Destination Paraguay

  Chapter 11: Caretaker

  Every baby under a year old, and every old person who was already frail, died before sunset. It was that quick – for some. For the rest, it took much longer. The babies and old people, at least, did not suffer.

  Sebastian knew smallpox. When he was young he had contracted it from a neighbor boy. He still carried some pockmarks on his cheeks. True, one had to look closely to notice them, but they remained proof that he had survived. And he had been lucky - at least when the disease struck his town there had been medicines and doctors and tonics. But here, in the wild forest, the only doctor available was the shaman – and he was growing too weak to care for even himself.

  What Sebastian knew about the disease was that his mother had kept fresh, cool washcloths on his forehead while fever burned him. All of his clothes, toys, blankets, and furniture had been burned when the disease left the house. Nobody in his family had died from it – but from his father’s letter, smallpox easily killed the natives of the New World. He remembered being sick for several weeks, and then he was very weak afterward. He wondered if it would be the same for the Indian survivors. If there were any.

  The reality of the plague was far worse than his most vivid memory. His living nightmare began almost immediately.

  As soon as the wailing calmed down, Chachugi ordered his people to pack their belongings, bury their dead and break camp.

  “No!” said Sebastian, turning to Arazunú. “Tell him that the bodies must be burned, and all their belongings, too.”

  Arazunú furrowed his eyebrows. “That is not their way. When a person dies, they must leave or else the person’s spirit will haunt them. We Guarani have a similar tradition.”

  “But where will they go? They’re already sick. Look at them. They’ll never be able to get far enough away.”

  Arazunú could tell that Sebastian was right. He walked over to the chief and told him what Sebastian had said. Chachugi did not look happy. He spoke with his shaman for a few minutes, and then listened to the nagging of his favorite wife. Sebastian later learned that the spirits of babies do not haunt, and the mother wanted to stay with her baby’s body.

  Only after another person dropped to the ground and did not have the strength to rise, did Chachugi overrule his shaman and allow Sebastian to build a funeral pyre.

  Sebastian kept hearing “panee, panee,” everywhere he went, but he knew that he himself had nothing to do with the bad luck. Still, burning bodies instead of burying them was highly non-traditional and made the already-nervous Indians even more anxious.

  Sebastian vomited when he lifted the body of the old man onto the pile of wood. Mentally, he knew what must be done, but it took every ounce of his willpower to light the fire. He had never burned a human before. He wept as he held his torch to the kindling.

  The mother, whose name was Tatugi, refused to let her baby be burned. Even though the young girl Pwaagi had taken the body away, she found the baby and huddled it to her chest. Not even harsh pinches from the other women could make her release her dead child.

  It had only taken half an hour or so to build and begin the funeral fire, but time seemed to suck energy from the Indians. Many of them sat listlessly under their tapy, their eyes glazed in fever. Those who were yet unaffected did their best to cook enough food for their friends and family. Most of the people avoided looking at Tatugi and the dead baby – there was already enough bad luck in the camp without drawing more of it to them.

  The evening meal was difficult to swallow for everyone. For the Guayuki, it was tainted because of the deaths and their own feverishness. For Arazunú, dining with an enemy was not an experience he relished, especially not when they were all getting sick. For Sebastian, it was almost a danger, because at one point during the meal, some of the men told the chief that since it was the white strangers who brought the sickness to them, perhaps killing this white stranger who was visiting them would reverse the panee and they would feel better. The logic was sound. There was almost a mutiny. But Chachugi had given his word that Sebastian and his friend and his animals would be safe, so he kept his word. Breaking a promise would have brought even more panee.

  After dinner one of the younger boys showed Sebastian where he could relieve himself, where he could sleep for the night, and where the nearest stream was in case he wanted to wash himself. The boy did not spend much time with Sebastian; he was convinced that the Spaniard was a sort of krei or ghost.

  Sebastian saw that the small stream led to a dead-end lake. Though it was smaller than the lakes he had passed during the past few weeks, it still had fish, frogs, and birds. It was lively for such a small lake. He recognized its potential at once: he could bring some of the feverish Indians to the stream and let them sit in the cooling waters. Any bad humors they carried would collect in the lake, instead of being passed to another unsuspecting tribe downstream.

