The Amazon Quest (House of Winslow Book #25)

by Gilbert, Morris

  Wes had sat down to retie his boots. “What do you make of that scripture?”

  “I don’t really know.” Ian smiled cheerfully. “I know that some of God’s creations don’t seem very beautiful to us—a warthog, for example—but I suppose to other warthogs one could be very handsome.”

  Emily looked back at the snake. “I can’t separate what they are from what they look like. Maybe it’s because a lot of them are so deadly—and I suppose I got the picture of the serpent in the Garden of Eden bringing down all mankind.”

  “Most people don’t like snakes. But there’s a strange beauty about them. The same is true of a jaguar.”

  “Will we see one, do you think? We saw one up in a tree on our boat trip to Santarém.”

  “I hope not. They’re very powerful creatures. If you meet one at the wrong time without a rifle, it wouldn’t be much of a contest.” Ian took his hat off and held it down by his side. He studied the snake and some thought possessed him. “Jaguars are beautiful in their own right. They’re strong and powerful, and the coloring is like nothing else, but they are dangerous.” Ian suddenly motioned with the rifle. “There he goes.”

  They both watched the serpent as he wound his way around the vegetation and disappeared with a flick of his tail. Ian turned to her and smiled. “That was a harmless one, but don’t go making friends with any snakes. There’re some pretty bad ones around here.”

  “You don’t have to warn me about that,” Emily said.

  “Do you feel like going on now?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “We’ll take another break pretty soon. . . .”

  ****

  The rest of the trek was hard on Emily, but she did not complain. They stopped for an hour at noon, and then on the latter part of their trip, Ian made it a point to stop every hour for at least ten minutes. Emily knew the rests were for her benefit, and several times she almost brought herself to argue over Ian’s decision to stop repeatedly. But she refrained, and finally, as the setting sun was filtering through the trees in the west, Ian halted and pointed ahead.

  “The village is right up there about a mile.”

  “They won’t be expecting us.”

  “Oh, I expect they will,” Ian countered. A strange smile moved the corners of his lips upward. “We’ve probably been watched all the way. These Guapi—they’re magicians in the forest. They can become invisible, it seems. Are you ready for your first meeting with headhunters?”

  Emily hesitated. “I wouldn’t be if I were alone.”

  “Well, I believe we’ll be all right, but you’ll have to be prepared to change your ideas.”

  Emily did not question his words, but as they moved forward, a sense of excitement began rising in her. After so many months of planning and waiting, they were finally here. She knew somehow that God was in this whole expedition she and Wes had undertaken. He had opened the door for her and for Wes, and now after great effort and a bad sickness, she was about to embark on what would be the most important event of her life.

  She walked closely behind Ian and heard him murmur in a soft whisper, “There’s the village.”

  Looking ahead she saw a clearing and reed huts with grass roofs. Some of them had no walls and were mere shelters from the sun, which beat down on the open space. Smoke rose from fires and slowly spiraled upward in the almost breathless air. She saw dogs and birds moving in the open space and imagined that they were pets.

  They passed by the side of the river, which flowed some hundred yards around the camp, catching it as in the crook of an elbow. Canoes were drawn up on the bank, and she saw rows of wooden tripods rising out of the water.

  “What are those, Ian?”

  “Fish traps.”

  “Where are all the people?”

  “They’re here. They’re very shy. No matter what happens, both of you, don’t show any fear. These people respect courage more than you would think.”

  And then Emily did see the people, for they seemed to materialize from nowhere. They were small, Emily saw, and copper-colored with jet black hair. As they walked closer a shock ran through her because they were practically naked.

  Both Emily and Wes had known that natives of the Amazon rain forest wore few clothes. Some, she had read, went absolutely naked, and now the younger children that hung back beside the adults, even those approaching adolescence, wore not a stitch. The man that came forward was flanked by three women, all naked from the waist up. Emily was embarrassed by the sight.

