Apart from the morning’s activity, Ignatious had spent most of the time familiarising himself with his surroundings, enjoying the summers day. He had eaten sparsely, his appetite diminished due to the heat. Now it was night and he had gone to bed, slipping easily into a gradually deepening sleep.
As in a serial, dreams, if dreams be the right description, begin where they leave off, each episode a continuation of the last.
In flashes of wakefulness, Saviour opened his eyes and took in the scene around him. The storm was still raging; the howling wind, the slanting rain and the roaring thunder ferociously attacking his weakened and damaged body as he lay helplessly entangled in the thick tree branches that offered him support. He shook with fear as a blinding flash of lightning seared through a thick branch, not six feet from his position, the wind hurling it into the air above to be swallowed into it’s insatiable belly. He managed a fearful look to his right and saw the figure of Sister Vasquez, her clothing flapping like a hummingbird’s wings, suffering the storm as he was. He noticed a deliberate movement from her; a quick shift of position, a huddle deeper into the protective foliage — she was alive! Try as he may, Saviour could not see his other comrades, Fathers Christian and Ottomier. Suddenly the screeching hurricane reached a crescendo; Saviour’s head began to swim, his eyes blurred and he fell into unconsciousness.
The jungle tribe that found the strangely attired people had a history going back many centuries. They had not developed as in the sense of the western world but their particular skills were finely honed. The men and boys were highly skilled hunters and clever at producing the necessary items of their existence, whilst the females of the tribe worked hard as farmers of the lands, cooks, nurses, weavers and, of course, mothers.
They set about releasing the victims from their entangled prisons, checking that they were still alive before carrying them not too carefully back to the village on contraptions made from stout poles and animal hides, formed into elongated stretchers. Two men rested the front poles on their shoulders and, maintaining a strong grip, dragged the injured people at quick speed behind them.
Saviour awoke several times during his fever but was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. His senses told him that he was being cared for, there being a feeling of comfort and the occasional suspicion of a young, deep-coffee-coloured face swimming in and out of his vision. Then the demons arrived again to extract their fun at his expense. He screamed in terror but it was not heard by the carers, the only sign being the renewal of the violent shuddering, coupled with unbelievable perspiring, as the fever bit forcefully.
Fifteen days passed before Saviour finally awoke. Although his head ached, he was in command of his faculties once more. He lay still for a short while, gathering his wits, appreciating the pleasant smell of something burning — like smouldering cork. There was also the mouth-watering aroma of food being cooked; fish and beef it seemed. He found that he was lying on a comfortable bed made up of some kind of vegetation, covered over by a smooth cotton blanket with a sheet of the same material draped loosely over him. The air was warm and the summery sounds of carried voices and buzzing insects came to his ears. Looking around, he found that he was in some kind of primitive hut, the only wall decorations being various types of animal heads and two or three brightly coloured blankets placed in haphazard fashion.
Forcing himself to move from his comfort, Ignatious rose unsteadily to his feet. Leaning against a wall for support, he rested for a couple of minutes before venturing forward to the entrance — the single opening in the hut. He found he was walking with half-closed eyes and he shook his head to clear the somewhat self-pitying feelings in which he was ensconced.
His heart leapt alarmingly as he left the building and he had to grab at one of the thick bamboo poles forming a part of the structure’s entrance to save himself from crashing twenty feet or so to the ground below. The huts had been built on stilts! Quickly scrambling back inside, Ignatious knelt, looking forward out of the building at the camp below.
There appeared to be no men around, just a few young boys. However, there were many women and girls to be seen, all busy at some task or other. Like ants, they seemed to be scurrying around, to and fro, bringing, fetching, and carrying. It was obvious the main job was cooking; hence the delectable aromas abounding.
Looking to the Sun, Ignatious estimated the time to be around eleven in the morning. He was feeling ravenous. Clearing his head once more, he gingerly sought out the flimsy looking ladder with his foot and descended the almost vertical piece, holding tightly, body flat to the rungs, taking one slow step before the other. He began to sweat. The view from the top would have been quite magnificent had he been able to enjoy it, but his main concentration was surviving the journey to the ground, some thirty feet below.