  Sleep that night was near impossible. The Guayuki did not use hammocks; they simply slept on woven palm fiber mats on the ground. As much as Sebastian wanted to use his hammock, he felt that he had already brought enough strangeness to the day and did not want to risk making the Guayuki feel even more uncomfortable. It was hard enough to convince them that his livestock were not demon-possessed, which is why they thought the animals stayed near him of their own free will. The dog, especially, made them feel edgy. He almost seemed to understand what they were saying. They began to say that he was the protective spirit of one of Sebastian’s brothers, in the form of a dog. Sebastian almost wished Arazunú would stop translating every juicy piece of information; thinking about spirits and burial rituals and slave traders and black metal pots made his head swim so much that sleep evaded him.

  And then there was Arazunú himself, who as yet showed no signs of the sickness. As far as Sebastian could figure, the slave traders who captured Chachugi had done so nearly two weeks ago, and it seemed that the incubation time of the disease was also two weeks or so. If Arazunú was going to get sick, it might not happen for another week or so. Still, Sebastian could not help but reach out several times in the night and feel the face of his sleeping friend, just to make sure that he hadn’t contracted a fever yet.

  The low-pitched moans of sick Indians also kept Sebastian awake well into the early hours of the morning. Finally, when he was about to fall asleep, new sounds started – vomiting. Sebastian did not sleep much his first night in the village.

  Morning brought no relief. Arazunú, as always, awoke before the first rays of sunshine filled the sky. Sebastian tended to sleep until the peta birds began to squawk, which was almost always the same time as his rooster began to crow.

  “We are leaving today,” said Arazunú as a sort of reminder and hint as soon as Sebastian opened his eyes.

  Sebastian looked around him. They had traveled a week with Chachugi for a gratuity feast and help crossing the river. Their welcome feast had been small and unsatisfying; it seemed that there would also be not much help crossing the river.

  Everyone, with the exception of Chachugi, Pwaagi, and a few other robust individuals, remained on their sleeping mats. Those who had the energy to sit up did so, but did not get off the ground. The rest of the Indians simply lay flat, cheeks reddened in fever, breathing heavily as if it were an effort.

  Tatugi stared into space, unblinking. The body of her baby lay on the ground in front of her, but it was almost unrecognizable. It had bloated so much that it was the size of a toddler instead of a newborn. And it had turned black, as black as the soil on which they sat.

  Sebastian almost vomited again, except that his stomach was empty with morning hunger. He saw that those who had died through the night were also turning black and bloating. A sweet, sickening smell emanated from their bodies.

  “We can’t leave,” he replied. “We need to get more wood.”

  “I don’t want to stay here! The spirits of their dead are lingering around here. I cannot be protected from spirits – and I am an enemy!”

  “C
hachugi promised we’d be safe,” Sebastian protested.

  “How safe can we be from death? These people just look at each other and spread the sickness. It blows on the wind.”

  He had a point. “They’re dying. We can’t leave.”

  “That’s why we should leave. They’re dying! What do I care about an enemy?”

  Sebastian gave a half-laugh. “You were the one who wanted to free your enemies! You made me give away my mother’s jewelry just so that they could be free!”

  “That was different. They were going to be slaves. These people still have their freedom.” Arazunú stood up and looked down at Sebastian. “I will not stay where my enemy is invisible.”

  Sebastian knew he was not talking about the smallpox disease; he was speaking of the spirits of his enemy, whom he feared more than sickness itself. Had none of Sebastian’s long speeches about Christ and God and heaven made sense to this pagan Indian? “Spirits cannot haunt,” he said, thinking to start another sermon, but Arazunú grabbed his bow and disappeared into the forest.

  Sebastian wondered if he would return or not. They were both heading in the same direction, since Arazunú’s people lived less than forty kilometers south of Asunción. But Arazunú was not the sort of person to be ordered about. He was the future chief of his tribe, a prince in his own right. Sebastian hoped he would return.

  Meanwhile, Pwaagi had taken a basket and gone into the forest to gather ripe fruits, insect larvae, honey, roots, and anything else she could find for food. Sebastian’s own stomach told him that it was time for breakfast.

