Devotion Apart Read online

  The morning was bright, but by the time the sunlight passed through the dense canopy above, everything below was a dim shadow. I opened wide my eyes to take in every object, every movement of leaf, bird, and beetle.

  There! An air swirl of dust and dew, and a swaying cobweb. Something moved on my right. Knowing where to look, I saw naked flesh shift smoothly forward. Hunters rarely hunted alone. Where I spotted one warrior, there were sure to be others.

  In the direction of camp, I heard commotion, then a grunt and scream cut short by a heavy thud. The Majeronas were already in camp. They liked their meat fresh, so I hoped they'd only knocked Roger unconscious.

  Quickly I ducked below a sayal palm, its enormous leaves on forty-foot stems hiding my indirect advance toward camp. The water of the igarape drifted on my left. I spotted a native armed with a spear straight ahead. He was short and stocky, young, and inexperienced.

  The warrior turned, perhaps thinking I was a peccary moving along the ground. From a low crouch, I sprang and he screamed. He froze in shock as a shirtless white man reached for his face. I dropped one hand to break his grip on the spear, while using the other to press my open palm across his face. The effect was instantaneous—the young warrior let go of his spear to protect his face.

  An instant later, his spear was in my hand. I shoved the warrior facedown in the rotting leaves, then I was beyond him, bounding through bushes taller than my head.

  A few feet later, I turned a hard left and knelt, panting quietly and listening. Attacking additional natives concerned me. One brush with a wourali-tipped weapon would paralyze me. Unless I had my salt. Having only learned of it recently, some Majeronas didn't know that salt counteracted their deadly poison. My salt was the edge I needed against this hunting party.

  Through the dense foliage, I saw Roger on his feet, and three warriors binding his arms tightly behind his back. His mouth was gagged, and a leather collar was cinched around his neck. I recognized the warriors as Majeronas. Their hair was short in the front, long and loose in the back, and decorated with bright yellow and blue feathers. Their body paint was also yellow and blue, with great sweeping strokes of color that gave the impression of living fangs, claws, and demonic horns. They wore necklaces made of aloe fibre, strung with the bones of birds, talons, and human teeth. The Majeronas I knew had thrown their necklaces into the fire as a show of solidarity for the God of the Bible, who detested human sacrifices and the worship of strange spirits.

  Swiftly, I waded through several feet of the igarape, then rose upright and hurled the spear at a tree above the warriors' heads. As the spear soared, I charged into camp from an unexpected angle.

  Two of the men saw me first, and tried to bring up their blow-pipes to bear, but I shouldered past one and elbowed the other. The three who tended to Roger were too far away for me to reach. Instead, I swooped low and scooped up my satchel which had hung on a branch next to my hammock.

  The next moment, I was into the ferns, but not before a dart sunk into the back muscle along my spine. I crashed through the bushes, arching west this time, then stopping to kneel. My fingers fumbled inside my satchel to get to the salt. While watching the bushes and listening for assailants, I shoved salt into my mouth. Then, I strained with my right arm to pluck the arrow out of my back.

  With a sniff, I examined the dart, the straight stalk of a leaf. On its blunt end, a wisp of cotton, dyed yellow and blue, had been glued to drive the arrow straight. Carefully, I used a little more salt on the tiny wound I could barely feel, and rubbed the brine through the blood into my muscle.

  With salt on my lips, I fit my satchel over my head and listened as natives yelled orders to one another, searching for me.

  They were expert trackers, but they were burdened with Roger now, and their ferocity was certainly checked by confusion.

  Their village was probably within a couple miles of the river, so I set off on a broad arc through the forest trails in an attempt to get ahead of them. They may have already sent a runner back to their village for reinforcements.

  A winding mile later, I found a path which had been disturbed by bare feet that morning. This would be the site of my ambush. If I wasn't careful, I'd find three or four spears in my chest before I could speak a word they understood.

