Chapter 11
Zach
Stepping out of the
barbershop, I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. I did it on
a spur of the moment whim, having left the library about a half hour
ago and not in any hurry to get back to Moira’s house. It was a
nice day outside, and I was feeling the need to distance myself from
that flame-haired temptress.
Last night…
No words to describe
it. There aren’t enough words in Portuguese or English to
describe how unbelievably wrecked I was when I came inside of Moira
that first time. I felt something release inside of me. And not just
an orgasm that rocketed through me with a force I’ve never felt
before. I felt something give way inside of me… an almost
breaking apart of my soul.
It scared the fuck
out of me, and I immediately searched outward with blind fingers for
something to grab ahold of. I thought briefly of the rainforest and
of Paraila’s kind eyes. I tried to remember the thrill of the
hunt, and of the camaraderie I shared with the other Caraicans. I
wracked my mind trying to remember some level of comfort that those
memories would normally provide for me, and I came up absolutely
empty.
Then I turned my
head to the side and looked at Moira lying beside me on the carpet.
Her eyes were still on a low simmer of desire, and complete
satisfaction was etched across her beautiful face. And that fractured
feeling inside of me started to subside, only to be replaced by a
burning need to touch her again.
With my tongue.
There was no real
thought involved and, within the time it takes for a serpent to
strike, my face was between her legs and I tasted her… I
tasted me… and I was lost in euphoria again.
Our second coupling
was just as frenzied, but it was more intimate… more personal
than before. Being able to watch her face and the myriad of emotions
that crossed it every time I sunk into her was beyond dazzling. I
felt my control slipping again and scrabbled to maintain it, ordering
her to touch herself and then torturing myself when I pulled out of
her. But she finally capitulated to me, and I was able to fuck her to
another divine conclusion.
After… I
didn’t know what to do. There was a yearning inside of me to
touch her… possibly pull her into my arms, yet I didn’t
know if that was appropriate. So many things I still don’t
know. So many things yet to learn. While all of my instincts as to
what I should do to her body seem absolutely natural, I have not a
clue how to deal with Moira when the glow of glorious sex fades away.
Instead, I walked
away from her like I would have walked away from Tukaba. Yet, that
didn’t feel right because I never would have done those things
to Tukaba. Don’t want to do those things with Tukaba.
Only with Moira.
What I can’t
figure out is if I’m falling prey to a new culture, or I’m
just falling prey to Moira. Neither option seems satisfactory to me.
So when I woke up
this morning, I got dressed, grabbed the money that Moira had given
me, and left the house. Moira’s bedroom door was still closed,
but I didn’t bother to leave her a note. She had told me I was
free to come and go as I please, and besides… I didn’t
know what to say to her.
My first stop was a
little coffee shop that sat a few blocks down from the library. I
went in and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices that were
available. Mochas, lattes, cappuccinos. I had no clue what any of it
meant, so I ordered just a cup of black coffee and paid for my
purchase. I sat outside for a while at a small table with an umbrella
to shade me, watching the people walking by. I paid careful attention
to the women, comparing each of them to Moira. Trying to figure out
what was it about her that set her apart… that made her so
intriguing to all of my senses.
I didn’t come
up with a single answer.
Finally, I finished
my coffee and went to the library. I just wandered aimlessly around
the stacks of books, taking one off the shelf every now and then to
read the back cover. Nothing was appealing to me, so I left.
That’s when I
saw the barbershop across the street and, after a break in traffic,
trotted over to it.
Peering in the
window, I watched a man getting a haircut. I absently fingered my own
long hair, thinking of the pride that came with wearing this Caraican
hairstyle. What would it mean if I were to cut it all off? Would I be
turning my back on my heritage? Except… that wasn’t my
heritage. Not truly. At my basic roots, I was an American man. Yet,
I’d seen plenty of men since coming to the States with a
variety of hairstyles. Some long, some short, some in between. There
was nothing about a man’s hair that seemed to identify his
nature. It was just… hair.
Maybe it was just
hair in Caraica, too.
I sat there for
several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ultimately, I thought
of Paraila and something he taught me when I was a young boy when one
of our tribe’s elders had died.