At last, he arrived on terra firma, his naked feet appreciating the warm earth. He turned to face the camp and was surprised to see that all the activity had ceased and all were staring intently at him. Standing at the foot of the ladder, he leaned against it, not certain of what to do next.
To break the deathly silence, he waved an arm lamely, smiling at the onlookers. Nothing. He began to move slowly towards the group feeling foolish and embarrassed. For some unknown reason, and quite unnecessarily, he limped.
The group finally moved — backwards and slowly, taking an equal pace to Saviour’s, their eyes never leaving him. He began then to worry about his comrades. If these people were so suspicious of him, it lent thought to the fact that the others had not survived or, dread the very thought, had been murdered!
In the midst of this impasse, a strong female voice came from behind the huts at the side of the first group. It spoke in Portuguese. Ignatious had a smattering of knowledge in the language and was able to get the gist of it.
“Stay where you are, man,” it said, as the bearer broke from the group. She was clearly one of the tribe, though taller than the others, none of whom exceeded five feet in height. The speaker was around five-feet seven inches. Unlike most of the rest, she was clothed in a loosely — fitting sarong, they being naked from the waist up, with the younger ones completely unclothed. It was only then that Ignatious realised that he, too, was naked! In his confused state, he had completely forgotten to search for clothing.
“My friends are afraid of you,” she called out. “They only saw you as a sick man, being brought into our village. You now look recovered. Let me come to you first and we can meet. After that, it will be all right.”
Ignatious stood where he was and waited as the woman came to him. She was no doubt beautiful to the tribe but, to his Western eyes, she was unattractive, having a rather pugilistic face. However, the rich, long black hair that cascaded down her back was a thing of beauty and, close up, Ignatious was drawn to the beauty of the large, dark and expressive eyes.
Not knowing what to do, he held out both hands in front, ready to grip hers. Arriving, she slapped his hands down and moved to him, encircling him with her arms and rubbing her nose against his. Her breath came to him, sweet and aromatic, the source unknown. Mid way through the ritual, the woman stopped, looking intently into Saviour’s face. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief. The silence reigned deafeningly for many seconds before she spoke. “From where do you come?” she asked.
Saviour had to have the question repeated slowly in Portuguese, as he did not know the languagein which she had first spoken. The woman did as asked, but haltingly, all the time staring into his eyes. “From the West, across the seas,” he stuttered, puzzled.
Amazingly, the proud female dropped to her knees, her hands sliding down his sides. She bowed her head saying: “Man. You are not of this earth. Of which God are you?”
Saviour could not believe his ears — was she seeing him as a God? “I am from the Christian faith and my God is the Creator of all things.” He hoped his Portuguese was good enough.
The answer did not seem to satisfy. She backed away, still on her knees, saying: “Man. You come to teach us of your Gods and you are among them.”
Just then, a figure appeared from the dense vegetation surrounding the village. It was a man, naked apart from a small loincloth, carrying a long spear and holding a bunch of dead birds. He was of the same attractive colouring as the women and not much taller, around five feet six inches. Then another, and another, and another, emerged from different parts, all bearing spears and carrying some kind of dead animal or birds.
The women broke from their trance and began a loud cheering, raising and lowering their arms as if in worship. They were not worshipping the men, merely offering thanks to their Gods for the food that had arrived. It was a daily routine. The tall woman then stood and walked to the centre of the area where the tribesmen moved to her with their kill. She clearly held a position of importance with them.
From the jungle, there then came a sight to warm Saviour’s heart; one by one, his colleagues emerged. They had survived! On seeing Igantious there, standing, clearly over the main effects of the illness, they ran to him, shouting greetings. Ignatious noticed that the clothes they had been wearing at the beginning of the journey were now replaced with crudely made shirts and shorts, and each wore a wide-brimmed straw hat on their heads. The group met, more collided, with their comrade, almost knocking him to the ground in their exuberance. Words poured out in an excited babble.
