Tim O'Hara, biology doctoral candidate, was dodging the heavy clouds trying to avoid the mountain spikes that rose up in this part of the Amazon basin. This area was hardly known to the ‘civilized’ world. He had been trying to get a base camp established to continue research on the flora and fauna that were still unknown to science. One never knew when the next plant you discovered might bear something like quinine or penicillin. It wouldn’t be terrible to discover the cure for cancer in a tree in the Amazon forest.
The plane was enveloped in clouds again as he banked to the right to make sure the small plane stayed away from the Andes rising to the left. He burst out of a cloud and noticed that there appeared to be a break in the mountain wall. A waterfall leapt from the opening and cascaded to the basin floor below. It was narrow, probably too narrow to try flying through. He could see a valley beyond the gap in the cliffs. He had never heard of any sizable valley in the area.
The mystery tickled his curiosity and he flew closer to the opening. Right as he was about to turn sharply away, a powerful draft hitting the sheer cliffs on either side and poring through the narrow cleft in the cliffs, caught his little plane, and tossed it like a chip of wood in surf, through the gap in the cliffs.
He lost control for a moment. But a moment was all it took as the wind tossed the plane towards the cliffs on one side. He fought the controls, feeling the ailerons and rudder biting into the winds, turning the plane on its side, but not fast enough. The plane scraped the wall and the propeller splintered. He shut the engine down as the wind tossed him through the gap and into the valley.
In the eerie silence of no engine noise, Tim surveyed a sea of green surrounded by towering mountains. A river meandered the length of the valley. There was a clearing near the river. He might just glide that far. He put the nose down and brought the plane to maximum glide attitude, and he prayed.
He prayed to every God he knew or had ever heard of as the plane descended, gravity inexorably taking it closer and closer to the ground. The clearing was closer, but he was lower. He had to turn to miss one high tree… and one breathless moment later, he was over the clearing. He hit the flaps to slow the plane as much as possible, killing the airspeed as he almost touched the ground, letting ground effect keep him airborne until the last little bit of speed bled off… The wings stalled and the plane touched down. But the plane was slow enough that it didn’t come apart around him. The craft plowed a divot in the clearing but came to a stop in one piece.
He popped open the door and ran out, in case there was going to be fire. He stood looking at the plane and waited. Nothing happened. He was about to go back to the plane and find out if the radio still worked when he saw them, tribesmen, all carrying spears, watching him. This was a delicate time. They probably had never seen a white man, and to have one drop from the sky… He tried to imagine what they were thinking. He hoped they weren’t in a warlike mood.
They were talking among themselves. He recognized the speech patterns. It was a dialect of Yanomami. It wasn’t exactly like what he had learned, but he could understand much of what they said. However they weren't dressed as Yanomami. Tim figured they were some distant branch shut off in this valley in the sky. They were confused, was he a God come down from the sky? Should they take him to the village?
He greeted them in their language and several almost broke and ran. The leader, the oldest man, stepped forward, “What are you doing here?”
Pointing at himself he said, “I am Tim. Tim.”
Several of the men tried to pronounce this strange word. They glanced at the leader. He said, “We do not know this tribe.”
Ah. He remembered the Yanomami taboo concerning names. They never pronounce a name in front of the person, or their own name for that matter. “My tribe is from far away. That is why I had to fly in,” he said pointing at the plane.
In a slightly anxious voice, the oldest asked him, “You come from the sky?”
“I used the sky canoe,” there being no other word in their language to describe a means of travel than canoe, “to come from far away. The wind took me here.”
There was a quick and low voiced conversation which he could not hear or understand. “You must come to the village. The chief will know what is to be done.” The men all had steely looks. A decision had been made and he knew they were going to take him to their leader, one way or another. Cooperation seemed the best bet. He headed for the plane to get his effects when an arrow hit in the ground right in front of him. “You stay away from sky canoe. Come with us.”
Ah, they thought he was going to climb in and leave, little knowing that the Mooney was never going to fly again. That was impossible. She had done well to get him down in one piece, but this patch of ground was going to be her final resting place.