  As had become his custom, he made sure his animals had water and safe grazing pasture before he tended to his own needs. By that time, he was ravenously hungry. But it occurred to him that the Indians also must be hungry, yet none of them had risen from their mats to go hunting. Pwaagi and two other women were the only people gathering food.

  It was obvious that there would not be enough for everyone. Sebastian would have to go hunting for the tribe.

  He checked his ammunition, made sure his pistol was clean, and told Yagua to watch the animals. Then he set out into the forest. After only one minute of walking, however, he pulled himself to a sharp halt. When he had traveled alone, he walked by the river’s bank so he would not get lost. Even when he was in the forest, he kept the river in sight. When he had traveled with Arazunú, he did not have to stay by the river, but Arazunú’s keen sense of direction prevented them from getting lost. However, traveling with Chachugi was far different. The chief never went in a straight line and did not seem to use landmarks of any sort. For all intents and purposes, Sebastian was lost. There were no streams to walk beside, and Arazunú was gone.

  Sebastian knew very well that his tracking abilities were quite limited. It was a skill he had been learning from Arazunú over the past few weeks, but Sebastian knew when to say quit. Although he had only been walking for less than a minute, he knew he was lost. And he knew better than to try to retrace his steps – the forest swallowed up every footprint, every broken twig, every sign that he had just passed through.

  Instead of his eyes, he used his ears. There were no sounds, not even a baby crying. All he heard were the usual birdsongs and frog croaks by the stream bed. He felt like a fool, so quickly lost.

  A small voice made him turn his head. It was Membogi, the young boy who had shown him where to sleep last night. The boy repeated his phrase several times, but Sebastian did not understand. Finally, fear in his eyes, Membogi took Sebastian’s hand and tugged him back to camp.

  Sebastian suppressed the ridiculous urge to laugh his relief. Lost for five minutes felt the same as lost for days! He looked around, hoping that nobody had noticed. Nobody had; they were all resting, sleeping, or vomiting. Membogi took Sebastian through the camp to the other side and a little bit beyond, where Sebastian could relieve himself. Sebastian did not bother to explain that he had wanted to go hunting. When he was finished, he let Membogi point them in the direction of camp again. However, Membogi seemed to be very weak, so Sebastian carried him back. At first, the boy was frightened – was this Krei going to kill him or take him into the world of spirits? But then, how could a ghost smile so nicely? So Membogi decided that Sebastian was not as much a threat as his parents had warned.

  “Beeru, ejo!” called Pwaagi, returning to camp a little while later. She motioned with her hands. Sebastian recognized the ‘come’ gesture and walked toward her. She turned and led him into the forest. He had to dodge broad leaves and tall grasses that came up to his chin. He surely would have gotten lost if he had taken his eyes away for her for even ten seconds.

  She was a lithe, graceful young woman who reminded Sebastian of a slender jaguar. Her pale skin and slanted eyes made an odd contrast to Sebastian’s Spaniard ideas of beauty, but he was aware that she would be considered an exotic beauty if he were back home. She had thick, straight black hair that reached all the way down her back. When she looked back to see how he was doing, he noticed that her nose resembled that of her pet capuchin monkey which rode on her shoulder. But her eyes were big and dark and fringed with thick straight black lashes. She also had full, thick lips that were quick to smile – and when she smiled, Sebastian’s heart seemed to get stuck in his throat.

  She spoke to him, regardless of his understanding. He was fascinated with the sound of the language. To him, it captured the bubbling stream and the rustling of leaves at night. Each word strung together into another. He was content to simply listen to this language of the forest.

  “You came. Good,” said Arazunú, who squatted near a large mud pile. He had been digging a hole into it, and soon Sebastian saw why. A large tegu lizard had sequestered himself in the dirt. His powerful claws dug into the mud, firmly resisting Arazunú’s efforts to be dragged out by the tail. “Hold his tail here, like this. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Sebastian, his cheeks growing warm. Although Pwaagi could not understand the words, he did not want her to think badly of him. He boldly knelt near the entrance of the hole and took the lizard’s tail in his hands.

  The lizard was strong! He sensed the exchange of hands and tried to knock Sebastian away with a blow from his tail. Sebastian held on, however, even though he was horrified at what Arazunú did next.

