An Inauspicious Visit Read online

  An Inauspicious Visit

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner ®

  Novelette Series – Vol. 4

  by Christopher Kastensmidt

  “An Inauspicious Visit” © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner® is a registered trademark of Christopher Kastensmidt.

  Cover art by Ursula “SulaMoon” Dorada.

  Cover design by Cristiane Viana.

  All artwork © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-85-919338-4-6

  Visit our website at:

  EAMB.ORG

  For Joe Saunders:

  Joe giveth and Joe taketh away; blessed be the name of Joe.

  A black capuchin monkey peeked into the towering human dwelling. At that hour, the hottest part of the day, the humans paid little attention to the likes of him. He glanced around the longhouse at the hundreds of them resting in their hanging nets. Fires burned on the ground in several places; the monkey kept well away from those.

  He spotted the object of his quest: bunches of bananas hanging on a post. He often took the humans’ bananas at this time of day; it had become something of a game. Even when they spotted him, they rarely bothered to shoo him away.

  But as he approached the post, a twinkle caught his eye. Over one man’s face lay a strange brown covering, and attached to its side shone a piece of metal with a long, blue feather sticking up from it. The man beneath looked nothing like the rest; he was wide and pale and wore cloth over his body, where the others wore none.

  All thoughts of bananas disappeared as the monkey eyed the shiny object; he knew he must possess it. He approached the resting man, coming up from behind. He climbed the post where the man’s net was tied. Even though he couldn’t see the man’s face, he could see his chest rising and falling in measured breathing. The monkey felt sure of success.

  He placed one paw after another on the net, careful not to rock it, and reached toward the metal...

  #

  In a move that had become reflex, Gerard van Oost grabbed his hat and swatted at the tiny creature behind him. He could hear the scratches as it scampered down the post and out the door. For this noonday nap at least, he wouldn’t lose another hat.

  Gerard sighed and swung down from the hammock, resigning himself to a day without rest. His preoccupations outweighed any hope for sleep. He walked to a bunch of bananas hanging nearby and pulled one down for a snack.

  After satisfying his appetite, he returned to his area of the longhouse. He combed his fingers through his curly red hair and straightened his linen doublet around his broad chest. Although not the most comfortable outfit for a tropical climate, Gerard had begun using his formal clothes again as an intentional contrast to Oludara’s adoption of the native way of dress—or better put, lack thereof.

  The smell of sweat from hundreds of bodies and smoke from dozens of fires saturated the air around him. Even after spending a year among the Tupinambá natives, it still felt almost suffocating. Gerard didn’t think he would ever get used to it.

  He glanced over at Oludara, his Yoruban companion, who slept side-by-side with his young Tupinambá bride, Arany. Like the rest of the tribe, they wore nothing, not even to cover their genitalia. To the extent that Oludara had become more comfortable with the Tupinambá customs, Gerard had become less so. In fact, he had reached a tipping point.

  He tugged nervously on his goatee, working up the courage to say what had been on his mind for months. He approached Oludara and shook his shoulder, causing the hammock to rock beneath the two sleepers.

  Oludara groaned and opened one eye. After making eye contact with Gerard, he disentangled himself from Arany’s long, black hair and stretched his muscled arms. After a yawn, a smile spread beneath his wide nose.

  “Gerard,” said Oludara, “what can I do for you?”

  “We need to speak,” said Gerard. He glanced at Arany. “In private.”

  Oludara nodded and pulled himself up from the hammock. As it rocked back to equilibrium, Arany whined and turned over on her side. Gerard motioned Oludara through the cabin entrance, and they stepped out to the village center: the gathering place amid the five longhouses.

  Once outside, Gerard looked his companion in the eye and said, “You’ve become too complacent here. It’s time to move on.”

  “Why would you want to leave?” said Oludara, smiling. “We have everything we need. And,” Oludara added with a wink, “you, Gerard, could take as many wives as you desire.”

