The Catala - Chapter 6: You Bring Me Good Fortune

The rum, which the officers and men of the Zee had drunk, had been poisoned. Don Pedro, since coming on board the "Marte", had been dropping the lethal snake venom from a phial into the keg of rum. He had studied the sequence of the kegs of rum. His men had false bottoms on their tin cups. They were only pretending to drink and smack their lips. It was an illusion. They swallowed air. The venom came from the black mamba of Mozambique, a Portuguese colony in Southern Africa with a coastline on the Indian Ocean. The snake was also given the name of “Seven steps” for that was all a man could do before dying. Two fearsome black mambas were kept in iron cages down on the hold of the Marte.

"It is a humane way of killing them," declared Don Pedro. His men agreed." It is not honorable to abandon men on their ships without food or water."

"Witnesses could not be allowed to live. Surely, they would talk, once they were free and betray us to the authorities."

Don Pedro never failed to remind them. This was an excellent way of keeping his men in line, without the need of constant threats. Fear was an important concomitant to running a tight pirate ship like the Marte.

"In a few years we can all retire, build villas in Spain or Portugal, or perhaps the Philippines. We can live splendidly forever with new identities - like the grandees we deserve to be," Don Pedro promised.

Thirty-foot planks connected the Zee with the pirate ship Marte. Don Pedro walked across to his ship just in time to hear the first mate yell, "Hoist her up!" The catala (cockatoo) had quieted down.

"Hah! You HIJO DEL CONO, you're becoming hoarse." Then he had an afterthought." What if he or it never got its voice back?" He'd slice the bird and feed it to the baby crocodiles, which abounded in Southeast Asia. That would not happen. Today was his lucky day. The Zee was their biggest prize yet. None of his men were killed, maimed or wounded except for that fool Lupo who behaved stupidly, so that did not count.

The image of the sorcerer Kungku in the island of Nias, covered with the stone amulets of the catala flashed before his eyes.

The cage had landed without incident on the deck of the Marte. He knew what he was going to do. His ship would be renamed "the Catala" in honor of the cockatoo who had brought him "the good eye.”

Catala is an original name. Don Pedro de Freitas had made up his mind. “Enough of these hoity-toity Roman and Latin words. Catala it is, he said resolutely.

"Capitan! The Zee is listing badly" reported Renzo.

"Make sure the ship sinks completely into the sea, before we sail away."

These things were said and acted upon repeatedly. That’s how Don Pedro avoided capture, by being methodical and disciplined. So far, every ship they had attacked had sank without a trace.

"They vanished, like ghosts," whispered the sailors in taverns and bordellos throughout Asia. Lloyd’s of London began demanding high premiums in order to insure ships bound for the Orient, in particular, the Indian Ocean and the Straits of Malacca.

"Hey bastard!" Don Pedro addressed the cockatoo, standing close to the cage. "Yes! I mean you, son of a turtle's cloaca. I am going to re-christen this ship "The Catala." And you will fetch me and my men a big pot of gold, maybe even gems."

The Catala glared at Don Pedro contemptuously and shrieked to the heavens.

"Shut up!" he commanded. "Save your voice. You're here for the duration, just like all of us. Learn to talk. Show me what you can do ... or else I'll feed you to the tiburones (sharks)."

The catala had stopped its wailing but continued in its loathsome gaze. He wasn’t happy with what had befallen him.

I hate being in this prison made of bamboo. I will never get used to it. Never!!

Author's note: The oil painting shown above is a Still Life painted by Juriaen van Streeck (1632-1687/Dutch) It hangs at the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow

The Catala - Chapter 5: Victory for the Pirates

Don Pedro placed the pistols on either side of Gevers neck and fired without hesitation. He upended Gevers headless body into the blue waters of the Indian Ocean, which was hurriedly turning a murky crimson, with pieces of humanity, masthead, shredded sails, and debris from the Zee.

He removed a large, immaculate linen handkerchief from his jacket and slowly and deliberately wiped the blood and slivers of Gevers brains off his face and neck. Don Pedro removed his soiled jacket and threw it overboard.

“Sangre del Diablo (Blood of the devil)!” His men were well trained but in pirate attacks anything could go wrong. Don Pedro and his crew loved the thrill of it.

“Por Dios, the cockatoo? I’ll cut any man’s collones and carajo off, if they blow this talking bird into a thousand pieces,” yelled Don Pedro.

The Lord Tung Lok was ready, willing and able to pay him – not only his weight, but also that of his crew in gold. If he brought him back a fine talking bird. This Cockatoo certainly deserved the appellation, he murmured.

“I don’t see Gevers! Where’s the Portuguese trader De Silva?” bellowed the captain of the Zee.

Another broadside hit the ship and the Zee was done for. The pirates whooped and howled, swinging adroitly on 20-foot ropes onto the deck of the Zee.

The cannon stifled any desire the cockatoo might have had in screeching. He was terrified. Thunder without rain! I’ve never experienced this.

“Senor Capitan!” Don Pedro’s first mate Rienzi roared. Don Pedro had removed his blue glass eye and covered the hole with the black eye patch, which he kept hidden in one of the pockets of his fine shirt with the embroidered cuffs. Rienzi gave him a white hat, which looked like a gypsy sombrero.

"OBRIGATO" said Don Pedro softly.

The captain of the Dutch vessel Zee had spotted him. “De Silva, what is the meaning of that eye patch? Why did that criminal call you Senor Capitan?” he asked, not wishing to hear the reply.

“Captain van de Veldt, I believe?” Allow me to introduce myself. I am Pedro de Freitas, not Don Pedro de Silva as I have led you and all your unfortunate companions to believe. Yes! I belong to the honorable profession of the Corsairs. You are, of course, our prisoners on my pirate ship."

"Round them up. Shoot anyone who resists, I don't want to say it again," the first mate Rienzi, ordered.

"Watch out for that cage!" Don Pedro warned his crew. Too late. One of them had distractedly stuck his forefinger inside. The cockatoo flew at him in a rage and lopped off an inch. Blood seemed to spray in all directions.

"It's my trigger finger, you hijo de puta! I'll kill you," the man with the cut finger screamed.

"No one can hurt the cockatoo. Did you all hear me? He's sacred. He's a talking bird. A Catala, the Arabs named them. He's worth more than any of us in gold. I'll cut off any man's cojones and carajo (penis) into little pieces and feed it back to him first,” declared Don Pedro with a deadly calm.

The crew paid attention and kept this in mind; Don Pedro never made empty threats.

The cockatoo flew into the bamboo saplings howling "EeeeeeKo! Rrrrrrra! AaaaaKo! Rrrrrrrra!"

"I never saw a white parrot before," said one of the young pirates, awed at the sight and the sound.

"That's not a parrot, that's a catala," declared an older pirate. Did you not hear our Capitan? At the orphanage in Macao, where I grew up, there was a watercolor drawing of one just like that ruffian."

The first mate Rienzi asked Don Pedro, "how are the men going to tie ropes and hoist the cage on to our pirate ship with the raging cockatoo inside without risking their carajos?"

"Simple, hombres, I saw the head hunters, the Naya, wrap thick matting around their hands when they hoisted the cage on to our launch. Find all the rags on this tub and cover your fingers with them."

