by Nahum Megged
I looked around again, trying to figure out how we could cross the stream and continue on our way to the hut at the top of the tree. The rain grew stronger, and I wasn’t able to see anything. The idea of going to the hanging hut suddenly seemed insane and hopeless. The water barrier was impassable, and I knew I had only two options: take shelter in the small cave or return to camp. Something led my feet back to the cave from which the wild boar had come. The dog and the stranger remained outside.
I shined the flashlight again, and thankfully this time the cave was empty. The shelter looked like a small niche. I took a few steps, when suddenly, next to my foot, I saw a kind of slit in the stone floor. I bent to look through the opening. The flashlight beam revealed a spacious cave beneath me, but I could find no way of getting inside it.
I felt a terrible tiredness overwhelming me, so I sat on the ground. I pitied the stranger and the dog, who were outside in the pouring rain, but soon I was in another world…
Once again, I was in our old house, and I thought you were there too. Amir, my trusty dog, barked loudly, warning me of impending danger or strangers, but I did not want to open my eyes. I finally got the rest I craved so much. The echoes of our children’s voices sounded as if they were reaching me from a vast distance, and I felt cold water soaking my clothes and drowning my body.
I opened my eyes and discovered I was at the cave opening. Yankor and the white stranger held my arms and pulled me outside, while the dog licked my face, whining and barking.
They placed me under a bush, and I couldn’t feel the falling rain anymore. Yankor blew some smoke from his pipe into my face and smiled. I watched him and felt a terrible anger. I couldn’t understand why I was being denied the sleep that I needed so desperately. I sat and tried to stand up, but I was overcome by a dizzy spell and nearly fell. The stranger supported one shoulder, and Yankor supported the other. They led me down a path covered with leaves that wound across the stream, until we reached a large tree that served as a bridge. My two companions helped me climb the tree, holding my hands, fearing I might slip and fall into the water. On the other side of the channel, we walked until we came across an almost invisible pathway. I never would have found that trail on my own. Not long after, we reached the hanging hut.
Instead of climbing up to the hut, we sat beneath it. A kind of small roof, attached to the edges of the hut floor served as a shelter from the rain. I looked at the two men speaking with each other like old friends. I couldn’t understand what connected the white stranger, who had almost turned into a zombie, and the old marikitare from Don Pedro, who had suddenly emerged from the heart of the forest.
Yankor noticed I was regaining my strength and said, “Now it is my turn to save you.”
“From what?”
“From yourself,” he answered.
I looked at the white stranger. Yankor and I spoke in Yarkiti, yet it seemed the stranger understood our words. “And you, who are you?” I asked.
He began his story, and I immediately realized he was a relatively well-known linguist, specializing in the languages of several forest tribes, among others. I was familiar with his name and had read a few of his articles but didn’t know he was so young. The book that Christina had told me about was found by him among a collection of various manuscripts whose photocopied pages had been mistakenly bound together, all dealing with the rainforest. The text that drew his attention was completely unintelligible.
He eventually determined it was an ancient manuscript written in an unknown language. He dedicated two years to deciphering the language of the manuscript. The librarians were curious about his interest in the book, but he consistently avoided their questions. He had a feeling no one else must discover the manuscript and decipher its text. Over time, he discovered the book had been written in two languages, both unknown. From what he was able to work out, the author of the book presented himself as an alchemist or a scientist and claimed that he had found the magnetic center of the world in the heart of the world, a center where each and every stone is one of wisdom and grace. Various hints scattered in the book convinced him that the author spoke of the Amazon Jungle.
After two years of confidential research, he saw a small ad published in one of the most important newspapers in his country. The ad had been published on behalf of a scientific expedition seeking an expert specializing in the languages of the forest people and promising a fine salary. He immediately applied for the job, and when he was interviewed he did not reveal the true reason for his interest in the forest. Luckily, he was admitted to the expedition, possibly because no other suitable candidates were found.
He photocopied many of the manuscript pages and set out. From the very beginning, he wondered if this was really a scientific expedition, and not a company of treasure-seeking adventurers or even robbers. That was how he had reached Don Pedro on board one of the ships. After the company settled in town, he learned their real objective: finding gold, diamonds, and precious antiquities that were rumored to be located close by. They merely needed him to serve as an interpreter in times of trouble. He realized he had no choice but to cooperate with them or at least pretend to. They made it clear that should he try to run away, they would find and kill him no matter how far he went.
He met Yankor when the old man was captured by the gang. They demanded that he make the old man tell him everything he knew about the forest treasures. Yankor said it had been a long time since he’d left the forest, that he was not familiar with its ways any longer, and therefore could not help them. The young linguist convinced them the old man was telling the truth, and they argued among themselves if they should kill him or let him go. In the end, they allowed Yankor to return to his hut, where they ambushed him and tied him up, burned his hut, and spread a rumor that the army was responsible. Seeing Yankor again, he was convinced he was witnessing the resurrection of the dead. Yankor remembered him well and believed his heart and intentions were pure.
