When Time is Cracked and Trees Cry_A mysterious novel that takes you deep into a Magical tour in the secrets of the Amazon jungle and the psychological depths of the human soul

by Nahum Megged

  Yakura quickly took her leave and returned to the wailers. I knew the journey to the holy mountain wouldn’t be an easy one. Who knew what awaited us in the savannah? And who would we leave behind to guard the camp? We would need the mercy of the spirits, whether dwelling in the heavens or in the middle world.

  6

  The Whirlpool

  The preparations for the journey began. Yakura hurried around the ruined camp to restore what the water had robbed from the round house. How could Omauha be appeased when everything that belonged to him had been taken by a demon or another god, or even by Omauha himself? While she was overseeing the arrangements for the journey, I remained in the hut to watch over Marina. When the young woman woke up and tried to rise from the hammock, it was clear that she was still extremely weak. I touched her forehead. She was burning with fever. I offered her pills to reduce her temperature and prayed it wasn’t malaria. With her injured soul, I didn’t think her body would be able to withstand the debilitating disease. She gave me a weak smile, tried to rise again, and immediately fell back into the hammock.

  When Yakura returned to the hut, I told her about my concern for Marina, and she immediately held the girl’s hand as if trying to imbue her with strength. In a clay pot, she boiled some leaves I didn’t recognize. The mixture gave off a caustic, potent smell. Marina began to perspire. I didn’t know if the pills were beginning to affect her or if it was the concoction of leaves Yakura had prepared.

  I watched Yakura with her quick, confident movements. She brought the alligator stool closer to the hammock, helped Marina onto it, undressed her, and washed her body with a cloth soaked with the leafy brew. The young woman’s body was incredibly tanned. I thought maybe she was a daughter of nature, like Yakura. Her copper-colored breasts and shapely figure gave her back the youthful look that seemed to have slipped from her anguished face.

  After washing her body, Yakura helped Marina into the hammock and covered her with tapir skins coated with cloth woven from wood pulp. She motioned for me to touch Marina’s forehead. The fever had dropped and Marina sank into a deep sleep.

  Yakura explained in a whisper that she must continue with the preparations for the pilgrimage and asked that I stay in the hut and watch over the sleeping girl.

  Rain began to fall again, gradually intensifying. Heavy rain was common in this part of the forest, yet still I felt whoever presided over the world was not taking pity on the Yarkiti. He did not even allow them time to lick their wounds. Xnen was out there, in a hostile tribe’s territory to avenge a murder, but he might soon visit the kingdom of death himself, along with everyone with him. Outside, the fires burning the bodies of the dead were still blazing. Now the waters of the sky poured on them, robbing the dead of any true grace. Without a roof over their heads, the camp survivors prepared for a pilgrimage that would probably prove impossible. The earth had not yet dried and the streams would be overflowing again. What would Yakura do now?

  The monkeys screeched and howled. They could not understand either why the rain had renewed its attack without giving them a little respite. The animals had lost their fear of the villagers. Just outside the hut, at the top of a tall tree, a spider monkey snuggled, its body resting between its long arms holding its head, as if it were deep in prayer.

  I couldn’t hear the voices of the villagers. The rain drowned out the sound of the wailers. Maybe they had ceased their lamentations and found cover beneath some large leaves, since they no longer had huts. I was hoping they would find the strength to come to my hut and find some peaceful moments in it.

  Yakura came inside the hut as if she had just risen from bathing in the stream. Despite the commotion of the rain, the light still glinted in her eyes. Her eyes darted, and I could sense the whirlpool of thoughts sweeping her. She looked at Marina’s hammock.

  “How is she?” she asked me in a whisper.

  “She’s well,” I said. “Washing and massaging her body must have helped.”

