by David Faxon
The women did most of the work in the morning. Afternoon was for more leisurely chores; weaving baskets, making hair adornments and tending to the children. The men lolled in hammocks as the afternoon sun heated the village. Life proceeded in a casual, uninhibited manner. Others played games he didn't understand. He bantered with them for a while and picked up more of their language.
With ample time to ponder his situation, he lay in a hammock, peaceful, relaxed, not worried about business, not worried about facing prison. He was content for the time being. So far, he was pleased with the way he had adapted. Few things could truly frighten him now. He thought about Teman-e’s loss of Naru and wondered what the consequences would eventually bring.
The onset of evening brought bright shafts of light streaming through the trees. For a short while they glowed, before lengthening shadows turned the forest into a dark void. There came a loud cry, and people rushed toward the communal area. Teman-e was nowhere in sight, so Connery followed along. A fire burned brightly, yellow flames created dancing images on trees and huts. Several warriors appeared carrying spears, faces painted a bright white. One wore brilliant feathers attached to a necklace. For the next hour, he and the other warriors danced to a rhythm played on hollow bamboo tubes, making warlike gestures toward one another, as if they were acting out a play. Connery watched, fascinated, not knowing he was about to witness a ritual as ancient as any.
As quick as it began, the primitive music stopped. A hush went over the tribe. Someone in brilliant feathers appeared holding an object aloft. It was then that he recognized Teman-e, grasping the head of Chora by the hair. Another ugly sight. He had seen too many. From the ghastly scene aboard the fallen aircraft, to the perverted tortures instigated by Uxhomeb, to the sudden, violent death of Chora. Far more than one person should witness in a lifetime.
Shrill chanting followed. Teman-e set the head down and commenced to dig a shallow hole near the fire. He buried it just below the surface, then raked burning embers over the spot. Others added more wood until the fire roared. For the next two hours, tribe members continued adding sticks to the flames until the sand beneath turned extremely hot.
Connery wasn’t sure of what he saw until later the next day when he asked Teman-e about the ceremony.
“Chora’s strength belongs to me now. He is no longer my enemy. I will keep his head.”
He witnessed the first of many steps to shrink a human head. Teman-e explained that other procedures would follow, in a process that took weeks until the skull bone crumbled. Then the skull would be removed from the leathered skin. What remained was the size of a large fist, the features intact. But no one would recognize what was once Chora.
“The last part is for women.”
“What will they do?”
Teman-e took him to a woman’s basket that lay outside a hut. Inside was a long, sharp wooden needle.
“Women will sew the eyes and mouth shut to seal in Chora’s spirit for all time.”
Few in the civilized world had seen what Connery had witnessed. Fewer yet, lived to tell of it.
That night, Teman-e went to Guardara, determined to get answers about Naru. Questioning the chief disrespectfully would mean risking his life and Connery's too. But he had no respect for Guardara. Revenge was on his mind. He considered killing him. But that, he knew, would throw his people into mayhem and jeopardize the lives of many. Guardara remained dominant and held complete sway over the elders and warriors. As an enemy, he would be a considerable foe. Undoubtedly, if anything went wrong, his children would be the first to go, then Connery. While he would like to dispatch the chief as he had Chora, he thought better of it, a decision that would weigh heavily.
The older man eyed him warily, suspecting what he wanted, at the same time fearful of what he was capable of. He knew that Teman-e held respect within the tribe and may even someday hold his position, but for now, he was the chief, and would exercise whatever authority pleased him. As Teman-e approached, he could see anger in his eyes.
“I have come with questions. They strike at my soul.”
“Speak!”
“Naru, my wife. You punished her severely. Why did you go beyond the usual measures? Why was she banished when you could have done less?”
Guardara, annoyed by his insolence, sensed a situation that could go badly. Guile wouldn't work on a man like Teman-e. He decided to speak firmly.
“You dare question my decision? I gave her many opportunities, but she chose defiance. To both our laws and me. I acted within my authority. I don't have to explain to you. You may come back, take your position as before, but already I have spared your life after you killed one of our most promising young warriors. I have allowed your friend also to go untouched. Believe me, his life hangs in the balance if you choose to defy me. As do the lives of your children should you try to upset what I have put in place.”
Teman-e felt his blood boil but continued to probe.
“Nevertheless, I have a duty to find her. Where was she taken?”
“To a place where she will never be found. And what if you did find her? You would not be allowed to return. You would cease being a member of this tribe. Your children would be without a father. I have made the decision. It is the consequence of when you first defied me. You went in search of a giant bird you couldn’t explain. It was foolishness. I warned you. You see what that has brought, yet you think I am to blame. Now leave!”
Teman-e hung on the words. So that was it. A question of what the chief considered an affront to his power, and Naru paid with her life. He himself was powerless, and though he hated Guardara for what he did, maybe he should have heeded his advice and never have gone in search of what he saw that day. Had he done so, she would still be alive. His instinct and quiet wrath told him to kill the chief, but more than likely, he too would be killed, as would the others. For the time being, he must comply. But the day would come.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Tapejo II project- 300 miles downriver
Six months passed since De Santana packed as much as could safely be carried on three flat barges and left for the deep interior. The Tapejo II project was his and there was nothing he could do about it. He left with a bad feeling that didn’t erase easily from his mind. The fear that he would never return.
