Chapter 1: The Shaman and the Operative.
Agent Gary Friday finished his first cup of coffee as he waited to board the plane to Cusco. From Lima it would be a rapid flight, a little over an hour. And next the puddle jumper to Puerto Maldonado. How they were going to get from there to a cabin in the middle of the jungle was anyone’s guess.
He had done this trip dozens of times before, with the international certificate of vaccination ready next to his passport just in case. Usually he carried his Samsonite Delegate trusty briefcase but opted instead for a handicraft wool shoulder bag that he had bought at one of the souvenir shops near Machu Picchu on his last visit.
His job entailed that he either had to dress up or dress down, depending on the locale of his work. In this situation he wore blue jeans and black new balance running shoes, and a plain off white all cotton button down shirt that he got in Kathmandu. He noticed that dressing down took about the same amount of time as dressing up. Either way he felt like an actor preparing for a role.
But this time would be different because of the costar: Juan Santiago the medicine man. That was who Gary was expecting to meet up with. Santiago was definitely an enigma. He had succeeded in eluding himself from any authorities of the western world who emitted any sort of vibe that had to do with greed. That is why Gary was anointed as “the chosen one”. Somebody above him believed that he possessed virtues that nobody else on the team had. Well, at least not in the amounts that he did. Namely, integrity. Whether Gary himself believed that is another story indeed. And one thought about while nursing tall glasses of Jack and Coke.
Gary believed that without integrity life couldn't work. He had experimented on himself in his own life. Breaking his own moral codes periodically just to see what would happen, as if he could measure hypothesis after hypothesis through witnessing what worked and what didn't. Like Rimbaud destroying himself to elevate his psychological circumstances, Gary felt stronger the more he failed.
This next project was not settling easily in his brain. Hadn’t he already earned his stripes in his 25 years of active duty? What exactly did they want him to find out about this old medicine man? THAT is what confused him more then anything.
Try as he may he had a hard time coming to terms with the ambiguity of the duty set before him. He would be recording every nuance, all conversations, and going over it with a fine tooth comb. He made a vow to himself that after retirement, he would go back on to this land without any electrical devices on his person. But for now, he had a job to do.
Finishing the thick tar like coffee that he had bought on the side of the road 30 minutes earlier, he tossed the cup into the small orange art deco trash can and boarded the plane. He knew that drinking the coffee hadn’t been the wisest idea. It probably would have been more advantageous for him to skip the caffeine and sleep on the short flight. But the caffeine had become part of his ritual. Not an addiction as much as a comfort.
He leaned back into his chair and thought about his children. They weren't children any more. His youngest was in his 20s, already a force in the rock and roll world to be reckoned with. It was surreal the heights to which he had achieved so at so young an age. He was proud of his son but they maintained an ambivalent relationship. There was respect, but too much pride on both sides to really bond. and where was the time? "Maybe after I retire," he thought to himself, "I'll see them more often."
The flight was over before it began, and Juan Santiago met Gary Friday right as he was coming off of the plane. The medicine man nodded at him unceremoniously and motioned for Gary to follow him. Usually in the past, his “host” would have been much warmer to him. What was happening here? Now Gary began to wonder how they were going to be getting to the cabin, which was supposedly about 25 miles away.
“I gotta change out my money so I can pay for a cab, right?” He said weakly, as the medicine man grunted softly and shook his head “No.” Gary figured maybe they were going to take motorcycles. He had done that before, several years back, when he was much younger. He shocked himself at the callousness and disregard of his almost senior citizen status. Of course at the time, he scarcely considered the fact that Juan was just about the same age as he was, give or take a year or two.
To the north of the airport was a dirt road that stretched out towards the mountains. The sun was at an apex and was beginning to beat down on them.
“So we gonna jump on some motorcycles or what?’ asked Gary.
“We walk,” grumbled Juan incredulously. “Time to cleanse out the toxic poisons you have been building up. Only one way to do that: sweat.”
Agent Friday stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait just a minute now, sir. Hiking a marathon through Peruvian wild lands is not in my job description.” Juan Santiago held a finger to his lips. ‘
“Silencio- silence.”
“I know what the hell “silencio” means. I’m fluent in spanish, along with six other languages in case they haven’t told you.”
Gary was glad he had brought plenty of water and packed lightly. But he still felt undignified over this long walk.
“The hell do they think I am?” He thought to himself. His thoughts were bursting with anger, like screams of injustice taking over his whole body. “After nearly 3 decades of service this is what they give me? I thought I was in for some kind of transformational journey. Instead they give me some gap toothed lunatic. The head case in charge of the asylum.”
