Every time Lali went fishing, she brought her portion of pearls home to me. I put them in a wooden bowl, all sizes mixed together. The only ones I kept aside—in an empty matchbox—were two pink pearls, three black ones and seven of an extraordinarily beautiful metallic gray. There was also an unusual pearl the shape and size of our kidney beans. It had three colors superimposed one on the other and, depending on the weather, the dominant color was either black, a polished stainless steel, or silver with a pink cast. Thanks to the pearls and the occasional turtles, the tribe lacked for nothing. It’s true they had some useless things and lacked some they could have used. For instance, there wasn’t a single mirror in the village. I had to salvage one from a shipwreck—a nickel-plated board about fifteen inches square—so that I could see to shave or look at myself.
My manner with my friends was very simple: I never did anything that might diminish the authority of the chief or, even less, that of the old Indian who lived alone three miles inland surrounded by snakes, two goats, a dozen sheep and twenty chickens. He was the sorcerer for all the villages in Guajira. This way I kept their good opinion of me. By the end of the second month I had been completely accepted by everyone.
The two hamlets I was acquainted with had no goats, chickens, or sheep; having domestic animals seemed to be the privilege of the sorcerer. Each morning a different Indian woman set off to his house with freshly caught fish and shellfish in a basket on her head, together with corn cakes freshly grilled on hot stones. Sometimes, but not always, she returned with eggs and curdled milk. When the sorcerer wanted me to come and see him, he sent me three eggs and a highly polished wooden knife. Lali would accompany me halfway, then wait in the shade of a huge cactus. The first time I was summoned, she put the wooden knife in my hand and indicated with her arm the direction I should take.
The old Indian lived in revolting filth in a tent made of cowhide, hairy side in. Three stones in the middle stood around a fire that was always burning. He didn’t sleep in a hammock but on a bed made of branches that stood at least three feet above the ground. The tent was quite large and without walls except for a few branches on the windward side. I saw the snakes: one was nearly ten feet long and as thick as your arm, the other about three feet with a yellow V on its head. “How those beasts must pack away the chickens and eggs!” I said to myself. It was beyond me how goats, chickens, sheep and a donkey could all live together in one tent. The old Indian looked me over, then made me take off my pants, which Lali had converted into shorts. When I was entirely naked, he had me sit on one of the stones. He threw some green leaves on the fire which made a thick smoke that smelled of mint. For the next ten minutes I thought I’d suffocate. Then he burned my pants and gave me two Indian loincloths, one of sheepskin and the other of snakeskin as supple as a glove. Around my arm he placed a bracelet made of goat-, sheep- and snakeskin laces braided together. It was four inches wide and held in place by a snakeskin lace which could be loosened or tightened at will.
I noticed that on his left calf the sorcerer had a sore the size of a silver dollar which was covered with gnats. From time to time he shooed them away, and if they got too much for him, he dusted the wound with ashes. My formal adoption over, I was on the point of going when he presented me with another wooden knife. This one was smaller than the one he had sent when he wanted to see me. Lali explained to me later that if I wanted to see him, I was to send him the smaller knife. If he was willing to see me, he would send me the larger one. As I was leaving the old Indian, I noticed how wrinkled his face and neck were. He had only five teeth left in his sunken mouth, three in the lower jaw and two in the upper, in front. His eyes, almond shaped like all Indians’, had such heavy lids that when they were closed, they looked like two round balls. He had no eyelashes or eyebrows, but his hair hung straight, black and neatly cut to his shoulders. In front, like all the other Indians, he wore bangs to his eyebrows.
I started for home, somewhat ill at ease for my windswept buttocks. I felt like a fool. But it was a cavale, wasn’t it? And I mustn’t make fun of the Indians. Being free was worth a few inconveniences. Lali looked at my loincloth and laughed, showing her teeth, which were as white as the pearls she fished. She examined my bracelet and the snakeskin loincloth and sniffed to make sure I had passed through the trial by smoke. (I should mention that the Indians have a very highly developed sense of smell.)