  Don’t be a fool! she cautioned herself. What did you expect—party dresses in the Amazon rain forest?

  She was aware of the drowsy sounds of a clucking hen, and what sounded like doves calling in the forest. She heard the rising pitch of cicadas and knew that they would soon begin their evening concert. Her nostrils burned with the rank smell that Ian had warned her about. “There are no sweet-smelling villages,” he had said—and she steeled herself against the odor.

  The man who stepped forward had an air of authority about him. He was not tall, but he was strongly built and wore only a loincloth made of some sort of bark or closely woven fiber. His cheeks were tattooed in an intricate pattern, and his dark eyes, so black they were like obsidian, were taking in the visitors calmly enough. He spoke and waited until Ian greeted him. Ian smiled and turned to wave his hand toward the two visitors and said something else. The chief smiled and made a remark while looking at Emily.

  When Ian did not respond at first, Emily looked at him. “What did he say?”

  Ian gave a small negative shake of his head, and then he suddenly smiled. “He asked if you were my wife, and said if you were, I needed two or three more. He said you’d be too weak, that you’d wear out too soon.”

  Wes suddenly smothered a laugh, which made Emily shoot a furious glance in his direction. She knew her face was flushed from the long walk and saw that all the women were moving to where they could get a better glimpse of her.

  “What did you tell him?” Emily demanded swiftly.

  “I told him that I had no woman. That you and Wes are mighty important folks.”

  Emily said, “I have gifts. Would it be good to give them the gifts now?”

  “Give the chief his. That’ll help to put him in a good humor.”

  Emily pulled her knapsack off, unfastened it, and reached down into the depths. She pulled out a razor sharp knife with a bone handle that she had bought for this occasion. She stepped forward, took the blade in her hand, and extended the handle to the chief. “Would you tell him please that I am honored to be here, and that I would like to make this small gift to him.”

  As Ian spoke the language, which sounded to her as if he had a mouth full of mush he was trying to talk around, Emily watched the chief. He simply stared at her and did not move. She was afraid he was going to refuse the gift, but then he reached out, took it from her, and held it carefully. He ran his fingers across the shining blade, tested the edge of it, and then said something.

  “He said thank you very much, and he hopes you will enjoy your visit.”

  “Are these his wives?”

  “I think so. They live pretty informally here, and I sometimes get the wives mixed up.”

  Having several wives seemed wrong to Emily, but she knew now was no time to argue about the marital customs of the Guapi. “Should I give his wives some presents?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt. He’s a pretty stubborn man, but I know he listens to at least one of his wives. That one there on the end. The tall one. Her name is Domi. The chief is called Noki.”

  Emily pulled out several items from her bag and presented them to the three women, each of them with a child on her hip. The one called Domi took the red ribbon and studied it, then she tied it at once around her forehead and chattered excitedly to the other wives. One of the other wives had put on an inexpensive bracelet and the third a necklace of cheap beads. They all looked very proud, and when the chief said something, Emily said, “What did he say?”
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  “He said something about women being vain. Always having to have pretty things.”

  Emily could not resist it. “They don’t have many pretty things.”

  “Never say that to them. Remember, God has made everything beautiful in its time.”

  Wes had pulled out his camera and asked, “Would it be all right if I take a picture?”

  “I’d put that away for a while. Let them get used to you, Wes.”

  Disappointed, Wes plunked the camera back in his knapsack and waited.

  Ian made a longer speech to the chief and listened to his reply, then said, “Come along. We’ll get you settled in.”

  “Are we going to stay in the village?”

  “I think it might be better if we put a little distance between us—just a few hundred yards. We’ll go set up camp on the outskirts down by the river. It’ll be handy for drinking water.”

  Emily and Wes followed, aware of the Guapi watching them. “Did that go all right?” she asked.

  “Very well. Much better than my first visit. I thought then they were going to chop my head off right on the spot.”

  “How do these people choose their chief?” Wes asked.

