Forest of the Pygmies

by Isabel Allende

“It will be light soon, and then we can see where we’re going. I’m hungry. I couldn’t eat the rats from dinner,” said Nadia.

  Alexander laughed. “If Brother Fernando were here he would say, ‘God will provide.’”

  They made themselves as comfortable as possible in a nest of ferns. The humidity soaked their clothing, they were pricked with thorns, and bugs crawled all over them. They heard the swish of animals brushing past them, the beating of wings, the heavy breath of the earth. After their adventure in the Amazon, Alexander had never gone exploring without a cigarette lighter; he had learned that striking stones together was not the quickest way to start a fire. That night they tried to start a small bonfire to dry out a little and keep any animals at a distance, but they couldn’t find any dry sticks, and after a few attempts they gave up.

  “This place is filled with ghosts,” said Nadia.

  “You believe in ghosts?” asked Alexander.

  “Yes, but I’m not afraid of them. You remember Walimai’s wife? She was a friendly spirit.”

  “That was in the Amazon. We don’t know what they’re like here. There must be a reason why people are afraid of them,” said Alexander.

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you’ve succeeded,” Nadia replied.

  Alexander put an arm around his friend’s shoulders and cradled her against his chest, trying to make her feel warm and safe. That gesture, once so natural between them, was charged with new meaning.

  “Walimai was finally reunited with his wife,” Nadia said.

  “He died?”

  “Yes, now they’re both living in the same world.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You remember when I fell off that cliff and broke my shoulder in the Forbidden Kingdom? Walimai kept me company until you got there with Tensing and Dil Bahadur. When he appeared at my side, I knew that he was a ghost and able to move about in this world, and in others.”

  “He was a good friend. When you needed him you could whistle, and he always came,” Alexander remembered.

  “If I need him, he will come now, just as he came to help me in the Forbidden Kingdom. Spirits can travel great distances,” Nadia assured him.

  Despite their fear and discomfort, Alex and Nadia soon began to nod; they had not slept for twenty-four hours, and had experienced a multitude of emotions since Angie Ninderera’s airplane crash-landed. They didn’t know how many minutes they’d rested, or how many snakes and other animals had brushed past them, before they were jolted awake. Borobá was pulling their hair with both hands and screeching with terror. It was still dark. Alexander switched on the flashlight, and its beam fell on a black face almost on top of his. Both the creature and he yelled and fell back. The flashlight rolled on the ground, and it was several seconds before Alexander found it. During that moment Nadia had time to react and grab Alexander’s arm, whispering that he should keep still. They felt an enormous hand blindly exploring them, and then suddenly it seized Alexander by his shirt and shook him unmercifully. He switched on the flash again but did not aim it directly at his attacker. In the shadows, they recognized a gorilla.

  “Tempo kachi, may happiness be yours . . .”

  This greeting from the Forbidden Kingdom was the first and only thing that came to Alexander’s mind; he was too startled to think. Nadia, on the other hand, made her greeting in the language of the monkeys, because even before she could see, she had recognized what had startled them by the warmth of the body and the breath of newly cut grass. It was the gorilla they had rescued from the trap some days before. As she had then, she had her tiny offspring clasped against the harsh hair of her belly, and she was observing them through curious and intelligent eyes. Nadia wondered how she had gotten here; she must have traveled many miles through the forest, something unusual for those animals.

  The gorilla dropped Alexander and put her hand to Nadia’s face, pushing her a little, softly, like a caress. Smiling, the girl returned the greeting with a push of her own that did not budge the gorilla an inch but did establish a kind of dialogue. The animal turned her back to them and walked a few steps, then she returned and, again pushing her face close to theirs, uttered a few quiet grunts and, without warning, delicately nibbled Alexander’s ear.

  “What does she want?” he asked with alarm.

  “For us to follow her. She wants to show us something.”

