Version 2007.02.14

## “Shabono: A Visit to a Remote and Magical World in the South American Rainforest” - ©1982 by Florinda Donner-Grau

### Chapter 14

Women, I had been told, were not to concern themselves with any aspect of the epena ritual. They were not supposed to prepare it, nor were they allowed to take the hallucinogenic snuff. It was not even proper for a woman to touch the cane tube through which the powder was blown, unless a man specifically asked her to fetch it for him.

To my utter astonishment one morning, I saw Ritimi bent over the hearth, attentively studying the dark reddish epena seeds drying over the embers. Without acknowledging my presence, she proceeded to rub the dried seeds between her palms over a large leaf containing a heap of bark ashes. With the same confidence and expertise I had seen in Etewa, she periodically spat on the ashes and seeds as she kneaded them into a pliable uniform mass.

As she transferred the doughy mixture onto a hot earthenware shard, Ritimi looked up at me, her smile clearly revealing how delighted she was by my bafflement. "Ohooo, the epena will be strong," she said, shifting her gaze back to the hallucinogenic dough bursting with loud popping sounds on the piece of terra-cotta. With a smooth stone she ground the fast-drying mass until it all blended into a very fine powder, which included a layer of dust from the earthenware shard.

"I didn't know women knew how to prepare epena," I said.

"Women can do anything," Ritimi said, funneling the brownish powder into a slender bamboo container.

Waiting in vain for her to satisfy my curiosity, I finally asked, "Why are you preparing the snuff?"

"Etewa knows I prepare epena well," she said proudly. "He likes to have some ready whenever he returns from a hunt."

For several days we had eaten nothing but fish. Not being in the mood for hunting, Etewa, together with a group of men, had dammed a small stream, in which they placed crushed, cut-up pieces of ayori-toto vine. The water had turned a whitish color, as if it were milk. All the women had to do was to fill their baskets with the asphyxiated fish that rose to the surface. But the Iticoteri were not too fond of fish and soon the women and children began to complain about the lack of meat. Two days had passed since Etewa and his friends had set out for the forest.

"How do you know Etewa is returning today?" I asked, and before Ritimi answered, hastily added, "I know, you can feel it in your legs."

Smiling, Ritimi picked up the long narrow tube and blew through it repeatedly. "I'm cleaning it," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Have you ever taken epena?

Ritimi leaned closer to whisper in my ear, "Yes, but I did not like it. It gave me a headache." She looked around furtively. "Would you like to try some?"

"I don't want a headache."

"Maybe it's different for you, "she said; Standing up, she casually put the bamboo container and the three-foot-long cane into her basket. "Let's go to the river. I want to see if I mixed the epena well."

We walked along the bank, quite a distance from where the Iticoteri usually came to bathe or to draw water. I squatted on the ground in front of Ritimi, who meticulously began introducing a small amount of epena into one end of the cane. Delicately, she flicked the tube with her forefinger, scattering the powder along its length. I felt drops of sweat running down my sides. The only time I had ever been drugged was when I had had three wisdom teeth removed. At the time I had wondered if it would not have been wiser to bear the pain instead of the gruesome hallucinations the drug had induced in me.

"Lift your head slightly," Ritimi said, holding the slender tube toward me. "See the little rasha nut at the end? Press it against your nostril."

I nodded. I could see that the palm seed had been tightly attached to the end of the cane with resin. I made sure the small hole that had been drilled into the hollowed-out fruit was inside my nose. I ran my hand along the fragile length of the smooth cane. I heard the sharp sound of compressed air shooting through the tube. I let go of it as a piercing pain seared into my brain. "That feels terrible!" I groaned, pounding the top of my head with my palms.

"Now the other one," laughed Ritimi as she placed the cane against my left nostril.

I felt as if I were bleeding, but Ritimi assured me it was only mucus and saliva dribbling uncontrollably from my nose and mouth. I tried to wipe myself clean but was unable to lift my heavy hand.

"Why don't you enjoy it instead of being so fussy about a little slime running into your belly button?" Ritimi said, grinning at my clumsy efforts. "I'll wash you later in the river."

"There is nothing to enjoy," I said, beginning to sweat profusely from every pore. I felt nauseous and there was an odd heaviness in my limbs. I saw points of red and yellow light everywhere. I wondered what Ritimi found so funny. Her laughter reverberated in my ears as if it came from inside my head. "Let me blow some in your nose," I suggested.

