Song of the Shaman (3 page)

“Perhaps that will move things along more quickly,” he said, frowning at Benjamin’s machete. “Be sure to hurry.”

Relieved, Louise went with Benjamin to the field, feeling her father’s eyes on her back. They came upon a charming ravine bordered by egg-shaped stones and lush shrubs.

“My, how beautiful it is here! I wish I had brought my drawing pad.”

His direct glance caught her off guard. She swept aside ringlets that drooped into her eyes.

“You’re an artist.”

It was more a statement than a question. An artist? Her ears burned. She didn’t consider herself one. Though she loved sketching and painting, her art was more of a hobby; none of it warranted serious attention. Still, what should she say? Mother had always praised her work, but Father never seemed to be impressed.
I do believe that’s a tree,
he’d uttered recently upon viewing one of her sketches. He handed her the paper and went back to whatever was on his desk or his mind.

“I studied art in school.”

Benjamin squinted at her, the overhead sun accentuating the hollows of his face.

“Art is a gift from Sibo, the Great Spirit. You can’t learn it.”

She paused, feeling both flattered and conflicted. He surveyed the grounds before him.

“Where in Panama do you live?” He parted a bush and pulled thick vines together to chop at its roots. Louise picked up the sack, holding it open for him.

“In the city. My father works for the Canal Commission.” She watched him shove a bunch of tangled vines into the bag.

“Many Costa Ricans went to work on the canal. It’s either that or the coffee plantations.”

“What about you?” Louise shook the bag to settle the vines.

“Grandfather is training me to become an awa. I spend hours at his side learning the songs and rituals.” He inspected a thorny twig cutting before wrapping it in a banana leaf.

“How interesting! What kind of songs?”

“Mostly healing songs. There are hundreds of them.” They traveled a bit further, stopping in front of a sprawling hedge with hanging red blossoms. “I have to learn them all from memory.” He began plucking flower buds from the tree.

“Do you know the healing song for my sister? I’d love to hear it.”

Benjamin cradled an armful of blossoms like a newborn baby.

“The songs are sacred. They’re meant only for the person who is sick.”

“Of course! Stupid of me to ask,” Louise added quickly, feeling her cheeks redden.
What was she thinking?
Benjamin studied her for a moment. He casually picked a few more flowers. She opened the sack to catch the waterfall of crimson that spilled from his arms into the bag, wondering if it matched the color of her face. He then reached into this shirt pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small white whistle. There were half a dozen holes drilled into it, and one end was plugged with wax. He blew slowly through the larger opening. Several soft, shrill notes floated into the air. All was still; even the insects and birds seemed to hold their breath. Louise took a step toward Benjamin, captivated by the sound.

“That was lovely…like a bird’s call. What is that?”

He held out the whistle in the palm of his hand.

“It’s a kind of flute made from the bone of a pelican’s breast,” he said, turning the smooth, curved instrument over with his thumb. “The tune was meant to call the quetzal. I sometimes see them here in the aguacatillo tree.” He looked up, peering through the branches of the fruit-laden tree. “They love to eat wild avocado.”

“Oh, I hope we see one! Their green tail feathers are so long and stunning. My mother used to read us stories about the quetzal.”

Side by side they searched the rain forest trees for a glimpse of the resplendent bird. Benjamin described its habitat between curious glances at her.

“The quetzal is a shy bird; they make their nests high in these trees. You can hear them sing in the morning and at dusk when they mark their land. Some tribes believe they symbolize the Quetzalcoatl—the god of the sky, sun, and wind.” He stooped to snap a leaf off a plant and put it to his nose. “Others say he is a trickster.”

“What do you believe?” she asked, watching him draw the plant from its roots.

“Grandfather says he is a wisdom teacher. He calls on the quetzal for guidance as part of a ritual. If he sees one, it’s a sign the ceremony will be successful.” Benjamin collected a bunch of the crisp aromatic leaves. Louise opened the sack for him to deposit them and turned her face to the cloudless sky.

“My father is very worried about Maud. She’s been ill for some time.”

“Don Pedro is a powerful awa. If your sister is willing to receive the songs, chances are good she’ll be cured.”