  They did not have to go far. Suddenly the animal gave a leap and climbed to a kind of nest among the tree branches. Alexander aimed the flashlight toward it and was rewarded with a chorus of unsettling grunts. He switched it off immediately.

  “There are several gorillas in this tree, it must be a family,” said Nadia.

  “That means there’s a male and several females with young. The male could be dangerous.”

  “If our friend has brought us here, it’s because we’re welcome.”

  “What do we do now? I don’t know what the protocol is between humans and gorillas in a situation like this,” Alexander joked nervously.

  They waited, motionless, beneath the huge tree. Gradually the grunting stopped. Exhausted, they sat down among the roots of the enormous tree, with Borobá clinging to Nadia and trembling with fear.

  “We can sleep in peace; we’re protected here. The gorilla wants to repay us for the favor we did her,” Nadia assured Alexander.

  “Do you believe that animals have those kinds of emotions, Eagle?” Alexander was doubtful.

  “Why not? Animals talk among themselves, they form families, they love their young, they band into societies, they have memories. Borobá is smarter than most of the people I know,” Nadia replied.

  “On the other hand, my dog, Poncho, is pretty stupid.”

  “Not everyone has Einstein’s brain, Jaguar.”

  “Poncho definitely doesn’t.” Alexander smiled.

  “But Poncho is one of your best friends. There’s friendship among animals, too.”

  These friends slept as deeply as if they were in a featherbed. The proximity of the great apes gave them a sense of complete safety; they couldn’t be better protected.

  A few hours later, they awakened with no idea of where they were. Alexander looked at his watch and realized that they’d slept longer than they’d intended; it was after seven. The heat of the sun was drawing moisture from the ground, and the jungle, wrapped in warm fog, felt like a Turkish bath. The two friends jumped up and looked around them. The tree of the gorillas had been vacated, and for a minute they had doubts about what had happened the night before. Maybe it was just a dream, but no: There were the nests among the branches, and some tender bamboo tips, the gorillas’ favorite food, had been left by their sides as gifts. And if that weren’t enough, they realized that several pairs of black eyes were observing them from the thick undergrowth around them. The presence of the gorillas was so close and so palpable that they didn’t have to see them to know they were watching.

  “Tempo kachi,” Alexander said as good-bye.

  “Thank you,” said Nadia in the language of Borobá.

  A long, hoarse roar answered them from the impenetrable green of the forest.

  “I think we can take that as a sign of friendship,” Nadia said, laughing.

  In the village of Ngoubé, dawn announced itself with a mist as thick as smoke, which drifted in through the uncovered door and windows. Despite all the discomforts of the hut, Kate, Angie, and Brother Fernando had slept deeply, with no idea that there had been a fire scare in one of the royal huts. Kosongo had had little to complain about, however, since the flames were doused immediately. When the smoke cleared, it was discovered that the fire had begun in the royal mantle—which was interpreted as a very bad omen—and spread to the leopard skins, which flared up like dry tinder, causing the dense smoke. The prisoners knew nothing of this until several hours later because their hut was at the far end of the village

  The first rays of the sun sifted through the straw roof, and in the light of dawn the friends were able to
examine their surroundings: a long, narrow hut with thick walls of dark mud. On one of the walls, apparently scratched with the tip of a knife, was the calendar of the preceding year. On another wall they saw verses from the New Testament and a crude wooden cross.

  “This is the mission, I’m sure of it,” said Brother Fernando emotionally.

  “How do you know?” asked Kate.

  “I have no doubt. Look at this,” he said.

  From his knapsack he took a paper that had been folded several times and smoothed it out carefully. It was a pencil drawing sent by the missionaries who had disappeared. Prominent were the central square of the village, the Tree of Words and Kosongo’s throne, huts, animal pens, a larger building marked as the king’s quarters, and another used as barracks for the soldiers. The drawing showed the mission at the exact spot where they were being held.

  “See, this is where they had the school and looked after the sick. There should be a garden nearby, which they planted, and a well.”

