by K. Walker
The atmosphere improved in the days after Juan left. He was a sour mean guy. I had gotten my legs, and we made better time. Our food was boiled rice and whatever they could shoot, mainly birds, once a monkey (which tasted Ok but looked horrible after skinning, like a dead baby). I let myself go with the flow. I suppressed any serious thought about the future. I was amazingly happy, strong and tan and in the best shape of my life. And I kind of got into the fucking, which pleased my captors.
Let’s face it, I am passionate by nature. If I have an Inner Goddess, she is Venus. I lost that the year after graduation, because I was depressed and working too hard and all my regular boy friends had gone away to college. The girl who hooked up with Joey just before she left Tucson, and did him three times in a night and howled with joy – that’s the real me. My body loves to be stimulated. I had been a little careful in high school, because they still make fun of a slut. But here, I had no one to criticize me, no reason to hold back, in fact every good reason to yield.
So, I did. Every night Tomas would fuck me first, teasing me to wetness and opening me up wide and I always came. Carlos would bring his earnest dull fucking to my bed of leaves – and as likely as not, I came. Even chubby sincere not-very-hung Fatty would bang away at my deliriously sopping wet cunt – and I often came. And the grand finale most nights was Round Two with Tomas, who had skill and size and staying power. My orgasm would build slowly, from a clenching of muscles deep in my groin, to uncontrolled shaking of my thighs, to the final explosion that arched my back and blew the top of my head off in shear wild bliss.
Guys really like it when you come hard. They think it’s their sexiness and skill. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s just that the girl is dynamite on legs. But they don’t think about that, they just congratulate themselves for being a hell of a fellow, and their good will extends to her. Even Carlos no longer seemed to worry that I would run away and bring the police.
After the fourth night, Tomas no longer bothered to chain me. I had no idea how to walk home, and no stomach to grab a gun and do murder, and they all probably realized that. So, I passed a week, walking all day, and fucking hard every night, and slept like a log until dawn, and was as strong and healthy as I have ever felt in my life.
Chapter Four: Into the Village, Naked
Suddenly it was Day Ten of our march, and the Indian village was getting close. It had been five days since we had seen any sign of other humans. I began to think fearfully about the village. A mass of strangers would sneer at me. Would the women throw stones? Would the men all demand to fuck me? I cringed. I slumped and hung my head. Behind me, Tomas spoke gently in English, as though he could read my mind.
“The Indians will respect you if you show no fear. You are a beautiful woman. Most of them have never seen golden hair. Walk proud. Can you do that?” I raised my chin. Damn right, I could. Rounding a curve in the path, we approached a spring that ran gurgling down over a stone slope.
“Rest, five minutes,” Tomas said. The others threw down their heavy packs and lighted cigarettes. Tomas walked me to the spring.
“Wash yourself, you’ll feel better.” As I had so many times on the march, I cupped my hands in the pure cool water and splashed myself all over, working from the head down. I did feel better. I ran wet fingers through my long hair, and with my brush worked it into a great rippling mass over my shoulders and half covering my pack. A medium-sized tree grew near the spring, of a type we had passed frequently, which has large red blossoms. On sudden impulse, I broke off a branch and tore a dozen blossoms loose. I worked about a third of my hair into a loose French braid, hanging over my left shoulder, and inserted the red flowers.
“Much better,” Tomas commented. “Time to go!” They loaded up and we stepped out.
“We will start to cross fields in a few minutes. The village is ten minutes beyond that. These Indians still keep many of the old ways, they dress and work as their ancestors did, but they need some things that only money can buy, so they work part time for mestizo ranchers and farmers a couple of days north. They have a taboo against sex with non-Indians, which has saved them from many diseases.” That was good news for me.
“We don’t have much time to talk,” I said to him in English. “When you rescued me from that guide, you were my hero. Why are you decent to me some times, and then you do what you do? I can’t figure you out. I’m not going to run away again, so tell me, please.’
