The Rainforest Survivors by Paul Raffaele

Author:Paul Raffaele
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510737136
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2018-10-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

As the sun rises over the tree line, I pack my sleeping bag and camera equipment for the journey home. Until now, there has never been a time on the road when I have been unable to get where I wanted to go, however difficult, but this time I am up against primeval sorcery and cannot blame the Korowai for turning their backs on me. I have rarely felt so disheartened, to be at the edge of one of the most thrilling adventures on earth, only to be turned away.

But reality as blunt as this cannot be overcome merely by wishing it away. I tried my best and it seemed it was not good enough to convince the Korowai, still steeped in their primordial beliefs even though these Korowai seem to have largely abandoned their ancient lifestyle. But I know, even by the history of my own people, that belief in black magic, bewitchment, casting spells, devilry, and witches can persist for centuries after we turned our backs on wizards and tribal sorcerers. There always has to be a first tine, I think, justifying my decision to abandon my quest.

Sitting on the floor with my back resting against the camera bag, attempting, but failing, to adopt a comforting “Such is life” acceptance of my fate, I await the summons for our departure. An hour passes and then suddenly Agung calls me back onto the porch. “Let’s go,” he cries boyishly, pointing at four men and a woman heading in single file towards the jungle with our supplies. “Barnabas forced them to take us to the tree people.”

“Are you certain we should go?” I ask Agung. “I don’t want to put them in danger.”

“Paul, what you will see later today are humans as our ancestors must have lived thousands of years ago. Few outsiders have ever seen them. I think I know why they fear going into the jungle. I know they will be safe.”

“What do they fear?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

From decades on the road I know that it is wise not to push my guide, Agung, to act against his will. He must have a reason for not telling me now.

The five Korowai turn back to glare at me, and then walk towards the rainforest. The men are clad in shorts and they balance our bags and supplies on their heads, but the middle-aged woman, our guide to the tree house dwellers, has cast aside her ragged dress and donned Korowai garb, a tiny grass skirt about twelve inches long. Her shriveled breasts flap against her wrinkled stomach.

“Terima kasih [thank you],” I tell her in Indonesian as we catch up.

She looks at me with dark eyes that throb with hatred, and spits in my face.

“She believes you’re an evil spirit forcing her to go into the jungle where one of them will be killed and eaten,” Agung says with a shrug. To the Korowai, all outsiders are what they call laleo, ghost-demons.

As I wipe away the spittle from my

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