  “Why would they want a well when it rains here every two minutes?” Kate wondered. “There’s water to spare all around us.”

  “They didn’t dig it; it was already here. They put quotation marks around the word, as if it were something special. I always thought that was very strange.”

  “I wonder what happened to them?” Kate said.

  “I’m not leaving here until I find out. I have to see Commandant Mbembelé,” Brother Fernando said with determination.

  For breakfast the guards brought them a stalk of bananas and a pitcher of milk swimming with flies, then returned to their posts at the entrance, in that way notifying the foreigners that they still were not to go outside. Kate pulled off a banana and turned to give it to Borobá. That was when she realized that Alexander, Nadia, and the little monkey were not with them.

  Kate became frantic when she found that her grandson and Nadia were not in the hut with the rest of the group, and even more alarmed that no one had seen them since the night before.

  “Maybe the young people went for a walk . . .” Brother Fernando suggested without much conviction.

  Kate went running out as if she were possessed, before the guard at the door could stop her. Outside, the village was coming to life. Children and a few women were moving around, but there were no men to be seen; no one was working. In the distance they saw the Pygmy women who had danced the night before. Some were going to the river for water; others were headed for the huts of the Bantus or on their way to the fields. Kate ran to ask about Alexander and Nadia, but she couldn’t communicate with them, or else they didn’t want to answer. She went through the village calling the names of her grandson and Nadia, but she didn’t see them anywhere; all she achieved was to stir up the hens and attract the attention of a couple of the soldiers of Kosongo’s guard who were beginning their round at that moment. Without a break in stride, they took her by the arms and literally carried her toward the compound of royal huts.

  “They have Kate!” screamed Angie, who was watching from a distance.

  She tucked her revolver into her waistband, picked up her rifle, and waved to the others to follow her. They should be acting like guests, she said, not prisoners. The group pushed aside the two guards at the door and ran off in the direction in which the writer had disappeared.

  By that time, the soldiers had pushed Kate to the ground and would have started beating her had they not been interrupted by her friends, who streamed in shouting in Spanish, English, and French. The foreigners’ bold behavior confused the soldiers; they were not used to being disobeyed. There was a law in Ngoubé that no one could touch one of Mbembelé’s soldiers. Even if this happened by accident the punishment was a beating; when it was intentional the cost was a life.

  “We want to see the king!” demanded Angie, backed by her companions.

  Brother Fernando helped Kate up, but a sharp cramp in her ribcage kept her from fully straightening. She thumped her chest a couple of times, and then was able to get her breath.

  They had ended up in a large mud hut with a floor of tamped-down earth, bare of furniture. On the walls were two mounted leopard heads, and in a corner an altar covered with voodoo fetishes. In another corner, on a red carpet, sat a refrigerator and a television, symbols of wealth and modernity, though totally useless since there was no electricity in Ngoubé. The room had two doors and there were openings in the walls to let in a little light.

  The sound of voices outside caused the soldiers to snap to attention. The foreigners turned to see a man with the look of a gladiator make his entrance through one of the doors. They had no doubt that this was the famous Maurice Mbembelé. He was very tall and muscular, with the build of a weight lifter: enormous shoulders and a thick neck; prominent cheekbones; thick, well-defined lips; a boxer’s crooked nose; and shaved head. They couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing mirrored sunglasses, which gave him a particularly sinister appearance. He was clad in army trousers, boots, and a wide, black leather belt, but his torso was bare. He showed the scars of the Brotherhood of the Leopard and wore a strip of leopard skin on each arm. He was accompanied by two soldiers nearly as tall as he.

  When she saw the commandant’s powerful muscles, Angie was wide-mouthed with admiration. Her fury dissolved in an instant, and she felt as flustered as a schoolgirl. Kate realized that she was about to lose her best ally, and stepped forward.

  “Commandant Mbembelé, I presume?” she asked.