“Baby,” he replied, “I’ve told you, I do what I think I must. You are the bag of gold, in two ways. The first, you learn with your feet on my shoulders. The second is, your ransom can be our ticket out. I have to use you in both ways. But I don’t want to hurt you. Do you have any idea how much money I have right now, for my men and myself?”
I shook my head.
“Less than $500 in Bolivares. We don’t make much as robbers on the roads. We did a bank once a year ago, we only got around $2,000 and one of my men was killed. We have expenses, buying goodwill. If we were in the States, we could make better money per hour at McDonald’s. I want to get out, we all want out in various ways, I want to leave this crumby country and start over. But I need a stake of cash. The $500,000 is just a starting point; if we get $100,000 that would give us what we need. Look!” and he gestured to the front, where the forest was breaking into small fields.
An Indian woman was working, weeding between the rows. Tomas called to her. She straightened up, saw us, and was off running like the wind.
“Remember, walk proud. Keep your eyes ahead or on me.”
The path took us between cultivated fields and gardens, toward a group of twenty or more large houses. Most were circular, the sides of woven branches plastered with mud, the roofs thatched with palm fronds reaching almost to the ground and tapering to a sharp point in the top center, like upside down funnels. The houses had no windows, and each had only one small entrance about four feet high. Near the center of the settlement were two larger rectangular buildings, also thatched, with partly open sides and raised wooden platforms within.
People came pouring out of the houses, hoards of children, women, not many men. Back from the fields came more women, carrying their farm tools. The younger children were naked. The women wore a sort of white woven smock that covered the sex and hip area, with white tassels hanging down. Their breasts were bare. The men wore loin cloths. Nearly every adult had bracelets, necklaces and head bands of bright red or blue beads. The crowd was much bigger than you might have thought for such a small place, maybe 200 people with an average age of about twelve. They lined the path, staring at us, whispering among themselves, dead silent as we grew closer. Tomas called out a welcome in Spanish, then a few words of some other language. His own name was part of it. Blah blah Tomas! Tomas blah blah! I saw no weapons.
I held myself rigidly erect, placing each step with deliberation, like a model on the catwalk, my face ever to the front. I tried to pretend that I was some VIP or royalty, and they were paparazzi, to whom I would show minimal politeness but, really, disdain. Avoiding eye contact, I nonetheless I flicked my gaze across the crowd again and again, and could plainly see that my appearance was drawing most of the attention. The little children stared frankly, mouths open, as children will do. But the women looked shocked and fearful, and some covered their eyes. Boobs were evidently no big deal here, but no grown woman was totally naked. Maybe total nudity was as shocking to them, as it would have been on Main Street. The men looked confused, even intimidated, anything but lustful, and that was a relief. Several, like their women, covered their eyes as I passed. Whether they felt pity for me, or fear of some unfamiliar power, I could not tell. At least nobody threw rocks.
Tomas brought us to a halt in front of one of the two big structures. Man men stood or squatted on an open porch. The crowd watched. A man came out, a vigorous-looking muscular man of about forty, and appeared to recognize Tomas. They spoke in slow, stilted Spanish, clearly not the Indian’s native tongue. I stood silent and impassiv
e beside Tomas. Tomas was reminding him of their previous visit, or the good things he had brought the village, and promising the same again in return for a place to stay.
Tomas stepped closer to the porch, out of earshot, and whispered a long time to the chief. Several times he motioned toward me. The chief twice covered his face with his hand, as though shielding himself. Finally he nodded, and stepping forward his broke into a rapid speech in the Indian dialect, waving his arms as he spoke.
“Yah! Yah!” they responded, jumping up a down with joy. “Yah, Yah.” Suddenly it was a party! Drums beat. Boys played on pan flutes. A skinny old man, his headdress filled with feathers, spun in a circle shaking a gourd that rattled.
Tomas went onto the porch of the big structure, and was given a wooden seat next to the chief. He waved me to join him, and to kneel by his side. Below us, the children went to one side and danced by themselves. The women danced in a group, the men in another. The steps were simple, circling eight steps one way, eight in return, and spin in place. Many people zoned out, dancing with eyes closed yet never getting lost.