I was getting used to this life and beginning to realize that if I stayed too much longer I might lose all desire to leave. Lali watched me constantly, hoping I might take a more active part in communal life. For example, she had seen me go fishing; she noticed that I paddled well and managed the little canoe with skill. From this she leapt to the idea that I should handle her pearl-fishing boat. But I didn’t want to. Lali was the best diver among the village girls because she dived deepest and brought back more oysters and bigger ones than the others. But the young man in charge of her boat was the chief’s brother. If I took Lali out, I would be doing him a disfavor, and that I must not do.
Whenever Lali saw me in a thoughtful mood, she’d go off in search of her sister. The young girl would come in joyfully through my door. This carried great significance. They’d arrive together at the big door facing the sea; then they’d separate, Lali turning and coming in her door and Zoraima through mine. Zoraima’s breasts were hardly bigger than tangerines and her hair was still short. It was cut to the length of her chin and her bangs fell almost to her eyelids. Each time she was summoned by her sister, they would both bathe, after removing their loincloths as they entered and hanging them on the hammock. The younger one always went away disappointed because I hadn’t taken her. One day the three of us lay together with Lali in the middle; then Lali got up and lay on the other side, leaving me glued to Zoraima’s naked body.
The other day Lali’s fishing companion cut his knee very badly. He was carried to the sorcerer and returned with a dressing of white clay. As a result, I went fishing with Lali. I launched the boat properly, but I took her a little farther out than usual. She was thrilled to have me in the boat with her. Before diving, she covered herself with oil; the bottom, which looked very black, was undoubtedly cold. I saw three shark fins pass near us and pointed them out to her, but she paid no attention. With her sack wrapped around her left arm, her knife in its sheath attached to her belt, she pushed off from the boat and, with amazing speed, disappeared into the blackness of the water. Her first dive was for exploration only, so she came up with very few oysters. Then I had an idea. There was a big ball of leather laces in the boat. I knotted one end to her sack and let it out as she went down. She got the idea, for she stayed down a long time, and when she came up again, she was without the sack. Tired from her long dive, she clung to the side of the boat and asked me to raise the sack. I pulled and pulled, but it suddenly stopped, caught probably on some coral. She dived down and freed it: the sack was half full and I emptied it into the canoe. By the end of the morning, aver eight dives, each fifty feet down, we had nearly filled the canoe. When she finally pulled herself in, the top of the canoe was almost flush with the water. We nearly went under when I started to pull up the anchor. We had to untie the anchor rope from the boat and attach it to a paddle to keep it floating until we returned.
The old lady and Lali’s fishing partner were waiting on the sand to open the oysters. He was impressed with our haul. Lali explained how we’d done it, how the sack attached to the laces made her lighter and speeded her climb to the surface. And naturally she could gather more oysters. He carefully examined the way I had tied the sack and particularly the slipknot. He undid the knot and, on the first try, was able to make one himself. He was very proud of himself.
The old woman found thirteen pearls in the oysters. Lali seldom stayed for this part of the operation, usually letting them bring her her share at home. But this time she waited until the last oyster was opened. I must have swallowed three dozen, Lali five or six. The crone divided up the shares. The pearls were all
about the same size—that of a good-sized pea. She put aside three for the chief, three for me, two for herself and five for Lali. Lali picked up my three and handed them to me. I gave them to her wounded partner. He didn’t want to accept them at first, but I forced his hand open and closed his fingers over them. Then he accepted. His wife and daughter had been watching the scene from a distance. Silent before, they now burst out laughing and came over to us. I helped carry him to his hut.
We repeated this ritual for almost two weeks. Each time I gave my pearls to the injured Indian. Once I kept one. When I got back to the house, I had Lali eat it. She was ecstatic and spent the whole afternoon singing.
From time to time I would visit the albino Indian. He asked me to call him Zorrillo, which means “little fox” in Spanish. He told me that the chief had asked him to find out why I wouldn’t tattoo the tiger’s head on his chest. I explained that I wasn’t a good enough artist. With the help of the dictionary, I asked him to get me a mirror the size of my chest, some tracing paper, a fine paintbrush, a bottle of ink, carbon paper and, if he couldn’t get that, a soft pencil. I also asked him to get me some clothes, including three khaki shirts, which I would keep at his place. He told me that the police had questioned him about Antonio and me. He told them that I had gone over the mountain into Venezuela and that Antonio had been bitten by a snake and died. He had also found out that the other Frenchmen were in prison in Santa Marta.
