I know what you're thinking… the better part of valor, right? I knew that Incacha needed me to translate for the soldiers, but I was kind of hoping that they didn't get the help they needed from the Chopec, they might move on. Maybe futile hope, but it was all I had now. I couldn't shake off that feeling of foreboding that gripped me. I needed a little distance… a chance to get away into the forest and clear my mind.
Normally when I went hunting, I wouldn't go alone and I might be gone for a week at a time. Today I had just a few hours. I could not miss the feast tonight. If I did, Incacha would send others out looking for me. Save for rare occasions, such as a manhood trail, no one went too far into the forest alone. The danger was just too great and there was no way I would risk any of my friends' lives just because of my little display of temper.
I took my bow and blowgun with me even though my mind was far from hunting. Still, I managed pretty well. I brought down a brightly feathered jungle fowl that tasted amazingly like chicken when roasted and a howling monkey that had foraged too far away from his family group. I still didn't like killing even though I'd gotten pretty good at it. In fact, my mother would have a fit if she knew that her little boy was killing defenseless animals, but I had long since reconciled the necessity of it. This wasn't modern civilization with its supermarkets where meat could be found in nice little plastic packages, clean and ready for eating. If I didn't hunt, there would be a lot of empty bellies back at the village. The Chopec could not afford dead weight.
By the time I returned home, the sun had already vanished behind the horizon and the first stars were beginning to peer through the canopy. Incacha was waiting for me, his normally calm face tense with worry and more than a hint of annoyance at my behavior. I glanced about for the captain and his men, noting that they were clustered together in a small group, curiously watching the activity around them.
I handed off the game to Eni then walked to my teacher, ready to get an earful. The tall shaman stared down at me, his face paint an impervious mask and his dark eyes hard with anger. "You were needed and you ran like a child," he snapped, clearly disappointed with me.
I merely bowed my head, accepting his reprimand. This was the first time I could remember him speaking to me with that tone of displeasure. At my acceptance of the reprimand Incatcha allowed his anger to fade, his hand reaching out to gently touch my head. "The spirits will see to your transgression," Incacha warned, reminding me of the purpose of tonight's feast. As if I needed reminding.
Around the village, everyone was busy finishing up preparations. Food was cooked in great quantities, the scent of roasting meat and fresh fruit filling the air. The women had spent the afternoon hanging garlands of flowers on anything that would hold still about and everyone dressed in their finest jewelry and feathers. Incacha put on a massive headdress of brilliant parrot feathers that crowned his head and trailed down his back nearly to the ground. I hurried to get my own, fashioned along similar lines as my teacher's but a great deal simpler and less ornate.
My mentor looked towards the soldiers, who seemed curious about what was going on. "Explain the purpose of the ritual to them so they will not be alarmed," he requested, nudging me in their direction. "They may find our ways strange."
That's going to be an understatement, I thought as I walked towards the soldiers. They'd apparently given up on getting their radio repaired today with the light gone and seemed to be enjoying the show of watching everyone dress for the festival. The captain saw me coming and asked, "What happened? We didn't scare you off, did we?" He chuckled softly, clearly meaning it to be a joke.
I smiled tightly. If he only knew… "I had chores to get done before the feast," I explained, not meeting his eyes. I didn't want to see them now that he'd washed off the camouflage paint he'd worn when we first met. I didn't want to see the man who'd been behind that paint.
Ellison nodded, accepting my explanation. He looked about, smiling at a flock of young women who walked by, resplendent in decorative body paint, feathered ornaments and flowers. "What's going on?" he asked, obviously curious. "Looks like it's going to be one hell of a party."
"This is a very special occasion. This is the night that the ancestral spirits visit from the afterlife. The Chopec have a remarkable belief system in that the spirits of the dead never leave forever," I lectured, feeling like one of my old professors. "On this night the spirits come to the village to punish the living for any wrong doings they might have done over the past few months."
I know that it sounded ominous, and completely at odds with the festive, party-like atmosphere that surrounded the village. The soldiers looked a little confused clearly mislead by the usual beliefs involving ghosts that come with more traditional western religions. "But they look so happy," the one called Serris said.
"They are," I explained. "Wouldn't you be happy if someone you haven't seen in a long time came for a visit? That's how they see it. They don't see a whole lot of difference between the living and the dead. The dead have just… moved on."
"That's weird," another soldier commented, a young black man whose name patch identified him as Hugh.
I shrugged, having seen so many different beliefs systems in my years of study that very little surprised me. My mother had taught me to be open minded long before my entry into anthropological studies. "They'd probably think Christianity or Judaism would be just as strange. Just watch. You might find it interesting."
The ceremony began after the sun had vanished behind the hills, bathing the village in darkness alleviated by the glow of campfires and torches. The woman and children stood in the background, chanting loudly as they welcomed the spirits of the dead back to their fires. Incacha stepped into the center of the village, handsome and eerily powerful in his intricate body paint and elaborate feathered ornaments. I felt my loins heat up at the sight of him, my love for my teacher overwhelming rational thought.