  Arazunú took his machete blade – an item he had ‘borrowed’ from the pirates – and hacked off the lizard’s arms and legs. Limbless, it was very easy to remove the lizard from his hole. “Breakfast,” Arazunú said, holding the lizard up by his tail.

  Sebastian gulped. “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I told you that I’m staying with you.”

  “Even if you get sick?”

  Arazunú shrugged. “I would have gotten it by now, right? You said so yourself. I’ve been around your people long enough.”

  Sebastian looked worried. “Maybe… even so, from the moment you met Chachugi, when he breathed on you, you might be carrying the disease. I do not know if you have it now or not.”

  Arazunú slung the tegu lizard over his shoulder. “Cho ro bretete. I am a great hunter,” he said, and told Pwaagi to gather the bloody limbs in her basket to take back to camp.

  It turned out that the Guayuki were accustomed to being hungry in the mornings, and in the afternoons, too. Their hunters hunted most of the day, and the women gathered food and wood. Their meal came in the evenings, when food was evenly distributed to every member of the tribe, whether they had been successful in their hunt or not. The Guayuki were a very sharing people, Sebastian learned.

  However, Sebastian was not used to waiting, and made it clear to Pwaagi that he was hungry for a morning meal. She laughed and said things that made even the sick women smile, all the time pointing to the younger members of the tribe.

  “Only babies need food before meal time,” translated Arazunú. He gave his tegu lizard to a woman and then sat under a shady tree.

  “You look like you’re getting ready to rest,” commented Sebastia
n, eyebrow cocked.

  “I hunted. I’m done for today.”

  “Hmm.” Sebastian saw Pwaagi empty her basket at Atagi’s feet and head back into the forest. “Would it be against their customs if I accompanied Pwaagi on her gather? I’d like to learn more about what they eat.”

  “She’s not gathering food now. She’s getting medicines. For fever and nausea.”

  Sebastian threw up his hands. “Just how is it that you seem to know everything all the time?”

  Arazunú’s eyes crinkled. “I listen. You should, too.” And then he was done talking.

  Sebastian knew when his friend had closed off. It would be useless to press further. He ran after Pwaagi before she disappeared completely into the thick foliage.

  Unlike the rest of her tribe, who were still frightened by Sebastian’s presence, Pwaagi seemed to enjoy his company. She chattered endlessly, pointing to various weeds and flowers. Although she told him about everything they saw and every plant he pointed to, she was very selective about what she put in her basket. She let Sebastian touch and hold the leaves or roots, treating him as if he were a small child who needed to sample the world around him. In a way, it was true – Sebastian was a baby to the New World.

  It was easy to forget the misery in the village when he was surrounded by such peaceful surroundings. He learned more about what to eat from Pwaagi in half an hour than he had during the entire journey so far. Sure, Arazunú often pointed at plants when they were on their daily journey, but they never stopped to smell or feel. Getting to Asunción had been the overwhelming drive, not playing with plant life. It reminded Sebastian of when he was very young and his mother made him daisy chains to wear around his neck. She, too, had pointed out the different flowers in their yard.

  When Pwaagi had gathered what she needed, she hurried back to camp. It was unusual for a girl to be in the forest alone – women usually gathered together, in groups, in case of jaguar attacks – and it was even more unusual to have a man joining her. But out of the thirty people in her tribe, only three women and two men were unaffected by the smallpox. The weight of her entire tribe was on her slender shoulders.

  Pwaagi brought her basket near to the shaman, who was lying in his tapy on a woven palm fiber mat. He instructed her in the preparations of the tea, which she then gave to each member of her tribe. Some of them had trouble swallowing the thick liquid, especially the children, who had been taught that bitter things were best not swallowed.

  Pwaagi and Chachugi collapsed that afternoon, too weak to continue helping their people.

  The other three succumbed to the disease by nightfall.

  It was another sleepless night for Sebastian, who again felt in the dark for Arazunú’s arm or face to make sure that his friend was not feverish.

  In the morning, tired and cranky, Sebastian ate some of the leftover tegu roast and went hunting with Arazunú. After driving away several tapir, rabbits, and armadillos with his loud footsteps, Arazunú sent him back to camp so he could hunt in peace.

  Sebastian hated being at camp. The people were too weak to walk the distance to relieve themselves, and they simply defacated or urinated right where they lay. Their own vomit, some of it dry, some still wet and sticky, matted their hair. They were too weak to remove themselves from their own stench.