Zorrillo’s house had the same native crafts as the chief’s: many earthenware pots decorated with typical Indian designs, handsome ceramics beautiful in form as well as design and color; tanned skins of snakes, lizards and buffalo, and braided baskets made of white or colored liana. He said they were all made by the Indians of my tribe, although these lived in the middle of the bush, a twenty-five days’ march from here. That was where the coca leaves he gave me came from. I was to chew one if I got depressed. As I left Zorrillo, I asked him if he could bring me—in addition to my other requests—a few Spanish newspapers and magazines, for, with the help of my dictionary, I had learned a lot in two months. He had no news of Antonio; he knew only that there had been a new clash between coastal guards and smugglers. Five guards and one smuggler had been killed, but the boat had got away.
I had never seen a drop of alcohol in the village, except for their strange drink of fermented fruit. When I saw that Zorrillo had a bottle of anise, I asked if I could have it. He said no. I could drink it there if I liked, but I couldn’t take it away. That old albino wasn’t so dumb.
I left Zorrillo on a borrowed donkey, which he assured me would come back to him the next day all by itself. I took with me only a large box of colored candies, each wrapped in tissue paper, and sixty packs of cigarettes. Lali was waiting for me with her sister two miles from the village; there was no scene this time, and we walked back with our arms around each other. Every so often she stopped and gave me a “civilized” kiss on the mouth. When we reached the village, I went to the chief’s and offered him the candy and cigarettes. We sat down in front of his door, facing the sea. We had some of the fermented drink, cold from its earthenware jug. Lali sat at my right, her arms around my thigh, and her sister did the same on my left. The box of candy was open in front of us, and the women and children came and shyly helped themselves. The chief pushed Zoraima’s head toward mine, giving me to understand that she wanted to be my wife like Lali. Lali took her breasts in her hands, indicating that Zoraima’s were small and that was perhaps why I hadn’t desired her. I shrugged and everybody laughed. It was clear that Zoraima was sad. So I put my arms around her neck and caressed her breasts; this made her very happy. I smoked a few cigarettes; the Indians tried a few but soon rejected them in favor of their cigars. I took Lali by the arm and we left. Lali walked behind me and Zoraima behind her. We cooked some large fish over the fire, to which I added a five-pound lobster. It was a feast.
The mirror came and the tracing paper, the paper for my decalcomania, a tube of glue I hadn’t asked for but which proved useful, several soft pencils, the inks and paintbrush. I hung the mirror by a string so that it was at the level of my chest when I was in a sitting position. There in the mirror was my tiger’s head in all its glory. Lali and Zoraima watched me, full of interest and curiosity. I followed the lines on the mirror with the brush, but as the ink tended to run, I thought of the glue. So I made a mixture of ink and glue, and everything was fine. After three one-hour sessions I had painted an exact replica of the tiger’s head on the mirror.
Lali went off to find the chief. Zoraima took my hands and placed them on her breasts. She looked so unhappy and her eyes were so full of desire that, without thinking what I was doing, I took her right there on the floor in the middle of the hut. She moaned and her body arched with pleasure. Then she wound herself around me and wouldn’t let me go. I freed myself gently and went to bathe in the sea for I was covered with earth from the hut floor. She followed me and we bathed together. I rubbed her back, she rubbed my arms and legs, then we went back to the house. Lali was sitting on the spot where we had lain together; she understood. She got up, put her arms around my neck and kissed me tenderly. Then she took her sister by the arm and led her out through my door, turned and went out through hers. Soon there were sounds of banging on the outside of the house; I went out to see what was going on and found Lali, Zoraima and two other women trying to make a hole in the wall with a piece of iron. I figured they were making a fourth door. To keep the wall from cracking, they dampened it with the watering can. The door was quickly finished and Zoraima pushed the debris outside. From then on only she would use that door; she never used mine again.