He followed the band of men across the clearing and through the forest. Most people think of the jungle as impenetrable, based on too many bad Hollywood movies. Actually, much of the Amazon forest is relatively bare at ground level, since the canopy blocks so much of the light, there is little that can grow at ground level. Near a river or stream, which allows the sun to penetrate to ground level, there will be thick cover all the way down. The small band traveled quickly among the bases of giant trees in the relative gloom of the primeval forest.
In a half hour or so, they broke clear of the forest into another clearing, through which, a small stream meandered. There was a collection of thatch huts at one end of the clearing. Tim saw the cultivation of plantains and cassava with plants of various heights. This was a fairly permanent habitation.
As they came closer to the huts, a buzz of voices grew and people poured from them. The men wore only a simple string belt and the women wore nothing except a few ornaments. From the number of folks emerging from each one, he knew they were communal, shared by many families, which is common among some Amazonian tribes. In the center was a smaller hut. From it, emerged a wizened man wearing a necklace of finger bones. He was the headman, he guessed.
The leader of his little group started talking quickly and slangily so that he could only pick out a few words. Sky Canoe, Capture, White, Arrow, etc. He waited. The headman turned to him. “Welcome to Itswana.” That isn’t exactly what it sounded like, but for English it is close. A note about the translations: trying to literally translate the Yanomomo language would be impossible. Even the slang of the people has been turned into English slang so that the reader will get a feel for these people, given the limitations of the two languages. There is no point in putting in the frequent, “What did you say? Could you say that again? What does that mean?” that peppered the conversations.
“Thank you. I am sorry I have intruded into your country without invitation,” he said. “My sky canoe was damaged and I could no longer steer it. The river of wind took me where it willed.”
“How far did the Sky God bring you?” he asked. “You look strange to my eyes.”
Tim knew he wasn’t being rude, simply truthful. He did look strange. He was tall, white, and dressed. “From beyond the forest, many, many days of travel.”
“I have been to the bottom of the great waterfall. There is nothing but forest,” he said.
So they did travel outside the valley, at least on occasion. “My land is far beyond. I have come very far to reach your land.”
“Then the Sky God willed it. You shall be our guest. You have come from above, the land of Hedu Ka Misi.” There were general sounds of wonder from the gathered people. “We must follow the will of the gods. What if the Rain God no longer brought us water from the sky? What if the Jaguar God no longer gave us the skill to hunt? It shall be done.”
He stepped forward and embraced him. Quickly, the other villagers followed his example and each embraced him, men first by seniority. Tim found it tiresome until the queue reached the younger women wearing nothing. Being embraced by naked young women, made the ordeal bearable, well, more than bearable.
After the last girl embraced him, a girl barely entering puberty, he had an erection tenting his shorts. In the Amazon, the less clothing you wear, the more comfortable it is. His shorts barely covered anything, and with an erection, they covered not enough. The headman pointed and laughed, the villagers joining him. The headman said something to one of the young women; she had small tits and smiled shyly when the headman spoke to her. She came running back to Tim and took his hand leading him to one of the huts.
Inside, she led him to a sleeping area and she lay on the grass covered floor. “Please, have sex with me. The elders think it is a good omen that the man from Hedu Ka Misi wishes to join the tribe so quickly.”
He knew many primitive tribes had unusual ideas about sex, but still, this was shocking to his American sensibilities. The young girl reached up and ran her hand over his cock. “I think this will feel good,” she said. That ended the thoughts and he quickly stripped from his clothes and lay down with her.
She pulled him between her legs and led his hard cock to her entrance. She was already wet. There was no barrier to entry as he pushed into her. The Yanomami are a small people and this girl was tight on his cock. She groaned as he stretched her open. “Yes, it is good,” she said.
They began fucking. She was quite verbal in her enjoyment and he wondered what those outside were thinking. People began wandering back into the hut which caused him to stop. But only for a second since the girl under him slapped his ass and urged him on. As people entered they glanced over at the unusual pair rutting on the floor, even the children, smiled, then went about their business. After all, in a communal environment, sex was an every day affair, not something to get excited about, unless you were the one having the sex, like the girl with him, who seemed to be quite enjoying it.
