“That’s good,” Marty said. “It means they’ve seen people like us before. They’re used to seeing people like us—rangers, or surveyors, or government people of some sort. They certainly didn’t make those sarongs they’re wearing. That means they’ve made peaceful contact with the modern world.”

“So if we’re no big deal, why are they holding us captive?”

Marty didn’t have an answer to that and said, “Are either of you two aware of any indigenous tribes living in Sri Lanka?”

Jacky nodded and said, “The Vedda.”

“They used to be called ‘Forest People,’” added Rad. “Because they lived deep in the country’s forests before the Buddhists arrived, and the Dutch. Nobody knows how long they’ve been in Sri Lanka, only that it’s been a really long time. Perhaps since the Stone Age.”

“And they’re around today?”

“A few remote tribes still practice hunting and gathering. But most of them have started adopting modern customs, turning their reservations into tourist traps, or integrating into Sinhalese and Tamil villages.”

“So these villagers could be Vedda?”

“I don’t know who else they’d be.”

“Have Vedda ever been known to kidnap people before?”

“You think they’re kidnapping us?” Jacky asked.

“We’re certainly not here of our own free will.”

“But they’re going to let us go?”

“I’m sure of it,” he told her. “In fact, I’m sure this is just some big misunderstanding.”

∆∆∆

Less than ten minutes later a hunter returned and brought them through the village to a larger hut. Inside it, a well-fed man sat on a woven mat atop an L-shaped mud bench. He had a full head of wild gray hair and a snow-white beard that clashed dramatically with his tawny skin. Incongruously, he wore a blue-and-yellow cricket jersey, black gym shorts, Adidas flip flops, and four wristwatches, two on each wrist. Behind him on the wall was a weather-worn oil self-portrait in which he wore a white sarong and held a bow and cocked arrow. At the end of the bench were an assortment of glass and plastic bottles filled with different colored liquids.

Marty exchanged looks with Rad and Jacky. The man could have been a street hawker touting his wares on a busy Colombo street. When the hunter bowed in respect, however, Marty realized the old guy was likely the chief of the village.

He stood and approached them. Surprisingly, he took Marty’s right hand in both of his and offered a firm double handshake, keeping eye contact the entire time. He greeted Rad and Jacky in the same manner and then, smiling broadly, said, “Hello.”

∆∆∆

“Thank the Lord!” Rad blurted, laughing shrilly. “You speak English!”

The chief stared at her, still smiling.

“My name’s Martin,” Marty said. “What’s your name?”

He looked at Marty and nodded.

“Um, this is Jacqueline, and this is Radhika.”

He kept nodding.