CHAPTER SIX
May 30, 2012 8:45 a.m.
I groaned as I slowly regained consciousness and tried desperately to remember what had happened. My head was a little foggy and I struggled to shake out the cobwebs. My muscles refused to respond to my commands but I could feel more and more strength returning with each passing minute.
I remembered the dart to my neck but not much else. Spears; natives; a cat in a black top hat: just a few of the crazy images swirling inside my brain. No, not a cat in a black top hat - a black jungle cat. A jaguar. Bits and pieces started floating to the surface of my mind.
Brady! The thought thundered inside my head. I jerked around and discovered him leaning against the wall behind me.
“Enjoy your nap?” he asked with a slight grin.
“Shut up Brady,” I replied, irritated and relieved. “Are you okay?”
“A little groggy, but I’ll live. How ‘bout you?”
I did a quick check of myself and seemed to be alright. “Sore and tired,” I said. “Where are we?”
I took in my unfamiliar surroundings. The soft jungle floor no longer lay beneath me, replaced instead with hard cut stones that were closely fitted together. The precision of the stone-work was amazing. In fact, the joints between the stones eluded the naked eye in more than a few spots.
“I’m guessing our new friends brought us to the pyramid,” Brady said. “Guess it wasn’t abandoned after all.”
My brother’s assumption seemed reasonable. Our ejection seat ride had afforded us a pretty good view of the valley. The pyramid appeared to have been the only man-made structure nearby. We had to be inside the overgrown ruins.
“I’ve been all around the room,” Brady said, getting back to his feet. “As far as I can tell, there isn’t any way out.”
“There’s always a way out, man,” I responded with more confidence than I felt.
I slowly sat up and stood. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me. Fighting the effects of whatever drug had been used to subdue me, I managed to stay upright using the wall for a support.
“Take it slow, Eli. Whatever they gave us was potent.”
“I’m fine,” I said taking several deep breaths. The nausea passed. “There has to be a secret door. We just have to find it.” I moved to one of the walls and ran my hand over its surface.
“I’ve already looked, but maybe a fresh set of eyes and hands can find something I missed.” Brady headed to the wall opposite me and began exploring its surface. We moved slowly and methodically around the chamber. I reached a corner and stopped.
Something nagged at my subconscious; something about arrows and bananas. Something I had heard just before losing consciousness. My mind struggled to remember but could not pierce the foggy haze shrouding my memories.
I noticed my pack lying on the floor. It had been dumped next to me but appeared to be intact. I pulled out a bottle of water and drank thirstily. I offered a bottle to Brady.
“I had some while you were out, but thanks,” he declined. “Drink up, Eli. It’ll help.”
I emptied the bottle. Brady was right. The water did help clear the fog in my head. Without warning, the odd whispered phrase crashed through the walls of my subconscious.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
I had no idea what the cryptic phrase meant, but I certainly knew a pun when I heard one.
“Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana,” I said more to myself than to Brady.
“What?”
“That’s what the little jungle man said to me just before he shot me with the drugged dart,” I said.
“That drug must have had more of an effect on you than I thought,” Brady replied. “Maybe you should sit back down, Eli. Drink some more water.”
“I’m sure that’s what he said,” I frowned. Already I was starting to have doubts. Had I imagined hearing it? Was the jungle heat making me crazy? Had the CIA implanted some type of listening device in one of my teeth that had gone haywire, switching from send to receive? (Don’t laugh, that very thing happened to the cousin of an uncle of a friend of a friend of mine. True story.)
“Why would a jungle tribesman be making puns, in English, no less, Eli?”
It did sound a little ridiculous. “Fine,” I agreed. I turned back to the wall to continue looking for a door. I checked a few feet but couldn’t concentrate. The phrase kept rolling around in my head.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
As far as puns go, this was a pretty good one. In my experience, people either love puns or hate them. Those who hate them, pun for their lives when they hear them. I think they’re punny (obviously). This one had me intrigued.
In the phrase “Time flies like an arrow,” the word “flies” clearly indicates travel or direction. However, “Fruit flies like a banana,” utilizes an alternate meaning of the word “flies,” referring to a small annoying insect.