Amid all this, four men walked down the path into the village, carrying strung on a pole a large fat tapir. The women took charge of it, carving off joints and putting them to roast over cooking fires already lit. The sun grew low in the sky and the dancing still continued. Women would leave to help with cooking, then return to dance. They seemed to take it in turn. Finally, there was a mad climax of frantic drumming, and the feast began. Three women brought food on slabs of wood to the chief, to Tomas, and to me. They handed the food on their knees as though to show respect.
“Tomas,” I whispered, “What is going on?”
“Later,” he replied. “For now, just eat and don’t talk. And try to keep your dignity.” Dignity my sweet ass! After what they had done to me! But it was surely an improvement in my status, if the Indians served me food on bended knee.
After dinner the dancing resumed and continued late into the night. I got thoroughly tired of kneeling on the hard wooden floor of the porch. Children watched fascinated until they fell asleep where they sat or squatted, no one bothered them to go to bed. The men and women began to pair up and slip away, including the teenagers. Finally, at a signal from the chief, the drumming stopped and we were escorted to one of the big round houses. Carlos and Fatty rejoined us. I had glimpsed them eating on the edge of the crowd, but they did not dance. More smiles, embraces between Tomas and the chief, and they left us alone to stoop and enter the narrow doorway to the hut.
It was perfectly round and about twenty feet in diameter, devoid of furnishing except narrow pallet beds on the floor and hooks for clothing on the woven walls. It was surprisingly cool. There was actually a breeze, as the hot outside air was carried through the door and upward thirty feet or more to the tiny roof opening. The only light was a torch, thrust at the center into the packed dirt floor. It wasn’t a very big torch. The men laid their packs and rifles against the wall, lit cigarettes, and began to talk. I sat on one of the pallets and listened, unheeded.
“What happens next?” asked Carlos.
“As we have discussed, we need a secure isolated place to hang out for a month or so, until the ransom is paid,” Tomas replied. “If we do nothing, if we bring no presents, the Indians might forget the things we brought last time and get tired of us.”
“Why can’t we just do some robberies like usual,” asked Fatty, puzzled.
“We could, but it’s a two days walk to the nearest road, and just an hour beyond that is a police base. So, as I was thinking it over, I had an idea how we can use the girl.” They all turned and looked at me. “An idea of how we can give them something that costs us nothing and we run no risks.” He waited to be asked and Fatty complied.
“What is it?”
“Do you know anything about what they believe, the Indians.”
“No idea and don’t care much” Fatty replied with unaccustomed tartness.
“That’s where you show your ignorance,’ said Tomas smugly. “I paid attention last year, and I had many long talks with the chief, the only one that speaks proper Spanish. They believe that long ago, their gods were violent and evil. There was much killing among the gods and among people. At last the people learned peace. They are completely peaceful, they never seek or carry firearms. But they believe the evil gods are constantly trying to bring back violence. It is the job of the magician, the shaman, to draw this evil out of people, by talking to them and singing and placing his hands on them. Everything evil, every accident, every illness, is caused by evil spirits. The shaman passes the evil back to the gods by singing and dancing. They had a very big shaman here, but he died last year. They think the evil gods got him. His son has gone to another village to study magic. A young man tries to protect them, but people are concerned he is too weak to keep the spirits away. Recently, two men quarreled over a woman. The whole village was shocked. Such things don’t happen here.”
“So, what is all this about? I am confused,’ said Carlos.
“I have told the chief that the girl is a bruja, a powerful magician, so sacred that she doesn’t need clothing, with powers from the god of the sun. She can absorb evil spirits and radiate them back to the sun through her golden hair. That she brings good luck. That the village will be safe while she is here.” Carlos and Fatty thought this over and finally nodded.
“That sounds good. So, we don’t need to rob, or bring them presents?
