The Ten Incarnations of Adam Avatar (3 page)

There were surprising advantages to Caon's useless skill, as I saw. As he sat carving on the side of the clearing one morning, a girl named Nitika walked by and stopped in front of us. Although her breasts had barely begun to grow, Nitika already showed signs of becoming one of the most beautiful women in the village – her newly-rounded hips moved like flowing water and her smile was like sunlight. I straightened up and cleared my throat. But she only glanced at me.

‘Hello, Caonabó,' she said.

Caon, concentrating on his carving, had not even realized anyone was there. I elbowed him.

‘What is it?' he said, angrily, then looked up. Nitika smiled, and the day seemed suddenly brighter.

‘Greetings, Caonabó,' she said again.

‘Mph,' said Caon.

‘He gives greeting,' I told her.

Her smile widened, and she gave me a glance that was almost a wink. Her interest was in Caon, but that little glance was enough to fill my belly. And I was curious. What had Caon done so this girl wished to speak to him?

Nitika squatted down beside us. She wore a little flap of cloth around her hips and her hidden femaleness was suddenly more enticing than the nakedness we saw all the time. She said, ‘I have watched you carving.'

Caon swallowed three times before he spoke. ‘I like to carve,' he said.

‘I like your pendants,' said Nitika.

‘Thank you,' Caon said and then, proving himself not entirely a fool, felt around behind him and held up a small but well-carved pendant in the shape of a fish. ‘You may have this, if you wish.'

Nitika's smile was like the risen sun. ‘My thanks!' she said. My mouth dropped open at her obvious delight. Who would have thought a beautiful girl would like a man, even one such as Caon, just because he could make beautiful things?

Caon threaded the pendant and Nitika leaned forward for him to tie it around her neck. Her face was close to his and she watched him all the while he was tying the pendant. He usually had very sure fingers, but he had to try several times before he got the knot right.

‘There,' he said.

‘My thanks,' Nitika said again. She stood up. Only then did Caon realize that the flap of cloth he was wearing around his loin had been raised like a door-curtain by the sudden pole of his penis. He crouched forward, and Nitika's smile moved from mid-morning brightness to high noon's.

‘I shall see you,' she said, and turned and walked away. Her still lean but quite shapely buttocks rolled a little more than was necessary.

‘Oh Atabey!' said Caon, wiping real sweat off his forehead. He got to his feet and rushed into the forest. I lay flat on the ground and laughed.

So Caon always had some females around him. This attention had certain bad effects – Caon was now even more disliked by the other males, who could not understand what the girls saw in him, with his indifference to hunting and over-decorated appearance. I did not mind the attention Caon got, because I naturally benefited as his best friend. I lost my virginity before he did, with Nitika's older sister. This was only because I was more aggressive. Nitika almost had to beg Caon to sex with her.

It was around this time that our relationship with the other people of the village began to change. Our friendship had at first made us more, rather than less, isolated. The devil-child and the mad-boy had to become friends with each other since no one else wanted to be friends with them, said the tongue-waggers. But Caon and I were now becoming men. Hairs grew on our chins and we plucked them out or shaved them with conch shells. Hair grew on our lower bellies and we wore loincloths more often now. Females were now interested in us. Sexing with the girls was just part of growing up, but soon we would have to think about choosing a woman and starting a family.

Because we were becoming men, we could not vanish from the village as often as before. Now we had to be heaping the mounds of earth in the fields and digging the holes with
coas
for planting the cassava cuttings and the potato and the maize. We also had to hunt and fish and gather plants for the women to cook.

These changes were much harder on Caon than on me. It took him away from his carving, and at a time when his hands had just begun to acquire the skill to express his spirit. I was not very pleased at having to do all these common tasks, either. My
batey
had begun to swiftly improve now that I had a partner to practise with. Because it was just me and Caon, we spent a lot of time doing what would now be called drills. Even the best players among us got their skills only through actual play. So Caon and I had a more disciplined approach to the game. And, because of this, we were often absent from the fields and put the least amount in the pepper-pots. (Caon, refusing outright to hunt, put nothing at all.) One day Caon was beaten up by some boys. Later, Guacamari himself took me aside to tell me that I should work harder, especially since I was kin to Yúcahu. (Guacamari really meant especially since I was kin to him – a lazy son, even if adopted, embarrassed him as cacique.)