The crowd put him off a bit. He was just not used to an audience at his rutting, despite their obvious nonchalance at him bedding this barely nubile girl. Her whole-hearted performance and tight pussy quickly made him forget the audience. The tension built in his loins and he let it burst forth, filling the dark girl with his seed. She moaned and he believed had her own climax as she felt herself being filled. He fell next to her trying to get his breath back.
“You are very good,” the girl said stroking his cheek. “When they see this,” she said running her hand over his shrinking cock, “they will all want you. You will be very busy man.” She was smiling as she finished.
“So the girls are all going to want sex?” he asked.
“Oh yes. I bet the married women ask soon.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
The girl sat up and tried to explain. “You ask the single girls and they will be very happy to try your big stick. When the married women see it, I think they want to try it out too,” she said.
“I ask the single girls, but not the married women?” he asked.
She looked puzzled that he would ask. “Yes, you wait until the married woman, or her husband, asks you for sex. Then you can. For a married woman it is bad manners to have sex in front of her husband unless he is the one who asked. She waits for him to be hunting. But the single girls, you can ask them. They aren’t married so who cares when they have sex. Just for fun, huh? Like running races, we do that for the sheer fun.”
She sounded like his mother explaining to a foreigner the simple etiquette of using a fork, “Don’t use your fingers, you silly twit. Use the fork.”
There was a bustle by the door. The girl looked up and smiled. “Good, come. Come quickly,” she said grabbing his hand. He followed her to the center of the hut where an old woman was fanning the flames of the fire. A man came in carrying several freshly caught fish. The people congratulated him on his fishing prowess. People gathered around as the fish were grilled using the hot stones of the fire.
The first fish off the fire was given to the fisherman, who ate and then passed it on. The rest followed. One was given to the girl and she handed it to Tim without eating. He passed it back. “You do not like?” she asked.
“Please, eat first,” he said.
She handed it back. “No, the man always eats first.” Another etiquette rule he was ignorant of. “That is different in my land. The woman is served first.” The girl looked surprised that the people from above could be so silly.
He watched as the others ate. They simply pealed off chunks of fish and ate. He followed suit watching how the girl smiled as she watched. After eating a few bites, he offered her the fish and she grabbed a handful of flesh, smiling as she ate. He ate a few more bites then passed on the fish to a young girl, about ten or so, she was watching him wide-eyed as she took the fish. He winked. She jumped in surprise, then laughed as the other children joined her.
After all had eaten, the adults went off to sleep away the hot afternoon. The girl joined him and the couple slept several hours. A rain storm swept in, raising the humidity but cooling the air.
He woke and sat up. A young girl was looking at him. The girl, he wished he could ask her name since they had become bed partners, also woke. But it was a great taboo to ask a person’s name. It is the only privacy a person living in such a communal environment has and is therefore, jealously guarded. She saw him eyeing the girl.
“Would you like her for sex?” she asked.
He glanced at the girl again. She was attractive, in that young girl way, fresh and unblemished. Her tits were barely mounding up from her chest, her hips were still narrow like a boy, and she had a small covering of fuzz on her pudenda. “She is too young.”
“No. She is ready. She has had her time twice now. The Mother of the village has said she is ready.”
“Why hasn’t one of the men had sex with her,” he asked.
“Too much work,” the girl told him. “You know, the first time the man has to be careful of the girl. Most men would rather have a blooded girl who can give as good as she gets. She is ready. She is eager to try sex. ” The girl he had been sleeping with watched his eyes. They devoured the young girl. “Come, come here,” she said to the other girl.
The young girl came over, standing with her hands clasped in front and her eyes down. The girl he had been sleeping with stood. “I will come back later.” She left the two of them together.
Tim held out his hand which the girl took. Tim pulled her down onto his bed, if you could call it that. ‘You know,’ he thought. ‘Having women always naked sure saves time in the foreplay department.’