The man with a piece of his forefinger torn off by the cockatoo's beak looked on with undisguised hostility at the proceedings. Don Pedro saw the hatred in Lupo's eyes.

"Look, Lupo, you're a pirate. You cannot afford to get careless. You got careless. You forgot that men, women and birds could cut off pieces of your body. Be happy he didn’t get at your huevos - testicles. Learn to shoot with your left hand. This ship is carrying large shipments of spices, coffee, tea and gold."

Don Pedro addressed the men. "Listen to me, all of you. I propose we give Lupo a larger share of the prize to compensate for the loss of his finger. But first he must realize it was his fault for allowing himself to become distracted."

"Carajo! I was careless," Lupo smiled a little bitter smile, "but that Hijo de la mala leche (son of bad and defective sperm) had better stay out of my way."

The lure of Lucre always worked, mused Don Pedro.

“Get Ching-Ching, the Chinese doctor, to look after your injured finger Lupo. He knows what salves and ointments to use to stave off infection,” ordered Rienzi.

The prize was all the booty, which was found on a ship to be of commercial value. Personal belongings were thrown into the sea. Even jewelry, which was too unique, was sometimes sacrificed as well. Only gems, preferably unset, were taken - unless they were diamonds, which were so hard they could be pried off their settings. Don Pedro was one of the best pirates and corsairs to be found in the Orient. He always divided the prize equally with his men. It was also intelligent to do so, for it kept dangerous ideas like mutiny from entering into the minds of his rascals.

Rienzi had gathered all the officers and men of the Zee. They were ordered to drink rum, which he was pouring out of their own kegs. The men from "The Marte," Don Pedro's lugger, were also being given the rum out of the same keg. The pirates made loud noises as they drank. "This is not bad rum," they said. Our compliments, Captain".

"What do you mean?" snapped Captain van de Veldt of the Dutch ship the "Zee." In her Imperial Queen Wilhelmina's colonies in the Dutch East Indies we eat and drink nothing but the finest, the rum obviously starting to get to him."

"Let's all drink to that," proposed Don Pedro.

The bamboo cage was being securely fastened with ropes and covered with netting which a pulley from the pirate’s ship could then hoist.

"Rrrrrra! Rrrrrra! EeeeeeeKo!" The cockatoo commenced its ungodly shrieks.

Some of the men covered their ears. "How long do we have to listen to that?"

"However long it takes," was Don Pedro’s reply.

The Catala - Chapter 4: The Attack

How contradictory we humans are, thought Don Pedro, yet how predictable. The Naya will not sacrifice a cockatoo to their god for fear of angering him, but they are not afraid of selling the bird. Without a doubt, the sorcerer Kung Ku with the cunning eyes had found a convenient escape clause.

"Fucking savages,” spat Gevers; still angry at having agreed to Tamango’s demands because of pressure from that woggy, garlic eating Portuguese rich filth, Don Pedro de Silva.

If my excellent memory serves me properly, Gevers is a lawyer by profession. The word Ignoramus fits him well. mused Don Pedro, interpreting his words and actions. "Savages indeed. Who’s to say? I might venture to opine that men like my crew, the Dutch, and the English East India Company as well as me are the true savages. Human beings like the Naya, with their concern for their tribe are destined to disappear. Cruel men like us will see to that. Still, I can’t stifle a sense of tragedy at our inhumanity in the name of Lucre.

On the vessel "Zee" the sailors, without exception, wanted to take a look at the cockatoo.

"Don't crowd around, be careful. This is a wild bird, not a house canary," warned Gevers.

A series of jangling shrieks, wails, and bellows emanated from the bamboo cage. “

I can’t take much more of this. Why are there so many strange looking two legged beings? Why do they stink like that? Their smell is going to make me sick.

In a few hours, if the trade winds were kind to them, they would be in Palembang, a festive port on the mainland of Sumatra. It is not as uncharted as Nias, but the women are pretty and available. What more could your men want? Liquor perhaps? There was always rum available at the traders' saloon, thought Don Pedro.

"Ship ahoy!!!" yelled the man on the lookout watchtower. The skull and crossbones flag is being hoisted. Pirates! Prepare to defend the ship."

The Dutch official Gevers, who not so long ago had been mulish on the beaches of Nias Island, suddenly became decisive and efficient.

“Open the storeroom where the ammunition is locked" Gevers barked out orders to Captain Van de Veldt of the" Zee."

The Captain commanded the ship "Zee", but the Dutch East India Company, owned all the ships, which meant that Major Gevers, as an official of the Company, superseded the Captain. The sailors labored under a form of indentured slavery. Most were Chinese with a sprinkling of Malay. Their villages, to pay off their families’ debts had sold them to the Dutch East India Company.

Sometimes, floods, earthquakes, pestilence, drought and typhoons exacted a terrible human toll. The able bodied men had to go to work for a pittance to support the village and ensure its survival. The system was rigged in favor of the Victors. Rare was the man who ever saw his homeland again. They served at sea until they died.

The Dutch usually took the Malays captive during raids and skirmishes. Like the Chinese, they sent most of the earnings of their toil under the mast to their families or villages back in Indonesia.

"Pirates! The Zee is under attack," yelled Major Gevers. He had never had to face this situation before.

"How many of you have experience in fighting pirates? Raise your hands!" Zero.

Don Pedro did not move. He remained stiff and wordless. Gevers saw him as he quickly made his rounds of the ”Zee".

"Are you armed?" he asked Don Pedro.

"Have you seen me with firearms?" he countered.

Gevers rolled up his eyes. Oh! One of those rich, snooty merchants who think money is all he needs to get by. "Here, take these pistols. Do you know how to use them at least?"

"I'm afraid not," coolly replied Don Pedro. "Could you show me?"

"The pirates are approaching starboard side," shouted the First Mate.

"I haven’t the time to teach you how to handle pistols. You may be rich, but you’ve been an inattentive dunderhead. You’ll have to fend for yourself,” declared Gevers, quickly thrusting two pistols into his hands.

He took them calmly. "Now what?"

"Uncock the clip and be ready to shoot if by chance the pirates try to board," ordered Gevers.

A cannon shot hit the "Zee" squarely broadside. Thick smoke. Burning Flesh. Mangled legs and limbs Fingers blown away by sharp slivers of wood. Moans and groans.

The Catala - Chapter 3: Kiao-Kiao

The “Sanko”, as the Naya chieftain called it, was dazzling. A 6-foot by 6-foot cage made of one-inch rattan striplings had been built to house the cockatoo. There were flexible tree limbs fashioned from the guava tree and placed inside the cage to enable the cockatoo some freedom of movement. Don Pedro peered through the cracks, keeping a distance. The cockatoo looked fierce and glared defiantly back at him.



What strange looking two legs are these? Big, tall, hairy, white hunters, they are not. Covered everywhere with strange colored cloths. Their smell is repulsive. Where do they come from?

The drumbeats and the solemn chants led by Tamango, announced to the Europeans that luncheon was about to be served. Giant ferns resembling stag horns, a meter long at least, calculated Don Pedro, were placed on the sand for them to sit. The stag ferns formed a large circle. Tamango sat several feet away from them. The Shaman Kungku and Kananga flanked him on either side.