Caon and I met that night outside the village to talk about the situation. In the moonlight, his swollen face looked like a zemi's. He had not been badly hurt, but the boys had pulled off and trampled all his feather armlets and his pendants. They had been angry because Caon had gone into the forest to do some carving when the rest of them had had to go to the fields. They had attacked him as he returned to the village around midday. No adult had interfered.

Caon was very angry. He planned to carve a powerful zemi that would bring down disaster on all the boys who had beaten him. He also wanted to go around by their families' pepper-pots and put copious quantities of
gioia
herb in them, but I pointed out that that would make everyone in the
bohio
vomit, not just the boys.

‘I hate spending the day in the
conucos
!' Caon said.

‘So do I,' I said. ‘But the village must eat. We have to do our part.'

‘Then they should treat us as though we are part of the village.'

‘We must be patient,' I said.

‘That is easy for you to say. You have a destiny.'

‘So do you.'

‘But I cannot depend on it. I must make it.'

‘How?'

‘I do not know!'

‘I will think of something,' I said. But I made the promise only because he was my friend and I wished to comfort him. I had no idea what we could do to change our situation, except submit to the routine of the village. That was not a choice, though, since neither he nor I could live like that for the rest of our lives. And, odd as it may seem, that was the first time I asked myself the obvious question – could I die? But it is not really strange that I should have almost become a man before this question ever occurred to me, for even mortal youths tend to behave as though death will never find them.

A few days later, Maiakan, the
bahanarotu
, came out of her madness. It happened quite unexpectedly. She came out of her hut one morning, blinking in the sunlight, and asked one of my
bohio
mothers for some cassava bread. Her face was quiet, so everyone saw that the madness had left her. My
bohio
mother immediately called Guacamari, who came hurrying to see this miracle. He took Maiakan into the temple and they stayed there for a long time. When they came out, he announced that there would be a special celebration in three days.

The entire village became full of work. We usually had such celebrations twice in every season, but this time it was not only the people of our village who would be at the ceremony. All the chiefs of Ciguayo, with the
nitainos
of each village, would be attending – Guarionex, who ruled Magua; Guacanagar, chief of Marien; Canabó, ruler of Maguana; Behechio, who ruled Xaraguá; Higuanama, only woman chief of Ciguayo, who ruled Higuey. And – do not ask me how – even two chiefs from other islands, Hatuey of Cubanacan and Caicihu of Xaymaca, arrived on Ciguayo on the day of the celebrations. For this celebration was to end with a prophecy – everyone knew that Maiakan had come out of her madness to pronounce on the fate of all Tainos in the islands.

So in every
bohio
, cassava was peeled and grated, and you could almost hear the groaning of the many plaited straw sieves turning as they hung from the roofs as the poison was squeezed out. The dried cassava flour was then mixed with water and laid on the
burens
to bake. Fires burned day and night. Zemis were cleaned and
bohios
re-thatched. Pendants were fashioned, feathers dyed and several people carved
guaizins
to wear on their faces.
Caoba
was harvested, rolled into cigars, and new
tabacos
made to smoke it. The thin white smoke of simmering pepper-pots hung like a sheet over the village, with the men constantly bringing in fish and hutias and quenk and other animals to be cut up and thrown into the stew. The women picked the small, hot-tasting
axis
and beans and starchy
hagis 
and added them to the pots. And, of course, all the
batey
courts were cleared, the earth beaten, and boundaries redrawn.

Maiakan remained in the temple for those three days. The only ones who saw her were Guacamari and two priests. They never carried in any food, only
caoba
leaves and new
tabacos
. I watched everything, for I knew that my fate was tied to whatever Maiakan would say on the day of the ceremony. Perhaps she might declare that I was sent to protect the Tainos or perhaps she would say I had to be sacrificed to protect the Tainos. I was very nervous, but not for my life. Even if I could be killed, I had concluded that doing so would be not be easy. No one, not even Caon, knew my secret. But what had Maiakan seen at my birth? Was it something that had revealed what I was, and was it that knowledge which had driven her mad? I had to know. So, on the second night, I went to the temple.

