In the center of the settlement was an open area with a fire, where a group of old women stirred something in an enormous, dented enamel pot sitting on the coals. Two posts stood at either end of the hamlet, carved like totem poles with grinning monkey faces not unlike the one on the iPhone. To one side stood what looked like a kind of shrine, a miniature house built of finely shaped driftwood with a grass roof. Inside, Gideon could make out some old human skulls, brown with age, carefully arranged along with other bones.
The leader let forth another burst of talk, indicating that they should sit on a log to one side. The women continued to cook as if nothing was happening. A group of children materialized out of the surrounding forest to stand and gape at the strangers in silence.
“Do you have any idea who these people are?” Gideon murmured.
“Since this is the Mosquito Coast, I’d assume they are Miskito Indians.”
The group of tribal elders huddled, speaking animatedly, iPhone taking the lead. It was all too obvious they were discussing what to do about the intruders, with iPhone leading the group of naysayers. Finally, he detached himself from the group and went up to Gideon, reaching out for his drysack. “Dar!”
“No,” said Gideon, pulling it back.
The man leveled his spear and made a jabbing motion while holding out his hand. “Dar!”
“Keep in mind,” Amy murmured, “you’ve got a loaded .45 in that bag if you need it.”
“Mi,” said Gideon, stepping back.
The man lunged for it, at the same time swiping at Gideon with his spear.
“Son of a bitch!” cried Gideon.
More angry words and gesturing with the spear tip.
“If you take out the gun,” said Amy, “maybe that’ll shut him up.”
“Not a good idea,” said Gideon. “At least, not yet.”
The man yelled at him again, shaking the spear.
Gideon stepped forward, almost walking up to the spear point, and began to yell. “Put that spear down! Baja! We are visitors!” He racked his brains, trying to dredge up what little Spanish he had. “Somos amigos! Visitantes!”
The Indian paused, taken aback by Gideon’s vehemence.
“Lo siento! I am sorry about the boat. Muchas gracias. But we were shipwrecked on this shore. Nuestro barco, baja en agua.” He gestured, showing how their boat had sunk and pantomiming how they swam to shore. With exaggerated and comical gestures he communicated how they were forced to wander about, looking for food and water, how they were starving and thirsty.
The group of men had stopped arguing and were now listening.
“We need help. You understand? Socorro. Comprende? Ayuda. Alimento y agua.” He made eating and drinking gestures.
iPhone shook his spear again. Gideon slapped it away, then stepped forward and bared his chest. “You want to stab me, go ahead! If that’s how you treat visitors, get it over with!”
This occasioned some murmuring among the older women, who were watching now with beady black eyes.
iPhone, enraged, placed the tip of the spear roughly against Gideon’s chest, drawing blood.
“I’m not so sure your strategy is working,” said Amy, reaching into his bag for the .45. “I think it’s time to show these people we mean business.”
39
Wait,” whispered Gideon. He smeared his left hand across the trickle of blood welling up on his chest. Then he drew two streaks of blood down his face — one on either side of his temples — and drew a third slash across his forehead.
The effect was immediate — and startling. With a gasp, iPhone drew back, pulling away the spear. A burst of hushed whispering came from the women.
Suddenly the door flap of the nearby hut was flung open and a wizened old man came out: bowlegged, moving painfully, his back bowed into a hump. Unlike the others, he was dressed traditionally, in a loincloth.
The group of arguing men fell silent as the old man stopped before them, eyeing them fiercely. Then he spoke a sharp word at iPhone. Next, he turned to Gideon and launched into a long, incomprehensible speech in his native tongue, accompanied by much histrionic gesturing. The old man did not look happy about them being there, but at least, it seemed to Gideon, he wasn’t going to kill them. Finally the man broke off, indicating that they should sit down on a log near the fire.
“What was that all about?” Amy murmured. “Your smearing blood all over your face?”
“I needed a makeover.”
She frowned and he hastily added, “Actually, I don’t know why they reacted like that. I was just imitating that.” He nodded toward the closest totem pole. “Look at the one-eyed figure on top. I just copied the decoration on his face.”
Amy shook her head. “A gun would’ve been simpler.”
“You take out a gun and things get real complicated, real fast. I go for the social engineering route — like your pal Odysseus.”
Bowls of stew arrived and were placed before them. They smelled heavenly. It was all Gideon could do to keep from burning his mouth as he ate. They ate self-consciously — the only ones eating — while everyone else looked on, crowding around and staring at them — men, women, and children.
“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite so delicious,” said Gideon, spooning the thick broth into his mouth.
Amy was slowly stirring her stew and fished out something that looked like a rat’s tail. “I wonder what’s in it.”
“My advice? Eat with your eyes closed.”
They finished the stew. “Now what?” Amy asked. “What do we say to these people?”
“One thing I’ve learned is that people are the same everywhere,” said Gideon. He rose and seized the old man’s hand, giving it a vigorous shake. “Muchas gracias,” he said. “Muchas gracias!” He went through the entire crowd, first the men, then the women, shaking their hands with a grin on his face. While this was received with a certain amount of bewilderment, Gideon could see that the good cheer and friendliness were having a positive effect.
“And now,” he said to Amy, “I’m going to give a speech.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. They won’t understand a word.”
“Amy, don’t you get it? We’ve got to act a certain part. Visitors worthy of respect. And what does a visitor worthy of respect do? Give a speech.”
Amy shook her head.
“And give gifts.” Gideon climbed up on a stump and raised his hands. “My friends!” he cried out.
A hush fell over the group.
“We have come a long way, across the sea, to be with you today…”
He continued grandly, in a big voice, while the crowd listened intently, not understanding a word. Concluding after a long interval, Gideon rummaged in his drysack and pulled out a gift: a flashlight. With great fanfare he walked up to the old man — and presented it to him.
The old man looked exceedingly displeased. He switched it on and off, clearly familiar with its use, totally unimpressed, and then handed it to one of the children.
A tense silence ensued. All the goodwill generated by the speech seemed to dissipate.
“Oops,” murmured Amy. “Looks like the natives aren’t accepting beads anymore.”