Obabakoak (24 page)

“We’ve given you some quinine and the fever’s gone down considerably,” Laura said. She was still smiling.

I felt ashamed. I had no idea what I might have said in my delirium. I feared I might have declared my true feelings for her.

“Can you hear the drums?” asked César Calvo, kneeling down beside me.

It was impossible not to. The clamor of the
manguare
filled the jungle.

“I hope the Ashaninka come soon. Only a
shirimpiare
can save your life now,” he added.

“A
shirimpiar
e
?” I asked.

“That’s what they call their medicine men.”

I tried to get up, but in vain. All my strength had ebbed away. I believed the time to say good-bye had come.

“Laura, César, listen to me a moment,” I said. “It’s best if you leave me here. You go on alone and find Dr. Sheldon before the rains come. I’d just like to say how glad I am to have known you both.”

“You silly boy!” exclaimed Laura, laughing, and the good man of Iquitos laughed too. They hadn’t the slightest intention of abandoning me.

I went back to sleep, but this time I slept calmly and dreamed we were roasting monkey meat and that the three of us, Laura, César, and I, were having a party. But there was too much noise at the party, as if we were not the only people there, as if there were many other people, all of whom were eating, singing, and shouting.

Worried by what I heard, I opened my eyes again to find that the visitors we had so long expected had arrived. Before me stood three Ashaninka and behind them another ten, another hundred, another thousand. They filled the whole beach, waving their bows and arrows. They were completely naked, their faces and bodies daubed with red and black paint.

César Calvo and Laura were trying to talk to the man who was apparently the leader of the group. They pointed at me again and again and I thought I could make out the two most important words to me at the time:
naka
and
shirimpiare.
Then I lost consciousness.

I did not come to until many days later and I was not a witness to what happened after the Ashaninka had agreed to take us to the place where they were living. However, according to what César Calvo told me later, we entered the village surrounded by children and in the midst of general merriment. It seems the Ashaninka were much taken with Laura’s blond hair and whenever one of the Indians touched it, the others would explode into loud laughter.

Then the majestic figure of Pullcapa Ayumpari, the
shirimpiare,
had appeared, the only Ashaninka with the right to paint his body and face in three colors, with white as well as the red and black that the others used.

“I realized at once that he would do us no harm. He looked at your ankle and frowned as if he were concerned about the swelling,” César said.

“The Ashaninka build two huts for each individual,” he went on. “One, which they call
tantootzi,
for the family and the other, which they call
kaapa,
for their guests. Pullcapa Ayumpari ordered you to be taken to his own
kaapa.
Laura and I were given a good hut on the other side of the village. Can you really remember nothing of what happened?”

“Very little,” I replied. “I remember that the Ashaninka looked after me and that I slowly began to feel better. Apart from that, all I remember is the rain. The noise it made on the roof of the
kaapa
used to wake me up.”

“Of course. You were hovering between life and death for twenty days. More than enough time for the rains to begin.”

César Calvo was absolutely right. I had spent twenty days in the house of the
shirimpiare,
Pullcapa Ayumpari, and when I left, I was completely cured. An old woman signaled to me to follow her and led me to the hut occupied by my companions. As soon as I entered I saw Laura and my heart leapt: She was a lovely woman again, the same beautiful girl I had met in Cuzco. It seemed the Ashaninka had also been ministering to her and had restored her to health as well.

Laura let out a yell and threw her arms around me. She was laughing and crying at the same time and kept saying how glad she was to see me again. She had feared the worst.

Yet she was downcast. She had discovered nothing about her husband. There was no trace in the village of Dr. Thomas Sheldon.

“The Indians don’t want to tell us anything,” said César Calvo. “Either that or they can’t. Every time I ask them something they just burst out laughing. It’s the same with the old woman the
shirimpiare
has placed at our service. I try to worm things out of her but it’s useless. She just laughs and goes on with her work.”

“I’m sure they know something.” Laura sighed. But she was not convinced by what she said.