  “Well, it’s a rather peculiar method.” Ian walked easily down a path that led past the last of the huts. “He used to be a witch doctor, but he gave that up. He became chief, not because of his black magic, but because he was the man most able to understand the feelings of every other man in the tribe.”

  “Is that right?” Wes spoke up with surprise. “How does he do that?”

  “I think God just put it in him. He’s very sensitive. If you’re around him enough, you’ll think he’s reading your mind. It’s very difficult to know the feelings of the Guapi.”

  “Why is that?” Emily asked.

  “Guapi don’t express their feelings as we do. In fact, it’s considered bad taste to show much emotion. You’ll see it. Even young children pick it up early. I’ve seen a young native boy faint from pain rather than cry out. That’s why they value the chief so much. They realize that he somehow knows what’s going on inside of them.”

  “I’ll have to include that in my story,” Emily said.

  “It wouldn’t be a bad trait for American politicians to have. I think some presidents had it. Lincoln, for one, seemed to have been able to do that,” Ian said.

  They passed out of the immediate area where the village huts were located and came to one standing only a few yards from the jungle wall.

  “This is mine,” Ian said. “Some of the warriors helped me make it.”

  The structure was made out of bamboo uprights, some as much as six or eight inches in diameter, tied together with vines. The hut had a door but no windows, and it was thatched thickly with grasses. “You’ll stay here, Emily. It’s not much, but it’ll give you some privacy. I’m glad you brought that little oil lamp. You may be able to work a little after dark.”

  Emily stepped inside and produced the lamp. When she lit it the darkness was driven away, and she saw that Ian had made a cot, a chair, and a table. “This will do fine, but I’ll be putting you out.”

  “I’ll sleep in your tent. Wes and I’ll camp right here so we’ll all be together.”

  Emily did not say anything, but she was happy that the two would be close.

  “I’m anxious to get to work,” she said.

  “No work today,” Ian said firmly.

  “But there’s so much I want to write down.”

  “You don’t know malaria, Emily. You’re still not as strong as you think.” Ian suddenly grew very serious. “Out here, Emily, I’m the closest thing to a father you’re going to have, and I hate to put it this way, but you’ll have to do what I say, and I say—and right now—that you need to lie down and rest.”

  “Good for you, Ian! Make her mind.” Wes grinned. “Here, sis, we’ll unpack. You just sit down and let us pamper you a little bit.”

  Emily hesitated, about to make an argument out of it, but she suddenly smiled. “All right, Ian. I don’t have to call you Father, do I?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Come on, Wes. Let’s get those tents up. Then we’ll think about cooking something.”

  Ian moved off and started putting the tent up, but Wes stayed behind. “I’m glad Ian sat down on you, sis. You don’t need to push yourself. That malaria’s bad stuff. Saps all the strength out of you.”

  Suddenly Emily was very glad that Wes had come along. She smiled ruefully. “You have a hard time raising me, don’t you?”

  “Not a bit of it. You’ve just got so much drive you think you have to bull your way through—but Ian’s right. I’m glad he’s with us.”

  Emily looked over to where Ian had already started putting up the tent and said, “So am I.”

  ****

  Emily woke after a brief nap, and when she stepped outside, she saw that the two tents were up and Wes and Ian were chatting. They both looked around, and Wes asked quickly, “Did you sleep?”

  “Oh yes. I had a good nap.”

  “You feel like getting a little local color?” Ian said.

  “Yes indeed. What is it?”

  “Come along and I’ll show you.”

  The three made their way past the village at a right angle, and Ian said, “They’re robbing a bee tree today. The Guapi love honey. It’s about the only natural sweet they have. I don’t know what they’d think about a candy bar. Probably love it.”

  Leaving the open space of the village, they plunged into the rain forest again. There were no paths through here, none that Emily or Wes could see, but Ian soon led them to where a group of the Guapi were standing in front of a large tree trunk. Noki, the chief, was standing to one side, and he came over and spoke to Ian. Ian responded and then said, “He’s glad that you’re here to join in the celebration.”

