Fray Paco Would Like Reno

I hope you've had the chance to read my stories about Fray Paco - the wonderfully smart & smart alecky cockatoo I grew up with.

In case you doubted some of his abilities -- I refer you to the following site. It shows the amazing ability of cockatoos to mimic the sounds of others - even humans.

www.liveleak.com/view?i=bca_1230639764

Friends of Fray Paco

Thought you may enjoy this. . . .

This lady lives in a Hummingbird fly zone. As they migrated, about 20 of them were in her yard. She took the little red dish, filled it with sugar water and this is the result.

The Woman is Abagail Alfano of Pine, Louisiana - she has been studying them daily and one morning put the cup from the feeder, with water in it, in her hand; as they had gotten used to her standing by the feeder they came over to her hand. She says in touching they are as light as a feather.

The hummingbirds sipping sugared water on Abigail’s palm are a sight to behold. I don’t want to initiate a series of polemics; sugar is one of the worst poisons to assail all living creatures on this planet.

Honey is another matter. That is the only substance to use.

In Villa Luz, Casa del Monte and Santol Mansion, hummingbirds and canaries flew into the gardens only when they knew that the Big Bad White Fray Paco was inside and could not tear them apart limb to limb.

Dona Esperanza (main character of book 4 of the Fray Paco Series) had hanging baskets of fuchsias with a circumference of sixty centimeters. Hummingbirds loved to sip its silky liquid even as they seemed to turn on their axis so swiftly that you could barely see them.

The species in the Asian tropics dazzled you not only with their acrobatics but also with their colors. Fuchsia seemed to be their predominant color, which led me to believe that it was camouflage against its predators.

The canaries and parakeets safely ensconced in their bamboo cages often bore the brunt of Fray Paco’s cattiness.

‘’Hey you colored pieces of nothing, learn to sing on key.”

One canary in particular was the subject of Fray Paco’s vexation. His name was Ling-Ling. His melodious name did not match his often-sour personality. As a singer, Ling Ling was unimaginative at best.

“Stupido Canario Ling Ling. You sing trapos – rags. All you do is trill and tweet. No melody. Useless.”

The sight of Abigail and the hummingbirds on her palm is wondrous because they are very shy and skittish creatures.

The Voice of Fray Paco

Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed the first seven chapters of Book One of my five book, auto-history story called The Saga of Fray Paco.

I also thought you might enjoy reading an email I recently sent to John Ball (which I've expanded for this post) about Fray Paco and some of the themes I am writing about. As always I look forward to your comments and emails.

The Saga of Fray Paco is not only the story of my clan. It is the history of the world as perceived by a rare white cockatoo capable of cognitive thoughts. Fray Paco existed ... I grew up with him. He was the oldest member of my clan and as such he had lived with many of its most fascinating members. I thought that Fray Paco as a central character in my 5 book series would be both unusual and would provide an inciteful glimpse to the 100+ years in which he lived.

The voice of Fray Paco is the voice of Humanity, imperfect, passionate and profoundly integral.
This species of cockatoo (now extinct) live to between 120 and 150 years. Imagine the things they see, hear and experience! For those of you who have had a close experience with their pets -- there is a real joy in seeing the intelligence and the ability to relate to a different species. While I have had many types of pets over the years ... a golden pig, a bat, numerous dogs and cats, a turtle, a horse, viper, and even a panther -- they pale in comparison with Fray Paco. He was totally unique ... and I dare say even brilliant. I have seen Fray Paco reason better and quicker than an adult, and he could out cuss anybody I've ever met, and in more languages.

The Janus –like existence of Don Pedro de Freitas, pirate and Don Pedro de Silva, merchant reflect the ethical, religious and moral ambiguity of man.

Every protagonist in the four books after Book One – The Catala -- has his or her own voice as well. They are all larger than life individuals with extraordinary virtues and outrageous vices. The one thing they all have in common is a brave heart and an abstract love for their fellow man. This soon turns into concrete kindness when those collective abstract humans in need somehow cross their paths.

Concerning the first few chapters I have presented dealing with the capture of Fray Paco some background and commentary is in order.

The Dutch East India Company was the first multinational in the world. It was the first attempt by a cabal of bankers and merchants to experiment with globalism. The Romans had done it successfully for centuries until the fall of Rome. Suleyman the Magnificent created a form of globalism that was multi-cultural, multi-religious and multi–racial. Life improved under his rule.
Not so with the Dutch East India Company. Its shareholders earned 700% in less than a year. Its army and navy were brutal in their attitude towards the people of Indonesia. Yet they attended church on Sundays with clean consciences. They did not consider the Indonesian Malays as human beings like themselves. Their customs and their brown-ness rendered them somewhat inferior in their eyes.

Pirates and Corsairs have always roamed the Malacca Straits (see map above) and the South China Seas since time immemorial. Li- Ma Hong the Chinese pirate not only attacked Manila but he and his fleet almost occupied the city.

Pirates in the Malacca Straits and in the South China Seas attack every year hundreds of yachts, ships and boats. Sometimes the vessels disappear without a trace. Nothing is ever heard from them again. The International Maritime Bureau (IMB) reports that in the Strait of Malacca (where attacks dropped from 79 in 2005 to 50 in 2006) accounted for 40% of piracy worldwide. The IMB reported in October 2007 that Indonesia continued to be the world's most pirate-struck region with 37 attacks since January 2007.

I hope you have enjoyed the story thus far. In the coming days and weeks I shall introduce some of the other characters in the five book saga.

The Catala - Chapter 7: I Will Survive and Thrive

He studied this strange and tall two legged creature, with hair the color of the sun and eyes as blue as his favorite flowers, the orchids which amassed on the branches of the Nangka tree. It made vocal sounds he was not familiar with. He did not like the creature, but his instincts warned him that he had power over him.

"Where am I? One moment I was carefree and happy, then the two-legged hairless hunter with the brown skin stalked me for many nights and days … and captured me. Now, this peculiar being, who does not kill for food or survival has me as his prisoner. It seems that I have no Life other than what that smelly being decides."

The rain forest had disappeared, and with it, the sounds he had loved and mastered. Vanished too, was the rain. There was only an endless blue below and above. His prison kept moving strangely – backwards, forwards, and sometimes sideways. They were taking him farther and farther away from his island in the sun. Flight was out of the question. These beings had fiery thunder, which shot at the sky, and objects, which tore out your heart and entrails.

All his senses spoke to him "Watch the pale and yellow creature. Be very careful. He will also be watching me. In the rain forest, eagles, hawks and falcons were always on the lookout for creatures like me. Eagles swooped down silently, grabbed you in their talons as long as daggers and ripped you apart while you were still alive.”

He listened attentively to the new sounds around him. Darkness was fast descending. Light was shining from up high, was that the Moon? The big boat made slurpy noises as the water struck it. Instead of the cackling of monkeys and the grunts of the Orangutan, the two-legged beings spoke long words and laughed. Loudly. It would not be too hard, after the thousand noises of the rain forest, which he had had to distinguish, to identify the voice with the being.

"I will concentrate on no other but the pale and yellow creature. He is the male who commands."

After what seemed an eternity, he decided the ship was as dangerous as the rain forest. No!!! More deadly, because he did not know his way about … Not yet.

"I learnt skills in the rain forest which helped me to survive. I led a rich life and thrived in the midst of my enemies. I will do the same in this New World.”

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.