The Discommodious Wedding

by Kastensmidt, Christopher

  The Discommodious Wedding

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner ®

  Novelette Series – Vol. 3

  by Christopher Kastensmidt

  “The Discommodious Wedding” © 2015 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  First published in Portuguese in 2012 in Duplo Fantasia Heroica 3.

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner® is a registered trademark of Christopher Kastensmidt.

  Cover art by Ursula “SulaMoon” Dorada.

  Cover design by Cristiane Viana.

  All artwork © 2015 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  Visit our website at:

  EAMB.ORG

  For Fernanda, who supports me through it all

  A breeze tickled the puma’s whiskers as she emerged from the brush. She raised her nose for a few sniffs, which brought nothing more than the scent of orchids. A twirl of her ears located only the rustling of leaves and occasional plop of a leaping fish. Confident of her solitude, she sauntered toward the riverbank.

  Habit dictated a nap by her favorite muddy river after a meal, and a chance encounter with an agouti at dawn had provided the repast. She circled a sunny patch of grass and tossed herself down. Just as she began to lick her haunches, a noise alerted her. She spotted two figures—human—emerge from the forest on the other side of the river.

  To her surprise, one of them bore black skin, a coloring she had never before seen on a human. However, she recalled her many jaguar cousins with black hides, who were no different from their yellow brothers, so she assumed the man’s skin made no difference. She found more astonishing the covering he used over his skin. The humans who lived nearby at most hung a few feathers and shells from their bodies; this one had covered most of his.

  The other human, a female, did appear to be from the local pack, those who lived within the circular wall of tree trunks. Her skin, naked from head to foot, matched their usual tanned tone. For some reason, the woman did not seem entirely unfamiliar to the puma, although she could not remember why.

  The two humans seemed pleased, both smiling at each other. The man placed a hand on the woman and she pulled away, although reluctantly. She shook her straight, black hair and it whirled briefly before settling back down, falling all the way to her waist. Then the man said something and she assumed a more hostile pose.

  That gesture jogged the puma’s memory. She raised herself cautiously, to avoid attracting attention, and crept back to the woods. Once the brush closed around her, she raced off to seek the Master of the Forest.

  He would find this news most interesting.

  #

  Oludara, staring over the muddy waters of the Black River, noticed movement on the other side. It appeared to be an animal, possibly feline.

  “What was that?” he asked, pointing. “Did you see something move?”

  Arany yanked his muscled shoulder, turning him to face her. “Don’t change the subject,” she said, her voice stern. “What did you just say about marriage?”

  “I said I asked Jakoo permission to wed you,” replied Oludara. Jakoo, one of the five village chiefs, ruled the longhouse where Arany and Oludara lived.

  Arany gasped. “And what did he say?” she asked.

  “He attempted to dissuade me. He said I could have any other unmarried woman in the tribe, I need only ask. But when he could give me no reason why I could not marry you, I demanded my right. In the end, Jakoo gave me his permission; he cannot refuse to marry an unbetrothed woman under his care. But he did request that I wait until the caju ripens to take you as my bride.” After living among the Tupinambá for months, Oludara had grown accustomed to their use of fruit ripening and other natural events as measures of time.

  “Oludara,” she pleaded, “how many times have I told you to forget this idea of marriage?”

  “At least a hundred!” Oludara replied, laughing. “But your eyes tell a different story. Your soul weeps every time you say we cannot marry, and it despairs when you demand that I choose another. Is this not true?”

  Arany lowered her head and said nothing.

  “Your words are always ‘we cannot marry’,” he insisted, “but never ‘I don’t want to marry’. Tell me just once you do not love me, and I will desist forever.”

  “It has nothing to do with love.” She turned and sat down by the river.

  “It is destiny,” said Oludara with a contented sigh. “To believe I was brought to Brazil as a slave! I thought it would be the end of me, but I was freed by Gerard, the most steadfast friend I’ve ever had, and then I met you, my true love. Who would believe so much good fortune could blossom from such evil? Olorun works in mysterious ways.