As a part time anthropologist while searching the wilds for new species, Tim had spent much time noticing other cultures sexual habits and knew that there are only three reasons to have sex: pure unadulterated fun with no other reason needed; to get pregnant; or to gain something of value. That last is the ethos of the whore. Whores always exist in cultures that proscribe sexual activity in some way. If a culture doesn’t have sex for pure fun or to conceive, then you are going to have whores.
To demand that the other person abandon the fun of sexual adventure in order to be with you is to turn sex into a property right. I own you to the extent that you can only have sex with me. To turn sex into a property right is to make it a commercial transaction, the ethos of a whore.
If you are having sex to make someone like you, if you are trading sex to keep a boyfriend, if you are having sex because you ‘have’ to, if you are having sex for any reason other than fun or procreation, you have turned sex into an attempt to own the other person or grant the other person ownership rights over you and therefore made sex a commercial transaction. That there is no cash directly paid doesn’t change the essential commercial, a trade of things of value, nature of the exchange.
What about the fourth reason to have sex: love. Tina Turner had it right, what’s love got to do with it? It is a strictly biological reaction caused by the hormones flooding the brain with pleasure giving chemicals when the brain perceives the most desirable sexual reproductive partner.
I love my dad. I love my mom. I love vanilla ice cream. I love my football team. Love does not equal sex and sex does not equal love. Oh, but there is that special kind of love, between lovers. This is begging the question. That special kind of sex is simply sex with the conditions above are attached to the sex. If you love me, you’ll only want to have sex with me. Substitute another word and we have the same thing. If you love me, you’ll only want to have fun with me. If you love me, you'll only spend money on me and we get to the heart of the matter. I own you. I gain something of value, you.
Tim bent down and took a breast into his mouth. The girl gasped, then moaned as Tim softly teased her rapidly hardening nipple. His hand slid over her flat belly and between her legs, which opened for him. Tim found her already wet with arousal. There was a big advantage to being with women who treated sex as an arousing entertainment rather than guilty pleasure requiring bribes of dinner, flowers, and insincere words of love. This kind of innocent sex made a lot more sense than his repressed culture.
He felt his cock rising to the occasion. His fingers stroked the young girl, spreading her natural lubricant around her pussy. He saw a woman glance over and smile, then go back to her work of preparing cassavas. Well, if the natives didn’t think it odd for him to be having sex with the girl, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass by.
His finger gently entered the girl. Her eyes closed and she moaned. His hand was flooded with her arousal. She certainly was no shrinking virgin. Of course, she had grown up watching men and women coupling and the pleasure it brought. It was no wonder she was eager. He worked his finger in and massaged her G spot. The girl’s hips thrust up and back as her head turned from side to side. She certainly seemed ready. But he was worried this small girl, not only young but also small as a Yanomami, would be hurt by his cock. The wetness and heat surrounding his finger along with the pounding of his cock overcame his worries.
He rolled between the girl's legs which spread to accept him. Her lust lidded eyes opened, “Yes,” she moaned. “I wish to be a woman.” He would make her one. As his cock entered her, her eyes flashed open.
“Oh,” she mumbled as his cock stretched her, then burst her maidenhead. “Ooh,” she said, expelling her breath in a guttural sigh.
Tim waited as he felt her pussy spasm around his cock. The girl opened her eyes, then urged him on. “Come, make me a woman,” she said. He pushed his cock further into the small girl beneath him. She groaned as he filled her. “So big, Man from the Sky.” Tim bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt in the girl. He was amazed she had taken it all. He pulled back then fucked into the girl.
Her eyes opened as his cock slashed back into her. “Aiyeeeeeeeeeee,” she screamed. An older woman who was working near by looked over and watched for a moment. She smiled and went back to weaving a basket, a small smile on her face. The girl’s natural lubrication was making it easy now to plunge into her tight pussy. The girl was limp in his arms, as if this was too much sensation for her to endure. Tim slowed then stopped all the way in her slowly circling his hips to rub against her button.