Don Pedro de Silva pulled the visor of his plumed hat lower over his eyes. "The sand is so white it’s blinding and so fine it feels like feathers beneath one’s feet. He was unaware that the Naya referred to their territory as "Luningning" which stood for Heaven in their Autochthonous - Polynesian dialect.

Several young girls paraded before them, balancing yellow and orange baskets on their heads, heavy with mangoes and bananas. Circlets of pink orchids adorned their wrists, and ankles. Garlands entwined their necks and locks - so long that it draped their firm buttocks. They proudly walked bare-breasted and barefoot except for a tiny triangle of pink orchids, placed on their pubic area, for decoration, not decorum. They knelt on the sand, holding on to their baskets with both hands. With one swift graceful movement, as if there was an invisible choreographer, they removed the baskets, placed them on their laps, and sat down, tucking their knees behind them, and transferred the baskets on the large banana leaves. Tamango signaled with his eye. The girls rose in unison, and with their black hair covering their buttocks sashayed away without an acknowledgement as to the presence of the white men.

Major Gevers gawked shamelessly. "The girls act as if we are invisible. They looked through us, did you see?"

Don Pedro made no reply but thought silently, they are so beguiling because they have no guile. It was a common misconception men in the West often have about Oriental women.

He pointedly did not make any reference to their women. Flies don’t enter a closed mouth. Prudence before compliments. "Gevers, please tell Chief Tamango that I have never seen such a variety of mangoes and bananas."

Round, oval, ovoid, curved, long, fat, small, heart shaped, yellow, orange and green mangoes. The bananas ran the gamut from one to ten inches in length. They were a riot of colors, bright green, olive, scarlet, white, yellow and orange.

Gevers translated. Tamango looked pleased and replied in a melodious voice, "Teri Ma kase."

Don Pedro understood that. It was the Indonesian Bahasa word for "thank you." I’ll wager these head hunters are polyglot. They will learn our romance languages, and English sooner and faster than we will fare with their languages. He smiled at the thought that they would even master Dutch, a hopeless language even to the Dutch. It will be a fatal mistake for the European and American colonizers, not to familiarize themselves with the language, customs and culture of a people. This will neither be the first nor the last error - for the arrogance of Power is blind.

The aroma of the wild boar roasting in the sand was irresistible. Don Pedro had a hunch the wild boar would be consumed as a celebratory meal after their departure. So be it. He would console himself with the fruits, the fresh water from their countless waterfalls and springs, and the seaweed salad called "Eyepa – Eyepa".

It tasted sweet and sour. Tiny squid, clams, and shrimps were cooked in the milk of young coconuts and then wrapped in steamed taro leaves, nestling among the green and red seaweeds. "Delicious," declared Don Pedro, pointing to his lips, throat and stomach.

The headhunters nodded their assent, bur none of them smiled. Kananga, his braves by his side, took a plateful of small, oval, and orange mangoes, together with a large green banana. A carved out tree trunk was filled to the brim with wonderfully tasting water. Several baby coconuts, still in their husks, rested on another woven basket. They walked over to the rattan cage, which held the cockatoo.

"Now, this is going to be interesting. How are they going to place all of that bounty in that creature’s cage without losing a finger, an eye or a gonad?” a curious Don Pedro asked an amused Gevers, who swallowed a mouthful of Eyepa – Eyepa and quickly replied, "please watch."

"Very clever! And we whites treat all these people with such condescension, Considering ourselves the only intelligent beings," he mused, observing Kananga’s actions. They had made an incision in the lowest part of the rattan cage, the Sanko could not fly out or walk through it, but with a spear they could push the baskets of fruits inside.

The fresh water proved more challenging. Stealth won the day. While the Cockatoo/Sanko was occupied with piercing the baby coconut husks, Kananga unlatched the door, which was high enough for one of them to bend over, and pushed the carved tree trunk filled with water into the cage.

"Watch out!" yelled one of his braves. "Arraeya" the raging Sanko swept over him, talons and beak tearing at his long and silky black hair. Kananga had taken the precaution of protecting his hands with mitts made of abaca fiber. With one energetic swipe, he sent his attacker flying into the opposite side of the cage. He swiftly slammed the door behind him.

Sangre De Dios! Y Tetas de la Virgen. Lord Tung Lok won’t take a maimed talking bird … not even as a gift, thought Don Pedro.

The headhunters laughed. Kananga bent over and giggled the loudest. The Cockatoo was mimicking his voice, his involuntary yelps, "Arraeya. Arraeya."

Prudence compelled Don Pedro and Major Gevers from joining in the merriment. "Watch out! Watch out!" No one expected this, for a moment, the Head Hunters looked around in confusion. Kananga yelled as loudly as his lungs allowed "Hako! It is the Sanko, who has perfected in a short time, some of out tones and words. In this case, that of my friend and companion in the Ritual Hunt for the Sanko, Lalinga."

Tamango approached them and sat facing Don Pedro. "This is when the cockatoo cackle Kiao.Kiao (negotiations, as the Chinese say) the vigorous haggling – begins.

"All right! Major Gevers, bring our all your wares. I have a feeling The Chief is going to raise the stakes after the talking bird’s exhibition a few moments ago. Give him whatever he asks. That Hellion deserves every single crystal bead."

Gevers raised his eyebrows, Crystal?" He was under the impression they were going to use the cheap and bright looking glass beads.

Don Pedro took care to avoid using the word "Ja" for Yes in Dutch. It was best not to underestimate one’s opponent across a bargaining table. In this case, two feet of banana leaves was the only barrier between them and a long Parang (sword), which could separate their heads from their bodies in less than a wink. Cristo! What if the Head Hunters sniffed the wind and didn’t like the stench. They were fully dressed, a disadvantage, sitting on soft sand, another disadvantage. The Naya were sensibly dressed, naked except for their loincloths. Chances are the headhunters were every bit as street smart as pirates or officials of the Dutch East India Company. They were like Janus, the two – headed God of Duplicity.

"Crystal. That is correct, Major a keg of fine rum costs slightly more. I believe I gave you ten kilos of the … inexpensive variety and another ten kilos of fine Skoda crystal. Trust me. I am following a hunch."

He refrained from using the word Glass; it meant the same in German and Dutch. He wasn’t taking any risks. The Sorcerer Kungku and The Chief Tamango must know the meaning of the word glass by now.

The slightest bit of discord between Gevers and I might arouse their suspicion. Primitive people seem to be endowed with inner voices warning them of the slightest variation in one’s emotions or intentions. Alas, we seem to have lost this talent.

The Major gave him a withering its your money to throw away look. These just got rich wogs are all alike. Showoffs and humbug, he thought.

Chief Tamango pointed towards the bamboo cage. "The Sanko is silent because its mouth is full of food. We have no distractions. Let’s begin."

Gevers translated. De Freitas nodded his assent.

"My eldest son, Kananga, stalked him for a month, without rest. You see the marks of his talons on his muscles?"

"We are impressed," replied Gevers, calling to a group of Chinese and Malay sailors who had rowed them ashore from the vessel of the Dutch East India Company, the " Zee," to approach them. The sailors had also enjoyed the exotic luncheon, offered by the Naya. They rose and carried two heavy narra wood chests by its bronze handles towards them.

