I was going up the Amazon with a small party to locate a lost tribe. It was quite unexpected from my point of view. I'm an anthropologist, but a very junior one, and I wasn't the first choice. Professor Anderson was scheduled to go but she fell sick.
Now the terms of the financing deal stated that at least one of the members of the team had to be female (don't you just love political correctness) and there aren't that many female anthropologists about.
There are some of us but the only ones who were considered had to turn down the offer with apologies.
(That is if you consider Professor Grey's comment an apology. I believe her answer went something along the lines of "the only way you'll get me into that green hell is to drag my bleeding corpse there, and even that will be screaming and struggling".)
So the offer was tended to me. After hearing what Professor Grey had said I was tempted to turn down the offer, but it was pointed out that Professor Grey had tenure and I didn't. Put like that, I agreed.
So our little group went sailing up the Amazon. Paddling actually. Where we were going we were stuck with canoes to get there.
Leader of our little group was Doctor Kurt Fitzgerald, with an alphabet of credentials following his name. He was tall and distinguished, still in his thirties. A handsome, intelligent and charismatic man.
Second in charge was Doctor Benjamin Jones. Plus credentials, but not as many as Kurt. If Kurt hadn't been there for a comparison, Benjamin would have stood out in any crowd. The description I attributed to Kurt could also be given to Benjamin, but to a lesser degree.
Then where was me, little Sophia, still studying and along to make up numbers. Enough said about me.
Finally there was the guide, Ramon. He had a large amount of native blood in him, but I don't think he was pure bred of any particular race. He was a greasy, smelly and generally creepy character who seemed to know where we were going.
So the four of us took off up the Amazon. I admit I did have qualms about being alone in the wilderness with three men. I was quite determined to defend my honour if it came to a push. After meeting Kurt I decided that maybe I wouldn't fight too hard. Sometimes one needs to know when to yield gracefully. (Quite frankly I had the hots for that man. He was gorgeous.)
It was quite embarrassing the first night we camped out. There were only the two tents, Ramon preferring to sleep without one. Kurt and Benjamin took the larger tent, and left me to make myself at home in the smaller one. I was both relieved and slightly irritated. One of them might at least have made a token pass. I'm not exactly a gargoyle.
What was worse was being kept awake for hours by Kurt and Benjamin making out in their damned tent. It turned out they were both as queer as three dollar bills and madly in lust with each other. At least, my virtue was safe.
It had only taken that first day to understand what Professor Grey had meant by 'that green hell'. It wasn't the humidity, or the insects. It wasn't the raucous jungle sounds or the vegetation that would start to grow over you if you stood still for more than thirty seconds. It wasn't the knowledge that there were piranha and anaconda in the water and wild pigs and jaguars sneaking around on the land.
It was the fact that you had to put up with all of that at the same time, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. And the whole situation wasn't made any easier by that idiot, Ramon, being so cheerful about the easy going and warning it would be a lot harder once we were in the jungle proper.
So we forged steadily ahead, going from bad to worse to bloody hell, people live here?
After a couple of weeks we were way up in the wilderness and had been paddling down a little tributary of the Amazon for about two days. As we camped that night Ramon was extra cheerful.
"We're nearly at the Okinchewa's hunting grounds," he announced. "Tomorrow we should cross into them and they'll come to meet us. Just remember to not look as though you're a threat. If they think that they'll kill you at once. They're a very touchy people."
Great. We were in the middle of a green hell and about to meet a tribe of blood-thirsty maniacs. My life was complete.
We camped and I retired to my tent. It was a source of never ending wonder to me that those two queers could still be lustful every night, but they managed it, keeping me awake and resentful. Finally I went to sleep, knowing that tomorrow would be the big day.
In the morning we were up and about, having breakfast prior to getting on our way. Kurt was standing next to our little camp-stove when he gave a grunt and fell over. Benjamin and I didn't even have time to reach him before Benjamin gave a yelp and collapsed.
I rushed over to Kurt first, and there was a little dart sticking in his neck. I pulled it out, checked Benjamin and found another dart, which I pulled.
Ramon was practically dancing on the spot. He did a quick check of both men and then backed away from them.
"Okinchewa," he said. "They are paralysed, not dead. It is how Okinchewa keep their meat fresh. They use what you call curare. They know how to make it do this. The men will be alright in about an hour. If the Okinchewa let them. We should leave."
"Hold on," I said. "Why haven't they done anything to you or me? They could have taken us down just as easily."
"Don't know," said Ramon. "Don't want to know. Want to leave, now."
"You must have some idea," I said. "You know the tribe, after all."
"They not paralyse you because you're a woman and so you don't count. They probably not paralyse me because they want to talk."
"Well, we can't just go and leave Kurt and Benjamin behind," I pointed out. "We have to try to wake them. You can talk to the Okinchewa while I try to revive Kurt."
"We can't go anyway," muttered Ramon. "If we try to leave before Okinchewa talk to us they will be insulted and we will be dead. We have to wait."
Then, all of a sudden, there was this little man standing next to the bushes, looking at us. Ramon spotted him first, gave a little yip and stood dead still. I turned to see what he was looking at and I froze in place, too.
The man was only about five foot tall. He looked greasy, as though he had rubbed some sort of oil on his body. From the stench that was starting to filter through to me, it was some sort of fish oil, made from a fish that died a long time ago. The man was simply dressed. Loin cloth, blow-pipe and what looked like a bone knife.
He said something to Ramon and Ramon responded politely. They then had a long conversation which appeared to consist of the little man tearing a strip of Ramon and Ramon humbly agreeing. At one point the little man pointed to the side of the clearing we were camped in and I got a nasty little shock.