  Knowing that they would be more comfortable if they were clean, Sebastian made it the duty of the day to move everybody to a cleaner area of camp. The men, despite being short, were surprisingly heavy due to their compact build and dense muscles. Sebastian dragged them to the new place first, then the women and the remaining children. Then he prepared another funeral pyre and waited for Arazunú’s return to help carry the new dead bodies to the fire.

  It was disgusting work. Sebastian felt like running away. Why am I staying here in the first place? he often asked himself, but the answer always came back, Because it’s the right thing to do.

  He alone possessed the strength and desire to stay. Arazunú had strength, but saw no reason to help his enemy. He would help Sebastian, yes, but that was the only reason he stayed. Sebastian, already having had smallpox as a child, knew that he could not catch it again. Logically, that made him the best person to stay and take care of those who might survive – because he himself would not get sick. As long as he could feed himself and his animals, there was no danger for him.

  His patients grew hotter and hotter with every passing day. Their demand for water kept Sebastian running to and from the stream almost every hour. He filled a large daity with cold water, grateful that the beeswax lining on the outside of the bamboo strips made it waterproof. Yet the water did little to cool the fever within them. Their faces soon became covered in small pimply blisters which grew larger and infected every hour.

  From time to time, they would also grow very cold. Their skin would be clammy to the touch, and their teeth chattered with chill. It was a strange disease, to cause fire and ice within the same body. It also caused pain. When they turned on their mats to find a more comfortable position, they moaned because their bodies ached so much.

  On the fourth day in the village, Sebastian practically dragged Pwaagi with him to the place she had gathered the fever-reducing plants. He propped her up with her back against a tree. She whispered her instructions, pointing at the necessary leaves, but she fainted from exertion long before he was done gathering. When he brought the basket of medicines back to the village, he had hoped that the shaman would tell him what to do. But the shaman died while he was gone.

  It took a great deal of effort to rouse Pwaagi, and when he did, he was not sure she understood what he needed. She was delirious. Arazunú was not sure that he was translating correctly, either, because she could not speak clearly. He added what he knew about herbs to her words and came up with a possible medication.

  “What if we’re wrong about the tea?” said Sebastian. “There are so many plants out here, and they all look alike to me. And you said it yourself – some of them will poison you, and some just make you think you’ve been poisoned. Like those berries I ate that gave me a stomach ache. They looked so much like the vijulla fruits…”

  “It is your decision,” replied Arazunú. “The worst it can do is kill them, if we’re wrong. And they’re already dying.”

  Sebastian watched Arazunú prepare the tea, and he himself helped from time to time. He wanted to learn how to do it all alone, just in case something should happen to his friend – not that it would, but it was better to be safe. Sebastian worried daily about Arazunú.

  It became a routine – hunt in the morning, check on the livestock to make sure they had water and grass to eat, gather medicine, make tea, move the bodies to a cleaner place, give everyone medicine tea and water, burn dead bodies, eat what he could, feed the Indians, feed the dog, try to sleep. Sebastian felt his own strength was deteriorating daily. He was not sleeping well, moving bodies was physically exhausting, and dealing with stinky dying people sapped his mental energies. He had never been more tired in his life. He felt like running away.

  If Arazunú felt tired, he rarely showed it. If he felt like running away, he never said anything. He simply helped Sebastian prepare the teas, clean off slimy, vomit-covered mats, and hunted when he could.

  When Arazunú offered tea to Tatugi the next day, she refused it. Every day since she had lost her baby, she stared off into space and rocked back and forth. Mentally, she had joined her son. Sebastian knew it would not be long before she joined him in body as well.

  Five days later, half the people in camp were dead, including Tatugi. The rest had pus-filled blisters that sometimes ran bloody down their faces. Sometimes the blood mixed with yellow or green pus. Whatever the color, it all stank. Sometimes Sebastian would vomit just from the odor.

