The Eye of the Hurricane- Part 2

2 days ago (Edited)

Click the following link to read Part 1

The makeshift boat, which the Indian woman called canaoua, glided through the clear water of the underground lake. The flickering fire accentuated the features of her face that were unique to her native race. The flames danced in her dark eyes as she propelled the craft forward with the long branch. Diego had heard that some of the women of this island were fierce warriors, and this cacique's daughter looked like she could handle herself well with the macana- the fighting instrument that they used throughout Las Indias.

He leaned over the side of the boat and illuminated the water. He could see the bottom very clearly with a chalky white substance that reminded him of the sulfur he had seen in the port of Malaga.

The thunder rumbled outside and echoed throughout the hollow cavernous space.

“Uuuuraaakan!” the woman said looking around her as she pushed the craft with the pole.

Diego felt dumbfounded by the marvelous sights around him. He could see carvings of strange creatures and drawings of humans with animal bodies on the rock. Even though he was a man of faith, he realized that these people had developed different beliefs having never heard the word of the Lord. Yet, this mysterious cave was clearly sacred to them; the way a church was sacred to a man of God. Why was she showing it to him? Was she not concerned that he might tell others about it?

When they arrived on the other side, they stepped off the boat and onto the smooth rock of the cave floor. She lit a new fire with branches and leaves that had been stashed near the shore.

It was at that moment that Diego noticed she had a small leather purse dangling from her side. With its embossed fan and roses, it looked like the ones that were in fashion among the ladies back in the mother country. Where could this native woman have gotten a hold of it?

She saw him looking at the purse, and she held it tight while looking at him defiantly with her painted eyes.

She then approached him, and tentatively opened the purse for him to see. From within it, she fished out a couple of bones bound with pitch at an angle. A pipe of sorts. Then she produced a snail-shell container with orange feathers on one end and proceeded to unplug it.

Diego saw a cinnamon-colored substance inside.

“Cooooaaabaaa…” said the woman, “yooooopo….tabaacooo…”

Diego was fascinated by the austere meticulous care with which the young woman handled the paraphernalia. He leaned closer to get a better look at her dexterous movements as she poured the powder into the strange pipe. He had seen black slaves use all sorts of pipes but never one quite like this one.

Without warning, she leaned closer, shoved the pipe into his left nostril, and blew the powder into his nasal passage.

“A la gran p-!“ He stammered backwards swearing and holding his nose.

There was a burning sensation in his nostril. When he rubbed it, he felt mucus flow onto his fingers. The world began to spin in circles. His muscles twitched. He staggered then fell on the water, where he grabbed his convulsing stomach with a moan.

The woman stood over him, floating in the air with a grin. She looked down at him with smart cunning eyes then spreading out her hands, she murmured in his ear

“Uuuuuraaaakaaaan!”

His vision blurred, and he heaved as if about to throw up. For a moment, it seemed as if the cave walls were breathing. In and out. The rocky protrusions grew in size like giant soap bubbles, which then got sucked into a void of darkness. The pulsating movement was rhythmic and made it difficult to stand up without falling over.

The woman had disappeared, and in her place was a limestone statue- sharp and glistening red.

He heard a voice singing. It was her. The sound wafted like incense in the cavern and created colourful geometrical patterns that seemed to glow over the surfaces like a geometer's drawing from which forms appeared on the cavern walls and writhed organically like a live animal.

People, animals, and half-shaped creatures transforming into each other. He saw these forms swirl and move in an organismic manner. A storm of biology and superstition raged in his mind. Numbers. Flying machines. Angels and demons transforming into each other like clouds, going around in a circular manner in the deceivingly calm center.

Beings lived and died in the flow. Loved and hated. Empires grew, transformed then dissipated in the unceasing winds of change that gave rise to the phantasmagoric storm of historical visions.

“Uuuuuu….uuuuuraaakaaaaan!” the voice chanted in a rising crescendo.

Then silence.

Diego scrambled up an incline. There was a light up ahead. Disoriented, he began to move towards it.

The light grew brighter as Diego stumbled onto the shore of a gleaming lake surrounded by wilderness.

The woman appeared from the darkness and walked past him. The storm had abated, at least for now. The world was still and dripping wet.

She walked to the edge of the lake, and then raising her arms, she turned her face to the sky and walked into the water. Her hair writhed like the flames of a black fire. Her hummingbird feathers fluttered in the breeze. Around her, the fecund virgin forest teemed with life and decay. Its scent was the balance of life and death.

She scooped water with her hands and washed away the colour from her face. All around her, the world shifted in liquid form. Lines. Dots. Curvatures of colour space. In her stare, he saw a feminine essence that was common to women regardless of race, regardless of country, regardless of time.

Diego entered the lake and stood beside her.

She looked at him, and in her eyes, he saw a swirling mosaic of colours.

He took her hand and began to pour water over her painted skin. Around her, the crystalline waters of the lake ran white, red, and black.

A cow mooed under the clear skies. Diego shaded his eyes from the morning sunlight.

Where was that devil woman?

He stood up and looked around. She had magicked him with Indian trickery. He should report her at once to his commander. But what exactly should he report? That he got caught in a storm while on a rum smuggling run with black slaves and then got bewitched in a cave by an Indian girl. It was best to keep quiet, he thought. Let it rest.

He saw that his musket and helmet were lying on the grass beside him. Had he put them there? He couldn’t remember. He put his helmet on, grabbed the weapon, and followed the narrow trail out of the woods.

About the story

Thank you for reading my photographic tale. I wrote this story after an inspiring visit to Los Tres Ojos, an open-air limestone cave system in the Dominican Republic. There are three underground lakes created by tectonic activity that collapsed the roof and created a bowl-like depression, which was then filled by an underground river system when the ice retreated after the last ice age. Inside the caves, the water is crystalline and turquoise from the minerals. The three lakes are the Lago de Azufre, La Nevera, and El Lago de las Damas. Although not technically part of the three lakes system, Los Zaramagallones lake (where the story ends) is accessed by a raft within the cave system. The following photograph shows a view from above the lake, looking down into the depression.

Caves and underground water systems were important for pre-Columbian indigenous culture of the Americas. They used these areas for their religious and cultural practices. Petroglyphs and other artifacts have been found in Los Tres Ojos cave system, providing evidence that the Taino natives who inhabited this region of the Caribbean likely used this cave system for their cultural practices. As part of their religious rituals, the indigenous people used stimulants and "psychedelic" substances to enter states of mind that put them in touch with supernatural forces and spirits. This is a touchy subject to say the least and hasn't received adequate attention in the literature, as far as I know.

The following image that I took in a Santo Domingo museum shows tobacco-smoking paraphernalia used by the Tainos.

The word tobacco derives from a Taino word to denote the rolled tobacco leaves used by the natives. Cohoba was another plant derivative used by the indigenous people to enter a hallucinatory state. A few other plants and mushrooms are also known to have been used for ritualistic ceremonies. Some of these plants were taken nasally using V-shaped pipes that were meant to be blown up the nose to deliver the snuff. This brought about a range of hallucinatory effects on the user such as making it appear as if things are extra large, or as if people are walking on air. The use of these stimulants is one of the most important and yet least understood aspects of indigenous cultures.

I added more historical tidbits to the story, but I must reiterate that this is a work of fiction meant to stimulate rather than simulate. 😊

One last word on etymology, the word hurricane derives from the Taino word used for storm and possibly a deity of the same name.

I hope you enjoyed my tale. Thank you for visiting.