  “Where are the bees?” Emily asked, staring at the tree. “Are they inside?”

  “No. You see those big knots up there on the outside of the tree? Those are the nests of the bees. We want to stay back here. I don’t like to get in the middle of a bunch of wild bees.”

  Emily and Wes watched fascinated as Noki directed the operation. He watched them make torches of dried leaves tied onto long, slender poles and set them afire. One of the warriors, a squat muscular man, had run under the nest and held the fire to it. The bees swarmed out at once. There was still enough light to see the angry bees as they swarmed around the men. Emily could hear the furious humming as the natives slapped themselves frantically. Often they had to retreat from the scene of the action.

  The tree was then chopped down, and as soon as it fell, the fire was again applied to the nest, killing hundreds of bees.

  “I don’t see how they stand those bee stings,” Wes said.

  “They’re not as bad as a hornet’s, but bad enough. They’ll get the honey now,” Ian remarked.

  The three watched as the warriors robbed the nests, putting the honey in some sort of containers that Emily could not see. “They make everything out of bark, even their containers. They haven’t learned the art of pottery yet. Come on, let’s go back. We’ll have some of the honey even if we didn’t get stung collecting it. . . .”

  ****

  The meal that night was very interesting. Emily kept a small pad, and from time to time she could not refrain from making notes. They sat down around the fire and listened to the laughter and the muted conversation of the Guapi. At one point the chief and the other warriors pulled out something that looked like huge cigars.

  When one was offered to Wes, he took it and after one puff fell into a violent coughing fit, his face scarlet.

  This amused all of the warriors, who laughed loudly, pointing at Wes.

  “That’s awful!” Wes gasped. “I don’t smoke. But if I did, I wouldn’t smoke that.”

  “I tried it once. It made my throat raw for a week.”

  When the food was offered it appeared to be some sort of cake. “What is this,
Ian?” Emily whispered as she took a portion of it in her hand.

  “It’s all right,” he grinned. “No monkey in it. It’s the closest thing to a pancake that the Guapi have.”

  “What’s it made out of?” Wes said.

  “Out of the manioc root.”

  Emily tasted it and said with surprise, “Why, it’s very good, even without salt.”

  “The root contains a poison that has to be removed before it can be eaten. They get the poison out of it by peeling and grating the root into mush and then squeezing that mush into a sort of press. Once the juice is out of it, the mush is turned to flour. They call it cassaba, and it’s one of their favorite foods.”

  Emily ate the food, and then one of the chief’s wives offered her a drink in a cup made out of a shell.

  “You’ll have to take a sip of it. But if you can’t stomach it, don’t worry. Try to get rid of it as unobtrusively as you can.”

  Emily tasted the brew and knew instantly that she would not care for the drink. She found a moment when no one seemed to be watching and carefully let the rest fall to the ground beside her.

  Wes drank all of his and said, “It’s some kind of liquor, isn’t it?”

  “It’s called kasili. It has about the same alcoholic content as a weak beer, I suppose.”

  “How do they make it?” Wes asked, taking a second cupful.

  “Well, they boil the manioc in river water. That takes the poison out of it by evaporation, and then as the mash boils,” Ian said with a straight face, “the women chew cassaba cakes, and they spit them into the pot so as to aid the fermentation process with their saliva.”

  Wes had been lifting his cup to taste the kasili again, but when he heard this, he swallowed hard.

  Emily giggled as she said, “Go ahead, Wes. You like it, don’t you?”

  Wes looked at Ian and saw that he was drinking the kasili. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “No, not really. It shows good manners, though, to drink with them. They’re very sensitive. Go ahead and drink it, Wes. You’ve probably had worse in your life.”

  ****

  After the meal was over, the men pulled out some sort of musical instruments. They were, more or less, like flutes, only with several barrels all made out of reeds. They made a pleasant enough sound, and one of the men, a scrawny man, spoke for a considerable time.