Through the throng of his comrades, Ignatious glanced toward the tribe. All were stood, silently watching the proceedings. Sensing Ignatious’s tension, the missionaries ceased in their greetings and turned to follow his stare. For a few moments, the two groups stood, each motionless and silent.
Then, a figure new to Ignatious appeared. From the mode of dress, he was obviously the witch doctor. He moved toward them with a tribesman and the tall woman following, a couple of feet behind.
“What is happening?” Ignatious asked Father Christian.
“I don’t know,” he replied, puzzlement in his voice. “Something seems to be bothering them.” Nodding his head in the direction of the oncoming trio, Christian explained: “The witch-doctor has a lot of power and influence here. He is quite friendly towards us now but he was highly suspicious at first.”
“At first?” Ignatious turned to Christian. “At first? How long have we been here, then?”
This is our sixteenth day, Gawain,” he replied. “You have been very sick. These people have nursed you like a baby. They also tended to the rest of us and had us on our feet in days. We…”
The words fell short as the trio stopped some fifteen yards away, the Witch Doctor shouting in a harsh, high-pitched voice: “Man! Leader! Come. Meet here!”
The message was aimed at Christian who, without hesitation, moved from his friends to meet the three tribes-people. Once there, he became engaged in what appeared to be serious but not agitated conversation. Occasionally, one or other of the trio would lean to the side in order to get a clearer look at Ignatious and then return to the conference.
After five or six minutes, Christian turned and shouted Ignatious over. He joined them, walking without the fake limp. The journey seemed ridiculously long, the sun beating on his back, but, as it was, he was there in seconds.
Christian put an arm around him when he arrived. “The good people of the village, being a tribe known as The Remunaras,” he began, speaking in Portuguese for the benefit of his hosts, “say you are a God. Nothing I can say will dissuade them. Excanda, here, is a Chieftain of the tribe and she has powers that allow her to know of things unknown to normal mortals. She has been visited when in your presence and has been told of your status.”
Saviour almost laughed but, realising that it would have been taken as a great insult, he kept a solemn expression.
Christian continued: “The good people wish to offer their greetings to you and hope you will grant them good harvests and plentiful food. Whilst here, you will not be expected to carry out any tasks and you may have the pleasures of whichever young female you desire, at any time.”
“What?” expounded Saviour. “Pleasures of their females?”
Christian replied hastily, in English. “Yes. Don’t rock the boat. Just accept. Our task here is now made that much easier because if you tell them of our Lord, they will believe it. We hold daily classes and have made progress but we have not been able to convince them yet.”
“Well, Father. I will do all I can to help, of course but…girls? No. I do not think I should do that.”
Christian shrugged his shoulders and let out a short sigh, before turning back to face the tribal leaders. “Our holy companion, says thank you for your hospitality and he is pleased that you recognise his powers,” he said, in their tongue again. “He wishes to withold his mighty knowledge and live amongst you as equal.” Quickly spotting the concerns on the leaders’ faces, he added: “But he will accept that he should not work in your presence.” This seemed to appease them and they urged Christian to introduce them to the new God.
The Witch Doctor was introduced as She-Akbiyla and he also greeted Saviour with the rubbing of noses. The aroma from him was not nearly so pleasant as that of the woman, Excanda, who was next to be formerly introduced. Finally, the silent one of the trio stepped forward and, after giving his name as Ko-At-Skanta, he carried out the now familiar ritual with the noses.
The trio formed a line next to each other, three feet from Saviour, bowed as one and retreated slowly backwards until the body of the tribe was reached. They then went their separate ways.
“Well done!” said Christian to Ignatious, slapping his shoulders. “I think we should find you something to wear, don’t you?”
