Version 2007.02.22

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

### Chapter 21

Little Texoma sat next to me on the log in the bamboo grass. "Aren't you going to catch any frogs?" I asked her.

She looked at me woefully. Her eyes, usually so bright, were dull. Slowly they filled with tears.

"What makes you sad?" I asked, cradling her in my arms. Children were never left to cry for fear that their soul might escape through their mouths. Lifting her on my back, I headed toward the shabono. "You are as heavy as a basket full of ripe plantains," I said in an effort to make her laugh.

But the little girl did not even smile. Her face remained pressed against my neck; her tears rolled unchecked down my breasts. Carefully, I laid her down in her hammock. She clung to me tenaciously, forcing me to lie beside her. Soon she was asleep. It was not a peaceful sleep. From time to time her little body trembled as if she were in the throes of some dreadful nightmare.

With Tutemi's baby strapped to her back, Ritimi entered the hut. She began to cry as she looked at the sleeping child next to me. "I'm sure one of the evil Mocototeri shapori has lured her soul away." Ritimi wept with such heartbreaking sobs, I left Texoma's hammock and sat next to her.

I did not know quite what to say. I was sure Ritimi was not only crying for her little daughter, but also for Etewa, who had been gone with the raiding party for almost a week. Since her husband's departure, she had not been her usual self. She had not worked in the gardens; neither had she accompanied any of the women to gather berries or wood in the forest.

Listless and dejected, she moped around the shabono. Most of the time she lay in her hammock, playing with Tutemi's baby. No matter what I did or said to cheer her up, I was unable to erase the forlorn expression on her face. The rueful little smile with which Ritimi responded to my efforts only made her look all the more despondent.

I put my arms around her neck and planted loud kisses on her cheek, reassuring her all the time that Texoma had nothing but a cold. Ritimi was not to be consoled. Weeping did not bring her any release or tire her out, but only intensified her distress.

"Maybe something has happened to Etewa," Ritimi said. "Maybe a Mocototeri has killed him."

"Nothing has happened to Etewa," I stated. "I can feel it in my legs."

Ritimi smiled slightly, as if doubting my words."But why is my little daughter sick?" she insisted.

"Texoma is sick because she got chilled playing in the swamps with the frogs," I stated matter-of-factly. "Children get sick very fast, and recuperate just as speedily."

"Are you sure that's the way it is?"

"Absolutely sure," I said.

Ritimi looked at me doubtfully, then said, "But none of the other children are sick. I know Texoma has been bewitched."

Not knowing how to answer, I suggested that it would be best to call Ritimi's uncle. Moments later I returned with Iramamowe. During his brother Arasuwe's absence, Iramamowe assumed the duties of a headman. His bravery made him the most qualified man to defend the shabono from potential raiders. His reputation as a shaman insured the settlement of protection against evil hekuras sent by enemy sorcerers.

Iramamowe looked at the child, then asked me to fetch his epena cane and the container with the hallucinogenic powder. He had a young man blow the snuff into his nose, then chanted to the hekuras, pacing up and down in front of the hut. From time to time he jumped high in the air, yelling at the evil spirits- which he believed had lodged in the child's body- to leave Texoma alone.

Gently Iramamowe massaged the child, starting with her head, down her chest, her stomach, all the way to her feet. He flicked his hands repeatedly, shaking off the evil hekuras he had drawn out of Texoma. Several other men took epena and chanted with Iramamowe throughout the night. He alternately massaged and sucked the disease from her little body.

However, the child was not any better the following day. Motionless, she lay in her hammock. Her eyes were red and swollen. She refused all food, including the water and honey I offered her.

Iramamowe diagnosed that her soul had wandered from her body and proceeded to build a platform with poles and lianas in the middle of the clearing. He fastened assai palm leaves in his hair: He drew circles around his eyes and mouth with a mixture of onoto and coals. Prancing around the platform, he imitated the cries of the harpy eagle. With a branch from one of the bushes growing around the shabono he swept the ground thoroughly in an effort to locate the wandering soul of the child.

Unable to find the soul, he gathered several of Texoma's playmates around him. He decorated their hair and faces the same as his, then lifted them onto the platform. "Examine the ground from above," he told the children. "Find your sister's soul."

Imitating the cries of the harpy eagle, the children jumped up and down on the precariously built structure. They swept the air with the branches the women had handed them; but they too were unable to catch the lost soul.

Taking the branch Ritimi gave me, I joined the others in the quest. We swept the paths leading to the river, to the gardens, and to the swamps, where Texoma had been catching frogs. Iramamowe exchanged his branch for mine. "You carried her to the shabono," he said. "Maybe you can find her soul."

Without any thoughts as to the futility of the task, I swept the ground with the same eagerness as the others. "How does one know the soul is nearby?" I asked Iramamowe as we retraced our steps back to the shabono.

"One just knows," he said.