  Because they were constantly delirious and nauseous, the Indians could no longer eat regular foods. It simply took too much energy to chew. Sebastian had learned from Arazunú’s brief translations that palm trees were vital to the
Guayuki. They used palm fiber for making mats, baskets, clothing, fans and shelter. The palm wood could be used for bows and arrows and the decorated labrets the men wore in their lower lips. Palm heart, difficult to obtain but tangy and tasty, made a welcome addition to stew. So did palm starch or the sweet edible fiber that looked like dry shreds of white grass. Because it was easiest to digest, Sebastian began to make soup for the Guayuki.

  There were many waterproof baskets around camp. Regardless of their original purposes, Sebastian and Arazunú turned many of them into cooking pots. After filling them halfway with water, they would add any grubs or insects as the main protein and any meat Arazunú had been able to hunt. Sebastian remembered what Pwaagi had shown him, and contributed his share of leaves, flowers and tubers to the stew, too. Then the boys would take stones hot from the campfire and put them in the basket to heat the water. When the stones cooled, they would remove them and add fresh hot stones. In this manner they were able to boil enough stew for the entire camp. It took a lot of time.

  Feeding the sick Indians took a lot of time, too. Many of them were too delirious to realize that Sebastian was trying to feed them, and none of them had ever used a spoon before. Sebastian’s palm wood “invention” was new to them. For those who were conscious enough to understand what Sebastian and Arazunú were doing, it was like training a baby. The soup often drooled out of their mouths onto their chests before they realized they had to close their mouths around it and suck. The rest were given cooled soup from Sebastian’s pewter mugs. Sometimes it made no difference – sometimes the people were too sick to keep the food down, anyway, and they would vomit from the effort.

  The only thing that kept Sebastian from giving up was Arazunú’s company. Caring for fifteen people alone would have been too overwhelming, especially when none of them spoke Spanish. Arazunú, despite his unwilling assistance, was still a big help.

  Which is why it was such a shock to see Arazunú return from a hunt and collapse to his knees. The hunt had been successful – two howler monkeys dangled from his shoulder – but his fiery cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes told Sebastian that he had finally taken ill. Arazunú passed his monkeys to Sebastian, said “I didn’t find anything larger,” and fell unconscious in the dirt.

  Sebastian abandoned the people he had been tending and ran to Arazunú’s side. His friend was burning up! The fever was not yet as strong as it could become, but Arazunú’s skin was dry. Fortunately, Sebastian had just finished setting out beds of palm fronds. He placed his friend on one, then ran to get some water and tea.

  “Don’t do this to me,” he whispered as he sponged Arazunú’s forehead with a moist mass of leaves. “We have to get to our fathers, remember? They’re waiting for us. You have to become a great chief and I have to become… well, maybe I’ll train to be a doctor. But I want to study your kinds of medicines as well as Spanish medicine… do you hear me? You have to help me study! You have to teach me the plants around Asunción. We’ll make it, we will. We’ll get home, both of us.”

  Gently, he slapped his friend’s cheeks until Arazunú was conscious again. “Take some tea,” he said, and lifted the cup to Arazunú’s lips.

  Arazunú drank, sputtered from the liquid going down the wrong way, and drank again. Then he lay back on the mat.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sebastian said, tears flowing from his eyes. “This is all my fault.”

  “It was my idea to free the chain,” Arazunú whispered. “And I convinced you to come with Chachugi.”

  “But why did you stay with me?”

   “I said I’d take you to Asunción. Nothing has changed.”

  “But you don’t owe me anything. You could get to Asunción on your own – you know the way. Why stay with me?”

  Arazunú breathed heavily from the exertion of talking, but he answered. “I am safer here with you than I would be if I traveled on my own. We’ve already come across several slave traders during our travels, and you know how clever they are at capturing humans.”

  “I don’t see your point.”

  “If they think I am with you, Spaniard, then they’ll leave me alone. But if I travel alone, they’ll think I’m just another slave to be captured.” He licked his lips, which were visibly parched.

  Sebastian gave him another sip of tea, followed by some water. “But if you wanted… Arazunú? Arazunú!” He slapped his friend’s cheeks again, but it was no use. Arazunú was deeply asleep.

  Sebastian continued to talk to him in low murmurs, not caring what he was saying. All he knew was that somehow the New World had united his soul with the Indian’s. If Arazunú - blood-born of this land and raised knowing its secrets - could not survive long enough to get to his home near Asunción, then there was no hope for Sebastian. They would both die here in this Guayuki village.