are cannibals!”

  Mateo’s voice rose with anger in the dark hut. “Diego, for the love of God, what more proof do you need? Surely they are smart enough not to let us catch them at such horrors.”

  Diego blinked his large sad eyes nervously. “Francisco,” he said, “cannibals have never been reported this far north. And I have read that there are tribes that prepare their dead in this fashion, picking all the flesh from the bones.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Mateo loudly, “why would they--.”

  The rectangle of light at the far end of the hut blinked as one of the men came in. He hurried up to Mateo.

  “Sir,” he said, “their chief has arrived with the rest of his people. There are dozens of braves and even more women and children.”

  “What name does he go by?” said Mateo.

  “Ahopo.”

  “Let us go meet him,” said Mateo. “This is what we came here for.” Mateo turned to Diego. “Take a couple of men with you and return to the ship. Transfer the big Indian down to the bilge.”

  Diego was abhorred by the order. The bilge was the darkest, dampest, most vile part of a ship. Every crumb of food that was not eaten, every drop of sweat, every turd and drop of piss and blood that did not go over the side ended up in the bilge, mixing with the rock and sand of the ballast there. It was full of bad air that could kill even a healthy man. Diego protested. “Francisco, he is still sick with the Indian pox. For him to sit down there for hours, why, it would kill him!”

  Francisco Mateo frowned as he considered this. “Very well. Leave him in the goat pen for now. But when you see us coming back to the ship, take him down to the bilge and chain him good. I don’t want him warning the others when we bring them aboard.”

  Mateo and his men stood in the shade cast by a thatched hut. His crossbowmen and harquebusmen were arranged protectively around them. Across from them stood the chief of the village, Ahopo, and a dozen of his top warriors. The rest of his people were scattered in a large, milling, curious crowd. Ahopo was a large man, a full head taller than Mateo. Like his men, he was nak
ed but for a loincloth, and his skin was decorated with tattoos. Geometric bands of them encircled his biceps, chest, and legs, giving the appearance of a garment. He wore a large necklace of shells and stones around his thick neck, possibly as a symbol of his rank.

  Hungrily clutching a gourd cup of wine in his big hands, Ahopo smiled at Mateo and tilted it to his lips. Many of the women and children were trying on clothing and beads. Four criollos were busy passing gourds of wine to the women, most of whom were already drunk. Out in the sunny village center, girls of six or seven years played with cloth dolls they’d been given, while dozens of boys in their early teens, brows furrowed in rapt concentration, traded among themselves for glass beads and rings of brass and iron. Around the periphery of all the activity, small groups of Indian men squatted, their loincloths puddling on the ground, as they laughingly pointed and commented on the goings on.

  Mateo drank sparingly of the red wine, not wanting to come under its spell. He turned to see Ahopo staggering off to refill his cup with wine.

  Mateo turned to one of his men who knew some of the Arawak tongue and was familiar with Indian hand signals. “Now, let us get them out onto the ships. Tell them we have more gifts for them out there, or tell them we will take them to see their dearly departed in the nether realm. Such a tale worked for Gaspar de Leon down along the Main.”

  A short time later, Ahopo raised his arms and began shouting at his people in a loud gruff voice. When he finished, they gathered up their new things and began moving down to the beach. When all the Indian canoes were loaded, Mateo gave the signal to push off. When the flotilla was halfway to the ships, Mateo and the men in his boat looked back to see a drunken Indian in the lead canoe fall into the sea with a loud splash. Mateo smiled and turned round to his men. “When we get aboard, break out two more casks of wine. Keep their cups running over and them making merry. Then get as many to go below as you can. Our task will be easier that way.”

  The men nodded grimly, knowing a fight could lie ahead.

  Chapter 12

  Calling Crow’s throat was raw and he felt as if he were on fire. He lay on the dry grasses, barely able to move. How long ago had Big Nose died? How long had he lain here? He could not say. His fever brought him many dreams and evil spirits and he was growing weaker by the day.

  He pulled himself up and drank from the calabash of water they had left him. The cool water brought some relief and he remembered how they had taken him up out of the belly of the cloudboat one day and walked him around. That was when he had seen a strange thing. A demon man sat on the edge of the cloudboat, leaning way out. Calling Crow had watched, perplexed, and then a turd dropped from the man into the sea. They seemed to be men! They had great medicine and they looked like spirits, but they seemed to be ordinary men. The realization had given him some hope that perhaps he could escape.

  Calling Crow heard people coming down into the belly of the cloudboat. It was the one that could speak, the one called Hotea. He was carrying a stick that burned and gave off light. Behind him came the old sad faced man with gray hair, and a young man with a long knife who was wearing magic skin. The light from the burning stick flashed off the young man’s magic skin like sunlight off of silver fish lying in the bottom of a canoe.

  Gray Hair spoke to Hotea and Hotea said, “We have to put you down into the very bottom of the ship.”

  Calling Crow tried to muster his strength. “So, why is the old fool telling me this? Why does he not just put me down there?”

  Hotea pushed in front of old Gray Hair. Speaking so rapidly Calling Crow could hardly follow him, he said, “The old one feels badly about all of this. He wants you to pray to his god with him first.”

  Calling Crow laughed in disgust. “I want nothing to do with his god. I want only to return to my people.”