The Cockatoo was finishing off a pisang banana, short, stubby and tasty. He peered through the cracks in the green rattan stalks.

Those two legged beings are white, like me. As is the light coming from the sun. Odd sounds are coming out of the mouths of the brown hunters and the white beings. No one is paying attention to me, this is an opportunity to escape.

EEERRR!!! The rattan was tougher than he thought. His beak could not gouge any sizeable piece out; it was too resilient. "I don’t have enough distance from one end of this prison to the other to crash against the walls of the bamboo until I break my body or it collapses."

The cockatoo did not have a desire for Thanatos … a death wish. Smashing himself into muck was not his idea of making a statement.

"In my short life, I have seen many creatures, great and small cease to breathe for no reason other than their time had come. Our kind, the white talking birds seem to live longer than the others. I don’t want to be in this green prison. I don’t! I don’t! I don’t!" AY! A wail of despair rent the air.

But none of the Human Beings there present at the beach near Guningsitoli, on the island of Nias cared about the plight of the cockatoo.

Cries of mercy annoyed Tamango. If any of his victims pleaded, his Parang would be used more viciously. He seemed undisturbed, but he was concerned. This is not a good omen. If the Sanko continues its laments, the White Men might not take him, he mused.

Kungku, the shaman and sorcerer considered acceptance of one’s inevitable destiny to be the wisest course. I am following the wishes of our God, Belisanko. He appeared to me in a dream and told me to trade the Sanko to the White beings. The union between Kananga and Kirika represents more territory and wealth to the Naya. The untimely death of Denga, their Shaman, thanks to my invocations and spells, means that I will be the sole Advisor to a larger Naya tribe.

Kananga ‘s heart gelled. Nothing, not even the sacred Sanko, is going to keep me from mating with Kirika. My hard and erect shoot is going to pierce her butterfly, and soon. He reasoned with the gonads of Youth.

Major Gevers was a bureaucrat whose only mission in life was to oversee the occupation and colonization of Indonesia in as brisk and efficient a manner. Colonization was not about improving the lot of the natives. That was not even up for consideration and discussion. It was all about bringing prosperity to the Dutch East India Company and its 1,100 patrons and shareholders, the Dutch Royal Family, as well as its entrenched merchant classes and their embedded bureaucracy.

Don Pedro de Silva had developed into a hardened cynic. The whims as well as the absurdities of life left marks on ones soul. It is ironic, as we enter the Twentieth Century, that a talking bird is worth more in gold than a beautiful courtesan who is familiar with all 380 positions of the Kama Sutra, he mused with awareness if not a sense of regret.

AY!!! The Laments continued.

De Silva fed Gevers a question. "Do ask the Chief how old he thinks the Cockatoo is, and what is its life span. That will demonstrate our interest despite its howls.

It was the Sorcerer who replied – after Gevers' translation - in the melodious voice of one who dazzles humans and animals with his voice, "The Sanko is very young, perhaps in its puberty, I would say, twenty to thirty years old. The Sanko will outlive us all." His well-muscled hands drew a giant circle, which included every one who was on the beach. After a dramatic pause, he said simply, "He will see the grandchildren of your grandchildren."

"That is a sententious statement but I believe it," declared Don Pedro. Time to open the narra chests and display the crystal and glass works. The sun and the light would show them off to perfection.

The gasps of delight proved to Don Pedro that his timing had been correct. Precedence was given to the Kungku, then Tamango, followed by Kananga. They showed admirable restraint. Good hagglers. They examined the narra wood and exclaimed," this hardwood is beautiful. We have other kinds of hard woods in our island, but not this one." Indeed, the narra mahogany was native to the Philippine Islands.

"It’s called narra, and it comes from a group of islands called Filipinas,” explained Don Pedro. Adding quickly "It does not belong to the Netherlands, it belongs to Spain."

They understood the concept. The Naya waged war for territory and possessions, others, like the Netherlands, England and America did the same, only on a vaster scale. Ravagers all.

Kananga took a handful of crystal beads and ran it through his fingers. His father, Tamango followed suit. Kungku kept himself aloof, dark eyes watching the white men.

Now, the haggling began in earnest. Back and forth. Tamanga and Gevers exchanging mild protestations and expressions of disbelief. Snickers. Chuckles. Hoots. Snorts.

The caterwauling from the bamboo cage had stopped. The cockatoo was entertaining them with a series of chuckles and snorts. Identical to those made by Tamango and Gevers.

"Can your creature ever be quiet?" asked Gevers, with more than a little irritation in his voice.

"He’s only following our example," retorted Tamango, unable to restrain a fart.

This haggling is useless and it might turn into something lethal, thought Don Pedro He was concerned about the rendezvous on the High Seas with his pirate ship "Marte." His crew would wait. No typhoons were likely to strike this time of year. Gevers irritated him because he was insensitive, tedious and boring. “Enough’s enough," he decided.

Tamango, the chief was insisting on several dozen more crystal beads. The obstinate and obtuse Dutch official Gevers who spoke mangled Naya, which was an offshoot of an Indo-Malay Bahasa, would not budge.

“Gevers, I’m the one fucking bloody paying for this Cabron of a cockatoo! Porca Madonna! Give him all the God dammed beads and throw in the two handsome Narra chests. I’m a very busy man. Carajo Jesu!"

That one reminds me of the Rerek. Coiled and ready to strike when you least expect it. His soft voice sounds dangerous, observed Kungku of Don Pedro.

Don Pedro smiled and kept his voice down so Tamango, his young son, Kananga, with a perpetual erection, and deep slashes on his chest, and his Shaman, called Kungku, the sorcerer would not notice that there was anything amiss. The sorcerer was the only one wearing small stone amulets, which covered his entire lithe body. It featured the sanko cockatoo as it swooped over its prey. The man had the presence and scent of power.

The Dutch East India Company had armies and wealth as vast as the sands in the ocean. It was an empire within an empire, but Don Pedro had yet to meet one Dutchman with the presence and aura of the sorcerer Kungku.
Gevers handed over the crystal and glass beads together with the carved narra chests to the chief Tamango who placed all the dozens of beads into a green basket woven out of strips of banana leaves and gave them to his son Kananga. The narra chests were presented to the Kungku with a flourish. He accepted them as his due.

"Hako! Hako!" whooped Kananga, holding his cut arms aloft.

Oh! To be so young and perpetually horny again! Don Pedro told himself with a tinge of regret. The buck was either thinking of a kill or of a mating. Probably both. Not that there was much of a difference. Each time a man ejaculated - he died. Come to think of it, that kind of excitement was safer in bed, on a beach, a - whorehouse, and even in a nunnery, anywhere but on a field of battle. To die in War meant a man could never again live to experience another orgasm. It meant you forfeited your semen to Death.

The Naya loaded the light bamboo cage containing the cockatoo onto the large launch. "My men could have done it quicker, but the savages insisted," muttered Gevers.

"You might ask the Chief if he wouldn’t mind giving us the all the baskets with the mangoes, bananas and whatever this brown tasty fruit is called which looks like a bunch of birds eggs." Then, he remembered that this might start another endless round of Kiao – Kiao (haggling). Don Pedro pointed to the baskets and then towards the ship "Zee" anchored farther away. For the first time, Tamango smiled and nodded.