Brady turned and saw me just standing across the room. “Let it go, Eli,” he said. “Focus on finding a way out of here.”
“I know it sounds crazy, Brady, but I could have sworn that the tribesman painted like a jaguar spoke those words to me. Then he laughed and shot me with the drugged arrow.”
“You were drugged and exhausted. You probably just dreamed all that,” he reasoned.
I nodded my head in agreement. Considering all I’d been through, I couldn’t be certain that the tribesman had said anything to me. I couldn’t actually rule out the other possibilities either. “I guess...”
The scrape of a heavy stone door sliding across the stone floor cut off our conversation. A large portal swung open on the far side of the room. Several dark-skinned natives rushed into our cell and strategically positioned themselves and their spears around Brady and me.
Each native wore a stern expression that conveyed a no-nonsense, all-business attitude. I could tell these guys took their jobs very seriously.
Brady and I were moved toward the center of the room. We took up positions back to back.
“I’ll take the four on the left,” Brady announced.
“I’ll take the three on the right?” It was more of a question than a declaration. “Ideas?”
Brady looked at me and shrugged. “Pincushion?”
“Worst idea ever,” I replied staring at the spears.
The flickering candles lighting the small room made our captors seem more menacing than they probably were - I hoped. The flames danced and reflected across their faces. I guess you could say there was fire in their eyes.
I shifted my weight and readied myself for a fight I knew we couldn’t win. Seven against two are not good odds (even though seven is one of the few even odd numbers - think about it).
“Keep them in front of you, Eli,” Brady offered. “And don’t let them stick you with those spears.”
“Great advice, Brady. Thanks, man.”
“Sorry, Bro,” he replied.
I felt him tense up behind me and knew he was about to strike. I got ready. “Blitz...”
A noise from the open doorway drew our attention. The native adorned like a jaguar stood just inside the room. He wore a black pelt draped over his shoulders and, just as I remembered, his face had been painted to resemble my furry friend from earlier. Smiling from ear to ear he pointed to my neck and in broken English said, “I used to be a doctor, but lost all my patience.”
Brady and I stood, mouths open, frozen by the strange image before us. I recovered first.
“In your face, Brady!” I yelled. “Another pun! I knew I had heard him before I lost consciousness!”
The tribesman reacted to my outburst by leveling their spears and advancing a step.
“Yeah, man,” Brady said through clenched teeth. “You were right. Could we possibly discuss how great you are some other time? We kind of have more pressing problems right now.” He motioned with his head toward the tribesman.
“Oh, yeah. Sure, man.” I held up my hands to indic
ate that I wasn’t a threat. “Just don’t forget it,” I whispered. Brady rolled his eyes. Good thing Mom didn’t see that, I thought.
The man at the door cleared his throat directing our attention back to him. Chuckling to himself, the small native approached me and reached for my throat. I deftly deflected his intended blow and prepared to strike back. Seven spear tips immediately leveled at my chest and back.
“Easy, Bro,” Brady advised. He glanced nervously around at the guards. “Timing is everything,” he said softly.
The small man before me again reached for my throat. He grabbed my chin and yanked my head to one side. He checked the small puncture wound left by his poisoned arrow.
“Howdy,” he said.
I couldn’t quite get my mind around what was happening.
“Where am I? Who are you? How did you learn English? Why all the puns? Why are you holding us prisoner?”
The questions tumbled one after the other from my mouth. Apparently shock and fatigue combine to make me a complete moron. Once the questions started rolling out, I found myself powerless to stop them.
“Smooth,” Brady said. “Real smooth.”
“Shut up, Brady,” I hissed.
Amid my flurry of inquiries, the little man let go of my chin. Stepping back, he pointed to himself and said, “When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.” The silly grin never left his face.
Brady and I gasped in unison as the realization that our captors were cannibals set in. Guess who’s coming to dinner? I thought.
Cat man continued, “Two cannibals were eating a clown. The first cannibal asked the second cannibal, ‘Does this taste funny?’”
