Chuji, a ten-year-old boy of the Achuar tribe, was working near the waterfall, quickly felling palm trees that he would use to build a small forest hut, called an aak. It had just stopped raining and an orange sun filled the humid air with little prisms of color. The boy heard the melancholy sound of a horn, announcing someone's approach. Chuji lowered the machete, resting it against the reddish earth, and looked up. His younger brother, Shakáim appeared, walking along a recently cut path. In one hand he grasped a cow's horn that he wore strung about his neck with a leather cord, and in the other hand was a piece of yuyo, or heart of palm, that he ate with great delight." Shakáim paused, stuffed the last piece of yuyo in his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and kept walking until he came to stand next to Chuji.." "How's the work coming along?" he asked with his mouth full." "You could have saved a little for me," reproached Chuji, with a sullen expression." "Okay, okay...Lend me the machete and I'll get you one. There are lots of tender palms near here," explained the smaller boy in a conciliatory tone." "No, now I don't want any," replied Chuji, returning to his work. "Why don't you help me with this so I can finish faster?" Shakáim set to work alongside Chuji, tying the branches together with lengths of vine. The boys worked for a long time, and only when it began to rain again did they go inside the hut that was, by now, nearly finished." "Are the others on there way here to hide?" Chuji looked in the direction of the village." "Well...no," mumbled Shakáim." "What do you mean?!" "Ummm...Some of the adults agree that the children should receive the witchcraft of the white apachis so that they won't get sick. They're called 'vaccines,' or something like that." "Ha!" Chuji laughed sarcastically. "Not me! I'm not going to let anyone do witchcraft on me! That's why I'm the shaman's helper!" The younger boy looked admiringly at his brother. He had forgotten that Chuji had been the shaman's apprentice since the last turn of the moon. Chuji went on, adopting a sage tone: "I am sure that if my teacher, Ititiaj, were here, he would never accept the white men's witchcraft. It's different, it comes from somewhere else, and that's why it doesn't work. Just imagine, they stick a needle in your body! Of course, it's not about being scared. He wouldn't be afraid of that, and neither would I...," he was quick to assure Shakáim." Just at that moment, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a tall girl who carried a small monkey on her head. The boys were startled; because of the rain, they hadn't heard her approach. The girl shook herself like a dog, sending raindrops flying, and the monkey screamed in fright. Without taking him off her head, the girl stroked the monkey with her hand to calm him, and she sat down in front of the boys. "Mama is worried," she said, looking accusingly at Chuji. "She says you didn't come to drink chicha at breakfast." "What foolishness...I have more important things to do," he said, picking his nose." "Sure you do," she teased, adding: "You're just scared of the needle..." "Scared...?! Scared of what?!" demanded Chuji. "I'm not scared of anything!" The girl took a step forward, leaned over and, sticking her face right up close to his, asked: "Then why are you hiding up here?" "None of your business!" shouted Chuji. "Shaman Ititiaj has returned from his journey," Shakáim dared to put in." "Scaredy cat, scaredy cat!" his sister continued. Furious, the boy stood up and pushed her away." "Go on, get out of here! And you too, Shakáim!" When the children had gone, Chuji picked up the machete and started working again. A delicate rain dampened the vegetation around him. "No, I am not a coward," he thought to himself. He despised cowards and it was the last thing he would have wanted to be." A short time later, Chuji heard three rifle shots and the sound of a horn being blown, a sure sign that visitors were arriving in the village. It must be the white men, the apachis. The boy continued working, trying to ignore the arrival of the visitors. The hut needed to be finished before nightfall, but he couldn't concentrate. He felt great curiosity about what might be going on. After thinking it over carefully, he made a decision: he had to take a peek at what the white sorcerers were doing in his village. Chuji ran down from the small rise until he came very near to the thatched roofs of the village. Stealthily, he crept through the vegetation until he came to a place where he could watch everything without being seen."Everyone was there with the visitors who had arrived. They were painted and adorned from head to toe. Some of the men wore the tawáspa, the traditional feather headdress. They waited in silence, watching as a man and a woman, who he assumed must be the white men's sorcerers, made their preparations. In truth, they were the doctors who had come to vaccinate the Achuar against measles. Chuji searched for his teacher, the shaman Ititiaj; but he did not see him. He was certain that he would never accept this strange witchcraft. He settled himself more comfortably in his hiding place and continued watching. The white woman held a small bottle in her hands and an Achuar man translated her words. She was saying that it was a powerful magic that entered the body through the arm and protected against illnesses. Chuji shifted restlessly. Where was the shaman? After all, he was the proper person to stop the intruders. Taking advantage of the people's distraction, he ran to his teacher's house. He entered without making a sound. At first it seemed as if no one were there, but then he heard a soft snore, almost like the purring of a cat, interrupted by a series of coughs. It was the shaman, who had been asleep in his hammock and had just woken up. "Greetings, amikiur," said Chuji, bowing respectfully before the old man, and using the proper address for a shaman's apprentice when speaking to his master. "Have they left yet?" asked the old man by way of greeting. "No, I think they are still out there," answered Chuji uncertainly." The shaman yawned. He sat on the edge of the hammock, scratched his head and looked closely at the boy. "Have they given you the magic of the apachis?" "No," replied Chuji proudly. "Of course not. And I'm not going to let them..." "What do you mean, child? Do you want to get sick?" asked the shaman, annoyed. The boy almost couldn't believe it... Was it possible that Ititiaj believed in the sorcery of the needle? "Do you think it works?" asked Chuji, looking carefully at the shaman. "For many things, yes..." "But it isn't our magic!" insisted the boy. "Listen, Chuji, listen carefully to what I am going to tell you," said the old man, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Illnesses are caused by spirits that get inside of our bodies...You already know this, right? And you have seen me cure the sick. To do this, I use the knowledge that my grandparents and their grandparents had: all of the secrets of the plants, animals, water, fire and earth. The Achuar have lived for many years in this forest and we have learned to cure ourselves of our own illnesses. But when the white men arrived, they brought with them other spirits that made us sick with unknown illnesses...and the white man's magic does work for those. "So...you are also going to let them prick you with the needle?" "Me?" shuddered Ititiaj. "No, it's just that I am very busy...working on a new spell...In fact, you've taken up enough of my time and you should be off now." The boy backed out slowly and left the hut, heading toward the spot where the people were gathered. A young Achuar translator was insisting that someone step up to be the first to receive the vaccine so that they wouldn't get sick. Chuji walked determinedly over and stood in front of his sister, who looked at him in surprise. A murmur of astonishment went through the small group of Achuar. Chuji took a few steps forward, shrugged his shoulders, and, closing his eyes, held out his arm. Excerpted from Green Was My Forest by Edna Iturralde All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