This is a strange white being that enjoys the bounty from our trees. He wondered if he would ever see him again. He wasn’t sure if he liked him, indeed, he was suspicious of all white men, but he was interested in the tall man with long yellow hair and one blue eye which never moved. It resembled a glass eye. He shivered. By the power of Belisanko, what does that mean?

Don Pedro clenched his fist and touched the taut fist of Tamango the chief in the formal Naya greeting. Gevers followed.

Kungku stood toffee nosed and aloof. He wanted to avoid any further contamination with the White Beings.

Gevers' men rowed the launch towards their vessel “Zee” farther out in the natural harbor of the island of Nias.

The headhunting Naya cried out "Sanko! Sanko!" to drumbeats and cymbals, their spears beating out a syncopated rhythm upon the stone statues, which encircled the pristine beaches.

I fully intend to return to this island. I am enchanted. The stone statues must be worth a great deal of money as well. Men like me must never leave a stone unturned. He made a silent vow, avoiding gaping at the statues. The Naya might mistake his interest for disrespect. He hadn’t seen any bows and arrows … but he was certain the Naya were deadly archers. Above all, I do not care to see an arrow laced in snake venom, buried in my back.

The cockatoo crashed against the bamboo striplings of its cage and shrieked "EeeeeKo! AaaaaKo!" There was more yelling and cheering from the shore as the Naya bid their god Belisanko's favorite bird goodbye.

The Catala - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The Pirate – Don Pedro de Freitas
The Merchant - Don Pedro da Silva

Don Pedro de Freitas was one of the most colorful pirates to sail the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. He was the captain of the pirate ship “Marte” (named after the Roman god of war in Latin) which was endowed with 80 cannons and 60 cutthroats.

The Congress of Vienna, convened after the Napoleonic Wars by its victors – England, Austria, Germany, and Russia - contained a Declaration, which called for the abolition of slavery in 1815. This particularly referred to the traffickers in ebony as the slave traders in Africa were known. Over a hundred years would pass before the English cruisers would eventually stamp out the slave trade in Africa.

Don Pedro had lost an eye in one of his skirmishes with the English. A piece of shrapnel had shattered his eyeball. Don Pedro had stuffed a wad of rags into his left eye and continued fighting. He was 25 years old and decided on the spot to abandon Africa and the slave trade. It was too risky and the rewards were piddling nowadays.

“Free all the slaves. Throw them into the sea. That will slow the English ship for they will have to pick up the survivors. That’s the price they're going to pay for their sanctimony. Scravos – slaves, If you can swim, this is your lucky day. If you can’t, then it will be a good day for the sharks.”

Don Pedro pointed his ship towards the Orient - Indonesia, Malaysia, Borneo and the Straits of Malacca.

"It is too tedious to deal with the Black Rulers, The Jewish and Arab traders, the English holier than thou officials, reveling in their hypocrisy," Don Pedro concluded.

He had given up on the idea of raiding in the Malacca Straights since the war was declared on Aceh.

"I don’t want to tangle with the Dutch gunboats. They will not show us any of their vaunted Christian mercy, if we, or anyone else, dare get in their way. Can’t say as I blame them because we would do exactly the same. The jungle is right here within us not in those heavenly islands rich in the Creator’s every bounty."

"Men! Listen to me. In the Orient, the pickings are fabulous – opium, gold, pearls, mother-of-pearl, spices, (black pepper, nutmeg, curcuma, cinnamon and cloves), Chinese porcelain, bronzes, silks, Chinese antiquities, and exotic flora and fauna, and last but not least, we have vast numbers of Chinese coolies and Hindu harijans - untouchables, to capture and sell to traders in North and South America."

"Yes Capitan we are yours for as long as you want us." his motley crew of rascals replied, dazed by his speech.

Don Pedro had two cardinal rules.

"We are going to avoid contests with the Dutch gunships … even though their holdings were nationalized by Batavia … they still think they rule this part of the world. Don’t forget, they are very efficient in steaming from the Moluccas Islands, Aceh, Sumatra, Java and any of their important posts in the 10.000 island group of Indonesia."

Don Pedro never took prisoners. “This is my second and strictest rule. It will be enforced with no exceptions. The Rules of Survival dictate that we must not allow any witnesses, men, women or children who can identify any of us!"

His distinctive eye patch was used only when Don Pedro was in his role as Captain of the pirate ship Marte and in the act of boarding the vessel he had just seized.

When he played at being the refined merchant, Don Pedro da Silva, he removed his black eye patch and used a glass eye. This disguise was necessary because he had discovered that stealth produced more results than blatant confrontation. As a wealthy merchant, Don Pedro, was privy to valuable information. Such as "A Dutch ship laden with gold, spices and heating and cooking oil is headed towards the Straits of Malacca" or "remnants of what was once the multi-tentacled Dutch East India Company are buying talking birds and other valuables from the island of Nias."

"Senhor de Silva. I want the most beautiful white talking bird to best anyone’s cockatoo, here in Shanghai. Money is no object. There will be no Kiao – Kiao (palavering) on this." So said Lord Tung Lok, the soft-spoken head of the most powerful and feared Friendship Society in Southern China.

They called themselves "The House Of The Golden Dragons", but everyone, foreign devil and Chinese knew they were Secret Societies and not to be trifled with.

When Don Pedro first heard of Lord Tung-Lok's interest, he told his first mate, "It’s not the idea of procuring a Catala (as the cockatoos were known in Portugal and Spain) for the Potentate Tung Lok which seduces me, it’s doing business with Tung Lok. First, a Catala, then, who knows? Opium? Laborers? Women? Gold?"

The island of Nias had bewitched Don Pedro de Freitas. "Thick rain forests border the entire island. God overindulged Himself with every plant, flower, sea and land creature He could think of in his millisecond of creation," he had explained to his crew.

He had used gold sovereigns to ingratiate himself into the metallic heart of Hans Gevers. Charm alone would never work on a Dutch bureaucrat. They are dull and have no imagination, correctly surmised Don Pedro.

Gevers was in charge of the Sumatran archipelago on behalf of the Dutch East India Military Government. General Van Swieten ruled and governed the entire archipelago.

“Guerilla warfare continues in the hinterlands of Aceh. The Dutch Minister of War Weizel has declared open war on Aceh,” he explained to Rienzi his first mate.

‘Why don’t we join them and take part in the plunder?” asked Rienzi.

Don Pedro paled. We are worse than the beasts and creatures that inhabit the jungles of the earth, he thought. Then without showing the least sign of irritation he continued what he considered a hopeless enterprise, that of teaching and educating his men.

"The Dutch will never accept assistance from the Portuguese. Those racist bastards consider us a rung above the Malays and the Hindus. Prince Henry the Navigator clad in soft leather boots and gold embroidered jackets sailed around Africa and Asia before Columbus. At the same time the Dutch and Germans used wooden clogs to walk over their slime and feces. The Hindus had a civilization thousands of years before the Greeks and the Romans did. Borobudur in Java is spellbinding.

“I ask you what have the Dutch built? Windmills? Let’s go back to the subject at hand. Their war in Aceh has gone terribly wrong. The Dutch only control the coastal cities and they are able to accomplish that only with firepower and never-ending slaughter,” said Don Pedro.