  Gerard blushed and replied through gritted teeth, “When the time comes, I’ll have a Christian wife and a Christian wedding.”

  Oludara’s smile faded.

  “I came to Brazil for adventure,” Gerard continued, “not for lying around a native village. We came here to learn the ways of the Tupinambá, and we’ve spent more than enough time to learn all we’ll ever need. It’s time to move on.”

  “But Gerard...” Oludara glanced back toward the cabin where Arany slept.

  “Admit it, Oludara, you’re as restless as I am. After your marriage, you yourself said you still longed for adventure, but we’ve tarried here for nearly a year since. It’s time to return to the wilderness. When our five-year pact is complete, you can spend all the time you want with her.”

  “That is the problem, Gerard. She refuses to return to Africa with me when our journeys here in Brazil are done. I am torn by my desire for her and my duty to return to the land of my ancestors. I need more time to convince her.”

  Gerard opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a commotion from the palisade gate. A group of the tribe’s warriors called out and hundreds of natives emptied from the longhouses to the village center. Men carried their bows at the ready; women shouted; and children ran around squealing, taking advantage of the commotion as an excuse to make noise.

  Into their midst walked a native not of their tribe. Much like the Tupinambá, intricate black-and-red patterns covered the man’s body, but his skin was paler than those around him. He held up a hand, and when the crowd quieted, he began to dance and chant. As he danced, an intricate feather headdress swept behind him, and he shook maracas in both hands. Gerard knew that only apajé—the spiritual leaders of the Tupi–speaking nations—could use maracas in that fashion. The villagers spoke among themselves and pointed.

  Something struck Gerard as familiar about the man, and he struggled to remember.

  “I’ve seen him before,” he said to Oludara. “Something about Salvador...” As the man danced closer, Gerard got a better look at his face, and saw that his features weren’t native at all.

  “Piraju!” he said.

  The man showed no outward reaction to Gerard’s outburst, yet after a few moments, his dance shifted direction and carried him closer. When he hopped but a foot away from Gerard, he shook his maracas loudly and whispered from the corner of his mouth, “Quiet, Gerard! It is not proper for anyone to speak to me before the chiefs. Which is your cabin?”

  “The one to my left,” replied Gerard.

  Piraju marked the cabin with a glance and nodded. Then he continued his chanting and danced toward a different group of onlookers.

  “Who is that man?” asked Oludara.

  “He’s the shipwrecked Spaniard I met in Salvador,” replied Gerard. “The one who told me how to find Sacy-Perey and get the favor I needed to free you.”

  “Yes,” said Oludara, “you told me of him, the one who married a Tupinambá bride. In that, he and I have something in common.”

  After performing several chants, Piraju walked into Gerard and Oludara’s cabin. They followed and saw him lying in one of the hammocks, eyes closed. Jakoo, the c
abin chief, entered and studied the stranger for a few moments. He ordered two of the unmarried women to offer him food, then strode out.

  Arany came up beside Gerard and Oludara.

  “Why does no one approach him?” asked Oludara.

  “The man iskaraiba,” said Arany, “a pajé who travels among tribes. The chiefs must decide whether to let him stay or to kill him. They will consult Yandir before making a decision.”

  “Kill him?” said Gerard. “That’s absurd! Why would you kill a man before even speaking with him?”

  “It is custom. Karaibas are powerful men, capable of cursing an entire village if they so choose. However, they must not speak until granted permission, so many tribes will kill them before taking that risk.”

  “That’s barbaric!”

  Gerard pulled Oludara aside. “I won’t let them kill Piraju,” he said.

  “They have lived this way for many ages,” replied Oludara. “What right do we have to say what is right and wrong?”

  “I’m a Christian, Oludara, and I won’t tolerate murder. I’ll protect him with my own life, if necessary.”

  Gerard stamped off to his hammock, where he belted on his Bolognese rapier, loaded his harquebus, and paced the cabin, keeping his gaze on Piraju and everyone who approached the man.