“No, that’s the beauty of it! We bring them magic, and they give us food and refuge.”
If they liked the idea, I liked it a lot. Clearly, my status had gone way up.
Everyone was tired from the walk and the banquet, neither Carlos nor Fatty wanted me that night, so I made love with Tomas while the others snored across the room. The second time, he let me ride him. I clenched my muscles inside and milked his cock while he played with my nipples and God! It was fine. Afterward he opened up a little.
“You asked me a couple of times about the States.”
“Yes”
“Well of course I spent time there. Christ, I grew up in the Bronx. My parents brought me from Colombia when I was three. I graduated high school. I had a wrestling scholarship for college. Then it all fell apart.” He grimaced.
“How?” I just knew he was American! Something about his grin when he was happy.
“My parents managed to adjust status after a while. So, they got a Green Card for me too. I planned to become a citizen. But in high school I got into a fight, and they called the cops and that gave me a juvi record. Then after senior year, I got caught for a DUI. I drive better drunk than most people sober, but they wouldn’t look at the facts, they just said that since I was over the limit, the accident was my fault. The other driver was hurt, although not badly. They offered me a deal, plead guilty of assault by vehicle and I would get probation. I didn’t have a lawyer of my own, the public defender said to take it, so I did. And, as I left the courtroom, thinking it was over, the immigration people grabbed me. Two weeks later I was deported to Bogotá! Can you imagine how I felt? My mother gave me a little money. Fortunately, I spoke good Spanish. But I was robbed by the taxi driver that took me from the airport, dumped on the street with bruises and nothing but my clothing.”
“What happened next?”
“I looked for work. I was hungry for days. I snatched food from street vendors and ran. Finally, a guy offered me a job delivering supplies in the countryside. When we got there, I found out it was to be a courier for a narco. I hate that shit. My wrestling coach warned me not to do that stuff, and I respected him. I had never even done pot. Now, I was humping chemicals to a coke lab. But I did it, because I was desperate.” He fell silent, remembering. I thought about being a kid, just eighteen, even younger than me, in a bad country, and I kissed him.
“Then what?”
“A boss guy came. Not a big boss, just a boss. A fat guy in his forties. He was a bad maricon. Aggressive, the kind who likes to
fuck men and doesn’t care how. He decided he liked my looks. I was more baby-faced then. This was five years ago. He got me drunk and tried to rape me. I fought him, and then I fought his bodyguards. I ended up with broken ribs, a lot of blood on my face, a gut that hurt bad from being kicked. I guess I was lucky to survive. He decided he didn’t want me, I wasn’t pretty any more. They dumped me by a roadside. But I taught those fuckers! They won’t do that again!” he whispered to me in the darkness through his gritted teeth.
“What did you do?”
“I knew where I could steal a rifle. I ambushed the three of them the following night, and killed them all. They were the first people I ever killed. But not the last! And then I had to run. Because the maricon was the cousin of somebody, and if your cousin is killed you have to take vengeance. I wandered. I robbed. I met people. Some of my friends were killed. I spent time with a FARC unit, those are communist guerrillas. But I am not political, their discipline was obnoxious, so I deserted them, which made another group of people trying to kill me. I crossed the frontier into Venezuela for refuge. My band grew to a dozen, but that was too many, the police found us and in the fight most of them were killed. The last two years, I have tried to stay below the radar, with small-scale robberies and moving a lot. But there is no future in it. Sooner or later our luck will run out, and I will die. Until you came along. Katie my savior!” and he sucked hard on my nipples.
If it worked out like he said, I thought, as he got hard and entered me again –well, I was OK with it. Because I knew none of the money would be from Mom, because she didn’t have any. But I knew, and I was sure he knew, that it wouldn’t necessarily end that way, with a big payday and his gang splitting up to start new lives in some place like, who knows? maybe Bolivia or Peru? There were so many ways it could go bad. For now, we would pretend that things would end happily. I slept that night cradled in his arms just like he was my lover. Life is so complicated, don’t you know?