The unspoken message was clear to Rienzi. He would pass the word. They would get little or nothing by attacking the island of Aceh. It was simpler for Don Pedro, to come to the island of Nias accompanied by the "ZEE" one of the armed merchant ships of the Dutch East India Military Company, than it was to blast his way in.

“I fully intend to negotiate with the Naya. No matter what happens, I must obtain the cockatoo for Lord Tung Lok,” he had decided and nothing would make him change his mind.

The Naya were headhunters. They inhabited Nias since the beginning of time. Their shaman Kungku and his people remembered the fires, which burnt for days and nights in Aceh. The stench of burnt flesh penetrated their nostrils. Kungku had ordered every man woman and child to wear thick garlands of orange frangipanis around their necks in order to prevent nausea and vomiting. This had taken place not so long ago.

What had brought on this calamity? Dr. Snouk Hurgronje, from the University of Leiden was the leading Dutch scholar on Islamic culture. He wrote a series of essays for the Crown and for the Dutch Armed Forces.

“The power of the Sultan is marginal. The hereditary Chiefs, the Uwe Balang enjoy more influence and prestige, ergo credibility amongst the people of Aceh. They can be bought with money, opium, alcohol and firearms. We can train them as our administrators. The religious leaders and members of the Ulema – the religious council are not to be trusted. They will never cooperate with us and must all be destroyed with no time to waste.”

So the Dutch soldiers waited until the men and women entered the Mosques on Friday morning. The Imams and muezzins died first, their heads blown off. No one was spared. The Madrassah schools where boys and girls studied the holy Qur”an turned into rivers of blood.

The corpses of the dead were piled into massive wooden funeral pyres and burned in the open. That was the smell of the dead, which so terrified the Shaman Kungku and his Naya people.

In the rain forests, the beasts and creatures felt themselves under attack for countless suns and dark nights. All those who could take wing did so. Birds like eagles, hawks, falcons, cockatoos and owls flew over Aceh. Even their superbly designed eyes could not penetrate the acrid and putrid smoke. Some died from breathing the foul stuff.

A breathtakingly lovely cockatoo flew high, high up. He decided it was safer to investigate in the daytime; He could keep both eyes out for his fellow predators in the sky. He sighted circles of fire and heard loud noises and fearful cries. I must fly away. This is dangerous. I am going back to my island now.

He glided smoothly for a few seconds and then swiftly ascended as high as his lungs and wings would take him. He continued until he espied the familiar outlines of his favorite trees in the rainforest of Nias.

De Freitas recalled how the great explorer Ferdinand Magellan, a fellow Portuguese, had died at the hands of fierce natives in the Philippines, in the 16th century. The nationalist Chief Lapu-Lapu had not taken to the idea of belonging to the great white King in a far-away land called Spain. An argument ensued. Magellan was hotheaded, Lapu-Lapu more so. He unsheathed his Parang and lopped off the naval explorer’s head.

"The natives were not headhunters as such, just independent and brave warriors. Professional soldiers, one might say. Magellan was the first man to circumnavigate the globe, but aside from the glory which was of no use to him since he was dead, the fame and fortune was reaped by his lieutenants," he mused, suppressing a grin.

Gevers speaks some Naya, best to let him have his moment of glory and negotiate with the headhunters, that will afford me the opportunity of observing them, thought de Freitas. He and Major Hans Gevers were being rowed ashore on a large launch from the Dutch merchant vessel "ZEE".

The smell of burning flesh reached their nostrils. "Fucking Barbarians and Brutes," pronounced Gevers gagging softly.

"Stay calm. I have always found savages in Africa endowed with a certain dignity and reserve. In South East Asia, they surely aren’t any different. They are roasting a wild boar or some such thing in our honor, not a human being." Don Pedro said in dulcet tones.

"I am aware of that, Sir," replied Gevers quickly, "I didn’t mean to sound squeamish.”

He launched into a detailed description of the Naya’s deadly proclivities. "Headhunters slash off the heads of their enemies defeated in battle or kidnapped. The heads undergo a highly technical and secret process which we Europeans are totally in the dark about: believe me, I personally would not care to know. The Naya, are Masters at shrinking the heads to a circumference of 10 inches. The headless bodies of their victims are then sacrificed to their God (Belisanko)."

Don Pedro said nothing. The imperious demeanor of a man who reeked of authority distracted him. Ah! That was bound to be the sorcerer and shaman called Kungku. The Chief of the Naya, Tamango looked every bit a leader, but one could tell he deferred to the Shaman. There was a distinctive resemblance between them, as well as with the young brave, Kananga, who would have made a perfect Priapus in any Roman bacchanalia.

I’ve got it! Kungku, the shaman is the Grandfather, Tamanga the father, and Kananga, the son. Nepotism is alive and thriving even amongst the Naya headhunters.

The Catala - Chapter 1: The Capture of Fray Paco

THE SAGA OF FRAY PACO

BOOK ONE: THE CATALA

CHAPTER 1: THE CAPTURE

A lone, white cockatoo of exceeding beauty and hauteur, perched near the top of a 70 foot East Indian ebony tree - the Kamagong, which stood tall and proud like the King it was.

The creature lived in the rain forests on the island of Nias; a jewel on the Indian Ocean, belonging to the archipelago of Sumatra,

Aceh, and the main island lay seventy-eight miles west. Strung out like an immense emerald necklace, these islands were part of the largest island chain in the world – Indonesia.

"KAW-KAW! ERK ERK! GE! GE! GE!" shrieked the cockatoo, imitating the sounds of a parrot, a monkey and an owl, in that order. His scimitar like beak could barely be seen, as it spilled over with the crimson juice and pulp of the mabolo, the delicious apricot like fruit of the Kamagong tree.

He’s mocking me, the little son of a turtle. Perhaps he suspects I’m after him, thought the hunter, who was vexed and dispirited.

Kananga. A lithe and comely youth, son of Tamanga. Chief of the Naya Tribe had been tracking the resplendent white Sanko/Cockatoo for twenty-five days. Without respite. The Naya hunted and prized human heads. They were as skilled in the fine art of trading as they were in lopping of their enemies’ heads.

"The hairless, two legged creature with the brown skin, straight long hair, is after me. Many dark nights and bright days have come and gone…the creature is still here. I can smell him. There must be others, but none as close to my talons as this one".

The cockatoo was a raptor. He sensed that he was faced with an unrelenting foe, This was not the sweet and kind Orangutan – who also walked on two legs, except it had bright, long orange hair and its face was black or the small black men, full of swirly hair on their bodies and on their heads.

This creature has the most beautiful erectile crest I have ever seen, Kananga whispered to himself.

Kananga’s sepia colored body glistened as it came under the patches of sunlight in the rainforest. He tensed. The cockatoo was out screeching all the other creatures within their perimeter.

"ERK! ERK! ERK"

"The sanko knows it is being stalked." Kananga was certain of it now.

In the island of Nias, men and beasts were all predators. Only the Dutch East India Company, which ruled Indonesia and as a result, the island of Nias, surpassed each and every one of them in its rapacity. The Dutch did not see themselves in this light of course. As white, civilized, and Christian, awash with money and equipped with gunboats and cruel armies – they regarded themselves as "Entitled" to God’s wealth as a reward for their Mission in Indonesia - then called the Dutch East Indies. That not one Dutch man was able to express adequately just what this Mission was, was beside the point.