"Oh, no. I have to watch over you," she said. "We cannot both end up with a headache."

"This epena has to give more than a headache," I said. "Blow some more into my nose. I want to see a hekura."

"Hekuras don't come to women," Ritimi said between fits of laughter. She placed the cane against my nose. "But perhaps if you chant they'll come to you."

I felt each grain travel up my nasal passage, exploding in the top of my skull. Slowly, a delicious lassitude [* lassitude- a state of comatose; a feeling of lack of interest or energy] spread through my body. I turned my gaze to the river, almost expecting a mythical creature to emerge from its depths. Ripples of water began to grow into waves splashing back and forth with such force that I scurried backward on my hands and knees. I was certain the water was trying to trap me. Shifting my eyes to Ritimi's face, I was bewildered by her alarmed expression.

"What is it?" I asked. My voice trailed off as I followed the direction of her gaze. Etewa and Iramamowe stood in front of us. With great difficulty I stood up. I touched them to make sure I was not hallucinating.

Unfastening the large bundles slung over their backs, they handed them to the other hunters standing behind on the trail. "Take the meat to the shabono," Iramamowe said hoarsely.

The thought that Etewa and Iramamowe would eat so little of the meat filled me with such sadness I began to cry. A hunter gives away most of the game he kills. He would rather go hungry than risk the chance of being accused of stinginess. "I'll save you my portion," I said to Etewa. "I prefer fish to meat."

"Why are you taking epena? Etewa's voice was stern, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"We had to check if Ritimi mixed the powder properly," I mumbled. "It's not strong enough. Haven't seen a hekura yet."

"It's strong," Etewa retorted. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he made me squat on the ground in front of him. "Epena made from seeds is stronger than the kind made from bark." He filled the cane with the snuff. "Ritimi's breath does not have much strength." A devilish grin creased his face as he placed the tube against my nostril and blew.

I fell backward, cradling my head, which reverberated with Iramamowe's and Etewa's uproarious laughter. Slowly I stood up. My feet felt as though they were not touching the ground.

"Dance, white girl," Iramamowe urged me. "See if you can lure the hekuras with your chant."

Mesmerized by his words, I held out my arms and began to dance with small jerky steps, the way I had seen the men dance when in an epena trance.

Through my head ran the melody and words of one of Iramamowe's hekura songs.

After days of calling the hekura of

the hummingbird,

she finally came to me.

Dazzled, I watched her dance.

I fainted on the ground,

and did not feel as she

pierced my throat

and tore out my tonsue.

I did not see how my blood

flowed into the river,

tinting the water red.

She filled the gap with precious feathers.

That is why I know the hekura songs.

That is why I sing so well.

Etewa guided me to the edge of the river, then splashed water on my face and chest. "Don't repeat his song," he warned me. "Iramamowe will get angry. He will harm you with his magic plants."

I wanted to do as he told me, yet I was compelled to repeat Iramamowe's hekurasong.

"Don't repeat his song," Etewa pleaded. "Iramamowe will make you deaf. He will make your eyes bleed." Etewa turned toward Iramamowe. "Do not bewitch the white girl."

"I won't," Iramamowe assured him. "I'm not angry at her. I know she is still ignorant of our ways." Framing my face with his hands, he forced me to look into his eyes. "I can see the hekuras dancing in her pupils."

In the light of the sun Iramamowe's eyes were not dark, but light, the color of honey. "I can also see the hekuras in your eyes," I said to him, studying the yellow specks on his iris. His face radiated a gentleness that I had never seen before. As I tried to tell him that I finally understood why his name was Jaguar's Eye, I collapsed against him. I was vaguely aware of being carried in someone's arms. As soon as I was in my hammock, I fell into a deep sleep from which I did not awaken until the following day.

Arasuwe, Iramamowe, and old Kamosiwe had gathered in Etewa's hut. Anxiously, I looked from one to the other. They were painted with onoto; their perforated earlobes were decorated with short, feather-ornamented pieces of cane. When Ritiroi sat next to me in my hammock, I was certain she had come to protect me from their wrath. Before giving any of the men a chance to speak, I began weaving excuses for having taken epenn. The faster I talked, the safer I felt. A steady flow of words, I thought, was the surest way of dispelling their anger.

Arasuwe finally cut into my incoherent chatter. "You talk too fast. I can't understand what you are saying."