  After Hotea relayed Calling Crow’s words, the young man in magic skin grabbed Calling Crow by the arm, yanking him to his feet. They took him out of the animal pen and down further into the cloudboat. From the terrible stench, Calling Crow knew he was truly within the bowels of the cloudboat. The young man attempted to put a heavy black ring around his neck. Calling Crow fought him as best he could, but he was weak and couldn’t put up much fight. Then old Gray Hair started squawking in his strange voice and the man removed the heavy ring. Instead, they bound Calling Crow’s hands behind him with hide thongs. They went away, leaving Calling Crow in the darkness. He tried to free his hands, but they were bound too tightly.

  After a while, Calling Crow heard many noises from above. He thought he heard children running and laughing. Then a steady drumming started up and he heard people singing. A horrible thought threw him into a panic. Had the cloudboat found his village of Tumaqua? Were his own people up there now, singing and dancing while the demon men prepared to destroy them? He started pulling at the cords feverishly. He discovered that they had loosened some and that he could slide them up and down. He rubbed them against the tree they’d tied him to, and worked feverishly as the drumming swelled.

  The noises filtered down to Calling Crow through the blackness, and the sweat poured from him as he worked the thongs up and down against the tree behind him. He felt them loosen and pulled as hard as he could. One of the thongs popped as it broke, then another. With a cry of anger, he broke the others. He crawled on all fours in the dark until he found the jagged hill leading up. With the sounds of people singing and shouting to guide him, he came closer and closer to them. The dim shapes of the many trees growing through the cloudboat began to appear in the darkness around him. He looked about and saw another of the strange jagged hills leading up. Without making a sound he crept up and the light grew brighter, the sounds louder. He moved toward another of the jagged hills and saw people in the daylight above. He looked around for a weapon and saw a club-like stick sitting on the ground. Picking it up, he moved stealthily up the hill. As he came out into the light, he saw that these were people, not demons, but they were not his people. They appeared to be either crazy or under a spell of some kind. Some of them sat in a stupor, others stood about, laughing and talking loudly.

  Calling Crow moved among them, and they seemed not to notice him. They were all drinking a drink as they watched some of the demons. Three of them made strange music from pieces of wood they held and stroked as two others danced a crazy dance, stamping their feet so loudly they sounded as if they were made out of stone. Calling Crow looked around and saw the fire-haired demon called Mateo standing with Hotea Who Speaks. They were watching quietly while other demon men passed around calabashes of the strange drink the people loved so. A young woman staggered by Calling Crow, and he grabbed her arm.

  “Why have you all come out here?” he said to her as he looked around anxiously.

  “Ahopo, our Chief, has brought us here to enjoy the many gifts of the People From the Sky.”

  “Where is this Ahopo?” said Calling Crow.

  The woman looked round, almost falling as she did. She pointed at a very large man who was sitting down with some others watching the dancers. From the back he looked like a large tree stump growing up from the cloudboat.

  Calling Crow pushed through the milling crowd of people, trying to keep out of sight of the demon men who were scattered here and there watching. Movement from above caught Calling Crow’s eye and he looked up. He saw many of the demon men in the upper parts of the cloudboat trees, some of them with the medicine sticks which brought down thunder and lightning. Some of the demon men pulled and tugged at the great skins which normally hung from the trees. Calling Crow had seen them do this before when they had brought him up from the belly of the cloudboat. The demons would drop them in order to make the cloudboat move through the waters. Calling Crow moved faster now. He must get close to the one called Ahopo and warn him.

  Across the open space on which the dancers stamped and clapped and yelled, two of the demon men suddenly recognized Calling Crow. They started for him, going around the people, rather than through them, so a
s not to raise an alarm.

  Calling Crow shouted at Ahopo. “This is a trap! Flee while you can. Flee!”

  Some of the nearby people looked up at him from where they sat as they pointed and laughed crazily. Two boys who were sitting at the top of one of the jagged hills began looking around nervously.

  Calling Crow saw more of the demon men closing in on him from behind. He yelled over to the big man called Ahopo. “You, Ahopo! Take your people from here quickly before it is too late.”

  Ahopo jerked awkwardly about. He was struggling to get to his feet when the thunder sticks exploded all around. The people fell down in fright as wild screams erupted. Women and children ran quickly for the jagged hills that go down, trampling one another in their haste to get away. The braves looked about in fearful astonishment as they got unsteadily to their feet. Picking up their wooden lances, they ran at the demon men, but the thunder sticks erupted again and they fell down, many of them red with their own blood. Others who were not hurt trembled on the ground, too frightened to move. The demon men moved in quickly to tie them up and push them below, Calling Crow knocked a demon man to the ground with his stick and ran over to Ahopo and his men. He pointed to the back of the cloudboat. “Over there is where they steer the cloudboat, much the same as we steer a canoe. But they do it with a big pole. If we can take it away from them, we can make the cloudboat go back to the land.”

  Ahopo looked around quickly and saw that his men were being pushed back on every front. He shouted for those around him to follow him. They rushed with him toward the rear of the cloudboat. Calling Crow pointed. “There!” He indicated the demon man down in a hole in the cloudboat who was moving the big pole.

  “Kill him!” shouted Ahopo, and two of his braves dove into the hole. One knocked the demon man to the ground while the other smashed his head with his club. Standing, he grabbed the pole awkwardly as he waited for orders from Ahopo.