There was arrogance about this sanko, which made it stand out even more over the other creatures. The Sanko seemed fearless. I like your come and get me if you can kind of challenge. Very well. I accept a duel with you.

"I know what happens to those like me who are caught by the two legged hunters, they disappear and are never seen in the rain forest again."

He knew he was unique. None of the cockatoos in his area could imitate the sounds of so many animals, including the grunts of the Orangutan as they came to orgasm, the shrieks of the monkeys in their ritual flirting, the wails of the long haired, hairless females when one of their young was taken from them, and most importantly, the war cries of the hairless, two legged males.

It seemed a just bargain to Kananga. The proud sanko for his pretty Kirika, with breasts as hard as coconut husks.

Cockatoos were supposed to be completely white. The more pristine their coats, the higher their value. Sometimes, God played tricks on you, and the sanko were of a cream or dirty white color. That was a tragedy. None of the white men wanted them. Unlike parrots which had bright, shocking multicolor and a different formation of their skulls. Kungku, the Shaman, explained to the young men patiently.

"They are more intelligent, talk up a storm and live for centuries", so the Naya tribe declared, fueling the greed of the administrators of the Dutch East India Company.

The cockatoo was the favorite bird of their god Belisanko and was therefore sacred to the Naya. Cockatoos could never be sacrificed to Belisanko, not even during the harsh never ending rains which came every year, when the mountains threw up fire and burning liquid, or after the earth shook and trembled and giant waves blasted their shores soon after.

"I was a young man when we had such an event. The jungle and its creatures, all created by Belisanko, alerted us. We ran to the high ground, I thought the end was coming. For many who lived on the coast, it meant they would never see another sun rise." Thus spoke the Venerable Kungku, their old and wise Shaman.

There were plenty of other things that could be sacrificed to Belisanko. Humans, especially one’s enemies, captured or kidnapped. Baby boys and girls " mused Kananga who had seized several young men from a neighboring village, before setting out on his mission to get himself the best Sanko.

Until I capture the Sanko, I will not be accorded the right of cutting off the heads of my most important enemies. He repeated silently for the thousandth time.

His father, Tamango had used his Parang to sever the heads of their enemies from their torsos with one blow to each head. My father’s blade has drunk so much blood, it is brown, reflected Kanango.

For the Naya never wiped the blood off their Parangs, until absorption was complete.

A group of green, scarlet and blue parrots suddenly flew away from one fruit tree laden with kola nuts.

I remember that, as a boy, I caught several parrots and offered them as sacrifices to Belisanko.

EEEEEEEE! HAUK! HAUK! Bellowed the Sanko.

"It can’t be," Kanango stifled a gasp. That almost sounds like the wailing of my father’s newest wife, when the shaman decided there were too many boys captured in the last raid. He declared they had to be given to Belisanko. I can’t believe my ears; this Sanko has that stupid girl’s exact pitch. He is even more valuable that I thought.

Kananga smiled as he went over the scene in his mind. His father’s youngest wife had screamed herself hoarse and scratched him until she had fallen on the ground in a grotesque faint.

Nobody paid any attention to her, certainly not Kananga’s father, her husband and chief, Tamango. The tribe had been indulgent with her and she had gone unpunished for making a hysterical scene, because Tamango had abducted her from one of the coastal villages of Sumatra. The young girls swam naked in the coves; Tamango had seen her, lusted after her and had meticulously planned the raid.

"What do the coastal natives of Sumatra know about our ways of life and war?" Kananga had dared to ask his father.

Kananga had cursed himself loudly when he unsuccessfully jumped to grab the cockatoo, while it had been bathing in the lagoon. He had run up against a prehistoric stone statue all but hidden in the shallow waters. These mysterious statues encircled the island. No one could tell when he or she had been carved and sculpted out of stone.

"They are too numerous to count," Kananga said irritably.

"The hairless male hunter almost took me. I got careless. There’s another lagoon further down, it’s the eagles’ domain. I’d rather risk being ripped by an eagle as captured by this two legged creature" thought the cockatoo as he swiftly sped up, up, up – To the tallest tree - top heavy with white orchids. They were the best camouflage. No one had told the cockatoos that the Naya hunters had always known that.

Before the eruption of Mount Krakatoa, Hindus inhabited Nias, like Bali. They had worshipped Garuda the mythical bird, many of the statues were representations of the Garuda, All the people had perished from the burning lava, the ash and the giant waves which swept away tall hardwood trees and men like toys. The forces of Nature were merciless. Only the stone birds, with their strange and unknown shapes still stood. So the Naya came to believe that they were the thousands of manifestations of their god Belisanko

It is as good a story as any pondered the Protestant and pragmatic masters of the Dutch East India Company.

"Yesterday, the Sanko repeated my curse of frustration when I fell because I tripped over a stone. He was pricking me, as easily as he does the betel and kola nuts. I must catch that sanko. I MUST!"

"Why am I being hunted? There are others of my kind. They are easier to get to. and parrots are much prettier than us."

Kananga was running out of time. In a few days the white men with the yellow heads, and eyes the color of their sea, would sail into their harbor, row out to their powdery pearl shore and pay him in gems (glass beads), batik fabrics with designs of a bird (the sacred Hindu god Garuda), cooking utensils, and coffee beans. In exchange, Tamango, and Kananga, would hand them this stunning exemplar of their aggressive and bright cockatoo and Helmut shells, the marine snails particular to their warm waters which had a series of flange-like ribs much like varices on its outer shell. The white men told Tamango their people used them to carve cameos and they showed him an example.

"How strange were these white men. The Naya did not stoop to eat these slimy low life; the shells just rotted in the wind, rain and sun. Better for the Naya to put them to good use by selling then to the White Giants reflected Kananga from his hiding place.

Tamango his father had told him, "Kirika, your pretty one, wants dozens of glass beads, in addition to the heads of our enemies. Her father and I have met and agreed on the terms." It was an arranged marriage but Kananga was strongly attracted to Kirika. He was in lust, He had to penetrate her.

For days Tamango had discussed with the old kungku whether a few yellow and blue-eyed heads stuck on a wooden pole would lower the ante on the request of Kirika's father for the glass beads. Tamango could then ingratiate himself with his new wife who was so distraught over the sacrificial death of her baby boy to Belisanko, their god; she had become cold and unresponsive in their coupling.

The kungku had trembled and replied harshly, "Remove these thoughts from your mind. The white men have lances, which vomit fire and tear out holes in our bodies. Our parangs, krehas and Karandangs are nothing. When the white men are angered, they are more fierce than Belisanko." Tamango had bowed his head in acceptance.

Everything depends on me and my small band of warrior brothers sighed Kananga.