  The man did not answer; he merely observed the group of foreigners with an inscrutable expression, almost as if he were wearing a mask.

  “Commandant, two of our group are missing,” Kate announced.

  That news was received with an icy silence.

  “Two young people, my grandson, Alexander, and his friend Nadia,” Kate added.

  “We want to know where they are,” Angie put in, no longer struck dumb by passion.

  “They can’t have gone very far; they must be in the village,” Kate babbled.

  She had the sensation that she was sinking into a quagmire; she was unsteady on her feet and her voice trembled. The silence became unbearable. A long minute passed before they heard the firm voice of the commandant.

  “The guards who were so careless will be punished.”

  That was it. He turned on his heel and left the same way he had come, followed by his two personal guards and those who had manhandled Kate. They were laughing and talking as they left. Brother Fernando and Angie caught part of their joke: The white boy and girl who had escaped were really stupid; they would die in the forest, devoured by wild beasts or by ghosts.

  Seeing that no one had an eye on them or even seemed interested in them, Kate and the remaining members of the party went back to the hut they had been assigned to.

  “Those kids have just vanished. They’re always causing me problems. I swear they’re going to pay for this!” Kate groaned, tearing at the short gray clumps of hair that crowned her head.

  “Don’t swear, woman. We should pray instead,” Brother Fernando scolded.

  He knelt down among the cockroaches that were calmly moving about the floor and began to pray. No one joined him; they were too busy speculating and suggesting plans.

  Angie believed that the sensible thing to do was negotiate with the king to provide them a boat, the only way to leave the village. Joel thought Commandant Mbembelé was in charge of the village, not the king, and that since he showed no sign of willingness to help them, the best idea might be to ask the Pygmies to lead them back along the secret forest trails that only they knew. As for Kate, she had no intention of going anywhere before the two young people returned.

  At that point Brother Fernando, who was still on his knees, broke in to show them the piece of paper he had found on one of their packs as he knelt to pray. Kate tore it from his hand and ran to one of the windows where there was light.

  “It’s from Alexander!”

  In a faltering voice the writer read the brief message from h
er grandson: “Nadia and I are trying to help the Pygmies. Keep Kosongo distracted. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon.”

  “Those kids are nuts,” commented Joel.

  “No, it’s their normal state. What can we do?” the grandmother moaned.

  “Don’t tell us to pray, Brother Fernando!” Angie exclaimed. “There must be something more practical we can do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re going to do, miss. As for me, I feel confident that the young pair will be back. In the meantime, I have to find out about my fellow missionaries,” he informed them, getting to his feet and shaking the cockroaches off his trousers.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Hunters

  ALEXANDER AND NADIA WANDERED THROUGH the trees with no idea of where they were going. Alexander found a leech clinging to his leg, swollen with his blood, and pulled it off without a fuss. He had encountered leeches in the Amazon and wasn’t afraid of them, though they still turned his stomach. There was no way they could get their bearings in the wild jungle growth; everything looked the same. The only spots of color in the eternal green of the forest were the orchids and the fleeting, gaily colored birds. They were walking over soft, reddish dirt, rain-soaked and strewn with obstacles, where at any moment they might take a false step. Treacherous swamps lay hidden beneath mantles of floating leaves. They had to pull aside the vines that grew as solid as curtains, and avoid the piercing thorns of some plants. Even so, the forest was not as impenetrable as it had seemed before; there were occasional openings among the treetops that allowed rays of sun to filter through.

  Alexander had his knife in his hand, ready to stab the first edible animal he could catch, but none gave him that satisfaction. Several rats scurried between his legs, but they were too quick. The two had to stave off their hunger with some bitter, unidentifiable fruit. Since Borobá was eating them, they assumed they weren’t harmful and followed his lead. They were afraid of getting lost—which in fact they already were; they hadn’t a clue how to get back to Ngoubé or how to find the Pygmies. Their one hope was that the Pygmies would find them.