by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 6
Dear Charles:The Chokli woman are diminutive in stature but well endowed, with heavy breasts and a chassis like a small truck. Ideal for child bearing, I'm sure. In fact, child bearing seems a kind of religion here. Various statues celebrate this aspect of Chokli life. At some point in time, when a girl has matured, and becomes pregnant, she is taken from the village and some sort of secretive ceremony takes place. I have never been present at these—the Chokli males are quite careful to keep me in the village—but when the small band returns, the young woman is missing. I never see her again, although a new child usually appears in the village soon after.
Dear Charles:Yesterday I watched while a young Chokli warrior was treated for wounds. He had been badly mauled by, I think, a jaguar or wild boar. In any case, his body was covered in deep gashes and he was bleeding profusely. I tried to indicate that I had medical knowledge and could help the man, but I was ignored. They covered his body in the wet leaves of the miracle weed and then in a heavy layer of mud. He lay in his hut for perhaps two weeks. When he eventually emerged, his body was relatively smooth and hairless and quite pale. There were still obvious signs of the wound, but much diminished. In another two weeks he was completely free of scars—but the pale skin remained and I cannot see any sign of hair growing again on his body. In fact, the size of the pale patches of skin seem a good deal larger than the original wounds.
Dear Charles:The young man who was mauled by the wild boar—I wrote to you about him, remember? His skin color has returned and his body is now covered with fine black hair. Indeed, he seems quite normal. I have tried to determine if this was some natural consequence or whether he was treated in some manner. Unfortunately, few of the Chokli make any attempt to understand me. They avoid me for reasons I do not care to mention.
Dear Charles:I have taken a young Chokli woman for myself. Indeed, she was formally given to me by the band, perhaps as a reward for saving the life of the chief. Actually, the weed did most of the healing. The chief had been washing himself by the river and was attacked by an alligator. I was able to pull him from the bank, although he lost three toes on his left foot. A tourniquet about the lower leg, a couple of weeks treatment with the miracle weed and he was walking about as though nothing had happened. Quite remarkable. There was some discussion among the younger males when the chief presented me with this woman. Although I understand little of their language I think they were furious. Since then, my relationship with the Chokli males has deteriorated, especially the young warriors. There are very few females in this village and the gift of a young woman to a stranger is hardly something to engage the esteem of the men.
Dear Charles:I am afraid that this will be the last letter I send you. The runner who takes my letters up river to the settlement has refused to take any more. Somehow, I think the young woman who now lives with me was promised to him. I tried to give the girl to him, but he refused. I cannot imagine why. There seems little reticence among the males in taking a girl of age. They simply drop their bushy shorts in the village square and the girl submits. In fact, most of the women are pregnant. Nevertheless, this one girl is clearly off limits to all but me ... orders of the chief, I think. Unfortunately for me, the chief is very old and seems in poor health. Perhaps my stay here will end when he does.
I grunted, grinned and laid the bundle of letters on the coffee table. "You dirty old man." I looked up. Charles had slipped out, the fire had died and it had become cool. I lay back on the sofa. "Well, Lloyd, I guess the Chokli chief died and ... and you were no longer welcome." I jumped to my feet, angry. "Shit! Dad, why didn't you get out while you still had the chance? Damn you! Was some Chokli slut the big attraction?"
I spent the rest of the night on the sofa, sleeping fitfully. I couldn't believe that my father had been so ... so ... damn that man!
When the first ribbons of light ran across the room I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, humming. There had been little help in my father's letters. He seemed as confused as I, and he had spent several months living—and dying—among the Chokli.
Why were there so few females? What happened to all the young Chokli women? What was the significance of the ceremony before the statue of Mother and Child. How did the Chokli reestablish hair growth? And natural skin color? Would my own discoloration return to normal?
So many questions.
"Good morning, Miss Fleetsmith." Charles laid the tray on the low table: coffee, hot rolls and an omelet of egg, ham and cheese. "I hope you had a good night." I could see him looking discreetly at the opened letters on the table. I swept them up and handed them to him. He carefully tied them with string.
"Chuck, we must speak to Pelvis. She must know something we don't know. You have to teach her to speak English."
"Penny," he said.
"Penny?" I frowned. "Mmm, yes, right, her new name."
"Me?" he said. "Teach her English? I'm not really equipped for—"
"On the contrary, Charlie boy, you are perfectly equipped. Start today."
I jumped up and left. I knew Charles would be happy with the idea, if he hadn't thought of it already. After I left, he would stare unhappily at the untouched omelet, hesitate just a moment, then carefully gather up the tray and walk to Penny's room, smiling. She might enjoy the egg, ham and cheese.
And I knew what Charles would be thinking: Teach her the language? That would be a long and grueling chore. It meant late nights by her side, helping her to frame the words, guiding her lips, teaching her the techniques of proper inhalation, breathing, in and out, in and out ... but he would devote himself to the task.