The expedition deep in the rain forest to hunt and capture cockatoos was dangerous. It marked a rite of passage yet it always tested a man to the limit. The forest was noisy; insects, birds and monkeys chattered constantly; it was always damp so Kanango was soaked. His hands, covered in ephedra leaves, kept slipping out of them; the sweat from his forehead steadily dropped into his eyes and blurred his vision. In an hour the rainforest could go from hazy sunlight to rain so thick you couldn’t see the palms of your hands placed inches away from your face. The torrents created a steam so dense some men would pass out. Kanango and his warriors would remain in their places, lying as flat as possible on their stomachs underneath giant leaves. If that was difficult because other creatures had got there first, they burrowed into the soft-carpeted vegetation of the rain forest.

The cockatoos, being clever, sought refuge near the top of 70-foot fruit trees. Since their coat was pristine white, they could not easily camouflage themselves among the greens of the tropical plants or the many colored hues of the flowers. Nature could assist you and trick you with equal ease and with no remorse. The only choice was to climb on thick, slimy branches of foliage heavy with fruits.

"Somehow I don’t feel safe in this tree, hidden amongst the white orchids where there is no Rerek to protect me. I must double back to the tallest fruit tree. That will give me a small advantage. I think I once saw a hunter with his naked parts scale the highest tree to capture my father. I’m not sure. It could be Fear giving me these images."

The cockatoo glided high up in the air, heading towards his refuge. "I am tired. Endless dark and light days have left me drained. I must rest. I must!"

In an excellent example of symbiosis, cockatoos were usually found where the huge, 30-foot long rerek (serpent) was lounging about. Cockatoos were too small for them. Besides they had these horrific talons and claws; with the force of their razor sharp beaks they could inflict damage to a serpent's body. Large mammals were more to their liking; man was a wonderful treat.

The Naya tribe considered the meat of the rarek a delicacy. Tamango had offered it to the white men who were convinced it was a fowl until he showed them the scales from the rerek, which the white men quickly offered to barter with their linen handkerchiefs. Tamango had accepted.

"Who could ever understand these white beings," Kananga asked silently, as he observed the encounter.

He started to climb the tree, inch by inch.

The cockatoo sensed the danger immediately. He couldn’t hear him as much as smell him. " The hunter is coming! My wings will no longer obey my command. I am going to stand my ground. and pulp out his eyes and balls".

"I hope there are no poisonous spiders or scorpions," prayed Kananga, as he climbed his sloth’s pace. He had covered himself with an ointment, which gave off an unpleasant odor to small crawly creatures. He was taking no chances. His private parts were tightly covered in a soft matted hemp plant. He had tied a string on his waist from which hung a reed like stalk. Inside this stalk was a fine, long (about 5 inches) metallic point which had been dipped in a nerve poison made from the flowers of a magenta colored vine which resembled a frangipani. Once this was plunged into the legs of the cockatoo, it would be paralyzed for two or three minutes.

"That was enough time", Kananga pleaded," for the Sanko to be placed into an abaca basket, and lowered from the heights of the tree, while my warriors hack away quickly at the branches, as we all descend slowly. I must remember to keep my eyes out for the rerek. What if I fail? He dismissed any possibility of failure.

For once Kananga was comfortable with the ruckus in the forest. That impudent cockatoo will not hear me creep up on him until I have thrust the point into his legs.

From the opposite side of the tree, two of Kananga's men had ascended before him. Around their necks they had a net made of pandanus leaves and thin bamboo strips which they would slip over the cockatoo once Kananga had jabbed the cockatoo and yelled his war whoops. None of the young men had ever hunted the Sanko before, and yet, they could not be referred to as men unless they had each captured a Sanko. This particular one was a prize!

"Aaa, I see them now. Two other hairless two legs are opposite my tree. What are they doing?"

As the son of a Chief, I have precedence - to either die or succeed, Kananga reminded himself.

The elders had explained it all very carefully; "the custom dictated that all the young men capture the Sanko alone without the experienced elders".

Sometimes the serpents killed the men, crushing all their bones before swallowing them.

Many men fell to their deaths when they slipped on the slimy branches. The cockatoos always fought back, talons and beak. They aimed straight for the hunter’s face, both their talons reducing their cheeks into a bloody pulp. The cockatoos curved beaks ripped into noses and eyes as easily as they opened soft tamarind pods.

The tradition of the Naya tribe prescribed one of the members of the expedition who deliberately kept watch on the ground in order to behead any injured hunters as swiftly as possible to their god Belisanko.

The Naya tribes were warriors and hunters. They were unaware that the white beings called them cannibals and savages. How useful to the tribe were blind and deformed warriors? Life in the island of Nias was ruthless; but just. Those were THE LAWS.

Kananga was poised above the cockatoo on a nearby tree. As he painfully had made his way up, his eyes had adjusted from the shadowy light below to the blinding light in the canopy of the rainforest. A spray of water grazed his face. Quickly!!! It would start to drizzle soon.

The cockatoo espied his brown figure as he poised and tensed his muscles.
"EEERK! EEERK! EEERK! Wailed the cockatoo in its despair. "Come wings. Take flight!"

Too late. The hunter leapt onto the fruit tree; pressed the cockatoo tightly against his well muscled stomach and stabbed the venomous point into the branch with his free hand. I am not going to risk hurting you, Sanko, You are too beautiful! I need those glass beads. My loins are flowing just thinking of my woman. I will prove my manhood in my own way.

"Hako! Hako!" Yelled Kananga in victory.’ I’ve done it, without the poison.

Two of his men threw the net over the cockatoo, which he was holding against his stomach. The cockatoo screeched "EeeeeecK!" in a high-pitched lament, while his talons raked Kananga’s flesh. He covered the cockatoo with the pandanus matting. His torso was crimson from the claws, which the cockatoo had dug into his flesh He glanced at his wounds. They were superficial, they’ll heal with the Kungku’s plants but I might have scars. Never mind.

"We got you, Sanko, the Naya word for cockatoo. You'll fetch a high price from the white men. It seems they're willing to pay whatever we ask. Hako!!!!!"

Kananga addressed Sanko, the cockatoo. "You are unique, smart, brave, fierce, and possess a quick tongue. You don't belong on our island of Nias with the Naya. Our world is too small for you."

The captive paid no mind "He is saying nothing, It’s blather. I lost to this smelly two-legged creature. I had no time to carve his eyes out, mangle his cheeks, or yank his nose apart. I hate him and all those like him."

From within his deepest soul came a cry so full of rage, Kananga almost dropped the matting.

"Men, listen to me," he yelled over the blood freezing screams of the Sanko "I'll convince my father Tamango to demand more goods for this unusual piece of sanko and we shall share it amongst ourselves."

The young warriors roared their assent "Sanko!" Then clenched their fists, and touched their foreheads, chests and balls.

Stalking the sanko and capturing him in three weeks, had not been achieved since the time of the Shaman, Kungku. It usually took months to capture a Sanko.

"Let’s hurry back," Kananga ordered. "And don't forget to wrap another pandanus matting tied with bamboo striplings around the basket. This Sanko is a fierce one."

"We can be at Guningsitoli (the main village of the Nayas) in a couple of hours. Move warriors. Well done."

EEERK! AIIRK! ARRRAI!

The howls of pain from the captive continued for at least an hour, until the Sanko ‘s voice became ever more raucous and hoarse – and… mercifully for Kananga and his Warriors, the captive lost his voice completely.

END of Chapter One



Enclosed is a picture of a 49 foot long python that was captured in Indonesia ... the rarek.