This was not the journey’s end we had expected. Danger and even death, yes, but we had also expected some news of Laura’s husband. In fact just the opposite happened. They treated us like honored guests but told us absolutely nothing.

And meanwhile, it rained, endlessly. It rained on the huts, on the trees, and on the fields. The only song to be heard in the jungle was that of the rain.

“That’s why we’re still here,” said the wise man of Iquitos, “because the waters of the Unine are running so high it would be impossible to row down it. As soon as the rain stops, they’ll take us back to La Atalaya.”

Little by little, an idea began to take hold of me, that of searching Pullcapa Ayumpari’s
tantootzi.
If Dr. Sheldon had come up the Unine, and we knew that such a possibility existed, there must be some evidence of him in the village. To find out what had happened to him, all we had to do was get into that
tantootzi,
the most likely place to find such evidence.

I mentioned my idea to César Calvo.

“We can’t let Laura go back empty-handed. There’s nothing worse than uncertainty. She has to know if her husband is alive or dead,” I said.

“It’s very risky. An Ashaninka cannot forgive someone who goes into his house to steal. The punishment is death. Always, without exception.”

I remained silent for a long while, watching the rain.

“The rainy season will be over soon and on that day the Ashaninka will hold a celebration. But not here in the village. They’ll go to the shores of the Unine,” whispered the wise man of Iquitos, adding: “That’s our only chance.”

“I’m going to give it a try,” I said.

César Calvo nodded, smiling. He was not unaware of the motives that lay behind my decision.

“I’m afraid otherwise Laura may go mad,” I said in justification of my action. “She seems more and more turned in on herself. She spends hours staring out at the jungle, without saying a word.”

“Yes, we must do something,” said César encouragingly.

Hardly a week had passed before the blue sky returned to the Amazon. The Ashaninka greeted it with laughter and shouts, with an enthusiasm that to us, the inhabitants of another world, seemed childish. Nonetheless, their high spirits were enviable. They were happy, we were not.

The preparations for the celebration began very early. Warriors, old men, and children allowed themselves to be adorned by the women. Seated at the doorway of his
tantootzi,
Pullcapa Ayumpari was arrayed like a peacock. He would without doubt be the most distinguished figure at the celebrations.

By midday, the village was practically empty. Only three warriors remained on guard at the entrance, but they were too drunk on
chuchuwasi
to carry out their duties. The moment to take action had arrived.

“I’m going to have a look around the
shirimpiare
’s hut. I may find something,” I said to Laura before leaving. She was lying down on her bed with her eyes closed, even more downcast than usual.

“You are a brave boy,” she said, opening her eyes and making an attempt at a smile. I took that smile, locked it in my heart, then left, absolutely determined to discover something.

Pullcapa Ayumpari’s
tantootzi
was much darker inside than one would have expected on such a bright day and it took some time before my eyes could make out what any of the objects scattered around the room were. Finally I managed to identify the clay containers in which the
shirimpiare
kept his ointments, as well as some masks that I had never seen him wear but that were presumably for use in religious ceremonies. I made my way over to the bed, which was no larger or more luxurious than those we had in our hut, and then I stopped. Something was not quite right here. But what? I realized that my eyes had glimpsed something, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I searched every corner but could find nothing unusual.

“I can’t see it now, but I did see something,” I thought, and then returned to the part of the
tantootzi
I would have seen on first entering the hut.

Then I spotted it. It was rectangular in shape and lay among the clay containers. It looked like a book. My fingers confirmed that impression. The cover read:
Discours sur les sciences et les arts
by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. And on the third page, in tiny writing, were the words I had so longed to see: If lost, return to Thomas Sheldon, Medical Captain, Fleury, Normandy.

A shaft of light entered the hut, as if a ray of sun had managed to pierce the roof of the
tantootzi.
But—as I realized when I looked up—that was not the source of light. The light was coming from the door, which was slightly ajar. A red hand was slowly pushing it open. Before I had time to react, an Ashaninka was standing before me. His face and body were painted in many colors.

