"You move through the forests like logs, like whites. What has happened to the hunters who served the great empires? What has happened to the Anxitlgiri men who moved like the wind kissing the forest leaf, or the women so delicate and pure they hid their faces from the sun? Where are they now? I see only clumsy stumbling fools."
So shocked were the Anxitlgiri to hear their ritual language spoken that they rose from behind their cover. A few pots falling softly on the forest floor could be heard.
"Who are you?" asked an elder.
"One who has memory of what the Anxitlgiri were, one who knows of your forefathers."
"There is no need to do the hard work of our ancestors anymore. There are people to kill. Fat animals raised by the whites to steal. We need no such skills," said a younger hunter.
"The tales of our ancestors are but stories for children," said another.
In Korean, Chiun told Remo to listen to what they were saying. Remo answered: How could he, he didn't know the language-and Chiun said that if Remo had learned all the histories of the Masters he would have known Anxitlgiri.
Remo answered: The only thing he wanted to know about them was which direction was upwind. Consuelo, fearful of all the little brown men now rising from the forests, many with human bones in their noses, asked Remo what was happening.
Remo shrugged. The boat crews shut themselves in the cabin and loaded guns. The pilot, panicked, threw the engines into reverse. Chiun told him to quiet the engines. He wanted to be heard.
He challenged the Anxitlgiri to send forward their best archer. He opened his palm.
"Come now," he said in that ancient language. "Hit this target."
And he held out his right hand, his long fingernails separating, indicating he wanted the archer to hit the center of the palm. But the archer was hungry for the gold and other things. He aimed directly at the center of the pale yellow cloth covering the man who stood on the prow, the one who had challenged the honor of the whole tribe.
The short arrow sang out from the bow. And was caught in the old man's left hand, right in front of his chest.
"How much do you miss by, little worm of a man?" Chiun asked in the old tongue of the tribe.
The archer lowered his head in shame, and put another shaft against the hide of his bow. Carefully he drew it back, and then fired at the palm. He had felled flying birds with this bow. The arrow sang out and stopped where the palm had been, clutched in the hand of the visitor.
The man had caught it. Women cried out old praises for the hunt. They banged the kettles. Youngsters cheered. Old men wept. There was pride again in the Anxitlgiri. They could hunt animals, not men. They could show pride in themselves. As one, the entire tribe began to chant the glories of the hunt.
Francisco Braun felt the vibrations of the chanting through the jungle floor as he centered his telescopic sight on the Oriental at the prow. The old face turned to the gun sight and smiled triumphantly into the cross hairs.
Chapter 8
The crew remained locked in the cabin. Consuelo refused to leave the deck. Remo stood at the stern, and Chiun, triumphant, raised his arms to the multitude coming out of the jungle. One of the women brought her child that he might touch the hem of the garment of the Master of Sinanju who remembered their ancestors.
A great hunter fell to his knees and kissed the sandals beneath the pale yellow kimono.
"See how proper respect is paid," said Chiun.
"I'm not kissing your feet. C'mon. Let's get out of here."
Remo banged on the cabin. He told the crew everything was all right. But the guide refused to go on. "I don't care how much you pay me, I'm not going on up this tributary."
"We're looking for someone," said Remo. "If he went up, we go up."
The guide took a quick peek out a window, then buried himself beneath pillows.
"No one went up. There's no point to going on."
"What about Brewster? Your company took James Brewster up the river. If he got up, we can get up."
"That's not exactly so," said the guide. "We did a bit of promotion for your trip."
"How can you promote a trip that we wanted to take in the first place?" asked Consuelo.
"We lied through our teeth," said the guide. "There never was a James Brewster."
An Anxitlgiri hunter had found a way into his cabin and was examining the guide's teeth. He took the pillow as a souvenir.
"I know there's a James Brewster," said Consuelo.
"And maybe the other guy knows there's a James Brewster, but he never took a cruise on one of our ships. We received a bonus to enhance your cultural horizon."
"Whadya mean a 'bonus to enhance our cultural horizon'?' asked Remo.
"We were bribed to steer you here."
"Who bribed you?" asked Consuelo.
"A man who wanted you to appreciate the joys of the Giri tributary. Now let's get out of here. This Indian is poking around my liver."
Chiun, hearing the conversation, called out:
"He won't harm you in my presence. He is a good man. They are all good men and women, these Anxitlgiri."
"You'd say that about anyone who would kiss your feet, little father," said Remo.
"It is not the worst form of obeisance," said Chiun, sticking out the right sandal. The left had been properly honored enough.
Remo warned the guide that the Indian standing over his cowering figure would harm him if he said so. "Who bribed you?" asked Remo.
"I don't know his name but he had a very compelling argument for telling you that a James Brewster had gone up this tributary. He was a handsome man. Now get this Indian away, please."
"Was he blond?" asked Consuelo.
"Very," said the guide.
Consuelo turned from the cabin and dropped her head into her hands.
"I led you into this. I led you into this like a foolish girl. A trusting, foolish, lovestruck girl. I did it."
"Shhhh," said Chiun. He was about to publicly acknowledge the bowed heads of the village elders.
"He was gorgeous, Remo. The most beautiful man I have ever seen. I trusted him."