We exchanged smiles, and Michael — that was the young man’s name — returned to his story. One day, he was told the time had come to enter the forest. Before setting out, he had witnessed the raid on Christina’s house. They pricked the servants with anesthetic needles, put her to sleep as well, and headed out to the jungle early in the morning in two helicopters. In their forest camp, close to two imposing mesas, he felt they were near the place described in the book. He secretly investigated with the help of various instruments he had brought with him and discovered the magnetic levels there were extremely high, as if the camp were situated at the heart of the planet. A few days later, the warriors of one of the tribes raided the camp and took him captive. He was thrown in the stone house and drugged with a substance he was unable to identify. In his few moments of lucidity, he realized he was losing his grip on reality. He had been overcome by amnesia until the moment he woke up and saw me. The rest of his story was already known to me.
While Michael told his story, the dog kept staring at him, as if he could understand his words or was trying to. Maybe he was hoping we wouldn’t go back out in the pouring rain while the story lasted. At the end of the story, I turned to Yankor and asked him why he was living outside the forest instead of joining Xnen and the others. The dog also turned his head to the old shaman, as if waiting for his reply.
“Not everything should be known,” Yankor typically answered. “One who knows all, turns into Omauha, and one who turns into Omauha leaves the human world.”
Yankor suggested that I leave Michael with him, otherwise they might notice the drug had not had the intended effect and might try to harm him again. He suggested that I tell Herbert the man had slipped from my sight and escaped into the forest and hope he would be forgotten. Then the next day, or the day after, the moment the rain stopped, we would all embark on a long journey down pathways and through caves leading to Omauha’s home at the heart of the earth, and the grand story would begin.
Night was about to descend and wash the forest with darkness. Yankor and Michael accompanied me part of the way back. We separated after crossing the stream. Amir looked at us, realized we were parting ways, hesitated for a moment, then decided followed me. When we approached the camp, he became nervous. He suddenly stopped, looked at one of the treetops, and began to bark. My eyes followed his, and I saw an extremely large snake flexing its muscles and preparing to strike. Its staring eyes were both threatening and mesmerizing. I looked at it, unable to move a muscle, even though it was clear it would soon lunge down and attack me or the dog. An arrow was suddenly fired from somewhere and hit the snake, which slithered down the tree and shot off into the brush.
Not far from us stood the forest goddess, her legs spread and her hands holding an elongated pipe with small arrows tied to it. I had never seen Yakura in the image of a warrior, setting out into the forest with a weapon, but at my moment of need, she had immediately appeared before me and acted. Had she been following us to the hanging hut or merely crossed our path coincidentally on her way to the spring? When I neared her, the resolute expression immediately disappeared and a soft, gentle smile painted her lips. The dog licked her feet, and I stroked her hair just like I always did. I hugged her, and we returned to the camp together.
The three women were waiting for us in our hut. The swelling had disappeared from Christina’s face, and her eyes were beaming again. I guessed Yakura’s forest remedies had been effective.
I went to her hammock, kissed her cheeks, and whispered, “I found the man you told me about. He’s in a safe place,” and she smiled at me in appreciation. I climbed into my hammock and fell asleep immediately, postponing all thoughts for the next day.
32
The Journey Begins
The next day, the rain stopped and the skies cleared, and yet I woke up from my sleep feeling terrified and bewildered. The sounds of thunder and rain had been replaced by the sounds of the forest, which were especially loud and indicated something unusual was going on. I jumped from the hammock and quickly left the hut. Apes and birds shrieked in distress and howler monkeys jumped with frenzy from tree to tree. The forest was filled with a raucous chorus of crying, howling, and chirping. The women of the camp stopped their morning chores, and the warriors emerged from the huts, looking at each other with concern.
Xnen showed up and said something to the warriors standing near him. The warriors rushed around the camp and painted their bodies, not with red war paint this time, but with green. Only their eyes sparkled from beneath layers of forest green. The painted warriors and the forest women gathered all the branches they could find, and lighted bonfires all across the camp. Thick smoke poured from the damp wood and covered the settlement with a stifling mist. Coughing was heard everywhere. Special leaves placed in the bonfires created a pungent smell, and the coughing and sneezing intensified.
I felt my consciousness dimming. I had never witnessed such a war against the powers of the netherworld. I could no longer recognize the faces of the people in the camp because smoke obscured everything. But when I heard rattling sounds, even though I couldn’t see them, I knew they were above us. The helicopters flew over the forest, and thundering blasts sounded somewhere near. I could hear the choppers approaching the camp, but suddenly, they turned away and eventually vanished in the distance. The thick smoke could have made them think the place had already been attacked by other helicopters and they decided to retreat. Sometime later, the world turned quiet again, and out of the silence came the calming chatter of the monkeys. The camp people’s resourcefulness had rescued us from the danger.