“Pullcapa!” I cried, not out of terror or fear of the punishment that awaited me, but out of the shame I felt the moment I recognized him. It was not right to betray the man who had saved my life. “I did it for Laura,” I said, showing him the book.

Pullcapa Ayumpari simply stretched out his hand, the way a father would to a small child, calmly, without a trace of displeasure or anger. I obeyed and took his hand. It was like being five years old again.

“Now I understand what it means to be a
shirimpiare,
” I thought as we both followed the path that led into the jungle. He was a father to everyone, a great tree, a good river; a man who had suffered only in order to struggle with the Great Enemies who destroyed his brothers, weaker than himself. I remembered what César Calvo had told me, but I did not fear for my life.

Still silent, Pullcapa Ayumpari led me to a clearing in the jungle full of small mounds made out of pebbles from the river. Each mound, surrounded by bows and arrows, was adorned with white flowers. I understood that this was where the Ashaninka warriors were buried.

Pullcapa let go of my hand and indicated that I continue along the path. Again I obeyed.

Twenty paces on was one solitary mound. There were no flowers this time only a gold object with three ribbons.

“So he didn’t throw it in the river,” I thought sadly. For that golden object was none other than the medal the army had bestowed on Thomas Sheldon, Medical Captain. One of the ribbons, the larger one, bore the cross and colors of the Union Jack. The other two represented the Red Cross and the Republic of France.

“You suffered greatly. Now rest in peace.” I prayed as I knelt.

“When I returned to where I had left Pullcapa, I found myself alone. The
shirimpiare,
the good father of all the Ashaninka, had returned to the celebrations by the Unine.

“I want you to be the one to tell her. I don’t feel able to,” I said to César Calvo. He was much surprised by what I had told him. He just could not understand Pullcapa’s behavior.

“Oh well, it’s better this way. Don’t worry. I’ll go and tell Laura now,” he said.

I spent that afternoon wandering through the jungle that surrounded the village. I envied the Ashaninka, whose voices and laughter I heard each time I approached the river, and I felt sad not to be able to share their happiness and innocence. I wondered how Laura had reacted to the news that her husband was dead. But that was not the only question I asked myself. There were many others, all of them difficult, perplexing ones. What was I going to do? Should I speak to Laura before the journey was over and she returned to Dublin? What if she felt nothing for me? But the only answer to any of these questions was to keep walking, to keep thinking, to keep searching.

When I returned to the village at nightfall, a group of warriors offered me some
chuchuwasi.
They were happy, very happy, and wanted me to be happy too. I accepted their offer and took a drink.

“Not bad,” I said.

The
chuchuwasi
was not dissimilar in taste to cherry liqueur—I liked it. I drank a second glass, then a third and a fourth. Two hours later I was completely drunk and as happy as they were.

I don’t remember how I made it back to my bed nor what I got up to during the hours spent with the warrior drinkers of
chuchuwasi.
To judge by the mocking looks I received when I woke up, however, I assume my behavior must have been rather comical.

“Ah, so you’ve opened your eyes at last,” said César.

“I had no idea my head was made of ground glass.” I moaned. The slightest movement made my temples pound. I had no alternative but to remain lying on my bed.

“It’s odd your head should hurt so much. I can’t imagine why it should,” said Laura ironically. I saw that she was smiling and had emerged from her dejection of the previous days.

“The worst thing must have been the uncertainty,” I thought. “Now that she knows what really happened, she feels better.”

“I think I’ll just go back to sleep for a bit,” I said.

“Oh no you won’t,” said César. “We’re leaving. The Ashaninka are taking us back to La Atalaya.”

“When?” I exclaimed, sitting up. I had suddenly forgotten about my headache.

“Right now. The canoes are ready,” said Laura, pointing to the window. I stood up and looked outside. The group charged with our return was waiting in front of the
tantootzi.
I counted six canoes and fifteen oarsmen.

“It looks like we’ll have quite an entourage,” I said.