Incacha always told me that my dreams were strong, that I could see truth in them where others would see only figments of their imagination. I wish that were otherwise. It would have been nice to chalk up what I saw to being just an unpleasant fantasy. What I saw in my dreams woke me in a shivering fit, sweat streaming down my body and the shaman at a loss how to calm me.
Incacha held me, whispering soothing words on Chopec, the language nearly as natural to my ears now as English. I felt myself gasping, trying to pull free from his arms before finally collapsing in a torrent of sobs that left me exhausted and nearly incapable of thought.
Only when the tears had slowed did he dare ease his hold on me, gently smoothing back my hair. "A dream?" he said softly, not really questioning what he knew had happened.
I nodded, sniffling and wishing for something to wipe my nose with. Even after two years, I found myself still reaching for things like tissues and toilet paper, the little conveniences of modern civilization that I still missed. Incacha found a scrap of cloth and held it out of me, letting me blow my nose and begin regaining my composure.
He did not press to know what happened immediately, allowing me time to regain my mental equilibrium. Nor did he try to stop me as I flung myself out of our hammock and run out to the center of the village. Maybe it was silly, but I had to assure myself that it had been just a dream. To my vast relief, I found not the carnage in my nightmare, but the quiet of a village at peace, the residents safely asleep save for the guards at the perimeter of our territory. I wanted to tell myself it had just been a nightmare. Just a bad dream.
I returned to our hammock, finding Incacha sitting up, waiting for me. "You are well?" he asked gently, reaching out to caresses my cheek, the touch comforting and helping me to ground.
I nodded, sniffling a bit and hoping that I hadn't woken everybody up. "I'm sorry… it was just…"
"Do you wish to tell me?" he asked, his dark eyes catching mine.
I hesitated, not sure of an answer. Telling him might make me feel better, but it would not solve the real problem. What if this was not just a dream? What if this was a vision of what might happen?
He waited patiently, not pressing me to speak even though I'd woken him from a sound sleep. I bowed by head, turning away from his eyes. I felt his large hand gently stroke the length of my spine, the motion soothing. My muscles relaxed and I allowed myself to be slowly pulled down, letting his arms go around me. The embrace was comforting, protecting me from my fears as Incacha himself had protected me when I first arrived here in Peru. I could have easily fallen asleep there had he not spoken again.
"You might sleep better if you spoke about what frightened you so," he said softly, his breath gently tickling my ear.
I turned my head to look at him, not pulling away from his arms. The shaman towered over me, his angular face shadowed by the fall of his hair over his muscular shoulders. It always amazed me that such a gentle man could be so strong. My experience prior with physically powerful men was rarely gentle. Incacha could have easily killed me when we first met, but had never touched me with anything even close to violence.
"There were strangers… they came here…" I whispered, the fear rising in me again. I wanted to block out what I'd seen in my dream, how the people who had become my friends and family over the past two years fell as bullets riddled their bodies. My eyesight seemed odd, too sharply focused and directly right ahead of me and my peripheral vision was greatly reduced. Not that that mattered now. Not while I was saw Incacha, my friend and teacher trying to maintain calm when he was cut down in a hail of gunfire, blood pouring from his wounds, his once bright eyes turned lifeless and flat.
Unable to help them, I turned to run, not immediately surprised that I was running on four legs rather than two. Up ahead, shadowed in the trees I could see the outline of another animal, large and dark, running several yards ahead of me. I knew that if I could reach him, I would be safe. My muscled screamed as I strained to reach him, only to feel my head snap back as if a powerful hand had grasped my hair, stopping me short. It was only at that point that I woke, sparing myself the vision of my own death at that unknown man's hands.
Incacha nodded knowingly. "Strangers like you?" he asked, meaning white men.
I nodded. Other Indians would not have worried me. There were other tribes in the area; not all of them friendly, but the Chopec were more than capable of protecting their territory. They were no real threat to us. But white men with guns… the Chopec had no defense against that and the treat from them was very real.
I'd seen a lot in my time here. In spite of our location deep within the rainforest and a good fifty or so miles from the nearest thing that could be remotely considered civilization, the Chopec were not at all ignorant of the dangers that outsiders could bring. Drug traffickers and gunrunners often came deep into the forest in order to avoid government patrols. There had been an astonishing amount of political unrest in the past few years and guerrilla troops hid out in the forest. None were near our territory right now, but that could very easily change with a shift in the fighting.
Then there was the increasing pressure from miners and ranchers as they burned thousands of acres every year. Every day brought them closer towards Chopec territory and I knew for a fact that they didn't much care about what happened to the natives who's land they'd stolen. I've heard horror stories about entire villages being wiped out, about young girls being kidnapped for the brothels at the mining camps. The only protection my friends had was by remaining unknown and hidden away safely in the jungle, far from any white settlements.
"They killed everyone..," I went on to say. "Even the children. And you… you tried to stop them, but they killed you. I ran, but they caught me. That's when I woke up."
Incacha sat silently, holding me safe in his arms as he mulled over what I told me. I was praying that he would tell me that there was nothing to fear… that we were too far from white civilization to worry about anyone coming with guns. But he just sat there holding me, stroking my hair.
"We're too far into the jungle for that to happen, aren't we?" I asked, prodding him for an answer.
He didn't meet my eyes when he spoke again. "The edge of the world comes closer every day. Other tribes have been forced from their lands. The same may soon come for us."
I didn't want to think of what might happen that day. We'd seen the exodus as tribes moved deeper into the forest to avoid being overtaken by the Dead World, as they called it. Those that could found new land to inhabit, finding themselves safe for a little longer. Those that couldn't were lost forever.
Even the presence of one outsider, however innocent and well meaning affected the tribe, but complete exposure to modern society and technology? I remember what happened to the Indians of North America; their population whittled by disease and war and alcohol, forced onto tiny reservations in the worst territories the government could find. Proud warriors and hunters reduced to farming and handouts, a mere shadow of what they once were. It would break my heart to see that happen to the Chopec.
Incacha must have sensed my distress, because his embrace on me tightened. "Do not fear," he said gently, his fingers tracing the worry lines on my forehead and easing them. "That day is still far away, and the world is large. When we must, we will move and take our wives and children with us. And you. You must come with us."
It always amazed me how Incacha could zero in on my thoughts, even when I didn't actually say anything. How could he have possibly known that I'd thought of leaving? I lived every day here knowing that my continued presence could only endanger the Chopec. After two years I highly doubted that anyone was still really looking for me, but there was always the chance. And what would happen if they found me? I would have to leave my friends, and at best the Chopec would find themselves at the center of a lot of scientific and media interest. They would slowly begin to loose themselves and their ways, and I would rather die than see that happen. I wondered if Incacha was aware of how real the threat that could result from my being there was, but he just held onto me, refusing to let go.
"Besides," he yawned, stretching out in our hammock and drawing me down. "There is still much for you to learn. You have great strengths that must be controlled if you are to serve any tribe. Sleep now. Dawn is still far away and you must rest."
I lay my head down on his chest, hearing the strong rhythm of his heart beating and the rising and fall of his relaxed breathing, the cradle of our bed swinging gently and soothing me in its own way. I may have dreamed of disaster, but he hadn't, and his visions were much stronger than mine were. At least, for now they were. What did he see that I didn't? Could my fears and worries have colored what I saw?
There would be no answers for this tonight. Whatever would happen would not happen tomorrow, so worrying about it would be a great waste of energy. Comforted by my teacher's presence, I forced my eyes to close and surrendered to sleep.