That large, circular hut was lit by a small flame on a raised platform in the centre and was filled with the smell of
caoba
smoke. In the flickering light, I could see zemis all around, on the ground or hanging on the walls. I stopped at the entrance. I was afraid. Then I went inside. Was I not kin to Yúcahu? Maiakan sat cross-legged on the platform, her head bowed. I thought she was sleeping but, as I walked up to her, she raised her head. I was ready to flee. But she only watched me.

She said, ‘Hello, child.'

‘Greetings, mother
bohuti
,' I answered.

She was very old. Her hair was completely white and her face had creases at nose and mouth. I had never seen anyone like her before, since most Tainos died by forty seasons with their hair still as dark as night and faces as smooth as a windswept beach.

I said, ‘Do you remember me?'

‘No, child.'

I said, ‘I am Guaikan. You were
bahanarotu
at my birth.'

‘Ah,' she said.

She took up a handful of wood chips and shredded
caoba
leaves and added them to the fire. The flames rose and the smoke grew thicker. Maiakan drew in her breath. I waited for her to say something, but she was quiet. She looked as if she could sit in this temple, breathing
caoba
smoke for an eternity, and I suddenly felt quite close to her.

‘Do you remember my birth? I asked.

‘No,' she said.

‘Oh.'

I felt both disappointed and relieved. I drew in a deep breath, and the smoke made my head buzz as though a small insect was trapped behind the centre of my forehead.

‘So you do not know what you will say tomorrow night?' I said.

She raised her thin shoulders. ‘I shall know on the morrow.'

I left the temple and did not sleep at all that night. But I was comforted. I knew now that Maiakan did not mean me harm. I fell asleep just before the sun rose but was awakened very soon by Guacamari himself.

‘It is time,' he said.

I nodded. Guacamari's face was shut away, but his gaze was sharp upon me. As I took up the calabash of water and bathed my naked body, I understood. At the end of that day, Guacamari might either have to sacrifice me or give way to me as cacique. He handed me a cloth to dry my skin.

I said, ‘I do not want to be cacique.'

He said, ‘We must do what Atabey commands.'

The other path we did not talk of. I saw then that he had true affection for me. For a moment, I thought of telling Guacamari my secret. But I kept silent.

We went out of the bohio together. In the plaza outside, the seven other caciques sat on wooden stools, surrounded by their nobles. Hatuey and Caicihu had arrived that very morning. Caicihu was a small man with a big head and a calabash belly. Hatuey was of middle height and looked very strong. He had brought five wives with him, who stood or sat around his
duho
. The other caciques looked all the same to me, well-decorated men with soft bellies and set mouths. Only Higuanama, the woman cacique of Higuey, stays in my memory. Like Maiakan, she was very old, but her hair was dark and her eyes, though bagged below, were very black and very sharp. She had high cheekbones, a nose like a parrot's beak and a strong chin. She looked as though she had been very beautiful once. Even though she was sitting, I could see that she was tall. She wore a dress dyed in many colours that covered her body completely and she held a carved staff.

Guacamari went to the entrance of the temple and sat on his
duho
, a drum between his knees. I stood beside him. He began beating the drum and, from their
bohios
, the villagers came out carrying baskets of cassava bread, and wearing their finest ornaments. Guacamari began to sing, praising the gods, and the villagers raised their voices in chorus as they paraded around the plaza. The other caciques were silent. I saw that Guacamari was very aware of the occasion– no matter what happened at the end of this day, his village would always be important from now on. I looked behind me – the temple's doorway was closed and, between the close-bound canes which made up the walls, smoke drifted. All the zemis had been placed outside against the walls. Only one zemi was not there – Atabey. Maiakan would stay inside with her, inhaling snuff made by crushing the seeds of the piptadenia tree until she had a vision and was ready to speak. It could happen any time, but I thought she would be in there until night came.