  Piraju himself appeared relaxed. The women brought him a gourd of fish porridge and he scooped out balls of it with his hands and tossed them into his mouth, in the customary Tupi way of eating.

  When he laid aside the gourd, signaling the end of his meal, Jakoo entered the cabin flanked by two warriors. Gerard tensed and edged toward them.

  “The chiefs are ready to speak,” said Jakoo.

  Piraju rose and followed Jakoo out. Gerard walked behind them and saw that the other four chiefs sat in a circle to one side of the village center, passing a long pipe among them. When Piraju drew near, they stood but said nothing. The tribe gathered around.

  Clacking noises approached and the crowd parted to make way for the tribe’s own pajé: Yandir. He hobbled toward them with a staff in one hand, his shell necklaces clattering around his neck.

  Yandir addressed the village. “The spirits tell me that the words of this karaiba bring great despair. We must not give him permission to speak.”

  The death sentence did not change Piraju’s expression, nor cause him to utter a word; he stood straight and calm. At a sign from the chiefs, several warriors approached him with long clubs raised, ready to strike. Gerard shot his harquebus in the air and everyone turned toward him.

  “No,” he said in Tupi, pausing to let the word stand on its own. He dropped his harquebus and stepped forward to place himself between Piraju and the warriors. He crossed his arms.

  “Killing is wrong,” he said. “I won’t fight you, but if you want to kill this man, you must kill me first.”

  The warriors hesitated. People whispered, but no one said a word of support.

  “We know your heart is good, Gerard,” said Yandir, “but this concerns the tribe. You must step away.”

  “Did you not make me part of the tribe? May I not speak?”

  “You may speak, but this choice is made by the chiefs.”

  Gerard looked around for support, but none came. He caught Arany’s eye and she shot him an angry look. Her relationship with the tribe still tenuous, she often admonished Gerard for embarrassing her. He looked to Oludara, at her side, who merely shook his head and stared down at the ground.

  When he saw that even his faithful companion had abandoned him, Gerard’s stomach knotted in despair, yet still he stood firm. Yandir motioned to some warriors.

  “Hold him,” commanded Yandir. “Don’t let him interfere.”

  Gerard braced himself as a dozen warriors converged around him.

  A boisterous bellow broke the silence. Gerard turned to see Cabwassu holding his sides and laughing. Cabwassu, the tribe’s greatest warrior and, at one time, Gerard’s mortal enemy, had taken on a more agreeable personality in the same measure that his friendship with Gerard had grown. As he laughed, the feathers on his armbands quivered and the numerous stone piercings on his lips and face convulsed grotesquely. The village watched in silence as the warrior took a full minute to compose himself.

  “Gerard van Oost,” he said, “you are a madman. You stand against your own tribe. You stand against the will of your chiefs and your pajé. Only a madman would stand alone against all.”

  Cabwassu turned and spoke to the tribe. “Yet perhaps it is not madness. This reminds me of a time not long ago, when two strangers came to our tribe. I would have killed them”—he passed a finger across his neck for emphasis—”but others showed them mercy. In time, I discovered them to be very brave. And today, Gerard is once again brave.”

  Turning back to Gerard, he said, “Gerard, I will stand by you, not because you are right, but because you are brave.” He went beside Gerard and threw an arm over his shoulder. At that, several of Cabwassu’s warriors joined them.

  Gerard thanked Cabwassu with a Tupi saying: “I jump with happiness.” Cabwassu replied with one of his overly toothy smiles.

  People whispered to each other, unsure what to do, until Jakoo broke the silence.

  “Perhaps Cabwassu is right,” he said. “We allowed Gerard and Oludara to speak, and they saved our tribe from Kalobo. We should listen to what the karaiba has to say.”

  Jakoo went to Gerard’s other side. Jakoo was a popular chief, and many families followed him. Gerard saw that nearly a hundred stood with him, although they were still outnumbered four-to-one. He was disappointed that no one took into account the life of the innocent man in their decision to support him, but he decided to count his blessings and leave that argument for later. Gerard knew he needed to convince Yandir. He looked the pajé in the eye.