I was disconcerted at the friendliness of his tone. I was certain it was not a result of my talking. I glanced at the others. Except for a vague curiosity, their faces revealed nothing. I leaned against Ritimi and whispered, "If they aren't upset, why are they all in the hut?"

"I don't know," she said softly.

"White girl, have you ever seen a hekura before yesterday?" Arasuwe asked.

"I've never seen a hekura in my life," I rapidly assured him. "Not even yesterday."

"Iramamowe saw hekuras in your eyes," Arasuwe insisted. "He took epena last night. His personal hekura told him she had taught you her song."

"I know Iramamowe's song because I've heard it so often," I almost shouted. "How could his hekura have taught me? Spirits don't come to women."

"You don't look like an Iticoteri woman," old Kamosiwe said, gazing at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. "The hekuras could easily be confused." He wiped the tobacco juice dribbling down the side of his mouth. "There have been times when hekuras have come to women."

"Believe me," I said to Iramamowe, "the reason I know your song is because I've heard you sing it so many times."

"But I sing very softly," Iramamowe argued. "If you really know my song, why don't you sing it now?"

Hoping this would bring the epena incident to an end, I began to hum the melody. To my utter distress, I could not remember the words.

"You see," Iramamowe exclaimed triumphantly. "My hekura taught you my song. That's why I didn't get angry at you yesterday, why I didn't blow into your eyes and ears, why I didn't hit you with a burning log."

"It must be so," I said, forcing a smile. Inwardly I shuddered. Iramamowe was well known for his quick temper, revengeful nature, and cruel punishments.

Old Kamosiwe spat his tobacco wad on the ground, then reached for a banana hanging directly above him. Peeling it, he stuffed the fruit whole in his mouth. "A long time ago there was a woman shapori," he mumbled, still chewing. "Her name was Imaawami. Her skin was as white as yours. She was tall and very strong. When she took epena, she sang to the hekuras. She knew how to massage away pain and how to suck out sickness. There was no one like her to hunt for the lost souls of children, and to counteract the curses of enemy shamans."

"Tell us, white girl," Arasuwe said, "have you known a shapori before you came here? Have you ever been taught by one?"

"I've known shamans," I said. "But they have never taught me anything." In great detail I described the kind of work I had been engaged in prior to my arrival at the mission. I talked about dona Mercedes and how she had permitted me to watch and record the interaction between herself and her patients. "Once dona Mercedes let me take part in a spiritual seance," I said. "She believed that I might be a medium. Curers from various areas had gathered at her house. We all sat in a circle chanting for the spirits to come. We chanted for a very long time."

"Did you take epena?" Iramamowe asked.

"No. We smoked big, fat cigars," I said, and almost giggled at the memory. There had been ten people in dona Mercedes's room. Rigidly we had all sat on stools covered with goat skin. With obsessive concentration we had puffed at our cigars, filling the room with smoke so thick we could hardly see each other. I was too busy getting sick to be transported into a trance. "One of the curers asked me to leave, saying that the spirits would not come as long as I stayed in the room."

"Did the hekuras come after you left?" Iramamowe asked.

"Yes," I said. "Dona Mercedes told me the following day how the spirits entered into the head of each curer."

"Strange," Iramamowe murmured. "But you must have learned many things if you lived at her house."

"I learned her prayers and incantations to the spirits, and also the types of plants and roots she used for her patients," I said. "But I was never taught how to communicate with spirits or how to cure people." I looked at each of the men. Etewa was the only one who smiled. "According to her, the only way to learn about curing was to do it."

"Did you start curing?" old Kamosiwe asked.

"No. Dona Mercedes suggested I should go to the jungle."

The four men looked at one another, then slowly turned to me, and almost in a chorus asked, "Did you come here to learn about shamans."

"No!" I shouted, then in a subdued tone added, "I came to bring Angelica's ashes." Choosing my words very carefully, I explained how it was my profession to study people, including shamans- not because I wanted to become one, but because I was interested in learning about the similarities and differences between various shamanistic traditions.

"Have you been with other shapori besides dona Mercedes?" old Kamosiwe asked.

I told the men about Juan Caridad, an old man I had met years before. I got up and reached for my knapsack, which I kept inside a basket tied to one of the rafters. From the zipped side pocket, which because of the odd lock had escaped the women's curiosity, I pulled out a small leather pouch. I emptied its contents into Arasuwe's hands. Suspiciously, he gazed at a stone, a pearl, and the uncut diamond I had been given by Mr. Barth.