  Yakura smiled at me. “Omauha does not want us to go to his mountain,” she said. “I only began the preparations, I hadn’t tied the winds yet, and the skies have immediately spoken.” Yakura’s entire body moved as she spoke, it was the Yarkiti way. Her shoulders lifted and fell, her hands traced words in the air and the syllables played in her mouth like a song. Singing and body movements enriched the Yarkiti language, which is limited in vocabulary. In William’s instructional book, one can find drawings of shoulders rising and dropping, lips curling and pursing, and a long series of facial expressions. Obviously, he had spent a lot of time with them, otherwise he couldn’t have interpreted the meaning of so many gestures.

  “We will need to postpone or stop the preparations. I hope the evil Sekura haven’t taken over the rain. Those are spirits of evil marikitares, ancient shamans who wish to force their way back into the world. It’s not good for the dead to return and rob the place or the body of those who live on this side of the Tepoi. If the evil ones of yesteryear rise again, it is an ominous sign for our men that have left to go to war.”

  I looked at the girl intently. Most likely Xnen and the others were right, and Yakura was not an ordinary Yarkiti. She could be the wife of the god, or a messenger of the goddess Minare. She might even be the goddess herself.

  Marina awoke from her rest. She opened her eyes and smiled at us. “Is it raining?” she asked.

  “Pouring,” I answered. “The rain has interrupted the preparations for the tribal observances, but it’s possible it will stop soon and everything will return to normal.”

  A soft and loving expression smoothed Yakura’s face. She went to Marina, gave her water and wiped her forehead. She is acting like a mother would, I thought, even though she had never given birth to children or helped to care for brothers or sisters. A few days after she was born, a dream came to Xnen’s father and instructed him that a holy baby was living in one of the village huts. From that day, Yakura was separated from her parents and lived in the hut of Xnen’s mother, then later in his wife’s hut. To this very day she does not know who her parents are and if they are still alive.

  Marina rose from the hammock. The cloth and tapir skin dropped from her body, revealing her bare breasts.

  I must have blushed, because Marina smiled at me and said, “I hope you’re not bothered by the way I dress. This is the way the local girls act. When in the forest, I behave according to their customs.”

  I was dumbfounded. She exploded in laughter and Yakura quickly joined her. I stood there, in front of two beautiful young women laughing at an aging man.

  “It has been a while since you last saw a woman?” Marina asked with a smile.

  “Aren’t Yakura and the other females of the tribe women?” I asked defensively, but my trembling voice betrayed my embarrassment and made the girls laugh even harder.

  To demonstrate my confidence, I went to the two and stroked Marina’s forehead. “I see you’re feeling much better. When the rain stops you will be like one of the tribeswomen.”

  The young white woman sat up a little in her hammock, placed her arms around my neck, and in front of Yakura’s astonished eyes kissed both my cheeks. I kissed her forehead and sensed that the fever had left her body.

  Yakura looked at us. Something clouded her previously benevolent expression. Perhaps she wasn’t used to seeing the kisses of white people. Or maybe… Until that day, Yakura was a member of my household and treated me just like a daughter should. She cared for me, fed me, and nurtured my spirit. I loved her in my own way and didn’t hide it. Now here was a foreign woman, belonging to the world I had come from, a world Yakura didn’t know. And yet, I didn’t dare to think she might be jealous. Yakura had become a goddess in my eyes as well.

  The rain had stopped, the monkey huddling in the tree in front of the hut bounded back into the forest and disappeared. I held Yakura’s shoulder as a sign of reconciliation and asked her, “Now that the
rain has stopped, will we renew the preparations for the mountain pilgrimage?”

  “Not yet,” she answered. “The pilgrimage will have to wait. First, we need to resume the burning of the bodies.” Again, I sense repressed anger behind her eyes.

  The rain had stopped, yet thunder still exploded over our heads. My thoughts wandered to what could be happening across the river, to Xnen and the warriors. I felt it was time to return to my hut to think things through. My head was filled with thoughts my heart tried to unravel. I wanted to understand what had taken place between me and the girls: my excitement at the sight of Marina’s breasts, their teasing laughter, the cloud of discomfort that obscured Yakura’s face. Supposedly, everything was simple and obvious, yet I still felt there was a secret hidden in their actions. Marina’s story also gave me no rest. That young woman, who had laughed with such abandon, had been attacked by strangers just a day or two before, likely even raped and forced to witness the death of her beloved, with whom she had lived in incest. How could one be swept into such a whirlpool of events and emotions? Next, my thoughts wandered to Herbert William. Would I be able to solve, with Marina’s help, the secret of his disappearance and the significance of the objects he had left behind? Was he still living among us, or had he left the realms of life and traveled to his Tepoi?