  “Let the karaiba speak,” he said. “If his words bring despair, I will bear the consequence.”

  “And I with him,” said Oludara, squeezing him in a tight embrace before Gerard even realized he had approached. “We may have our differences, friend, but we should not be divided.”

  Arany fell in beside Oludara, but seemed unconvinced. In any case, the presence of his friends raised Gerard’s courage.

  Yandir seemed taken aback. “I must consult the spirits.”

  He went into his hut while the villagers spoke in hushed groups. Gerard had lost track of time when the pajé finally appeared again.

  “Very well, Gerard,” said Yandir. “The spirits agree; you and Oludara shall bear the consequences of the karaiba’s words.” He turned to Piraju. “You are welcome in our village. You may speak.”

  “I am called Piraju, and I am honored by your kindness. I bear an urgent warning for this tribe: a banner approaches.”

  “Which banner?” asked Gerard, dreading the answer.

  “A gold-and-red one, that of Antonio Dias Caldas.

  Gerard paled at the name.

  “You know this Antonio?” asked Yandir.

  “He’s the most dangerous bannerman in Brazil, and has sworn himself my enemy, although I doubt he knows I’m here. There can be but one purpose which brings him toward us: to capture Tupinambá and sell them as slaves.”

  Commotion arose around them.

  “It is true,” Piraju shouted above the crowd. “He has already enslaved many tribes, taking them to work in the sugar mills, and he will be here in two days.”

  “With how many men?” asked Gerard.

  “At least sixty gunmen, and dozens of native slaves.”

  “We cannot fight so many, can we?” asked Jakoo.

  “No,” said Gerard. “A direct battle would be a massacre. Even if we attack them with traps and surprise, we could lose many in the fight.”

  The commotion turned into general panic.

  “Gerard is right,” said Piraju. “Your only choice is to flee. Even if you stop Antonio this time, at great cost of life, more will come. The tribe is too close to Salvador. You must move inland, into the Backl
ands.”

  Oludara shook his head and said, “It is a difficult land, almost as bad as the red clay plateau of my home, Ketu, where water is so scarce we say ‘water becomes honey in Ketu.’ ”

  “We know the land,” said Jakoo. “But I agree with Piraju, it is better than being killed or captured by the slavers. The Tupinambá are strong. We can survive the Backlands.”

  The other chiefs voiced their agreement.

  “But they arrive in two days,” said Gerard. “It will take a week to prepare rations for a flight like that.”

  “Yes,” said Cabwassu. “We must hold them off in battle.” He seemed pleased at the idea.

  “There must be a better way,” said Gerard. “The responsibility is mine, I’ve taken it upon myself, although I don’t know what to do. Oludara, you’ll think of something, won’t you? You always do.”

  “Yes,” said Oludara, “I will try. Antonio is too dangerous; he will not be stopped by force. Gerard and I, however, might halt him with trickery.”

  “We leave this Antonio to you, then,” said Yandir. “The tribe must prepare for travel.”

  At that, the chiefs split up, each one going off to organize the members of his longhouse. They called away their people, even Arany, leaving Gerard and Oludara alone with Piraju.

  Oludara sighed and spoke. “You were right, Gerard: about letting Piraju speak, about me, about everything. You and I have stayed here too long, and now destiny forces us to act.”

  “That’s all in the past now,” said Gerard. “We must deal with the matter at hand, and, as always, I will trust in your planning.”

  “Antonio will not be easy to dissuade,” said Oludara, “it would take a great reason to change his course. My people have a saying: ‘No one will throw away venison to pick up squirrel meat.’ Antonio comes here for profit, but perhaps there is something he desires more than money?”

  Gerard hated to admit it, but although their methods were different, he and Antonio had much in common. He knew what the man most desired.

  “The chance to be a hero,” he said with a sigh.