  “So stop punishing yourself, whatever the cause. The caju should ripen in no more than two weeks, and we will be married. When this is all over, you will thank me for saving you from yourself.” At that, he turned and walked away.

  Arany waited for Oludara to disappear in the distance, then whispered, “Destiny may be your friend, Oludara, but it has never been mine. I do love you. And that is why I fear.”

  #

  Gerard returned from his fishing trip carrying three trahiras on a line. He held the catch proudly before his stout chest as he walked among the group of natives he had accompanied on the outing. He could never entirely forget his contrast to those around him: his palm-length goatee against their lack of facial hair; the short red curls which clumped out from under his broad-rimmed hat against their mushroom-cut black hair with shaved crowns; and, most of all, his cotton shirt and knee breeches against their nakedness. Nevertheless, Gerard felt every day more at home among them.

  Gerard received an unexpected slap on the back and turned to face Cabwassu’s teeth jutting forward in an overly enthusiastic smile. Cabwassu was one of the village chiefs and a seasoned warrior. Lines of parallel scars laddered down his arm like stripes; one for each enemy he had slain in battle. As usual, he wore pointed stones in his earlobes and lower lip, and blue and green feathers fanned out from armbands, marking him as a chief.

  “You fished well today, Gerard!” Cabwassu said in heavily-accented Portuguese.

  Gerard beamed at the compliment. Cabwassu had originally opposed Gerard and Oludara joining his village, to the point of violence, but that treachery had been long forgotten. He and Gerard had become fast friends, to the point of Cabwassu helping Gerard learn Tupi.

  Without warning, Cabwassu said, “Stop!”

  Gerard tensed and spun around, accidentally smacking Cabwassu in the face with the fish.

  Cabwassu wiped off his face and grinned. “Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” he said. “I just wanted to show you something. Do you know this fruit?” He pointed to a red fruit with a strange brown curl growing from the bottom.

  “No,” replied Gerard.

  “It is called ‘caju’,” said Cabwassu. “The fruit is tasty, as is the nut which grows from it.”

  “Cashoo” repeated Gerard.

  Cabwassu laughed. “Try again, ‘caju’,” he said, pronouncing the “j” with a strong “zh” sound.

  “Caju.”

  “Good,” said Cabwassu, nodding his head in approval. “You learn our language quickly.”

  “Not as quickly as Oludara,” Gerard replied with a sigh. “Would you believe I speak six languages fluently? Oludara knows but two: Portuguese, which he learned while a captive of the slavers, and his native Yoruba. You would think I would be the one to learn Tupi first, but while even simple conversations give me a headache, Oludara has practically mastered the language.

  “But I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Oludara is the most intelligent man I’ve ever known—except perhaps for that Tyge
Brahe fellow I met at the university in Mecklenburg, the gentleman with the funny nose. Now that man could talk about anything.”

  “Are you done speaking?” asked Cabwassu.

  “Why...yes.”

  “Good,” replied Cabwassu, “because I have no idea what you are talking about.” He turned and continued down the path.

  Gerard scowled. The natives understood little and cared less about life back in Europe. He pulled one of the cajus from the tree and continued on behind Cabwassu.

  Minutes later, they arrived at the village to find Oludara and Jakoo speaking in the center common. Jakoo wore an elaborate headdress of yellow-and-red feathers that marked his position as chief, and little else.

  Oludara’s eyes widened when he spotted Gerard. “Gerard,” he said, “what is that?”

  Gerard held up his fish proudly.

  “Dinner!” he replied. “Caught them myself, I might add.”

  “No,” said Oludara, “in your other hand.”

  “A cashoo,” he replied, going back to his first, incorrect enunciation.

  Cabwassu rolled his eyes, a gesture he had picked up from Gerard.

  “The caju!” said Oludara. “It is ripe!”