  I leaped off the trail and hastily gathered pieces of wood. With my knife, I hacked several lengths of bamboo, then dragged it all back to the trail. There, I pounded two bamboo lengths into the ground and used vines to bundle a torso on top of the bamboo legs. Like dressing a piece of firewood, I took my shirt from my satchel and tugged it over the torso of debris, then balanced a chunk of bark on top as a head. The armless dummy was complete. He had no pants, but the shirt was a nice touch. It symbolized nothing, but it might distract the superstitious natives for a moment.

  An old Brazil nut tree grew near the trail. Its lowest branches were one hundred and twenty feet high, but its trunk was wrapped and tangled by dozens of sipos and other vines, which offered me decent hand-holds to climb up. I kicked off my boots. Up and up to dizzying heights, I scrambled toward the lowest branches, which would be far beyond the strongest spear thrower's reach.

  Once I reached the lowest branches, I straddled one branch as thick as my waist, and waited.

  A few minutes later, seven men walked into view up the trail, thick bushes and tall grass on both sides. Gagged and bound, Roger was being force-marched in the middle of the warriors.

  Suddenly, they came upon the dummy in the middle of the trail. They shouted at it, and one warrior was elected to approach it and stab my shirt with his spear. Part of the dummy tumbled in the trail. I cupped one hand around my mouth while my other hand gripped a sipo as thick as my arm.

  "I am a friend of Chief Maono of the Majeronas!" I repeated this phrase in lingua geral three times, before all six warriors located me high above them. They pointed and held their weapons ready, but they knew I was too high to harm. "My name is Cocoanut Wader! Chief Maono wears my knife on his belt. Elder Warrior Naro is my closest brother. Now, you have offended me. Show me that you have heard my words!"

  For a moment, they quietly discussed my demand. Chief Maono and I had spent several days together in his village, even exchanging possessions, and Warrior Naro was a professing Christian—the chief's strongest warrior and elder of his village. These natives would know both Majeronas. Finally, they cut Roger's binds and gag, and shoved him stumbling toward the image, as if it were an idol that required a sacrifice.

  Climbing up a Brazil nut tree is relatively easy, due to the sipos that wind up its trunk, but descending is much more precarious. The Matamata tribe had taught me to harvest young nuts by climbing the trees, but descending by a whole other method. I selected a thick sipo and used my knife to cut through it. It dripped with moisture, but I wasn't thirsty. Instead, I grasped its healthy stalk and leaped away from the tree.

  For ten feet, I free-fell, until the sipo snagged on smaller vines that tangled it to the tree trunk. However, the sipo I clung to was heavy, flexible, and with my added weight as well—the smaller vines gave way. Gradually, the sipo unwound and peeled off the trunk moss and mushrooms, vines, and younger sipos, slowly and otherwise haltingly lowering me toward the ground.

  When I was a few feet above the ground, I let go of the sipo and dropped lightly to the forest floor. Behind me, the weight of the sipo continued to unravel its length, peeling itself off the trunk despite other vines that hindered its release.

  The natives backed away a few steps. They'd probably seen others descend a Brazil nut tree by an unraveling sipo, so they weren't too impressed by that. Rather, they stared in awe because of my face and bare chest, which was much whiter than theirs, even though I was tanned. My limbs were also longer while theirs were short and stocky.

  Roger rubbed his wrists, then fell off the trail and into the tall grass.

  I stopped on the trail next to Roger and faced the natives. Two held spears aimed at me.

  "Lower your we
apons," I said. "We are flesh and blood brothers. There's no need to fear. I serve the God who created the heavens and the earth. Please take me to Chief Maono. I have a powerful gift for him."

  They may have thought I referred to a supernatural gift, but I was talking about the salt in my satchel, which Maono requested the last time we had spoken.

  The six warriors hesitantly moved past me on the trail, careful not to touch me or the broken image, then they trotted north up the trail.

  "Looks like we have an escort now." I offered my hand to Roger. "Come on. We'll need to hustle to keep up."

  "I thought you left me." He accepted my hand and stood shakily. "I wouldn't be a very good hostage for them, since no one would ever pay for me."

  "Hostage? No." I chuckled. "This is the Majerona tribe. They're cannibals. They were going to eat you."