Her eyes opened, “Don’t stop. I want to feel it,” she said. Tim picked up the pace again. Now the girl was responding, pushing up her little ass to meet his strokes. Tim felt her pussy grasp his cock like a wet hot velvet vise.
Tim had just had sex with the other girl just a few hours before. But this girl’s pussy was like a machine, so tight and hot and wet, the muscles milking his cock. She looked like a child and the civilized taboo that Tim had been raised with made the act feel completely nasty and therefore even more fun.
He looked down at her innocent little face, twisted with lust and felt it deep inside. His climax came on suddenly and almost without warning. Just the tingles then the convulsions as his cock spat globs of cum into her tiny young pussy.
The girl felt it and knew what it meant. “Yesssss,” she screamed, raising heads of the people in the hut. They all smiled knowing the girl had been given a good ride for her first time.
After, Tim lay drained. The little girl lay next to him. She smiled up at him, thanked him, and left. He fell asleep in the afternoon heat. He was awakened by the first girl gently tugging his arm. When he opened his eyes, she was holding a bowl which she gave him. He recognized cassava. She had a bowl and the two of them ate. Darkness came quickly in the valley. The fire burned down and the villagers settled in and quickly were asleep. The girl snuggled into him, pulling him down onto the grasses. Tim was asleep before he knew it.
His first morning in the village started with some plantains which had been roasted on the fire. He went out and found the camp latrine, joined by many of the village men, laughing in the relative cool of the morning. Several women joined the group and they talked of the need to plant cassava in the nearby clearing. Tim followed along. Men and women were soon digging and planting. Tim grabbed a pointed stick and was soon at work. His girl, at least that is how he had come to think of her, followed him planting as he dug. His size allowed him to use his weight to dig deeper and faster than any of the other men. Soon, the women were pointing out the Sky Man and asking why their men were so slow. It led to a friendly rivalry to see who could dig the fastest. The men were shouting at Tim, “Hey, I’m digging faster.”
He’d laugh and shout back as he dug even more quickly. The women were laughing, egging on the men. Tim worked on until the women declared the planting done for the day. As the group headed back to the village, several of the men complimented Tim on his digging and said that this was the fastest they had ever planted a field. They were glad he had come from the Sky to help. Several of the women gave him appraising looks. His girl would move between him and the women. Apparently casual sex was fine but these looks aroused something else in the girl. “Did you see her?” she said to him quietly. “I know she wants a husband. Her man was killed last season hunting. You watch her.”
The women brought some food for the men when the group had returned to the village. As he ate, Tim thought about the tools in his plane. Hell, he had a machete. He also had a crow bar. How much better would that be than a pointed stick for digging?
As most of the village was gathered around, one young woman got up and walked into the center. She began by saying she was with child. The villagers all congratulated the girl. Then she began telling of the many fathers the child had, first her own husband, then the fisherman, then another and another. By the time she had enumerated all of the fathers, she had named almost all the men in the village.
Tim finished eating lost in his thoughts. His girl came up to him, “Hey, man from sky.”
Tim looked up, “Hello.”
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about the girl,” he said. “How come she named all of the men as father?”
The girl looked at him as if he was somewhat daft. “Of course she had as many fathers for her child as she could. What if something happens to her husband? Now, the baby will have many fathers to take care of his upbringing.”
“How did she determine who were the fathers?” he asked.
“Those were the men whom she had sex with since her last monthly time,” she said.
“And her husband knew?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Everyone knows it takes many fathers to make a good baby. The husband told the village that she was trying to get pregnant and invited all the men to help,” she explained simply as to a child.
“Oh,” was all Tim could say.
He saw the Chief come from his dwelling and Tim called out to him. The chief came over and squatted with him.
“Chief, I have many things in my Sky Canoe that could help with planting and hunting. Could a man take me there?” he asked.
“You wish to leave?” the chief asked.
“I would like to return to my people but it won’t be in that Sky Canoe. It was broken by the winds in the cliff and can no longer fly. I wish to get some tools from it,” Tim explained.
“It is not far.” He pointed to one of the men. “You know where the Sky Canoe is?” The man nodded. “Please take him there.” The man nodded again.