He assembled a crew of sixteen Portuguese laborers, insufficient for what he had to do. The only native Indians willing to relocate were those easily coerced. Four decided to go since they owed the company too much to refuse his offer. He would halve their debt and include whiskey in return for a year's work. In reality, he would make sure they stayed for the duration. Outright kidnapping crossed his mind but he rejected that thought. They would revolt, and where he was going, that was the last thing he needed. The four would be enough to handle. Interior Indians presented a more severe challenge. They were savage, some extremely primitive, highly resentful of infringement on their land. They were the real danger. The ones he worried about.
It took more than five weeks to bring the supplies and equipment down river, far beyond a lightly inhabited village that would be a last glimpse of human habitat. In the months that followed, he would ramp up a mining operation, miles from nowhere. But he was shorthanded and needed twice the number of men that he had. This meant driving the existing crew fourteen to sixteen hours a day with only one day off every two weeks. His method of operation was simple, common in the Amazon for more than two decades. A 'slash and burn' tree clearing that would denude thousands of acres of virgin forest at a rate of twenty-five acres a day. It would leave an ugly, open scar, pockmarked by thousands of tree stumps. Two large bulldozers would topple majestic trees like matchsticks, the remaining stumps set afire, would send billows of smoke into the air. The effect on the surrounding environment didn’t bother him. Tribes in the region would surely investigate the intrusion, however and he didn’t know what that might bring.
Once the land was cleared, a larger travesty would occur. River mining requ
ired the use of mercury and cyanide on a grand scale. Waterways poisoned with half empty drums of chemicals, became toxic cesspools. At the last site, he dumped fourteen tons of mercury into the river. Dead fish and animals created an appalling stench. In addition to the manmade chemicals, natural mercury, accumulated over thousands of years, entered the waterways via high pressure water cannons used to dislodge the ore. The mercury combined with bacteria to form the highly toxic substance, methyl mercury, carried hundreds of kilometers from the mining site, absorbed by fish, aquatic vegetation, and eventually, people. The Tapejo projects were but two of hundreds of illegal gold mining operations polluting the Amazon's tributaries. None of this mattered to Castelo Branco, or De Santana. Where there was gold, they would extract it, regardless of who or what might be endangered.
Now, seven months later, De Santana found himself facing insurmountable challenges that threatened his position within the Castelo Branco regime. His men became increasingly discontent with extremely long hours, shortage of supplies, injuries and incidence of malaria. What kept them entertained during the little free time they had, was warm beer, cards, and three Indian girls. One of whom was Lateri, taken against her will.
Six months of forced prostitution left her older than her years. When De Santana found out she suffered from a sexually transmitted disease, he beat her, threw medicine at her, then told her to clean herself up. As if she was to blame. The beatings and degradation continued. Every day that passed, she hated him more; thought of taking her own life, but backed away, deciding to endure whatever was necessary to get even and find her way back. She would be quick to seize any opportunity that presented itself.
She remembered her father’s kindness and gentle ways before he became a drunken fool. Now they had taken him away for a murder he didn't commit. She knew who did it, had seen the tattoo that night on his wrist as he extended the blowgun through the window, then blew the dart into the senator's neck. De Santana alone was responsible for the ruin of her and her family. Every time she saw him, bile rose in her mouth. Her time was coming. Nothing could stop it. In the end, revenge would feel so good.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
He passed all the tests, endured all the rituals, learned the language and ways of the most primitive tribe on earth. To some extent, he became one of them. Since Chora’s death, he witnessed no violence other than the macho games the men played from time to time. They seemed to respect the fact that he didn't wish to join in, for which he was grateful. He spent much of his time showing Jamu and Kep'e tricks he learned from his father as a child and tried to get their pet parrot to say funny words. When he succeeded, they burst into laughter. Nauoma became like a step son. Together, they made bows and arrows, or carved toy boats or went on frequent hunting trips. These sometimes saddened the young boy. His eyes would fill with tears as he remembered how it felt to return home to his mother with something for the stew pot. She always made him feel special. It would take a while, but Connery would eventually get him to smile; becoming exuberant whenever Nauoma made a kill. He regretted not having spent more time with his own children and wondered if they ever thought of him.
Compared with the ordeal he faced months before, life had become quiet, laid-back and without stress. Teman-e continued to rise in prominence, but still second to Guardara, who he deferred to but didn't trust. The villagers respected his quick dispatch of Chora, his enemy. It turned out that many disliked the young warrior because he was deceitful. Guardara was taken in by his guile. Something that Teman-e would never forget.
But there was another reason for the high esteem in which Teman-e was held. The story of the giant bird became epic after he told the tale many times at ceremonial gatherings. Each time he would remember something different, something that would enhance the story. Those who listened became enraptured, even frightened by his account. Strangely, Guardara never asked him to return to the site nor did he ever want to. Teman-e never linked Connery to the giant bird, only that he appeared from out of nowhere and saved him.