As is custom, the
body was painted with symbols telling of his journey through life. A
crown of bamboo leaves was placed upon his head, and a wild orchid
was nestled in his hands. He was laid upon a funeral pyre, and then
his body was burned until there was nothing left but his bones.
When the embers had
cooled to the touch, the women would sift through the ashes and
collect the burned bones. They were then crushed with a mortar and
pestle to a fine dust. Banana milk was added, and the funeral ritual
was completed by every person in the tribe taking a drink until
nothing was left.
“ Why are we
drinking Capa’s bones?” I asked Paraila when the gourd
was passed to me.
Placing his hand
gently on my shoulders, he said, “You know that life is created
when a man and a woman lay together, right, Cor’dairo?”
I nodded my head
that I understood that. It was one of the first things that Paraila
ever taught me… after I first saw a man coupling with a woman.
“ Well, we
are doing nothing more than returning Capa to life. We ingest his
bones and make him part of us. Then, when new life is created, part
of Capa will be reborn, and his spirit will live on within the tribe.
To us, life is never ending. You will always come back in some way or
another. Everything comes back in the end.”
As I watched the
barber inside take a brush and clean off the man’s neck, I
thought about Paraila’s teachings. Everything always comes back
in the end.
I didn’t
hesitate a second longer. Walking in, I asked how much for a haircut,
and then had the barber take it off.
When he turned me
around in the chair and I saw myself in the mirror, I waited for
sadness to hit me that my hair was gone… because it was one of
the things that identified me as a Caraican. But it didn’t. I
just stared with interest, noting how short it was on the sides, but
he left it a bit longer on top. My hair was actually a bit wavy and,
without the weight of the long locks pulling it down, it flipped at
the ends in about a dozen different ways. I looked younger, or so I
thought, and I was generally pleased.
Standing outside the
barbershop, I look down the street left and right, trying to decide
what to do. No doubt, Moira would be up by now, but I still wasn’t
ready to face her. I had no clue where we stood, and I wasn’t
ready to find out just yet.
So I head in the
opposite direction, and just start walking.
I need more time to
think.
I’m so fucking
lost.
How in the hell did
that happen?
I’ve been
navigating my way through the Amazon for most of my life, hacking
away new paths with my machete and exploring unseen areas. I always
found my way back.
But after walking
around the suburbs of Evanston, Illinois, fuck if I have a clue as to
where I am.
Turning down a new
street, I hope for some familiarity, but find nothing but new sights
and sounds. I walk for another few blocks until I emerge on another
street that has some businesses. A small diner, an antique shop—no
clue what that means, and a locksmith. No clue what that means
either.
Just down the street
in a small parking lot, I see two police cars parked beside each
other, facing in opposite directions. Knowing what those are, I head
toward them. I have a sudden and distinct memory of a police officer
coming to my school when I was little. I don’t quite remember
why he was there, but he talked to our class, and I remember him
being in a position of authority and security. I figured they were my
best bet to figure out how to get back to Moira’s.
When I approach the
cars, I see their windows are down, and the cops are talking to each
other. Their gazes lift toward me, and one of the officers gives me a
small smile. “Can I help you?”
Scratching my head,
because this is awkward and embarrassing, I tell him, “Yeah…
I’m sort of lost and can’t find my way back to my
friend’s house.”
The officer arches
his eyebrow at me. “New to the area?”
“You could say
that,” I tell him.
“What’s
the address and I’ll get you pointed in the right direction?”
Address? Fuck.
“Um…
honestly, I don’t know. It’s a white house with black
shutters.”
I can see immediate
distrust wash over the cop’s face, and he opens his car door to
step out. “You don’t know the address?” he asks
skeptically. “And you say this is a friend’s house?”
I put on my
friendliest smile. “Okay, I know this sounds weird… but,
um… I’ve actually been living in Brazil for the past
eighteen years and the woman I’m staying with was hired to
bring me back here to the United States and help me adjust to this
culture. I’ve been staying at her house.”
Apparently, that
didn’t go over any better because I see the cop’s
distrust magnify. The other officer now steps out of his car and
gently shuts the door to face me. I expect at any moment for them to
pull their guns or something, which makes me feel twitchy. Maybe this
wasn’t such a good idea, so I take a step backward.
“You needed