“Come,” he said.
Tim stood, “Thank you.” He followed the man out of the camp.
At the plane he rummaged around finding the machete and crow bar as well as his survival knife and Swiss Army Knife. He also found his S&W 40 caliber pistol. He strapped the holster around his waist looking at the man from the village. He watched unconcerned having no idea what Tim now carried.
The instruments looked undamaged. ‘Maybe,’ he thought as he turned on the emergency beacon. It should run for several days, if it wasn’t damaged in the landing. And maybe, just maybe an airliner would fly over the valley and get the signal. Lots of maybes, Tim said to himself as he looked at the sheer granite walls surrounding him. He just hoped there was some air route that went right over the valley.
“What is that?” asked the man pointing to the crow bar.
“A digging stick,” he said handing to him.
When Tim let go the man nearly dropped it. “Aiye. What is this? It is so heavy. Does it come from Hedu Ka Misi?”
“No, it is from my village.” Tim showed him the Machete. “We make many things from this. It is very strong.”
The man held it, testing the weight. Then he held it up and struck the ground driving it deep into the earth. “Ah, it will dig fast even in hard ground.” He handed it back to Tim. “Now, you will really be the fastest digger. You will put the rest of the men to shame,” he said laughing.
They returned to the village to find the men of his hut forming up. They were preparing for a hunting expedition to the far end of the valley and would be gone for several days. The man joined them and soon they were gone with the village wishing them luck and killing many monkeys.
Tim went into the hut to lie down in the gathering heat. As he did, one of the women came up to him. “Would you like to have sex?” He had seen her with one of the men.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said without guile. “But he is hunting,” as if that explained everything. “He is gone so who is to care?”
Tim looked around the hut and realized the rest of the women were going about their chores paying no attention as if this was an everyday event. Certainly, none of them looked shocked. “Okay,” he said.
The woman smiled broadly, “Good. The girl told us of your big stick. I wish to try it.” Her hand found his cock and started working it. He quickly responded. It grew until it was fully erect. The woman shouted. “Come look.” The other women gathered around as the women slowly stroked him keeping him erect.
The others exclaimed, “Look how big. I must try that.” The first woman straddled him as the rest scattered back to their chores still twittering about his cock. She placed it at her entrance and settled down. She wasn’t as tight as the two girls but she was still a small woman and her pussy grasped his cock tightly as she settled onto it.
“Ah, yes. I am glad you came down from the sky to our village,” said the woman as she bounced on Tim’s cock. The woman had amazing control squatting easily as she moved on his cock. Her hips would barely touch his before she lifted again. It was almost magical the way she hovered over him as she fucked herself.
Soon, she was speeding up, her breath coming in ragged pants. He felt her vagina rippling around his cock and his own climax was getting close. He threw his had back trying to put it off as her pussy went crazy grabbing and stroking his cock as, crying out, the woman climaxed. Her pussy sucked his cum into her as he felt great gouts of cum burst from his cock and flood the woman above him. She slowed and stopped before lifting off, their cum dripping from her. She lay beside him as they rested, her hand slowly stroking his chest.
“Thank you, Man from Sky. That is the best I ever had.” Soon the woman got up and returned to her chores, a smile on her face. Tim noticed several of the women sizing him up. He dressed and wandered outside. Tim smiled as he considered his position. Maybe living here wouldn’t be all that bad. He’d never have to face his Doctoral committee. He’d never have to write his tenure book. He’d never have some co-ed accuse him of sexual harassment because he flunked her on a test. Life here wouldn’t be all bad.
Several days, and several women from the hut later, an old man sought out Tim. “Listen,” he said. “I am going fishing. Do you want to come along?”
“Yes.” Tim answered, eager to learn more of these people.
The man grabbed a spear and net and led Tim off towards the river. When they were out of earshot of the village the man slowed and said, “Listen, you must be careful with your Big Stick.”
“Because of her husband?” Tim asked.
