Nirvana Effect

41



Next to Da’lin sat the boy Tomy, the Messenger of the living god. Using Manassa’s magic nectar, it had not taken Da’lin long to learn to drive the car.

Da’lin had never been a courier to a boy before. It was Manassa’s law that one must speak to the messenger as one might speak to the god, and one must listen to the commands of his messenger with the same deference. It seemed odd to Da’lin, listening to a fourteen year old as he might respect one of the tribal elders.

But Tomy only said what Manassa told him. And Da’lin was never one to question the holy. Manassa was a god; it stood to reason he was always right. That was fine for Da’lin.

Tomy was irritated. His feet were covered in mud and were everywhere in the car - on the dashboard, on the door paneling, on the seat. Tomy could not sit still.

Da’lin was not a clean man or a neat freak, even by Onge standards, but it was his car. At least, he drove it. No Onge in living memory had even rode in a car, let alone driven one. He preferred to keep it like the white man had it when Da’lin stole it from him.

If Tomy were just a child Da’lin would just knock him over the head or throw him out of the vehicle. But he was not a child. In many palpable respects, he was Manassa.

The boy kept talking. He wouldn’t stop talking.

“That was the white man, the white man I was following. He hunted me. He tried to get me. He saw me. Manassa will be angry. Manassa will not be pleased. He’ll be angry with you, Da’lin. And he’ll even be angry with me. Edward is ahead of us, Da’lin. You must go faster. It is as Manassa wishes.”

“How do you know what he wishes?” asked Da’lin even as he pressed his foot on the accelerator. The rain was subsiding, but he was already going far faster in the storm than he felt he should risk.

“He speaks to me, even as we sit here now. His word to me is as the air I breathe. His whispers are the wind.” He was quoting some of their oral history, now. Da’lin didn’t believe him but did not want a bad report from the boy to get to Manassa. “We must catch him. We must bind him and bring him to our god.”

“Didn’t you just want to watch him?”

“I’m afraid that he’s already betrayed us. We must take every precaution.” They drove over another hill. “Why are you slowing down? We can’t even see him anymore.”

“There is a curve here, just before we enter the wood.” As they reached the bend their headlights illuminated the undercarriage of Edward’s car. It was bent forward in the middle, wedged between two massive trees at the jungle’s edge.

“The white man!” screamed Tomy. “Stop the car! Stop the car!” Da’lin slowly braked. He was not about to flip his car and join the white man. The Messenger of Manassa needs to learn the patience of his master.

Before the car even stopped, Tomy was outside of it, sprinting to the wreckage, climbing around it, looking for the missionary. Da’lin cautiously stepped out of his car, leaving it running in case they needed to make a quick getaway. “His body’s not in here,” said Tomy.

“Maybe he survived and is now making his way on foot,” said Da’lin, taking a few more steps towards Tomy so he could see him better. The rain was still coming down hard enough to obscure his vision.

“Maybe so,” said Tomy. “It would be a long way for a white man to travel in the jungle.”

“I saw him duel Dook. He is no normal white man,” responded Da’lin. He looked around for signs of the missionary. Tomy saw them first.

“Tracks,” he shouted, pointing at the muddy road. Da’lin walked over to examine them. They were pointed away from the village.

“The white man goes the wrong way!” shouted Da’lin over the rain. Tomy was still at the wreckage. Da’lin’s eyes followed the path of the footsteps into the darkness of the jungle.

“There is no sign of him here,” shouted Tomy.

“There!” yelled Da’lin. He spotted Edward first. Da’lin had never seen a white man move in such a manner. As a matter of fact, he’d never seen a human being come close. It was as though the white man were held up by strings, as though the unseen god of gods were pulling and tugging his body as a toy. Da’lin was reminded of Mahanta’s supernatural duel with the panther.

The white man leapt onto the car, slid all the way across the top, and flipped down through the door in one fluid, graceful motion. Da’lin ran towards him.

“Get him!” yelled Tomy. “Get him!”

Da’lin did not want to lose his car. Moreover, he did not want to lose his life at the hands of this boy. The adrenaline let him overcome his fear of the white demon. There was some awful, dark medicine, some white magic in him that was making him dance like a god.

The white man started the car moving, but its wheels spun out in the mud. The rear tire in a rut in the dirt road. The white man tried again. Da’lin drew closer. He would reach him.

The white man did something funny with the brakes, tried again. The car lurched forwards out of the rut. Da’lin grabbed him and hurled him out of the car. Cat-like, Edward landed a meter away and in the same motion launched at Da’lin.

Edward’s blows lacked power, but they came with such speed and fury that Da’lin could only stagger back. The white man used not only his hands and feet but his knees, his elbows, his head, his every body part to strike Da’lin, and Tomy could only get halfway to the fight before the Onge driver had fallen.

Da’lin watched the white man leap over him back into the car. He saw Tomy charging, but this time it was too late for the Onge. In a blur of mud, Da’lin’s car lurched off. Tomy was shrieking.

“Get up! Get up you weakling! Get up! We must hurry! The white man crushed you! Just wait until Manassa hears this! You have failed our god!” Da’lin was in a fog. Tomy slapped his face to wake him up. My car, Da’lin was thinking. My car... “Why would you leave the car running!” yelled Tomy. “He stole the car! He’ll make it to the village before us, now! Get up!”

Da’lin pulled himself up from the mud. His nose bled. He wished that the white man had hit him hard enough to have his ears stop functioning, but no such luck.

“We must run,” said Tomy.

Da’lin obligingly started trotting down the road. He had no problem with hoofing it. If he hurried, maybe he could get his car back.

“Wait,” said Tomy. He pulled out two vials from his pocket. “We must run.”