below. The huts had been built on stilts! Quickly scrambling back inside, Ignatious knelt, looking forward out of the building at the camp below.
There appeared to be no men around, just a few young boys. However, there were many women and girls to be seen, all busy at some task or other. Like ants, they seemed to be scurrying around, to and fro, bringing, fetching, and carrying. It was obvious the main job was cooking; hence the delectable aromas abounding.
Looking to the Sun, Ignatious estimated the time to be around eleven in the morning. He was feeling ravenous. Clearing his head once more, he gingerly sought out the flimsy looking ladder with his foot and descended the almost vertical piece, holding tightly, body flat to the rungs, taking one slow step before the other. He began to sweat. The view from the top would have been quite magnificent had he been able to enjoy it, but his main concentration was surviving the journey to the ground, some thirty feet below.
At last, he arrived on terra firma, his naked feet appreciating the warm earth. He turned to face the camp and was surprised to see that all the activity had ceased and all were staring intently at him. Standing at the foot of the ladder, he leaned against it, not certain of what to do next.
To break the deathly silence, he waved an arm lamely, smiling at the onlookers. Nothing. He began to move slowly towards the group feeling foolish and embarrassed. For some unknown reason, and quite unnecessarily, he limped.
The group finally moved — backwards and slowly, taking an equal pace to Saviour’s, their eyes never leaving him. He began then to worry about his comrades. If these people were so suspicious of him, it lent thought to the fact that the others had not survived or, dread the very thought, had been murdered!
In the midst of this impasse, a strong female voice came from behind the huts at the side of the first group. It spoke in Portuguese. Ignatious had a smattering of knowledge in the language and was able to get the gist of it.
“Stay where you are, man,” it said, as the bearer broke from the group. She was clearly one of the tribe, though taller than the others, none of whom exceeded five feet in height. The speaker was around five- feet seven inches. Unlike most of the rest, she was clothed in a loosely — fitting sarong, they being naked from the waist up, with the younger ones completely unclothed. It was only then that Ignatious realised that he, too, was naked! In his confused state, he had completely forgotten to search for clothing.
“My friends are afraid of you,” she called out. “They only saw you as a sick man, being brought into our village. You now look recovered. Let me come to you first and we can meet. After that, it will be all right.”
Ignatious stood where he was and waited as the woman came to him. She was no doubt beautiful to the tribe but, to his Western eyes, she was unattractive, having a rather pugilistic face. However, the rich, long black hair that cascaded down her back was a thing of beauty and, close up, Ignatious was drawn to the beauty of the large, dark and expressive eyes.
Not knowing what to do, he held out both hands in front, ready to grip hers. Arriving, she slapped his hands down and moved to him, encircling him with her arms and rubbing her nose against his. Her breath came to him, sweet and aromatic, the source unknown. Mid way through the ritual, the woman stopped, looking intently into Saviour’s face. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief. The silence reigned deafeningly for many seconds before she spoke. “From where do you come?” she asked.
Saviour had to have the question repeated slowly in Portuguese, as he did not know the languagein which she had first spoken. The woman did as asked, but haltingly, all the time staring into his eyes. “From the West, across the seas,” he stuttered, puzzled.
Amazingly, the proud female dropped to her knees, her hands sliding down his sides. She bowed her head saying: “Man. You are not of this earth. Of which God are you?”
Saviour could not believe his ears — was she seeing him as a God? “I am from the Christian faith and my God is the Creator of all things.” He hoped his Portuguese was good enough.
The answer did not seem to satisfy. She backed away, still on her knees, saying: “Man. You come to teach us of your Gods and you are among them.”
Just then, a figure appeared from the dense vegetation surrounding the village. It was a man, naked apart from a small loincloth, carrying a long spear and holding a bunch of dead birds. He was of the same attractive colouring as the women and not much taller, around five feet six inches. Then another, and another, and another, emerged from different parts, all bearing spears and carrying some kind of dead animal or birds.
The women broke from their trance and began a loud cheering, raising and lowering their arms as if in worship. They were not worshipping the men, merely offering thanks to their Gods for the food that had arrived. It was a daily routine. The tall woman then stood and walked to the centre of the area where the tribesmen moved to her with their kill. She clearly held a position of importance with them.
From the jungle, there then came a sight to warm Saviour’s heart; one by one, his colleagues emerged. They had survived! On seeing Igantious there, standing, clearly over the main effects of the illness, they ran to him, shouting greetings. Ignatious noticed that the clothes they had been wearing at the beginning of the journey were now replaced with crudely made shirts and shorts, and each wore a wide-brimmed straw hat on their heads. The group met, more collided, with their comrade, almost knocking him to the ground in their exuberance. Words poured out in an excited babble.
Through the throng of his comrades, Ignatious glanced toward the tribe. All were stood, silently watching the proceedings. Sensing Ignatious’s tension, the missionaries ceased in their greetings and turned to follow his stare. For a few moments, the two groups stood, each motionless and silent.
Then, a figure new to Ignatious appeared. From the mode of dress, he was obviously the witch doctor. He moved toward them with a tribesman and the tall woman following, a couple of feet behind.
“What is happening?” Ignatious asked Father Christian.
“I don’t know,” he replied, puzzlement in his voice. “Something seems to be bothering them.” Nodding his head in the direction of the oncoming trio, Christian explained: “The witch-doctor has a lot of power and influence here. He is quite friendly towards us now but he was highly suspicious at first.”
“At first?” Ignatious turned to Christian. “At first? How long have we been here, then?”
This is our sixteenth day, Gawain,” he replied. “You have been very sick. These people have nursed you like a baby. They also tended to the rest of us and had us on our feet in days. We…”
The words fell short as the trio stopped some fifteen yards away, the Witch Doctor shouting in a harsh, high-pitched voice: “Man! Leader! Come. Meet here!”
The message was aimed at Christian who, without hesitation, moved from his friends to meet the three tribes-people. Once there, he became engaged in what appeared to be serious but not agitated conversation. Occasionally, one or other of the trio would lean to the side in order to get a clearer look at Ignatious and then return to the conference.
After five or six minutes, Christian turned and shouted Ignatious over. He joined them, walking without the fake limp. The journey seemed ridiculously long, the sun beating on his back, but, as it was, he was there in seconds.
Christian put an arm around him when he arrived. “The good people of the village, being a tribe known as The Remunaras,” he began, speaking in Portuguese for the benefit of his hosts, “say you are a God. Nothing I can say will dissuade them. Excanda, here, is a Chieftain of the tribe and she has powers that allow her to know of things unknown to normal mortals. She has been visited when in your presence and has been told of your status.”
Saviour almost laughed but, realising that it would have been taken as a great insult, he kept a solemn expression.
Christian continued: “The good people wish to offer their greetings to you and hope you will grant them good harvests and plentiful food. Whilst here, you will not be expected to carry out any tasks and you may have the pleasures of whichever young female you desire, at any time.”
“What?” expounded Saviour. “Pleasures of their females?”