The medicine man interrupted his thoughts. “You’re murdering me with your thinking, aren’t you? Start to breath your hatred out like this.” He began breathing slowly and very loudly, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Then he covered one nostril with his index finger and proceeded with the exercise, eventually switching nostrils. He noticed that the agent was not exactly motivated about following the rules. “So I suppose you already have everything figured out. You don’t need to learn from me, or anyone else for that matter. No wonder you look so confused,” was the Shaman’s retort to Gary’s uncharacteristically passive aggressiveness.
With that, the agent suddenly put his finger over his mouth and said, “Shhhh, silencio.” Then, “See, I listen better then you thought, DON’T I?”
The medicine man didn't speak for a while. Neither did the agent. In different circumstances, he would have been entranced by the beauty of this region. But this project was not off to a productive start. Besides feeling oppressed by his host, he felt bitter about the progressive Americanization of a country he had once loved escaping to.
It was more convenient now. There were trains up to tourist sights that used to be attainable by hard core trekking or uneasy bus trips. He even noticed that his old favorite Cafe in Cusco, Ayullo De Cusco, had been replaced by Starbucks. He had decided to buy that tar like coffee on the side of the road instead of going to Starbucks. Was it selfish of him to want a place to escape to? He wondered what the medicine man thought about it. “Maybe he’s taking the anger of my whole race out on me,” he thought to himself, “maybe than it would be justified at least.”
Several minutes went by and there was a continual hush.The medicine man kept walking in silence. He let Gary think. The only thing that could be heard were footsteps and labored breathing. Then a few minutes later he spoke again.
“Thing is, your people have finally come as far as they could reach with their machines. Yet it solved nothing. How is it to live among a culture of digitized robots? So now, more people then ever are coming for the resources that lie in two places.” He put his right hand over his heart, and then covered his head with his left before continuing. “You can have all the money in the world, but if you haven't learned the ways of the heart, the ways of the mind, you are more poor then the skinniest beggar in Cuzco.”
Gary nodded his head in agreement, and thought this may be a useful way to find some common ground. “I hear what you are saying. I apologize for the ignorance of my people. But I can only apologize so much.”
Juan continued. “I learned the ways of the world. Your people put me through their schools. Some considered me a techno shaman. Because I am adept at both worlds. The ancient and the modern. Both have not eluded me. There are things I may choose to show you that will make you stronger. But I do not trust you yet. I had a friend from the west who taught me the phrase, 'respect is earned.' He did not earn it from me, even though I still quote his clever phrase! Nor have you. I will teach you some things. But I will pull away if I feel trust wanting.”
Gary felt a knot of disappointment churning in his stomach. “Did we not have the agreement to complete initiation? The supposed psychadelic- for research ritual? Did you forget your promise?”
Juan stomped a foot into the ground. “I said in good faith. This is what I told your masters. You do not want this experience without working for it first. It is up to you whether you will count the cost, and finish what you've started.”
Gary was livid internally but was not about to argue with Juan. He would save his anger for a telephone call to his superiors. At this point they could fire him for all he cared, or maybe reward him for his boldness with a leave of absence. He was beginning to hate this so called medicine man.
“What have I done to earn his derision?” He thought spastically. He had already renounced his old ways of materialism. Now he was risking his life to go out into the jungle with whom he was now past beginning to consider a half wit. He was not about to apologize for being reared in a calloused culture- he had worked too hard to not overcome the mistakes of his own people.
“Don't be a hypocrite. If you want me to respect where you came from you should respect what I've gone through to understand you, and to make reparations-'
And next came the verbal thrust. “No more TALKING.”
“Excuse me?”
With that, Juan pointed the opposite direction from where they were walking, to where the sun was beginning to set.
“GO Back NOW,” he firmly said.
“Go What?” He stammered, slightly shocked.
“Go back to your land. This was a big misdeed on my part. When I agreed to this, I thought we would have a better Comprensivo, a mutual understanding. I thought you were further advanced on the true path.”
Gary crossed his arms. They both stood their ground for a moment, staring into each other's weather beaten faces. The fierce eye contact these men made with each other was strong, neither one giving over to yielding. They both had more in common than they would care to admit, having both been masters of their craft and renowned in knowledge and resources. Without breaking focus, Juan touched his shoulder, and said, “if you wish to continue, please - no more speaking until morning.”
This made Gary even more livid but he kept his composure. He had no choice at this point. There was a continual silent hush between Gary and the medicine man. Gary was lost in his angry thoughts. Somebody back home was in trouble for putting his ass on the line like this. He’d just have to figure out WHO- and it wasn’t necessarily the one who gave the orders. Then the medicine man stopped in front of a small patch of Nicandra Physalodes, or 'Apple of Peru' flowers. He sniffed one of them. Then he looked up at Gary.