Smothered by smoke, their eyes burning red, the warriors toiled to extinguish the fires. Pillars of smoke climbed to the heavens, and between them, one could see the laboring men. In the clearing smoke, I saw the women standing not far from me, next to the hut. Xnen and Herbert approached us, and with expressionless faces told us we would be leaving that night.
The large camp was dismantled before our eyes. The huts disappeared one after the other, and the poles serving as their foundations hidden. The stone house and the round house were covered by branches and tree trunks. The women gathered a lot of fruit and secured it in large bundles to be taken for the journey. I couldn’t see any meat or fish. Answering my curious question, Xnen explained that meat and spicy food should be avoided while going on a pilgrimage. While traveling to a sacred place, only fruit should be consumed, and close to the sacred place we would only be allowed to drink water. Past that point, even the drinking of water would be forbidden.
When the camp had been completely disassembled, leaving bare forest clearings behind, the aircraft returned. Xnen ordered us to hide among the trees, but the helicopters passed above us and continued on their way without throwing their deadly cargo.
Toward evening, we set out on our way. The warriors and a few of the women loaded on their heads or backs large bundles containing fruit and other belongings I didn’t recognize. A long snakelike line of men and women twisted up one of the paths, with two men and three women wearing Western clothes among the walkers.
Yakura did not walk with us. She joined the shamans, who walked ahead of the camp, holding smoking incense, singing or chanting a kind of hypnotic murmur. I didn’t see Herbert’s bodyguards or the prisoners among the walkers. The port officer and the policeman were nowhere to be seen either. I supposed they were somewhere in the tail of the snake winding its way behind us, or maybe they had taken a different route.
We walked through the night, slowly making our way through the twisting trails. When the first light of day broke through the foliage, we reached a large clearing. The red, gleaming top of a large mountain towered above the treetops. The sight confirmed what I had already known in my heart: We were very close to the vast grass fields and the mesas, which meant we were also close to the camps from which the helicopters had come. Now I had no doubt: Herbert’s bodyguards had not come with us.
Despite being tired, everyone was elated, and even Herbert smiled at the rising sun. “We’re close, very close,” he muttered to himself or to the gods.
He asked me to accompany him, and when we were some distance from the others told me with excitement that one of the shamans had rescued my prisoner who had disappeared and that they both had joined the line of night walkers, marching at its tail.
“The forest returned what it had swallowed,” he said, “and from what the shaman told me, I gathered the prisoner is not a slave hunter, but a man who truly loves the forest and its children.”
The women were excited too, walking about the clearing as if dreaming. Marina came to me, inhaled the morning air, and asked if there was a brook or spring nearby for us to bathe in. Xnen, who was standing not far from us, smiled at her and motioned for us to follow him. He led us outside the camp, and a few minutes later we reached a cave with a spring gushing inside it. A beautiful pool lay among the rocks, surrounded by vines and other forest plants. A large hole was open in the ceiling, and the light descending from it cut the space of the cave like a knife and illuminated the water. Xnen asked me if I would be able to find my way back to the camp. I nodded distractedly, amazed by the sight of this Garden of Eden we found ourselves in, and the shaman smiled and disappeared.
Marina immediately took off her clothes and dived into the cool water. She raised her head and invited me to join her. We dived together and discovered a large opening in one side of the pool. A man-made column poked out of the opening, as if inviting us to come near it. When we looked through the hole, we saw that it led to another cave, washed with light as well. Hand in hand, we passed through and emerged from the water in the nearby cave.
There too, water collected in a beautiful pool surrounded by vines. Around it, we saw a series of tiny hills made of dirt and stones. I had no doubt the mounds were man-made, even though I thought of termites while picturing their makers. The tops of the miniature hills were designed to r
epresent the pattern of the mountains surrounding us. All the tops looked like mesas, and a sculpture in the image of a primeval animal stood at the top of one of them. The sight of the primordial animal reminded me of the Yarkiti myth about the monkey people of the Anakaka tribe, whose role was to protect the mountain of the god.
Three pillars stood around the pool, as if supporting the ceiling. I hugged Marina. “This is the gateway,” I told her, “this is where the ancient ones marked the border between the world of the forest and the world of eternity.”
We got into the water again and returned through the opening to the twin pool, the one leading back to the forest. And there, in that heavenly pool, between the vines and beneath the descending light beam, we sank again into a dream of bodies yearning for each other.
“Do you know why Xnen led us here?” I asked Marina when we woke up.
She looked at me for long moments, as if trying to understand my question, and then buried her face in her hands and started weeping.
Amir welcomed us when we came out of the cave. He wagged his tail happily and safely led us to the clearing. When we arrived, we discovered that the company of walkers was in a state of ecstasy. The vihu was passed from nose to nose, and everyone was inhaling the gateway to the heavens. The warriors flew like birds, climbed on the trees like monkeys, and roared like jaguars. The dance slowly died down, and when the light of the sun began to fade, the shamans lighted the torches and urged the human snake to get back on its feet and get going.