Connery, on the other hand, never tried explaining his connection to what Teman-e viewed as mystical. He would never understand and he preferred to remain his friend on a human rather than godlike level. His attraction for Wamura had Teman-e’s sympathy, but he constantly weighed the instructions to stay away. While he might be allowed many things, Wamura wasn’t one of them. Teman-e understood Connery’s need and graciously offered his friend one of his two remaining wives.
“Kesana, she is second to Naru. You keep her. She will make you happy and feed you.”
He accepted her, but felt badly. She had no choice in the matter. She prepared his meals and answered his physical needs but their lovemaking was passionless. Wamura preyed on his mind. It was all he could do to avoid taking a risk that could easily become fatal, his desire amplified by the fact that she was forbidden. Never to be touched. It was evident by her stolen, sultry glances that she felt the same. The electricity between them became palpable. Both were close to an attempted meeting that could have disastrous results. Both tried to put the thought from their minds but without success. The temptation became more and more consuming.
The days passed slowly. Life became lazy. Connery realized that, aside from the necessary tasks of providing and preparing food, there really wasn't much to do. He would have liked to tend and cultivate the vegetable gardens, but that was considered women's work. To keep his mind occupied and away from Wamura, he threw himself into constructing a rudimentary irrigation system that, when completed, actually improved the meager yield of vegetables. This consumed ten, sometimes twelve hours a day, so that by nighttime, he sank with exhaustion into his hammock. It was then he thought of his desire for Wamura and what he could do about it without losing his life.
The success of the irrigation system made Guardara particularly pleased since there was more to eat, at least for a while. The villagers continued lavishing gifts on Connery, and several times a day, he would find them heaped beside his hammock. As Teman-e’s status rose, within the tribe, so too did his. Guardara, however, had suspicions that something was about to happen between his niece and Connery.
The summons to Guardara’s hut surprised Connery. Perplexed, he thought the chief sensed his relationship with Wamura and would take action. If that was the case, even Teman-e, who accompanied him to the hut, couldn’t save him. He entered not knowing what to expect.
Guardara spoke and Teman-e explained.
“The gift you gave him. It has lost its magic. He wants you to fix what is wrong.”
Connery fumbled for the right words before devising an explanation that would be acceptable.
“Tell him the gods chose him to receive the image maker as a sign they favored him above others.”
As Teman-e spoke, a different look came over the chief’s face.
“It was only a temporary gift, however. Its spirit had to be returned, to be resumed one day when he least expects it.”
“Tell the chief to keep the camera in an exalted place until the time when the gods see fit to restore its powers. In the meantime, he should consider himself fortunate to have possessed those powers, even for a short time.”
When he finished speaking, he wasn’t sure his explanation would appease the old man, who stared directly at him for several seconds, then spoke.
Teman-e interpreted.
“The chief says he is not happy with his gift but will do as you say for now.”
Connery was dismissed. He knew that an important link to his safety, the camera and its perceived powers, now had a diminished effect.
There was no mention of Wamura but, as he left the chief's hut she stood before him, carrying a large gourd of water. In her simple nakedness, the perfect specimen of a woman. Their silent desire for each other increased by the day and in the past month they had met secretly late in the evening when the others were asleep. Both knew the consequences. Nevertheless, their relationship burned intensely. Returning to the shabono, Kesana ha
d food prepared but he wasn't hungry. She tried to entice him to the hammock but he had no interest.
The following afternoon, he gazed skyward at billowing clouds. It could mean rain that the forest and gardens awaited eagerly. Like so many times before, Wamura caught his attention as she walked with a slow gait toward the river. He would gamble everything once again. Perhaps now was the time, he thought.
He had first seen her at the river, watched her at the celebrations but always wary of Teman-e’s admonition. Stay away, or else I cannot protect you. But Wamura made his skin tingle. He found ways to look at her without it being obvious to anyone. But the more he succeeded in not looking obvious, the more Guardara suspected that he had intentions toward his niece, for it would be unusual that any male would not be attracted to her.
Connery could read her. She sent signals every time she was near. A gesture, a movement, a profile when she knew he was looking while appearing not to be looking. It became very much a psychological game between the two; both trying to outwit Guardara. Connery picked up on every one of the signals. She, in turn, acknowledged his awareness. She wanted him as much as he wanted her and thought: what would he do about it? Was he willing to risk his life?
Now, her slight glance in his direction said; follow me but be careful. Connery looked around. He knew Guadara was in a meeting with the elders. Many lazed in the afternoon heat and the village appeared almost empty. He walked in the opposite direction, away from where Wamura headed. Then, when he was sure no one was watching, he sprinted into the jungle, backtracking until he reached the river. There, he stood in the shadows, admiring her loveliness. Though he was hidden, she knew he had arrived. Connery stared as she climbed to the top of the rock, shed the brief covering she wore, then dove into the cool water. He waited for her to surface. Fifteen, then twenty seconds, but there was no sign of her. He became anxious. Where was she? Anticipation turned to fear. What if she had drowned? He was about to dive in when he felt her touch, the coolness of her wet skin on his back, her bare breasts. He turned and looked down at her upturned face, her dark eyes, her full lips. No words were spoken. None were required.