  “Well you certainly seem excited about it,” said Gerard. “I was going to eat it, but if you want, I’ll give you this one and go find another for myself. There’s a tree just five-minutes’ walk from here.”

  “It is not that, my friend,” said Oludara. “Now that the caju is ripe, I can marry Arany! I will find her immediately.”

  Jakoo and Cabwassu both froze at the declaration.

  “Marriage?” asked Gerard, raising his voice. “I told you before, marriage is a sacrament. What you’re talking about is living in sin.”

  “You know I love Arany,” said Oludara, “She will be my bride, not my concubine.”

  Gerard crossed his arms. “Unless that means sharing religious vows, I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

  “Gerard, the Tupinambá do not practice wedding ceremonies the way you know them. They do not worship your Protestant god, and neither do I.”

  “It is true,” said Jakoo. “When we lived among the Jesuits, they taught us about Christian weddings, but our customs are simpler.”

  “And what customs are those?” asked Gerard.

  “We throw a party!” offered Cabwassu. “We drink and dance all night long.”

  “And then what?”

  “The next day, we roast an enemy and eat him!”

  Another nearby native added, “Good idea, we can go to battle and find a warrior to eat!” Several others perked up at the suggestion.

  “Well isn’t that exceptional?” said Gerard, mocking. “Let’s replace wedding vows with war and cannibalism. Perhaps I’d best move on.” He turned to leave.

  “Gerard,” said Jakoo, “you know our tribe stopped those practices long ago. Cabwassu spoke in jest.” He glared at Cabwassu. “The day after the party, we meet in the village center to perform the marriage.”

  Gerard stopped but did not turn back. “And who performs this marriage?” he asked.

  “Yandir, of course.”

  “The village sorcerer?” Gerard shook his head and started off again.

  Yandir was the tribe’s pajé, their spiritual guide, but Gerard, a devout Protestant, cared little for his methods.

  Oludara ran after him. “Please, Gerard,” he said. “You know how much Arany means to me. You are my closest friend. If you do not participate...”

  The two had risked their lives for each other more than once; Gerard couldn’t ignore that. Without looking at Oludara, he said, “For your friendship, I’ll go to your party. But don’t expect me at your so-called wedding.” He strode away to their longhouse.

  Oludara turned to Jakoo. “The time has come,” he said, “just as you promised.”

  Jakoo appeared distressed, but nodded. “I will speak to Yandir,” he said. “You will have your party, you and Arany deserve it.” He motioned to a nearby native, one of his men. “Alert the other chiefs, tonight we celebrate.”

  Then he spoke to Oludara again. “I have one favor to ask. Please wait until tomorrow, after we have all recovered from our drinking, to take Arany as your bride.”

  “I have waited many days,” replied Oludara. “One more night will be nothing.”

  #

  Everyone in the village, almost five-hundred people, had crowded into one of the five longhouses for the party. Many had donned elaborate feather decorations on their arms, heads, and backs, and almost all had painted designs on their naked bodies.

  At the center of the crowd stood a three-foot tall ceramic vase filled with cauim, an alcoholic beverage. Beautiful red, black, and white decorations covered it. The women would go to the vase from time to time to fill gourd cups with cauim, which they would take to the men or drink themselves. No food of any kind was served, as was the Tupinambá custom for a drinking celebration.

  As always, fires burned throughout the dwelling, one for each family housed in the cabin. From time to time, people circled the vase: dancing, singing, and playing flutes and drums. People relieved themselves near the walls whenever they felt the need, and Gerard felt nauseated every time a draft carried the sour scent to his nose.

  He sat glumly beside the bride and groom, trying to drown his concerns about the wedding with drink, but the powerful beverage and the sight of people emptying their bladders not fifteen feet away from him had only compounded his unease. He spent much of the night averting his gaze from the women’s nakedness—a habit ingrained by his Protestant ethics—but their dancing, bouncing bodies made it a dizzying task.

  Turning to Oludara, he commented dryly, “Quite the party, isn’t it? I imagine the bacchanalia of Rome didn’t surpass it in decadence.”