"This stone," I said, taking it from Arasuwe's hand, "was given to me by Juan Caridad. He made it jump out of the water before my eyes." I caressed the smooth, deep golden-colored stone. It fitted perfectly in my palm. It was oval-shaped, flat on one side, a round bulge on the other.

"Did you stay with him the way you did with dona Mercedes?" Arasuwe asked.

"No. I didn't Stay with him for very long," I said. "I was afraid of him."

"Afraid? I thought you were never afraid," old Kamosiwe exclaimed.

"Juan Caridad was an awesome man," I said. "He made me have strange dreams in which he would always appear. In the mornings he would give me a detailed account of what I had dreamt."

The men nodded knowingly at each other. "What a powerful shapori," Kamosiwe said. "What did he make you dream about?"

I told them that the dream that had frightened me the most had been, up to a point, an exact sequential replica of an event that had taken place when I was five years old. Once, while I was returning from the beach with my family, my father decided, instead of driving directly home, to take a detour through the forest to look for orchids. We stopped by a shallow river. My brothers went with my father into the bush. My mother, afraid of snakes and mosquitoes, remained in the car. My sister dared me to wade with her along the shallow riverbank. She was ten years older than I, tall and thin, with short curly hair so bleached by the sun it appeared white. Her eyes were a deep velvety brown, not blue or green like most blondes'. As she squatted in the middle oŁ the stream, she told me to watch the water between her feet, which to my utter bewilderment turned red with blood. "Are you hurt?" I asked. She did not say a word as she stood up. Smiling, she beckoned me to follow her. I remained in the water, petrified, as I watched her climb up the opposite bank.

In my dream I experienced the same fear, but I told myself that now that I was an adult there was nothing to be afraid of. I was about to follow my sister up the steep bank when I heard Juan Caridad's voice urging me to remain in the water. "She is calling you from the land of the dead," he said. "Don't you remember that she is dead?"

No matter how much I begged him, Juan Caridad absolutely refused to discuss how he succeeded in appearing in my dreams or how he knew that my sister had died in a plane crash. I had never talked to him about my family. He knew nothing about me except that I had come from Los Angeles to learn about curing practices.

Juan Caridad did not get angry when I suggested that he probably was familiar with someone who knew me well. He assured me that no matter what I said or what I accused him of, he would not discuss a subject he had sworn to remain silent about. He also urged me to return home.

"Why did he give you the stone?" old Kamosiwe asked.

"Can you see these dark spots and the transparent veins crisscrossing the surface?" I said, holding the stone close to his one eye. "Juan Caridad told me that they represent the trees and the rivers of the forest. He said the stone revealed that I would spend a long time in the jungle, that I should keep it as a talisman to protect me from harm."

The four men in the hut were silent for a long time. Arasuwe handed me the uncut diamond and the pearl. "Tell us about these."

I talked about the diamond Mr. Earth had given me at the mission.

"And this?" old Kamosiwe asked, picking up the small pearl from my hand. "I've never seen such a round stone."

"I've had it for a long time," I said.

"Longer than the stone Juan Caridad gave you?" Ritimi asked.

"Much longer," I said. "The pearl was also given to me by an old man when I arrived at Margarita Island, where I had gone with some classmates for a holiday. As we disembarked from the boat, an old fisherman came directly toward me. Placing the pearl in my hand, he said, 'It was yours from the day you were born. You lost it, but I found it for you at the bottom of the sea.' "

"What happened then?" Arasuwe asked impatiently.

"Nothing much," I said. "Before I recovered from my surprise, the old man was gone."

Kamosiwe held the pearl in his hand, letting it roll back and forth. It looked strangely beautiful in his dark, calloused palm, as if it belonged there. "I would like you to have it," I said to him.

Smiling, Kamosiwe looked at me. "I like it very much." He held the pearl against the sunlight. "How beautiful it is. There are clouds inside the stone. Did the old man who gave it to you look like me?" he asked as all four men were walking out of the hut.

"He was old like you," I said as he turned toward his hut. But the old man had not heard me. Holding the pearl high above his head, he pranced around the clearing.

* * *

No one said a word about my having taken epena. On some evenings, however, when the men gathered outside their huts to inhale the hallucinogenic powder, some youths would jokingly cry out, "White girl, we want to see you dance. We want to hear you sing Iramamowe's hekura song." But I did not try the powder again.