We searched in every hut, sweeping under hammocks, around each hearth, and behind stacks of plantains. We lifted baskets from the ground. We moved bows and arrows leaning against the sloping roof. We scared spiders and scorpions out of their nests in the thatched roof. I gave up the hunt when I saw a snake slithering from behind one of the rafters.

Laughing, old Hayama cut the reptile's head off with one swift blow of Iramamowe's machete. She wrapped the still wriggling, headless snake in pishaansi leaves, then placed it on the fire. Hayama also collected the spiders falling on the ground. These too were wrapped in leaves and roasted. Old people were particularly fond of the soft bellies. The legs Hayama saved, to be ground later. The powder was believed to heal cuts, bites, and scratches.

By dusk little Texoma showed no signs of improvement. Motionless, she lay in her hammock, her eyes staring vacantly at the thatched roof. I was filled with an indescribable sense of helplessness as Iramamowe once again bent over the child to massage and suck out the evil spirits.

"Let me try to cure the child," I said.

Iramamowe smiled almost imperceptibly, focusing his gaze alternately on me and Texoma. "What makes you think you can cure my grand-niece?" he asked with deliberate thoughtfulness. There was no mockery in his tone- only a vague curiosity. "We have not found her soul. A powerful enemy shapori has lured it away. Do you think you can counteract an evil sorcerer's curse?"

"No," I hastily assured him. "Only you can do that."

"What will you do then?" he asked. "You said once that you never cured anyone. What makes you think you can now?"

"I will help Texoma with hot water," I said. "And you will cure her with your chants to the hekuras."

Iramamowe deliberated for a moment: Gradually his thoughtful expression relaxed. He held his hand over his mouth as if he were hiding an urge to giggle. "Did you learn much from the shapori you knew?"

"I remember some of the ways they cured," I answered, but did not mention that the cure I intended for Texoma was my grandmother's way of dealing with a fever that had not broken. "You said you have seen hekuras in my eyes. If you chant to them, maybe they will help me."

An easy smile came and lingered around Iramamowe's lips. He seemed almost convinced by my reasoning. Yet he shook his head as if full of doubt. "Curing is not done this way. How can I ask the hekuras to help you? Will you also want to take epena?"

"I won't need to take the snuff," I assured him, then remarked that if a powerful shapori could command his hekuras to steal the soul of a child, then an accomplished sorcerer like himself could certainly command his spirits, which according to him were already acquainted with me, to come to my aid.

"I will call the hekuras to assist you," Iramamowe declared. "I will take epena for you."

While one of the men blew the hallucinogenic substance into Iramamowe's nostrils, Ritimi, Tutemi, and Arasuwe's wives brought me calabashes filled with hot water that old Hayama had heated in the large aluminum pots. I soaked my cut-up blanket in the hot water and, using the legs of my jeans as gloves, I wrung each thin strip of cloth until not a drop of moisture was to be squeezed out. Carefully, I wrapped them around Texoma's body, then covered her with the heated palm fronds some of the older boys had cut for me.

I could hardly move among the crowd gathered in the hut. Silently they watched my every motion, intent and alert, so as not to miss anything. Iramamowe squatted beside me, chanting tirelessly into the night. As the hours passed, the people retired to their hammocks. I was not put off by their show of disapproval, but kept changing the compresses as soon as they cooled off. Ritimi sat silently in her hammock, her interlaced fingers resting limply on her lap in an attitude of supreme hopelessness. Whenever she glanced at me she broke into tears.

Texoma seemed oblivious to my ministrations. What if she had something other than a cold? I thought. What if she got worse? My assurance faltered. I mumbled a prayer for her with a fervor I had not had since I was a child. Looking up, I noticed Iramamowe gazing at me. He seemed anxious, as if aware of the mixture of feelings- magic, religion, and fear- fighting inside me. Determinedly, he went on chanting.

Old Kamosiwe came and joined us. He squatted close to the hearth. The cold of dawn had not yet crept into the hut, but the mere fact that there was a fire made him huddle over it instinctively. Softly, he began to chant. His murmured song filled me with comfort: It seemed to carry the voices of past generations. The rain prattled on the thatched roof with a determined vigor, then relaxed into a light drizzle that plunged me into a kind of stupor.

It was almost dawn when Texoma began tossing in her hammock. Impatiently she tore at the wet pieces of blanket, at the palm fronds wrapped around her. With eyes opened wide in surprise, she sat up, then smiled at old Kamosiwe, Iramamowe, and myself crouching beside her hammock. "I'm thirsty," she said, then gulped down the water and honey I gave her.

"Will she be well?" Ritimi asked hesitantly.

"Iramamowe lured her soul back," I said. "The hot water has broken her fever. Now she needs to be kept warm and sleep peacefully."

I walked into the clearing, and stretched my cramped legs. Old Kamosiwe, leaning against a pole, looked like a child with his forearms tightly wrapped around his chest to keep warm. Iramamowe stopped beside me on the way to his hut. We did not talk, but I was certain we shared a moment of absolute understanding.