I stood staring at the odd tribesman, unable to accept that he was making jokes about eating me. Brady swallowed hard and backed up a small step. What was the world coming to when a guy couldn’t crash land a space ship in a remote jungle and not expect to be eaten by a tribe of cannibals? Again, my shock and outrage must have been evident. I opened my mouth to tell my captor exactly what I thought about his plans, but could find no words. Seeing my discomfort, the tribesman’s grin suddenly widened, if that was even possible, and he began to laugh.
“I just am be messing with you. We no eat you. We save you. When you land on bank of Pirahnadile River, you fall into bed of Poison Dievey, very poisonous plant. One touch bring agonizing death real quick. Dart shoot in neck save you from the dying. You welcome.”
“Both of us fell into Poison Dievey?” I asked.
“No. You be falling in the Poison Dievey,” he responded. “He,” he continued indicating Brady, “jump out of bushes and scare Pete.” He pointed to one of the guards. “Pete got a hair trigger on his blow gun. He sorry about that, right, Pete?”
Pete shrugged and shook his head. Brady just stared at him. He appeared to be having a hard time accepting what was happening.
“This is crazy,” Brady mumbled.
“At least they aren’t cannibals,” I said. “Who are you?” I asked the cat man.
“My name Jeffery. I be medicine man of the Patootie Tribe. This be Frank, Ned, Chuck, Patrick, Steve, Clark and, of course, Pete,” he replied, indicating each man as he went around the room. Brady and I stupidly waved at each warrior as they were introduced. Some waved back, some bowed, a few growled, and one even blew a kiss. Very awkward.
Jeffery’s revelation boggled the mind; truly an amazing turn of events.
“The Patootie Tribe vanished without a trace thousands of years ago,” Brady said. “Only a few cryptic references to their existence have ever been found. This is unbelievable.”
Ever since I saw the opening scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, I have been obsessed with the indigenous tribes of Central and South America. Every little boy dreams of being Indiana Jones, right? Brady and I went to an exhibit last year at our local museum that showcased the more popular and well known tribes like the Aztecs, Mayans, and Incas. It was there that I discovered and became interested in the lesser known Patootie and their unexplained disappearance.
By all accounts, this lost tribe flourished for thousands of years and then totally vanished. No actual trace of their existence has ever been uncovered. In fact, some argued that the Patootie were merely a legend and never really existed. Clearly those people are wrong.
Over the years, many theories have floated around the scientific community in an effort to explain the Patootie’s disappearance. The most widely accepted of those theories is that they were abducted by aliens. How far-fetched is that? There are really some crackpots out there walking around with degrees.
“To think,” Brady said, “all this time this lost tribe has been living hidden and undiscovered in a secret valley deep in the Peruvian rain forest.”
“That is unbelievable,” I replied. “Thousands of years with no contact from the outside world.”
“What an amazing discovery,” Brady continued. “A discovery like this could make a man very wealthy.” He seemed lost in his own thoughts.
I had a million questions for my new-found friends. I decided to start with the obvious. “Where did you learn to speak English?”
“Many seasons ago, pale mens like you came to our valley and teached my peoples many things. They leaved us with the Sacred Book and promised to one day return.”
Jeffery pulled a worn and tattered leather-bound book from a pouch on his side. Across the front of the green book, the title stood out in large, faded yellow letters - “The Big Book of Puns and Other Punny Sayings.”
All the puns were starting to make sense. Jeffery reverently held the book out toward me.
“There be great knowledge and wisdom contained in the riddles of the Sacred Book. The Patootie learn many things from its teachings.”
I carefully took the offered book from my host and gently flipped through the pages. It clearly held great value to him. Strange symbols filled the spaces in and around the text, scribbled in the margins.
“What do these markings on the edges indicate?” I asked Jeffery, running my finger down the page. Brady watched over my shoulder.
“Patootie elders study great book and decipher its wisdom. When knowledge reveal self to Patootie, we mark book so we not forget teachings.”
I marveled at the numerous glyphs adorning the pages. The artwork was beautiful.
“Let me see it, Eli,” Brady reached out a hand. Jeffrey nodded and I passed the book to my brother. He flipped to the title page and checked the copyright date.
“This book was printed in London in 1887!” Brady exclaimed. “And look at this, Eli.” He turned the book around so I could get a better view. Below the printing information was a handwritten name—Franz Van Neidermeheir. The ink was faded but legible.