Their path narrowed alongside a buoyant stream. Across the way Charles watched them fixedly. Benjamin cleared the overgrowth with his machete; Louise trailed a few paces back. The contrasts between the young man and his grandfather were great: Benjamin’s physique was longer, his skin fairer, his profile sharper. Most of all, his eyes were golden while Don Pedro’s were coal black. When the trail widened and they walked side by side again, she spoke her mind.

“You’re very different from your grandfather.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re much taller for one.”

Benjamin grinned.

“The Nrvai are not very tall people. I take after my father. He was a Spaniard.”

Her puzzle solved, Louise eyed him again and recognized bits and pieces of Spanish conquest carved in his face.
Mestizo.

“Did you grow up here in these beautiful hills?”

“Yes and no. My mother was living here when she met my father. He was a hard Christian missionary, very strict. She fell in love with him, but he refused to marry her unless she renounced her Nrvai beliefs and grandfather’s shamanism.” He chuckled softly. “My father called it ‘devil’s work.’ When my mother consented they married and moved to a big house in San Jose, where I was born.” He chopped a limb off a spindly tree and scraped at the bark. “I knew nothing about this place or the Nrvai until I was twelve years old, when my parents died.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—” Louise thought she was prying, but he continued.

“Our house caught fire one night. I was pulled from my bed by an unknown visitor.” Benjamin divided the branch into three logs. “Grandfather said it was Sibo who sent a dwalok spirit to save me from the flames. Then I came here with my grandfather. I had never met him before. That was nine years ago.” He stomped his feet; caked mud crumbled off the sides of his boots. “Grandfather knew I would be with him someday. He believes I am the only one who can learn his methods and pass them on.” Benjamin swung the sack brimming with plants back and forth at his side like a pendulum. She felt compassion for him, but she could see he didn’t need it. Apparently he had cast off the past. His brow was unfurled, his gaze calm and present.

“When did your mother die?” Again his golden eyes poured deep into her, like a liquid sunset.

“Eight years ago. I was twelve, too. Since that day my life has never been the same.”

He slung the bulging sack over his shoulder, its shape like that of a crouching jaguar.

“Grandfather says one has to die for another to be reborn. That’s the nature of the Creator. It’s what the elders told him and what he told me.”

The sun was lower in the sky, and a lavender mist colored the trees surrounding the dwelling when they returned. Charles paced in front of the doorway.

“What took you so long? Maud has fallen asleep!”

Louise peeked inside. Maud lay deep in the hammock, snoring loudly. Benjamin answered before Louise had a chance.

“Sleep is good. She’ll be more receptive during the healing ceremony.” Charles stepped back as Benjamin thrust his machete in the wall of woven palms. “We found everything Grandfather needed.” He took the sack off his shoulder and smiled at Louise, his mouth favoring one side.

“Well then, let’s get on with it.” Charles said, tired of pleasantries.

They went inside. Don Pedro was waving a fan made of feathers over glowing embers in the hearth. He clapped his hands when Benjamin approached him with the sack. After exchanging a few words the awa opened the bag and shook its contents on the raised wood floor. He squatted down to inspect each vine, leaf, root, and flower, murmuring to Benjamin beside him. The two separated the plants into piles; a potpourri of heady scents filled the space. The heat of the day lifted and a cool draft blew into the hut. Charles took his post by Maud’s hammock. Louise looked down at her shoes: mud encrusted them almost to her ankles. Prickly thorns, green burs, and splinters formed a wild pattern on the hem of her shift. She sat on a stool and tucked her feet under her skirt, wondering what Benjamin thought about her. Did she appear too much of a city girl, shallow and precious, like those girls at home whose lives revolved around fashion and galas and fancy doodads from abroad, like her sister Maud? She touched the loosened curls around her cheeks and decided not to contain them at the back of her head. Her eyes followed Benjamin around the room. She watched him pick out a drum, a carved gourd rattle, and a small, stripped log and place them by the fire. Don Pedro hummed, Maud snored, and Charles gaped at his pocket watch.

“Benjamin, when will the ceremony start? How long do you expect it to last?”

Grandson and grandfather exchanged glances.

“Curing ceremonies have no time limit. It takes as long as Grandfather needs for the required effect,” Benjamin replied.

“But the carriage will be waiting for us at half past seven! Might we be finished by then?”

Benjamin explained the dilemma to his grandfather. The awa swung his arm in the air.

“It’s over when your daughter is better!”

Charles held his head in distress. Louise tried to console him.