On the climb back to his quarters, Ignatious was much more aware of his nakedness and found it most embarrassing to be climbing above his colleagues, especially Vasquez, feeling that they would all be staring at his naked bottom! Once inside, he quickly found a beige-coloured shift, donning it just before the head of Sister Vasquez appeared in the entrance.
From then on, Ignatious lived a life of relative luxury, the only work allowed him being that of a preacher. The tribe, men and women alike, erected a reasonably large church, with a solid stone altar installed at which communion was administered.
The tribe enjoyed their lessons and took on board the new God, Jesus, about whom they were taught. The missionaries allowed the age-old traditional Gods of the tribe to be worshiped alongside theirs so as not to cause any conflict, and this worked fine. The Witch Doctor was honoured as an equal to Saviour but he refused to accept such high office remaining happy as the guide, counsellor and, in some cases, physician to his people. However, Sister Vasquez carried out the greater medical work and she performed many hitherto impossible cures. She was liked and admired by the people and, secretly, she was looked upon as a greater healer than the Witch Doctor.
Throughout the stay, Ignatious remained celibate, although the simple beauty of the young girls on offer often tempted him. He was disappointed that his male counterparts never failed to take a girl to their beds at night. Sister Vasquez, revered though she was, was still a female and had no call on any of the men; nor were they allowed to choose her. Puzzlingly, it was permissible for her to have any of the girls, and in as many numbers as she desired but she refused, consoling herself with cleansing prayer. Even so, from Ignatious’s vantage point in his newly erected building, high to the left of the village where he had a view of the whole area, he often saw dark figures sneaking up the short ladder into her quarters. These consisted mainly of well-muscled young men but, on occasion, a budding young woman or two.
Life here was basic and hard, but there was a great pleasure derived from the result of sheer effort and cooperation. The newcomers learned many of the trades of the tribe, including expert hunting of animals and fishing without use of a line. Ignatious could only watch and learn as he accompanied the parties on their missions.
After six months, the missionaries felt it was time to move on. God had been brought to these simple people and the church was now established as a part of their culture. It was a job truly well done.
Although the leaders were disappointed that these strangers had to go, they gradually came to accept it. They even built a rough but serviceable boat ready for the journey, which moored at the river’s edge, close to a shallow bank.
On the final night, a huge party was arranged. The food was in plentiful supply, accompanied by many different and tasty fruits. Also on the menu were varieties of strange and unknown drugs, derived from the many exotic plants that populated the surrounding jungle, which were swallowed, taken in liquid form or smoked. This was a regular feature of weekend life in the village.
Late into the night, when the drugs were taking full effect, the whole place was a mass of screaming, writhing, babbling and openly lovemaking people of all ages.
Although his companions easily abandoned themselves into the debauchery, Ignatious tried to remain apart, praying constantly. However, when a nubile young woman, of what age he could not even guess, fourteen to seventeen, it was impossible to know, he succumbed. Kneeling in his loose-fitting shift, he found the girl’s delicate caressing of his head, then body, irresistible. All his pent-up emotions and frustrations were given reign in a totally abandoned three-hour stint.
There was a touching scene the following day when the missionaries took their leave, with the whole village in the centre of the compound, bedecked with aromatic flowers, swaying as one and singing a haunting song of farewell, their arms waving aloft to the rhythm. Many tears were shed, among both men and women, and shared by Vasquez. The priests, to a man, shuddered in witheld emotion, lumps being silently swallowed. Among the crowd, Ignatious caught the eye of the girl with whom he had spent the night; she was completely at ease and smiling unconcernedly. When he recognised more the age of her, he felt a pang of shame. It soon passed.
Ignatious awoke from his dream, a smile on his lips and an act of nature giving a warm sensation to his body. They were such pleasant memories. He sat up, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes. Bending his knees and encircling them with his arms, he rocked gently to and fro, basking in the recollections and enjoying the sight that the memory of the eroticism with the young tribeswoman had brought to him.
After many minutes reverie, he rose and prepared himself for the day ahead. He would have souls to console, confessions to hear.