“Isn’t that the guy we heard about at the museum last year?” Brady asked.
Excitement flooded through me. “Yes,” I replied. “Franz Van Neidermeheir was a German adventurer who disappeared into the Amazon in 1893. He was on an expedition to catalogue the flora and fauna of South America.” I paused trying to get my facts straight. “His disappearance shocked the world. Neidermeheir was an accomplished explorer who had trekked across the globe and made many well-documented discoveries.”
“Looks like he was here, Bro. Mystery solved.”
Brady wasn’t nearly as excited as I was about this revelation. I searched back through my mind, opening and closing mental filing cabinets, until I found what I was looking for. My memory isn’t photographic but it’s close. I never forget anything that I see or read. I find the ability to be a blessing and a curse. While it comes in quite handy on tests, cutting my study time down significantly, it also prevents me from using the “I forgot” excuse with my folks.
“A search party found only his letters and his journal in his abandoned camp in 1895,” I said. “Neidermeheir’s writings hinted at an amazing discovery but gave no solid details.”
“Uh-huh,” Brady was still studying the book.
“Most of Fran
z’s writings described the wondrous plants and animals of the South American rain forest,” I continued. “However, toward the end of the diary, the entries became quite cryptic and, in places, even nonsensical.”
“I remember seeing his journal at the museum,” Brady’s attention came away from the book. “Historians theorized that Franz and his party lost their way in the jungle, eventually ran out of supplies and perhaps went mad.”
Neidermeheir’s final two journal entries drifted before my mind’s eye:
“The present is Time’s greatest gift;” and
“The recipe for success is seasoned only with Time.”
BELOW THOSE ENTRIES ON THE LAST PAGE OF HIS JOURNAL WAS A ROUGH SKETCH
In various styles and sizes, that same symbol adorned the walls of the room in which Brady and I stood. The design repeated over and over, done in bright and crisp colors. Obviously, the Patootie bestowed great significance to the patterned symbol.
“He wasn’t mad, Brady,” I said. “He was documenting his discovery of the Patootie tribe and he left clues in his journal in the form of puns.”
“Clearly, the old guy was here,” Brady responded. “But where did he go?”
I plucked the book out of Brady’s hands and leafed through the pages. The last page contained a sketch similar to those adorning the chamber’s walls and matching the one in Franz’s journal.
“Well kiss my patootie!” I exclaimed.
“Uhm, no thanks,” Jeffery replied. All the Patootie tribesmen shifted a little uncomfortably. Brady snickered.
“What? Oh, no ... I meant ... never mind. Jeff. Can I call you Jeff?”
“Okidokie,” Jeff replied.
“Jeff, did Franz Neidermeheir visit your tribe?”
Jeff looked puzzled by my question. I pointed to the book in my hands and asked, “Who gave your people this book?”
Jeff grinned, understanding. “Sacred Book was gift from Tiki Ta Tuti - how you say? — ‘The Pale Bucket.’ He gived Sacred Book to Patootie to remind Patootie of his teachings.”
Forcing myself to do it, I asked, “Why did your people call Franz Van Neidermeheir ‘The Pale Bucket’?”
Brady groaned at the obvious pun. He was not as big of a fan of puns as I was.
“Tiki Ta Tuti was vessel of knowledge and very light skinned. He teached my people many things. The name fit and he seemed to like it, so it stuck.”
“What happened to Franz, uh, I mean Tiki Ta Tuti?” Brady asked. “Where did he go?”
“He teached my people that a calendar’s days are numbered and then he traveled through the Eye of the gods.”
“The Eye of the gods?” I asked.
“I show you,” Jeffery replied.
He turned and headed out of the room. I stared at the images covering the walls for a few more seconds, trying to make sense of the design. Jeff stuck his head back in the door and asked, “So you guys coming or what?”
“Right behind you, Jeff. Right behind you,” Brady muttered. “I’ve sort of got a bad feeling about this, Eli,” he whispered to me. “Be on your toes.”
“Always,” I replied with a grin. Unconsciously, I slipped Jeff’s “sacred Book” into my pack and we followed him from the room.