“Father, we need Maud to get well regardless of the time it takes. Right now Don Pedro is our only hope.”

Charles had not planned on being delayed in these remote hills yet was frantic to help Maud, worried that if he didn’t act quickly her health would continue to fail. Louise remembered the day when an associate at the commission told Charles a miraculous story of how Don Pedro had cured his jaundice. She was surprised when Father decided to see the awa. Shamanism was beyond his comprehension. At first he called it barbaric superstitions, but this colleague’s restored health was living proof. Charles would not stand by and helplessly witness losing his daughter as he had he lost his wife. Now she watched her father tear himself to pieces with worry over the waiting carriage and the dangers of traveling down the mountain in the dark and Maud’s condition and…

Don Pedro interrupted her thoughts with a sudden outburst. The awa strode to and fro by the hearth, its smoldering glow punctuating the animation in his eyes.

“I have been very successful in my ceremonies—not every awa can say that.” Don Pedro wagged a knotty finger at Charles. “You are fortunate to have found me. I know the stories about how this and many other sicknesses were formed. It was my mother, Tukitima, who taught me. Yes! My father did not know she was an awa. She kept it hidden. I was a little boy, but she revealed the stories and the sacred songs to me. By and by, I learned all. True healing takes time!” He snatched a mug of water off a stool. Louise and Charles looked at one another. Maud was unstirred by the awa’s exposition. Benjamin sat a short distance away, his face hidden in the shadows of a beam. When he had quenched his thirst, Don Pedro continued.

“I taught my grandson the language only shamans can understand. He is ready now. He knows Sibo’s songs. He has his own sacred stones. He can ask the right questions, too! I taught him as only a master can.”

There was a rustling outside. Charles put his hand on the pistol in his breast pocket. A tiny woman entered the dwelling and halted at the sight of the pale visitors. Benjamin greeted her, gave her the package they brought for the awa’s payment. The woman spoke briefly to Benjamin before going about preparing a meal. His lecture over, Don Pedro began parceling the herbs, chanting unintelligibly. His lips were in a constant state of motion, as if he were reciting some oratorio. Benjamin, collecting scraps of plants, would often nod and hum along. Soon the smell of stewed chicken, rice and beans, and plantains wafted through the dwelling. Louise inhaled deeply, hoping the smell would satiate her a little. The woman reappeared, carrying plates of hot food for Charles and Louise. However, for Don Pedro, Benjamin, and Maud, she brought only a bowl of mashed plantains. Louise immediately stood and offered her plate to her sister.

“Maud can have my portion.”

The awa dismissed her with a shake of his head.

“Plantains and water! That’s all she can have until the healing is victorious!”

“This is ridiculous! Get your things Louise. We’re leaving.” Charles said.

Just then Maud awoke. For the first time since they left home no cough sputtered from her lips. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Charles dashed to her side.

“Maudy darling! Are you all right?”

“Oh Papi! I dreamt I was at home in my bed,” Maud said, her eyes glossy with sleep. “Mother was there, and she brought me some plantains to eat. They smelled so good, and I was so hungry.”

Charles could not conceal his astonishment. The bowl of mashed plantains rested on a trestle. Don Pedro picked it up and gave it to Maud.

AT DUSK, AFTER EVERYONE HAD EATEN, the ritual began. Stars appeared one by one against an indigo sky. Don Pedro explained to them the special significance of twilight.

“When night buries the day, the ancient memory of spirit prevails. It is time to talk to mediators and to Sibo, who owns everything you can see!”

He dropped a bundle of leaves, roots, and vines into a cauldron of boiling water on the hearth. Stones of various sizes and shapes tumbled out of a small canvas bag onto the ground. The awa started to sing. He interspersed his song with questions and then blew on the stones.

He shook the gourd rattle as if to cleanse the air. Benjamin sat on the floor softly beating a drum between his knees. To Louise, it was like the heartbeat of the verdant countryside. She could not help staring at him. Moonlight danced across his hands as he played. The uneven shadows cast by the fire on his face gave it an ethereal, painterly quality. At that moment Louise became aware of her sister, who had been watching her. She quickly diverted her attention to their father. Charles, leaning low in his chair, was fighting sleep. Outside a chorus of creaking frogs and crickets seemed to harmonize with Benjamin’s soothing rhythm. Her gaze wandered back to the awa’s grandson.