“What? No. He is hunting. What does he care when he is gone? A woman doesn’t wear out with use, right? No, it is the women. I am old. I have seen it happen. They choose a man and soon he has no time or energy for anything else. All he does is serve the women. Soon, he can’t even get his stick to stand up. Then the women fight among themselves trying to get his stick. I tell you, when the women fight over a dead stick, all the men of the village suffer.”
The old fisherman looked back at Tim, “You must resist being only a Big Stick. A man must save his energy for fishing and hunting as well as mating. It is good to help a woman have a child. All the men of the village do that. That way, every child has many fathers so that if something happens to one father, he has many to help him grow strong. When my wife was trying to get with child I made sure every man in the village helped her. Save yourself for this, Man with Big Stick. And your girl,” the old man said with a sly smile. “Every man needs one woman.”
As they neared the river, the jungle grew thick. Tim followed along a narrow track. The sun disappeared behind the thick canopy of the tall trees. A snarl startled Tim. He saw a blur of yellow and black as it knocked the old man off his feet.
Tim was carrying his machete and without thought, lashed out, striking the Jaguar in his hind quarters, cutting deeply into the leg muscle. The cat roared in pain and rolled to the side, lashing out at Tim as he did. The giant paw caught his machete and ripped it from his hand. Tim grabbed his pistol, aiming it at the cat as it righted itself, snarling in his direction, its fangs bared. He squeezed the trigger and the 40 caliber slug hit square in the chest knocking the cat back. The slug had hit the first rib, flatted, and ripped through the chest, obliterating the heart and lungs. The cat was dead before its limp body fell over.
He looked at the old man who lay motionless. Tim’s first thought was that the man was dead. There were bloody scratches down his back where the cat had knocked him to the ground. Then the old man lifted his head and looked at the dead cat. The man got to his feet. “You killed the Jaguar with thunder.”
“Are you all right?” Tim asked.
“Yes.” He felt his back and winced, seeing blood on his hand. “Ah, the Jaguar God almost had me. Thank you for killing him with thunder.” He poked the cat with his spear. “Let us get a limb and we take him back to the village. That is a fine pelt.”
They cut a limb from a low branched tree. The man tied the cat’s paws to the limb and hefted the front as Tim hefted the back. He followed the man back to the village. There was a near riot as they entered with the men and women shouting out their victory over the jaguar. The Chief came out praising their victory. When the old man explained that Tim had used his thunder to kill the cat, silence descended over the village.
The chief looked at Tim, “You must be a magician.”
Tim shook his head, “No, no. I am no magician. It is a tool from my village that killed the great cat, but makes a noise like thunder. I was lucky to have it with me when it jumped us.”
“No magic?”
Tim laughed, “No, I am sorry. I am just a man.”
“Ah well,” said the Chief. Conversations started again. “This is a fine pelt. To the hunter goes the pelt,” he declared. Women rushed forward and began cutting the pelt from the cat. They also began dismembering the carcass as other women tended the fire in the middle of the village, the flames leaping as they built a large bed of coals. It looked to Tim like roast kitty was on the menu. The pelt was taken away to be tanned. Large hunks of meat were being roasted. Other parts of the cat were being taken off to be smoked and stored. The cat would feed the village for many weeks if carefully prepared.
The head was presented to the Chief. He made ceremonial passes with his war club, lowering the head to the ground, only to have it raised again. Finally, Tim was pushed up and given a spear. He joined the Chief and together they ‘killed’ the jaguar. The villagers all fell to their knees as the chief prayed to the Jaguar God, thanking him for his gift. The head was carried off on great ceremony and placed on a pole outside the village so that the spirit of the great cat would stand guard over the village.
Tim was given the first hunk of meat. Everyone watched as he ate a chunk. The Chief took the next bite praising the hunter’s skill. The old man, his wounds covered in salve, took the third bite and passed the hunk on. Women began circulating with hunks of cat, well roasted. Tim ate his fill, surprised that kitty was good eating.
His girl had joined him once the women began eating. Several others crowded round, wanting to hear the story of how he killed the cat. They oohed at the appropriate times in the story, commenting on his bravery and for saving the old man because he was such a good fisherman and the village would suffer if he was killed.
