| |
Oh, Jabuti. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, the shaman wondered. I did what I thought best to keep you from harm.
His thoughts were interrupted by a wracking cough that shook his whole body and made his bones ache.
‘I’m coming,’ Mapi shouted rushing inside the small mud hut. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’m afraid it is too late for that, Mapi.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My time has come.’
‘No, no. Don’t say that.’
‘Come now. I have been ill for a long time, we both know it’s getting worse.’
‘I will go get Rapau.’
‘Rapau is a good man, but even he cannot heal me.’
‘It is but a few day’s walk. I know the way well now,’ Mapi implored.
‘I have been healing the sick for many moons now. I know better than anyone what ails me.’
‘What is it? Tell me what plants can heal you, and I shall collect them.’
‘You are a dear boy, Mapi, but there is no cure for old age. I only wish there were,’ he sighed.
‘But you can’t know for certain. What about Jabuti?’ Mapi said with tears in his eyes. ‘I forbid you to die before he returns.’
‘Hah!’ the shaman laughed, despite making his cough worse. Recovering, he said, ‘You make people laugh, that is a good quality.’
‘But I mean it,’ Mapi pleaded. ‘You are the heart of this village, what will we do without you?’
‘There are others who will take my place.’
‘But you are the shaman. I have known no other.’
‘Do not wish me gone before my time, I still have some life left in me.’
‘But I was on—’
‘Mapi, I’m teasing you. It seems that I have not the same gift as you,’ he said with a smile. ‘You must tell Jabuti that I am sorry.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘I lied to him about his past.’
‘But he kno—’
‘No, I should have told him the truth many moons ago.’
‘You were only caring for him.’
‘Do you think he can ever forgive me?’
‘I think you know the answer,’ Mapi smiled.
‘Now, tell me of your travels with Jabuti and Wanadi.’
‘But I have told you of it many times already.’
‘But I forget so many things of late. Indulge me, it is comforting,’ he said pulling his aching body onto a hammock.
As he lay there, peacefully swinging in his hammock, Mapi retold of his adventures with his friends. Occasionally he would ask questions as Mapi patiently answered them.
‘Tell me of this man called Rodrigo,’ he said.
Mapi told him of their arrival in the priest’s village and of how it lay next to the water that has no end.
‘I like the sound of this man,’ the shaman said. ‘And he is the one who gave Jabuti’s mother shelter?’
‘Yes.’
‘So sad that he never knew her.’
The shaman listened further as Mapi continued with his tale. Mapi went along with this indulgence, knowing that it brought the shaman some measure of comfort. And truth be told, Mapi also felt a closer connection with his friends as he did so. Mapi lost himself in the retelling of the story and realised that he had been talking for many hours. He looked up and smiled to see the shaman fast asleep with a contented look upon his face.
Preparing to leave, he bent down to kiss his forehead but quickly realised something was amiss.
Mapi’s desperate cries awoke the whole rainforest.
‘You cannot die!’ he wailed.