  Night had fallen, and I could hear the women of the camp lighting the pyres again. I climbed the tree trunk that served as a ladder and entered my hut. Soon, when the fires were lit, the wailers would return to their cries and the relative silence would be gone. I lit the candle and began to write in my journal. A few minutes later, the chorus of the wailers began, driving me to forsake the shelter of my home and wander into the forbidden territories, including those I had escaped from.

  Darkness closed on the remains of the village. The night sounds of the forest mixed with the wailing and crying. Now and then, a single shriek was heard over all others and claimed the realms of darkness for itself. I thought it might be the voice of a woman mourning her dead husband or son. I dropped the pen and immersed myself in reading one of the books I had brought with me on the journey, so as not to completely forget my old world. When I was ready, I abandoned the book and went back to writing in my journal. Soon after, I heard footsteps next to my hut and then bare feet climbing the ladder. Yakura was in the doorway, her silhouette clearly traced against the background of the dark night. The candle hurled daggers of light at her willowy body. I looked at the beautiful young woman. Her eyes turned to the journal resting on the hammock as if she were trying to make out what was written in it. Contrary to her usual custom, her lower body was covered by a sort of skirt made from the bark of a ficus tree. I knew that she had climbed up to talk to me, but at the same time I knew everything would remain unspoken and sealed inside her.

  “Did the drums tell you anything about Xnen?” I asked.

  Her eyes thanked me for breaking the silence. “Many sounds came from afar,” she said, “but they weren’t the sounds of war. I heard the Mashko drums, speaking of migration, and I heard other sounds as well. But no drum has said anything about a battle breaking in the forest.”

  “And have you heard from Xnen?” I asked.

  She hesitated. It seemed she knew more than she could or wanted to tell. “Yes,” she answered at last. “One of the warriors came and said the Mashko lands are deserted and that we might want to settle there, because in the realm of the Mashko the gods of wind and rain were more merciful.”

  Her answer surprised me. “And we will go somewhere so far from Omauha’s mountain?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we could always come back. The god may not want us to always roam the places near to him.”

  Silence followed our words. The sounds of the forest invaded the hut, and I was at a loss for words. I realized I was still holding William’s pen, and reached for my journal to set it down. As I did, I noticed Yakura’s eyes resting curiously on the other pen, the one I had found on my way to the savannah. I picked it up and tested to see if it still worked. Yakura looked at me holding the pen and appeared terrified. She covered her eyes with her fingers, then raised the bark skirt to her face, as if she were hiding from something or someone.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She moved abruptly to the opening of the hut, turned to me, and said, “I came to ask that tomorrow you treat the warrior Xnen has sent back. He is sick with an illness I’m not familiar with. And after you treat him…” She took a deep breath, and it seemed she was trying to decide whether to go on speaking or keep silent. “I think it would be better if you take the Nave woman from my hut and you both return to the Nave world before the warriors come back.” Tears rolled from her eyes when she exited the hut. It was the first time I saw her cry.

  7

  A Return to Life

  That night, the Noneshi paid me another visit. The moment I imagined I was about to fall asleep, he slipped through some space and emerged into my hut. This time I could see his features, details I hadn’t noticed on his previous visits. He looked strong and muscular, his hair, black and long, a lance in his hand and a quiver of arrows hanging on his brown, naked body. A ring adorned his nose. He looked at me, serious and focused. As always, his body was covered by war paint. I didn’t want to open my eyes, fearing he might slip away, leaving his interest in me a mystery. I wondered why he had appeared that night, of all nights, after Yakura had tearfully asked me to take Marina and leave the camp before the warriors returned.