The gathering turned into a celebration with the men who remained behind dancing as the women clapped and sang. The women of the village turned the meal into a feast, cooking plantains, cassava, and more of the cat. Tim was stuffed by the time midday rolled around. It looked like everyone else in the village had stuffed themselves. He noticed people going off to the huts. When the Chief disappeared with one of the young village maidens, Tim took the opportunity to disappear as well.
His girl joined him in the hut, curling up next to him as he lay down. “You are very brave hunter to kill the Jaguar,” she said.
“No, I had no choice,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “You cut him to knock him off the old fisherman then you killed him with your thunder. The girl snuggled in to him, her small hand finding his cock and curling round it. She gently squeezed it, rolling it between her fingers. Tim had intended to nap, but his cock soon had other ideas.
He rolled on his back as the girl smiled. She began pumping him as his cock quickly filled and stood up. She straddled his hips and lowered herself over him, his cock sliding easily into her tight pussy. “Ah,” she said as she bottomed out, her cleft filled. “A great hunter and a big stick. I am lucky girl.”
‘No,’ Tim thought. ‘I am a lucky guy,’ as the young girl began fucking herself on him.
The next morning, the old fisherman wasn’t feeling well and told Tim they would fish a different day. He needed time to recover.
The villagers were no longer watching his every step as he had been accepted into the entity that was the village. Tim wandered through the forest, keeping a wary eye. But most animals avoided man if they could, He kept his machete in one hand and the other free to grab his pistol if he needed it.
He found the clearing and wandered over to his plane. As he neared it he heard the sound of an engine. He looked up but could see nothing. Then the sound became louder, the distinctive whump, whump, whump of a helicopter. He stared at the opening in the granite walls that he had come through as a military helicopter burst through pushed by the wind.
He stared for a moment, then he began wildly yelling and waving his arms. It only took seconds before the helicopter turned and headed for his wrecked plane and the clearing. Once he was sure they had seen him, Tim subsided. He was saved. He had contemplated having to live out his life in this valley, or maybe die trying to climb out. The copter circled once and set down.
A head emerged at the door and yelled in Portuguese, “Come on, we’re short on fuel.”
Tim ran to the door and friendly hands pulled him aboard. He hadn’t even had time to think as the copter rose. It looped over the valley and Tim could see the villagers looking up at the strange machine. He knew they would think it was another visitor from Hedu Ka Misi, the world above. Tim couldn’t make out individuals but he knew his girl was down there. He felt a pang of loss.
One of the crew asked him in Portuguese, “Who are they?”
“A branch of the Yanomomi,” he said. “But they have never seen a white person before.”
He nodded. “Maybe we could lose the coordinates. Otherwise, they’ll be overrun.”
Tim nodded. Yes, they didn’t need to be spoiled by civilization. With ‘civilization’ came the missionaries and preachers teaching sin. These people had no sin. They were simply living… taking what pleasures living brought and accepting what dangers it brought.
“How did you find me?” Tim asked.
“A rescue plane got the signal of your beacon. It took us two days to get here. We had to set up a temporary landing area and fly in gas. It was too far from any airport.”
Tim nodded. The ride got rough as they reached the gap in the walls but the winds were much less this day than they had been when Tim had been tossed through. The copter struggled but flew beyond and into clear air.
Tim looked back. Maybe he’d go back someday and meet his girl again. Or maybe by then she’d be married and he’d get another girl, young and ready to be blooded. He turned to the crew, “I think I went down out here in the jungle someplace.”
They nodded in understanding.
It was for the best. Tim looked back a last time at the granite walls of the Andes. ‘Who really is civilized?’ he asked himself. ‘And who are the savages?’
Endnote: All of the customs mentioned in this story have been seen in indigenous peoples. None of this is made up. We in the West think our way is the only way. It isn’t and it isn’t even the best way. We’d be a lot happier if we could all help make a baby and have fun doing it: It is a lot of work to make a good baby. As my dad used to say, if you want it done right, put more men on the job.
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