Nirvana Effect

19



“It’s ham and rice in banana leaf,” explained Nockwe as he served Edward his wrap. It felt warm in Edward’s hands, but not too warm.

Bri’ley’na and the three children sat on the floor with them. They all ate quietly, Bri’ley’na occasionally chirping to one of the children to stay seated or to go fetch some seasoning.

Nockwe coughed repeatedly. The coughs rocked his whole body. Still, he sounded better. Once he recovered from the fit, he smiled wearily at Edward.

“Is there anything Western medicine can do for me, Edward Styles?” asked Nockwe.

“We could remove your lungs,” said Edward.

Nockwe frowned at him. Edward laughed.

“A joke,” said Edward.

Nockwe’s eyebrows went through contortions. He still looked quite serious; Edward hoped he hadn’t affronted the chieftain. Then Nockwe burst into laughter. Bri’ley’na asked Nockwe something very rapidly in Onge. Nockwe responded just as quickly. She started laughing, too.

“What?” asked Edward.

“You have a very strange sense of humor, white man,” said Bri’ley’na. She laughed more. She told the children to go play outside the hut.

“Actually,” said Edward, “there is very little we could do for a cough. We have cough drops. It can keep your throat from being so sore.”

“How do I get this ‘cough drops‘?” asked Nockwe.

“Go to a corner store in Lisbaad.”

“I might just do that,” said Nockwe. “Even though it breaks every code of my tribe.”

“Better to break that little code and live, I say,” said Edward.

“Now you sound like Manassa,” said Nockwe.

Bri’ley’na quietly took her leave from the two men.

“What’s that?” asked Edward.

“Nothing,” said Nockwe, quickly. Still, Edward leaned for an answer, so Nockwe said, dismissively, “Manassa is the bringer of change.”

“He is? He breaks your codes?” asked Edward. His interest was piqued.

Nockwe shrugged. He coughed again. “He is interpreter of the code. The prophecies say that he ‘shall bring all the words of our traditions to new meaning, to new light.’”

“What does he say about medicine?”

“Our law says that no potions of foreigners be allowed in our bodies.”

“Mmhmm?” Edward prompted.

“Manassa says that all the Earth belongs to the Onge - that now that Manassa has come, there is no foreigner.”

“That’s what Manassa says?” asked Edward. He couldn’t hide his reaction. His pulse was racing, his breath evacuated into the jungle night.

Carefully, Nockwe answered, “That’s what Manassa says in his sermons.” He spoke more guardedly. Edward took his time to form the right question, something that would let Nockwe feel comfortable once more. Edward realized he needed to know a lot more than he knew.

Nockwe spoke before the words came to Edward. His brow furrowed and he talked slowly, with the same rhythm he usually reserved for crowds. “Edward, have you ever attended one of the sermons of Manassa?” asked Nockwe.

“No,” said Edward.

Nockwe looked into the candlelight. He had another question, and Edward just waited for it. Finally, Nockwe asked, “White man, what do you view as your role here?”

“I…” Edward started. “I am the servant of Manassa. I am here to perform accomplish his will,” lied Edward.

Nockwe scowled. He leaned very close to Edward, and whispered in his ear. “That is all well, since the eyes and ears of Manassa are everywhere. But tell me how you truly see your role. I owe you my life; I will not betray you.”

Edward nodded. He thought of Tomy. It was likely that he was crouching outside, just as Dook had spied on Tien’s conversation with the chieftain.

Should I talk to him? Edward trusted Nockwe, far more than he trusted anyone else in the tribe. Why shouldn’t he? Edward whispered back, “I am researching…”

“Lleychta?” asked Nockwe.

“Yes.”

Nockwe drew in a breath and considered once more the candle. He seemed to be meditating. Edward’s eyes drifted to the walls of the hut. They were adorned from top to bottom with skins and various artifacts inherited from the Onge chieftains of ages past. Edward did not really see them. He was just letting Nockwe think.

Finally, the chieftain whispered in the formal Onge tongue, “White man, I will tell you the story of Manassa, the same way it is told our children, and was told to me, and was told to my ancestors for hundreds of years. I do this for you. You say I saved your life, and you were only paying a debt, but my debt is greater than yours, now. If I did not owe such a debt, I would not help you. I would not tell you the story, for doing so is truly a disservice to my tribe, and a disservice to Manassa, who empowers our tribe. Still, I will tell you.”

Edward rocked back and waited for Nockwe to begin.

The chieftain spoke smoothly. It was a familiar tale to Nockwe, told in all its flowery phrases.

“We are a people of many, many gods, but three are higher than all. The first god is the creator, maker of heaven and Earth. He became the Earth and the stars that we might have life. He only lives through us, through the beasts of the jungle, through the trees and streams, even through the mud. He sacrificed his life as a seed for all of our world.”

Edward was already, familiar with the Onge pantheon, but listened carefully.

“The second god is the all-seeing, all-knowing god of now. He is the Watcher. He is the Taker. He is the guardian of the Onge. He keeps us on the island, to keep us strong, to keep by our codes, to wait for the sign.

“The third god is just born. He is the immortal child. When the first god sowed this Earth with life, he planted a seed of immortality, that one day he might be reborn as himself. And the second god watched over the seed, guarding it until the proper day had passed. And when it passed, the third god was born, the child eternal, Manassa.

“Manassa leads us, his chosen people, to reclaim the Earth he seeded with his life. For just as the greatest of Onge must be the chieftain, so must the greatest people of Earth be the chieftain of Earth.”

Surely Mahanta did not buy into this claptrap. Edward nodded.

“Has my god Manassa told you of this?” asked Nockwe.

Edward said, “Yes,” for the benefit of any eavesdroppers, but shook his head decidedly, “No.”

Nockwe sighed. He leaned in close to Edward once more and whispered. “Mahanta became Manassa because of the signs. He fulfilled the prophecy. But there are more prophecies. Ruling the white man is one of them, including ruling you. That pretense has already been achieved. But there are many more. And if Manassa does not fulfill the prophecies, he is not Manassa. He is not the child immortal.”

“Then what is he?” whispered Edward.

“Dead,” said Nockwe. He then leaned back. He watched Edward meaningfully as he finished his story, “Like a Chinese rocket, Manassa shoots us to our fortune, our future.” He slowly enunciated his last sentences. “Like an Onge arrow, our path is set and unwavering. Once fired, no man can divert it, not even he who let it loose.”

Nockwe rose. Edward stood with him. Nockwe led him to the exit of the hut by his arm. The chieftain whispered in parting, “There is a saying with my people. It goes: the foolish man, facing the panther, dives into its waiting mouth. Goodbye, Edward.”