  I jogged after the warriors, knowing that Roger would follow us, or die in the forest. He didn't realize it yet, but we had reached our destination. This was his new home.

  Chapter Ten

  For two days, Roger and I were guests of Chief Maono in his village. Maono received with gladness the salt I had brought him, but he wasn't pleased with Roger from the very beginning. Roger was used to suits, manicures, and loafers. His hands were soft and his skin was untouched by the elements. His arms bore no scars from weapons, hunting, or bush travel. His legs were skinny, and his temperament was pure fright, which the chief despised.

  "How will he survive out here?" The chief spit out a broken monkey bone. "I'll keep him because you've asked me to, Cocoanut Wader, but I don't need any more women in my hut!"

  "Then make him a man." I glanced at Roger who picked at a bug bite as he sat next to the fire pit at my side. Other warriors who were also believers in Christ stood nearby, curious about Roger or waiting to speak to me about the God of David—their favorite Bible hero. "How do you train a boy to be a man?"

  "He won't eat unless he works." Maono wrinkled his nose at Roger. "Would our new God disapprove if we beat him? Some youths are lazy until they're beaten."

  I turned my head to Roger to speak in English.

  "He asks if you'll work for your food, Roger, or if he needs to beat you until you learn to work?"

  "What?" Roger sat up straighter, the bite forgotten. He'd need one of the native women to put a poultice on the sore before it became infected. "I can't stay here! Look at them. They're hardly wearing any clothes. And all these insects! I'll die out here, Cord!"

  "Yes," I said to the chief. "You may need to beat him a little. God approves of the loving discipline of children who are lazy or rebellious. Give him a chance to prove himself, but I've brought him here only because he has failed with his own people. If anyone can teach him to be a man who honors the God of all things, I know you will see to it, Chief Maono."

  "I'll assign my oldest wife to him." Maono scoffed at Roger as the city man took off his shoe and picked at his sweaty feet. "Disgusting. He can fetch wood and fruit for the village. If he doesn't do the work, I won't beat him. My men won't beat him. My wife will beat him, and she raised three fine sons, all hunters. She has a straight stick."

  That night, the village celebrated the homecoming of Naro, who had gone downriver with me weeks earlier, and was only now returning. Runners were sent to other Majerona villages to bring more people to the celebration. Naro wasn't alone. I was pleased to see the decorated Christian warrior, but he'd brought back my fellow worker in the ministry, Duppo, and six other Matamata tribesmen, all Christians, who had no more families since the Chego nation had massacred the tribe.

  The fire pit burned high that night as Naro told the story of his journey down the river. He praised Duppo often, to whom he had become very close during their travels. The six Matamata men were honored guests, and Naro spoke well of them to all his people as well. The Matamata were not warriors, but they were more expert at hunting than all the people on the river, with secrets and mysteries they'd taught me, that bordered on the magical to the Majeronas.

  Naro also retold the story of the violent knife fight I'd had with a Chego chief's son, whereby I had won the tribe's favor when I had shown the son mercy. Those Christians who were present rejoiced at the power that Christ's love had over mankind's evil, but the nonbelievers around the fire sat confused. They still believed strength was measured by fierceness.

  Late in the night, when the feasting had finished, Duppo and I crouched next to the glowing coals of the fire. I told him of my plans in Arizona, then waited for him to respond.

  "I received your message two weeks ago, Cocoanut Wader." His voice was solemn. "The river trader gave us Bibles and much salt, which you bought with the sujetapapeles. When I walked into this camp and saw your face, my heart was filled with joy. You've returned to us! Now you say you must leave again, to go back to this place called Arizona."

  "You're an established teacher, Duppo. You've learned the Bible well, and you've brought other Matamata people to integrate with the cannibals. There's work ahead, and God has equipped you with what you need to do that work. I'm not needed here any longer."

  "Where you're needed is more important than where you're wanted?"