  I tried to get him to speak by addressing him in the Yarkiti language. It wasn’t my lips that uttered the words, but my thoughts. “Who are you?” I asked.

  He seemed surprised and raised his spear as if he were about to hurl it. Behind my closed eyes, his dark eyes sparkled. His head moved in circles, as if he were about to say something he shouldn’t. Eventually, he lowered his head and rested the spear against the wall. His eyes clouded as if he had just sniffed sun seed. He sat on the stool, leaned his head on his hands, and stole glances at me.

  The hut suddenly filled with images. A young naked woman flew into the room and stood in the northern corner. She too had a quiver of arrows and a spear, and long hair hid her body. Children and old people followed. Some carried a stage, seeking with their eyes a place to put it. The wind whistled, imitating the forest, and the grassy plain I had seen in a different dimension and on a different day was shown to me, and the mountain emerged from it. I assumed it was Omauha’s sacred Tepoi. The images dimmed and faded away and the warrior’s eyes seemed to ask if I had understood their language. He spread his hands to both sides, took his spear, and left the hut with strides that reminded me of Yakura’s. I opened my eyes and he was gone.

  I awoke earlier than usual and headed out to the stream. A few of the tribeswomen were already bathing in it. Their naked bodies spoke of longing: Their husbands were far away, who knew if they’d ever return? Children hung from their mothers’ backs. A large tapir played in the water with a few of the older boys. My eyes sought Yakura, but she wasn’t among the bathers. I washed myself and headed to her hut. Before going in, I called out some of the natives’ greeting noises to indicate my presence.

  Marina’s voice answered me. “Come up!”

  Yakura wore a leaf skirt, like on the previous night, and Marina wore the clothes we’d found her with, but they looked washed and mended. They both leaned over a youngster who was lying in the center of the hut on a mat made of tree bark.

  “I think he was bitten by something poisonous,” said Marina, while Yakura said nothing.

  I studied Marina. It was difficult to believe she could barely stand on her own two feet the day before. Now, there she was, trying to help another sick individual.

  “He reminds me of them, but he had a different, softer expression,” she said.

  I went to the youth, still a child, who had just undergone his initiation ceremony. There was an indeterminate wound betw
een his ribs, and I couldn’t decide if he had been attacked by a snake or by poisonous water leeches. The wound wasn’t bleeding. Had it been a snake, he wouldn’t have been able to get to the camp on his own.

  “Does he remember what happened?” I asked Yakura.

  She raised her head, looked at me for a moment, then shrugged.

  I tried to make the boy talk. With chattering teeth, as if feverish, he began to stutter. “Xnen wanted me… to go to you… and Yakura…” Then the pain stopped his words.

  So young, I thought. Yakura pulled up the skirt that covered her legs, as if seeking refuge from the confused words.

  The youth continued, “We didn’t find the Mashko, but they are in the forest. Xnen wanted to make sure they weren’t… with you.” He dragged out the last words. “When I was close to the camp, I felt something stinging me… I don’t know what it was.” He spoke no further and returned to struggle with the pain with his eyes closed.

  I told the women I was going to get my medical kit from my hut. I was afraid the wound had been caused by a small arrow of the type the local tribes used for hunting. If I was right, it meant that hostile warriors were somewhere nearby, and I must try to protect the women until the men returned. I had a feeling eyes were hiding everywhere, watching me. I retrieved my medical kit and returned to Yakura’s hut.

  The youth’s movements seemed to me like those that come near death. Without wasting any time, I asked Yakura to boil water and soak in it the leaves the Yarkiti used to treat wounds. I passed my hunting knife through the fire burning in the corner of the hut, then placed the hot blade on the wound between the ribs. White fluid oozed out of the wound, and the youth bit his tongue and kept silent. The tip of an arrow came out with the liquid. I cleaned the wound and examined the tip. I thought I recognized the remains of poison and remembered what William had written about a glue inducing partial paralysis that was used by some of the local tribes. Sometimes, the glue-tipped arrow could cause its victims to suffer sleeping sickness and hallucinations.