Forest of the Pygmies(36)

At that point Brother Fernando, who was still on his knees, broke in to show them the piece of paper he had found on one of their packs as he knelt to pray. Kate tore it from his hand and ran to one of the windows where there was light.

"It's from Alexander!"

In a faltering voice the writer read the brief message from her grandson: "Nadia and I are trying to help the Pygmies. Keep Kosongo distracted. Don't worry, we'll be back soon."

"Those kids are nuts," commented Joel.

"No, it's their normal state. What can we do?" the grandmother moaned.

"Don't tell us to pray, Brother Fernando!" Angie exclaimed. "There must be something more practical we can do."

"I don't know what you're going to do, miss. As for me, I feel confident that the young pair will be back. In the meantime, I have to find out about my fellow missionaries," he informed them, getting to his feet and shaking the cockroaches off his trousers.





CHAPTER NINE

The Hunters




ALEXANDER AND NADIA WANDERED THROUGH the trees with no idea of where they were going. Alexander found a leech clinging to his leg, swollen with his blood, and pulled it off without a fuss. He had encountered leeches in the Amazon and wasn't afraid of them, though they still turned his stomach. There was no way they could get their bearings in the wild jungle growth; everything looked the same. The only spots of color in the eternal green of the forest were the orchids and the fleeting, gaily colored birds. They were walking over soft, reddish dirt, rain-soaked and strewn with obstacles, where at any moment they might take a false step. Treacherous swamps lay hidden beneath mantles of floating leaves. They had to pull aside the vines that grew as solid as curtains, and avoid the piercing thorns of some plants. Even so, the forest was not as impenetrable as it had seemed before; there were occasional openings among the treetops that allowed rays of sun to filter through. Alexander had his knife in his hand, ready to stab the first edible animal he could catch, but none gave him that satisfaction. Several rats scurried between his legs, but they were too quick. The two had to stave off their hunger with some bitter, unidentifiable fruit. Since Borobá was eating them, they assumed they weren't harmful and followed his lead. They were afraid of getting lost—which in fact they already were; they hadn't a clue how to get back to Ngoubé or how to find the Pygmies. Their one hope was that the Pygmies would find them.

They had been wandering for several hours, increasingly lost and concerned, when Borobá started shrieking. The little monkey had adopted the habit of sitting atop Alexander's head, where he clung to the young man's ears and coiled his tail around his neck; from that vantage he could see more of the world than in Nadia's arms. Alexander would shake him off, but given the slightest opening Borobá would leap back to his favorite perch. Because he was high on Alexander's head, it was he who saw the tracks. They were only three feet away but were nearly invisible, the tracks of huge feet that flattened everything in their path, leaving a discernible trail. The young people recognized them immediately from having seen them on Michael Mushaha's safari.

"Those are elephant tracks," said Alexander, encouraged. "If there's an elephant anywhere near, the Pygmies will be close by."





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The elephant had been pursued for days. The Pygmies' method was to trail their prey, wearing it down completely, then herd it toward their nets and corner it; that was when they attacked. The only break this animal had had was when Beyé-Dokou and his companions were diverted while leading the foreigners to the village of Ngoubé. During that afternoon and part of the night, the elephant had tried to get back to its own territory, but it was fatigued and confused. The hunters had forced it into unfamiliar terrain; it couldn't find its way and was wandering in circles. The presence of the humans with their spears and nets signaled the end; instinct told it that, but it kept running because it was not ready to die.

Over thousands and thousands of years, the elephant has confronted the hunter. In the genetic memories of both is inscribed the tragic ceremony of the hunt, in which each is prepared to kill or to die. The vertigo of danger is mesmerizing for both. At the culminating moment of the hunt, nature holds its breath, the forest falls silent, the breeze becomes still, and at the end, when the fate of one, or of both, is decided, the hearts of man and beast beat in one rhythm. The elephant is the king of the jungle, its largest and heaviest beast, the most respected; no other animal opposes it. Its one enemy is man, a small, vulnerable creature without claws or fangs that with one foot it can crush like a lizard. How does that insignificant being dare claim supremacy? But once the ritual of the hunt is begun, there is no time to contemplate the irony of the situation: Hunter and prey know that the dance can end only in death.

The Pygmy hunters had discovered the trail of flattened vegetation and ripped out tree branches long before Nadia and Alexander made their discovery. They had been following the elephant for hours, moving in perfect coordination to surround it from a prudent distance. This was an aged and solitary male, gifted with two enormous tusks. They were only a dozen Pygmies, with primitive weapons, but they were not going to let it escape. In former times the women had been the ones to tire the animal and drive it toward the traps where the men were waiting.

Years earlier, in the days of their freedom, the Pygmies always had ceremonies to invoke the aid of their ancestors and to thank the animal for submitting to death, but since Kosongo had imposed his reign of terror, nothing had been the same. Even the hunt, the oldest and most fundamental activity of the tribe, had lost its sacred meaning to become nothing but a slaughter.