  His question didn't need answering. He knew the ways of God from many years of experiencing His truth. The Lord didn't want His faithful ones gathered too densely in one place, when they could disperse to shine the light more elsewhere. As close as Duppo and I were, our joy as Christ's servants serving together would need to be put off until eternity.

  The next morning, as I prepared to leave the Majeronas, Roger returned to the village with an armful of firewood. He'd already shed his shirt since it would cling uncomfortably in the humidity. On his belt was a crude machete. The day was young, but Roger was already exhausted from the chores one of the housewives had given him to complete.

  "Just wait until they have you carry water in from the stream up the ridge." I smiled at him and opened my satchel. "They'll give you a leaky container at first, to teach you to hurry back to camp. If you take your time, the water will leak out, and they'll know you're lazy."

  "This is forced labor," He groaned and massaged one of his shoulders. "Someone my age shouldn't be doing all this."

  "Survival requires labor, and the work will keep you healthy." I drew out one of the two Bibles I'd brought in my satchel. "Here's a Bible for you. You'll need to learn Portuguese. This Bible has English in one column and Portuguese in the other."

  "After working all day, I'm not going to want to read anything, especially a Bible."

  "Then you'll continue to do woman's work." I handed him the Bible. "Take it. Until you prove yourself to be a man, and learn their language, they'll treat you like a child."

  "Will you ever come back here?" He thumbed through the Bible's pages. "There's still cannibals around here, like you said. I don't want to be alone."

  "How're you alone with hundreds of natives all around you?" I rose to my feet. "Duppo is in charge of you, and the chief knows to keep you safe. I don't know if I'll be back, or when. This is your life now, so make the most of it."

  Duppo and Naro waited for me on the trail outside camp. Like all Matamata, Duppo wore red body paint, and Naro wore blue and yellow. We were an odd trio, but perfectly comfortable. We were God's children.

  "You wear Oria's knife." Duppo pointed at my sheath, referring to the gift of his daughter's blade.

  "It's a good knife, Duppo. The finest I've ever owned."

  We took an hour to reach the river, talking and stopping often to pick fruit for my journey. At the bank of the river, a smaller and more dependable canoe for one man was given to me by several Majeronas on the igarape. After I loaded my meager gear into the canoe, Duppo, Naro and I prayed together, then they shoved me clear of the bank.

  "The Amazon has many paths," Duppo said, raising his hand. "God will guide you down yours, Cocoanut Wader."

  I turned the canoe and pointed the bow to the east, toward Lucas Norman's trading station and airfield, si
x days' travel, where I could find swift passage back to America. My heart was torn about leaving my closest friends, but at least I had said goodbye to them this time, instead of leaving for America so suddenly. Duppo and Naro had their own ministry now, and I had mine. But if God willed it, I would return to the rich land where a few tribes still enjoyed a primitive, secluded existence.

  *~*~*

  Nine days later, exhausted, I touched down in Devotion and drove straight to Craigs house in Morliam Acres where I collapsed in my hammock in the back bedroom. As comfortable as I was in the rainforest, I'd canoed for days, then flown out of Brazil, resting little, eager to return to the mounting work I knew awaited me in Devotion.

  I slept until dawn, then woke Craig in his master suite on the far wing of the mansion. Craig's reclusive life had begun to concern me, and I felt it was important that I express his value to me. He claimed to be a Christian, so I didn't mind expecting from him what he claimed to be—even if I had seen little to suggest his Christianity was anything more than a profession. If I could water whatever seed of the Word he contained, then God would give the increase.

  "And you really just left him there?" Craig asked after I told him about my brief return to Brazil. "You have unorthodox ways of reaching out to people, Cord."

  "I'll take that as a compliment." I sat on the end of his bed. "They said the same thing about John the Baptist, so I'm in good company. But listen, I need to talk to you about RASH. Some improvements need to be made."

  "The Department of Defense contract keeps me working out little bugs within the system. That's what I do every day, well, when I'm not watching what you're doing."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of customizing it. So, in two ways, see what you can do. First, I can't hold my phone and search on it constantly, especially when I'm around other people. I'd like to have a heads-up display. It's what Air Force pilots have in their helmets."