  “It is a wonderful party,” agreed Oludara, completely missing the implied reproach.

  Gerard noticed Arany sitting upright, her face filled with worry. Before he could say anything to her, Cabwassu staggered over and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Having a good time?” he asked, an alcohol-exaggerated smile across his face.

  “I’ve had better,” responded Gerard.

  Cabwassu laughed. He turned and shouted in Tupi, “I would like to say words to our honored couple!”

  The room silenced. Cabwassu held up his gourd before him and said, “I hope we are not all slain tomorrow.”

  Gasps wheezed around the room.

  Jakoo jumped up and grabbed Cabwassu’s shoulder. “Think what you’re saying!” he said.

  “I know what I’m saying,” replied Cabwassu. “I am saying that tomorrow, during the wedding of Oludara and Arany, I hope our heads are not caved in, and our bodies not cooked for meat.”

  Gerard leaned over to Oludara and asked, “Is this normal for a wedding toast?” With the Tupinambá, former eaters of human flesh, it was difficult to know for certain.

  “I have no idea,” replied Oludara.

  Both of them turned toward Arany in askance, but she grimaced and looked away.

  Everyone stared at Oludara.

  “I think they want you to say something,” whispered Gerard.

  Oludara rose deliberately and took a deep breath. “Thank you all,” he replied in Tupi. “I also hope that tomorrow is a propitious day.”

  Everyone waited until it was obvious he would say nothing more. Finally, Cabwassu shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and took a drink from his gourd. Then a collective sigh sounded around the room, and everyone went back to their revelry.

  From the middle of the room, a woman exclaimed, “The vase is empty!”

  Gerard, relived, took a final swig from his gourd. “I’m glad that’s over,” he said.

  “Over?” said Cabwassu. He almost fell over with laughter. “It is time to move to the next hut, and open another vase!”

  “There’sh more?” asked Gerard, his voice slurring. “I’m feeling a bit fuddled. Moderation ish important for a Christian.”
/>
  Arany smiled for the first time that evening. “Gerard, we will drink cauim from all five longhouses this night.”

  “Oh my!” exclaimed Gerard. He frowned at his empty gourd, his head swaying as he tried to concentrate on it. “Where does thish cauim come from, anyway?”

  “Have you not seen the women making it?” asked Oludara. “They chew cassava and spit the juice into these vases, where it is left to ferment.”

  “What?” Gerard squinted at the vase in the middle of the room, trying to focus his double vision into one. Then came a sudden recognition; he had seen the vase some weeks before, a group of women doing exactly what Oludara had described.

  He slapped a hand over his mouth and ran from the hut.

  Oludara chuckled and took another drink, and Arany, by his side, did the same.

  #

  Oludara, anxiously awaiting the ceremony in the village center, spotted Gerard emerge from their cabin. Gerard had dressed his finest. As always, he wore his wide-brimmed hat with the feather on top, but instead of the cotton shirt, vest, and breeches he used for traveling, he wore a dark blue doublet with ruff collar and stockings, an outfit much too warm for the stifling heat of the forest. Oludara had seen Gerard in those clothes just once: the first time they met in Salvador’s central square. On that occasion, Oludara had worn chains.

  Gerard had also cleaned and shaven himself, leaving his goatee trim and cheeks smooth. But the fine clothes could not hide the green tint of his face and grimaces from a headache: consequences of the previous night’s revelry.

  “Gerard,” said Oludara, “you’ve come for my wedding!”

  “No,” said Gerard. “I put on my Christian finest to go off and pray for your soul. Are you certain you won’t desist? Just give the word and I’ll go in search of a priest.”

  “I’m sorry, Gerard. My ways are not yours.”

  “Very well.” Gerard turned to leave but stopped. “Oludara, have you noticed that everyone is carrying weapons?”

  Oludara examined the crowd and found that indeed, most of the men held bows or wooden clubs. Many in the crowd sweat visibly, despite their nakedness.