The chief came, accompanied by his injured brother and three others. The brother’s knee was almost healed. He looked at the picture on the mirror, then looked at himself. He marveled at how well I’d drawn the tiger and marveled, too, to see the reflection of his own face. But he had no idea what I had in mind. Since the picture was now dry, I placed it on the table, put the tracing paper over it and started to draw the outline. It was quickly done. The soft pencil faithfully followed every line. In less than a half hour, under everyone’s fascinated gaze, I had a drawing as good as the original. Each in turn took the picture and examined it, comparing the tiger on my chest with the drawing. I had Lali lie down on the table. I rubbed her lightly with a damp cloth, placed a sheet of tracing paper on her belly and, on top of that, the drawing I had just made. I drew a few lines and everyone was filled with wonder to see a bit of the drawing come off on Lali’s belly. Only then did the chief understand that all this effort was for him.
Those who haven’t been exposed to the hypocrisies of a “civilized” education react to things naturally, as they happen. It is in the here and now that they are either happy or unhappy, joyful or sad, interested or indifferent. The superiority of pure Indians like these Guajiros was striking. They could outdo us in everything: when they adopted someone, everything they had belonged to him; and when anyone showed them the least attention, they were profoundly moved.
I decided that at the first session I would cut the broad lines with a razor so that the general outline of the tattoo would show right away. I’d do the pricking afterward, with three needles attached to a short stick. I started the next day.
Zato lay on the table. I transferred the drawing on the tracing paper to a heavier white sheet and made a decalcomania on his skin with a hard pencil. I had already covered it with a paste of white clay which I’d let dry. The decal left its imprint and I let it dry thoroughly. The chief was stretched out on the table like a ramrod, not daring to move—let alone flinch—for fear he might harm the drawing. I etched each line with the razor; his blood ran a little and I wiped it off each time. When I had done the whole drawing and fine red lines had replaced the black pencil, I coated his entire chest with blue India ink. The ink took everywhere but in the few places where I had cut too deep and it was washed away by the blood. The drawing came through beautifully. Eight days later Zato ha
d his tiger’s head with its big maw showing a pink tongue, white teeth, a black nose, mustache and eyes. I was very pleased with the result. It looked better than mine and the colors were brighter. As the scabs fell, I had to prick a few places again. Zato was so pleased that he asked Zorrillo to furnish us six mirrors, one for each of the other huts and two for his.
Days passed, then weeks, then months. It was now April and I had been here four months. I was strong and in excellent health. I was so used to going barefoot that I could walk miles looking for the big lizards without getting tired. I was never without a wife. When Lali was diving, Zoraima was at my side. If Zoraima was diving, Lali kept me company.
I forgot to say earlier that after my first visit to the sorcerer, I asked Zorrillo to get me some tincture of iodine, hydrogen peroxide, absorbent cotton, bandages, quinine tablets and some Stovarsol. I had seen a bagnard at the hospital with a sore the same size as the sorcerer’s. Chatal, the orderly, had crushed a pill of Stovarsol and applied it to the sore. The medications arrived, plus an ointment that Zorrillo provided on his own. I then sent the sorcerer my little knife and he answered by sending me his big one. I had a hard time convincing him that he should be treated, but after a few days the sore was half its former size, and he volunteered to continue the treatment by himself. One fine day he sent me his big wooden knife so that I could see that he was completely healed. No one ever knew who had done it.
A son was born to Zato. As his wife went into labor, she walked to the beach and found herself a secluded place behind a big rock. Another of Zato’s wives brought her a large basket of cakes, fresh water and a quantity of unrefined brown sugar in five-pound cones. She must have given birth about four in the afternoon, for she was on her way back to the village by sunset, shouting with joy and holding her baby high in the air. Thus Zato knew it was a boy before she arrived. Had it been a daughter, she would have returned to the village silently, holding the baby in the crook of her arm. Lali acted this out for me; that’s how I knew. The wife approached Zato, raising the child high; Zato held out his arms and shouted, but otherwise remained motionless. She came forward a few more steps, lifted the baby, cried out again, and stopped once more. Zato shouted again, and again held out his arms. They did this five or six times over the hundred feet that separated them. Zato never moved from the threshold of his hut. He stood in front of his main door, flanked by all the Indians in the village. The mother stopped again—she was not more than five or six steps away now—raised the baby and cried out one last time. Then Zato moved forward, took the baby under its arms and lifted it up. He turned to the east and cried out three times, each time raising the child. Then he sat down with the child lying on his right arm across his chest, its head under his armpit and hidden by his left arm. Without turning, he backed through the big door into his hut. Everyone followed, the mother last. Then we drank all the fermented juice in the house.