BooksBarbecue
Back Whirlwind
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

“I’m not sure,” Eko admits. “We did everything we could. And the shaman has tried everything he knows.”

I sit up with an effort, and feel dizzy for a few seconds. Then it passes and I’m able to look around at the wooden huts and the two dozen or so men, women, and kids who are watching us silently.

“How did they find Kidah in the first place?” I ask her, looking back at them. “And why did they take him in?”

Eko has apparently communicated enough telepathically with the shaman to know the answers. “They found him stumbling aimlessly through the forest,” she tells me. “Birds and animals were circling him, giving him a magical nature escort. The tribesmen had never seen anything like it. They recognized Kidah as a special person, a great spirit. He collapsed, and they brought him back to their holiest place. He’s been lying there ever since, and the birds and animals and insects still come to him …”

Several women walk over carrying large baskets. They smile down at us, and Eko looks back at them, nods, and stands.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“There’s going to be a ceremonial banquet tonight in our honor,” she informs me.

“Great, I’m starving. What’s on the menu?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Eko admits. “I can’t get a read on it. It’s their local delicacy. Something they farm. Maybe manioc or cassava. They’re going to harvest it now, and want to know if we’d like to come along.”

“Count me in,” I tell her, and get shakily to my feet. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a good meal, let alone a banquet? Let’s go!”

A dozen of us tromp off through the woods to harvest the feast. I’m famished, but as we make our way through increasingly dank underbrush I grow wary. What fruit or vegetables could they possibly grow in this fetid forest?

We draw near some fallen palm logs, and I start to smell a musky, rotten stench. “What do you think it is, Eko? Mushrooms? Truffles?”

“I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

We reach the logs. I see that the hearts of the toppled palms have already been removed and, I presume, eaten long ago. But the fibrous pith has been left in the trunks to rot. The women pry it out with sticks.

It gives off a heavy, rancid odor. Eko, our lunch is starting to seem less appealing.

She doesn’t look happy either. Eko’s a vegetarian, but she’s also very practical. Whatever it is, we’ll eat it and we’ll like it. We’re their guests now, but they can turn on us in a second, she reminds me telepathically.