In the center of our village he called out for the spirits to come, complaining that the Chopec have become lazy and were no longer mindful of their chores. He told them that the men would rather sit about and sleep than hunt, the trees hung with fruit that went unpicked and the rivers teamed with fish that no one was even attempting to catch. I translated the chants for the soldiers, who were watching the ritual intently.
Slowly out of the forest, eight ghostly figures stepped out. They were warriors who had left the village about mid-afternoon to prepare to represent the spirits of the Chopec's ancestors. Instead of their normal body paint they were coated in a thick layer of black or red mud, and wore masks that resembled the jaguar totem spirit of the tribe. To an outsider they might appear almost comical, but in the flickering firelight with their faces hidden behind the jaguar masks and decorated in palm leaves, they looked quite frightening and more than a few young children started to cry out in fear.
Each of the warriors was armed with a bundle of lashes who's purpose quickly became apparent to the soldiers. No sooner had the 'spirits" entered the village than Incacha suddenly grabbed his friend Wanapi and dragged him towards the spirits, yelling, "He is the first! When his brother went hunting, he stayed behind and slept!" Wanapi seemed to struggle, but no so hard. The battle certainly looked impressive, but was no more than an elaborate act.
One of the spirits, coated in a layer of red mud stepped forward and whacked him hard across the back with his lash, the crack of the bark whip striking flesh ringing in the air. Wanapi didn't cry out in pain or protest the strength of the blow. He simply took it as his due before pointing to his youngest brother. "He has no sons!" he called out. "He has not taken a wife yet!" The younger man quickly found himself restrained and given a single sound lash as well.
One by one the accusations were called out and men found themselves lashed for their transgressions. Not even Incacha was spared. Before the evening was out, three livid welts appeared across the shaman's back. The women were laughing and enjoying the show, calling out encouragement and complaining that the blows were not hard enough.
The soldiers seemed shocked by the violence of the display, and the seeming brutality of the lashes. I tried to explain that their worry was unwarranted. No one got more than two or three blows, but I can imagine how it must look to an outsider.
Ellison seemed to be particularly shocked by the lashings. He stood at my side stiffly, almost quivering with restraint. I glanced up at him, surprised by his response. He almost looked as if he wanted to rush out there and stop the whippings. I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the rigid muscle beneath my fingers and said gently, "Hey, man, it's okay. It's all part of the ceremony."
His eyes suddenly met mine and I was stunned by the ferocity I saw there. The cool blue eyes of a professional soldier were suddenly transformed to that of a predatory beast. I could not shake the image of a jaguar that filled my mind, black fur blending into the night with only the diamond hard blue eyes visible above ivory fangs.
I didn't have time to contemplate this vision before Incacha grabbed my arm and I was dragged towards the fire. Like the others, I was restrained gently. I could have pulled free if I really wanted too, but I understood the purpose of this ritual and the fact that I was not to be spared the whipping spoke volumes of how much a part of the tribe I'd become.
I looked up at my mentor, knowing full well that I deserved the lashing I was to receive. One of the "spirits", his powerful body smeared with black mud came towards me. I tried to repress a shiver. The black mud indicated a very ancient spirit who had come from very far away. The ones in black usually hit harder as well.
"What has this boy done?" he asked, his voice muffled slightly by his mask. I think it was Tomme, but I couldn't be certain.
"He is full of fear," Incatcha told him. He looked me full in the eyes before going on. "He runs away from his purpose."
I steeled myself for the blow, and I'm proud to say that I didn't cry as the bark whip struck my back, leaving a line of fire behind. My skin tingled and I could almost feel the welt rising when I was struck again. This blow really hurt and I grit my teeth hard to keep from yelping in pain. To cry out would show cowardice and would shamed my teacher. I would never do that to Incacha.
The hands holding me relaxed, leaving me standing free. I inhaled deeply, feeling the fire on my back ease to a slow throb, the welts livid on my tanned skin. I turned to face my teacher, forcing a smile to match Incacha's. He reached out to me, ready to pull me into his arms when a loud roar of anger rose above the chants and the crack of the lash.
The image of the black jaguar rode high in my mind when I turned to see the captain rush forward, his face set in his fury. Before anyone could stop him, he rushed at the "spirit" who'd struck me and grabbed him by the throat. I watched in horror as Tomme was lifted high into the air and flung aside like a rage doll, but Ellison's rage was not sated.
Other warriors moved to try and stop him, but they might as well have tried to hold back the tide of the Amazon. I'd never seen such strength in a man before, watching as Ellison plowed through the Chopec warriors, his own men helpless to stop him. Any attempt at restraint only seemed to enrage him even more.
I then watched in horror as those burning blue eyes were turned in Incacha's direction.
-- To be continued--
