Four o’clock on a snowy Saturday
afternoon. Gary Beestone listened to the silence. Mrs. Beestone drove down the
road in her silver Mini Cooper to do some shopping. Time to misbehave.
He felt a dart of excitement in his
chest as he began the search. The childish delight in getting away with
something. Harmless, he thought. If Christmas is for children, he was acting as
one hunting for Christmas presents. He’d start in the bedroom.
A bushy tail lay exposed from under
the bed. Gary snuck up to it and grabbed hold. A muffled meow made Gary
chuckle.
“Sorry Teddy Bear!”
He lay flat on the floor and pushed
himself under the bed, reaching his arm to prod whatever might be hidden. He
heard a rustle and pulled out a box inside a plastic Dick’s Sporting Goods bag.
Oh, this was too easy.
It held a shoe box. New hiking
shoes? Moose hide slippers? Imogen wasn’t trying too hard this year. May as
well take a look. He was surprised to find that it held documents, and
photographs. Imogen’s thesis for her anthropology masters was bound in a
plastic folder. “Matriarchy and Myth: The Shipibo Story.” Gary had never read
her thesis. Come to think of it, Imogen had told him very little about her
studies. Her job as a researcher and writer of travel guides for Goaheadtours
seemed a natural though benign progression from her original passion.
He set her thesis aside and shuffled
through a collection of photos: thatched, wall -less huts on tall stilts above
a river bank, smiling, black-haired people holding pottery painted with
geometric designs, Imogen standing among villagers. Imogen. Imogen holding a
swaddled infant. Imogen with a toddler with smooth black hair cut bluntly
around the face. Many pictures of Imogen interacting with this child.
Gary picked up one of her journals,
one of many bound in a rough sueded leather carved and dyed with images of
animals and indigenous people. He contemplated whether he should read her
thoughts and experiences. Why hadn’t she shared any of this with him? She had
heard ad nauseum about his adventures in science and his work in aero-space
technology.
He decided to read some of her notes
on loose sheets of paper first. “Peruvian rain forest in the Amazon…the Ucayali
River…small villages of 150 people…slash and burn farming for manioc and
plantains… howler monkey, capuchin, spider monkeys from arboreal surroundings,
edible birds such as paucar, toucan, and macaw, giant paiche and zungaro
catfish, boca chica and pana bagre from the river, as well as manatee were all
food sources…” This looked like extensive research. How long had she been
there?
Swift steps came up the stairs.
“What are you … I see you’ve got
some of my past life there,” said Imogen. She was holding a large bag from
Dick’s Sporting Goods at her side.
“I’ve never seen these things
before,” said Gary, “I haven’t even read your thesis. Six years together and…”
“I didn’t want you to see them,”
said Imogen averting her eyes. “Not until I had decided…”
Gary held up a photo of Imogen and
the dark-haired child.
“Yes, He’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“My son. I call him Shipi which
means marmoset though his name is Ooni, the word for wisdom.”
“Imogen…”
“I know this is a big surprise,
shock even, but I needed to keep this part of my life private just for myself.”
They sat late into the night as
Imogen revealed much of what happened during her stay in Peru as a grad
student. She had taken a leave from her studies to live with the Shipibo tribe
for four years, immersing herself in their culture. She allowed them to cut and
dye her hair with the black plant dye used to darken their own. They painted
her face with ritualistic markings. She experienced Ayahuasca, a journey of
healing and self-discovery that involved drinking hallucinogenic drugs. She
learned their stories and rituals.
She told him of her relationship
with Canobo, a man knowledgeable in the myths of the Shipibo people. ‘The Woman
and the Anaconda’ was her favorite. It was after a feast where manioc beer was
plentiful that she and Canobo became inseparable. Their son, Shipi, lives with
his father.
“And what does Canobo mean? He who
cannot be resisted?” asked Gary as he struggled to contain his anger and jealousy.
“It means one who sees visions. I
knew Canobo before I ever met you, Gary. You have no right to be mad.”
“And those yearly trips to South
America for your job? Is that where you’ve been going?”
“Only to see Shipi,” said Imogen
hurriedly. “Canobo is married and has many more children. He and his wife raise
Shipi in the ways of the tribe.” At the uncomprehending look on Gary’s face
Imogen continued, “The population is dwindling because many of the younger
members move to nearby towns to make a living as the rain forests are
disturbed. Shipi will help continue their traditions, with any assistance I can
give. It’s my contribution to preserving their culture.”
“You gave up your child?’
“I gave them a child. He is of them.
I am his other mother, the one who loves him from afar and visits each year to
see how he has grown. I went there to study myths and stories and in a way we
have created one of our own. Our story is part of the tribe.”
Gary rose and stretched. “There I
was looking for something I wasn’t supposed to know about and I sure found it.”
“I was planning to tell you when I
thought the time was right, whatever that means. I didn’t know how to bring it
up knowing you would wonder why I didn’t tell you from the beginning. I didn’t
trust anyone to understand.”
“I feel like I have to get to know
you all over again.”
In response to the despairing look
on Imogen’s face Gary continued, “Now I’ll have all of you.”
(2007 words)
No comments:
Post a Comment