“Your people have created a lot of change for us,” he said, as if reading Gary's mind. Gary nodded silently. He had nothing to add. He just wanted to listen to this man, trying desperately as possible to control his temper. “When I was a young man, your people began to come here seeking wisdom. Some of them found what they were looking for, and some of them didn't.” He paused for a second, and gazed across the mountains. “There has been damage done. But only a certain amount. Our people will persevere. These mountains, too, will survive. I’m not certain I can say the same of your people. Unless they are truly willing and ready to listen. And to change.... Same goes for you.”
Puerto Maldonado had been beautiful but Gary no longer noticed the beauty. He had not been in a 'wild card' situation for over a decade. He had been used to owning complete control over all situations, with everything in it's right place, in perfect working order. He always knew where he’d be sitting on each plane a week before each flight. He may have lost some of the spontaneity- His job had never been easy, but he was able to have sufficient poise for the most part. He had never dealt with anyone like this Juan guy before, and there had never been a problem with communication with anybody else on his previous peruvian journeys. Suddenly promises were being broken.
Or had they been? Whose promises? after all, Juan had not directly given him his word about the ritual. Had there been a miscommunication between his superiors, himself, and the third party? Had he been lied to by his superiors? Or had Juan lied to him about his superior’s needs? There really was no way to know. Maybe he needed to have a conference call with both parties to straighen out everything, and to figure out the goal of his sojourn. He felt, for the first time in years, in over his head. He even felt a bit old for this, and all of the sudden wished he hadn't taken the assignment. But at the same time, he felt lost. The last time he felt this full of angst was as a teenager. The memories of broken youth began once again to flood his mind.
The Shaman and the Agent got to their destination and Gary Friday was famished and too tired to think straight. The luxury of the place surprised him as he had expected less. He would have been happier with less comfort but also less surprises. Juan showed him to his cot, which was delicately decorated with blankets intricately woven and weaved with poignantly bright colors.
“Sleep now. Do not say a word. You will eat in the morning.” Even though every fiber of his being wanted to rebel, Gary decided he wouldn’t argue, he just wanted to collapse. He fell down on his bed and kicked off his shoes.
He soon fell into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he kept being offered gifts that were already his. Gold was given to him that he had already possessed. Things that he had owned had been stolen. Material objects, money, things that he felt owed came back to him. He did not understand the dream.
He was awoken in the morning by Rosa, the guest worker. Gary did not know if the worker was somehow related to Juan. His daughter perhaps? She looked to be about twenty one. She placed a plate full of qinoa salad down on his night table, along with a fork and napkin. He sat up and thanked her.
“Muchas Gracias, senora.”
“Te nada. This is salad with qinoa,” she said,”That is a grain that makes you very strong. Our pollos grow muy gordo, FAT off this.' She smiled. 'also onions, peppers, and of course, radishes.'
Gary was no stranger to this type of food. He had radically altered his diet years ago and was used to this sort of fare. This was one other reason why he was chosen for the job. Most of the other guys on the team were meat and potatoes consumers. They did not care for what they described as bird food. He dug in voraciously, eating like a ravenous boar.
“Senora, no agua?” He said to Rosa, making the signal for drinking. She shook her head no. “Que? no comprende.”
Juan who had gone unnoticed, was carving wood in the next room. His voice boomed.
“There will be no drinking for you until two hours has gone by after you are finished eating.' He paused. 'It is for reasons of digestion. Don't ask now - you will understand later.'
“What the FUCK?” he thought, but stopped himself from verbally expressing himself. Now this was getting to be too much. He hadn’t come this far in his life to grovel to this cheap imitation of a Carlos Castaneda disciple. Water deprivation? Ludicrous.
“So you're feeding me like a fat chicken but no water?”
“The water will upset your digestion!” Juan blurted out. “This will affect your brain, your training, as everything is connected. But since you think you know it all, and cannot bring yourself to dismiss your pride, you may have a glass of water.” He turned to Rosa-“Rosa, por favor-”
“No Rosa. Forget it.” He was not about to be manipulated by some fake jungle ninja into guilt for being thirsty of all things. He excused himself to use the toilet. Only he didn't have to use the restroom. He locked the door, and sitting down on the toilet, pulled out his cellphone. He dialed. Then he screamed.
“Devaughn, what the HELL are you doing sending me out to this kangaroo court in the jungle?' He tried his best to lower his voice but was bursting at the seams. The veins in his neck all but popped off. “Everything I do is dictated to me. I can't take a piss without permission- I feel like I'm back in prep school That wouldn’t be a problem if I wasn’t pushing 60.”
“Do you choose to abort your mission?” Was the incongruous answer he received back on the other end of the line.
“No. But I have never been thrown out to the goddamn wolves like this. How could you do this? I'm not 25 years old any more goddamn it.”
“Come on Friday. You knew you were in for a challenge. How can you tell me that we didn't educate you about the unpredictability of this tour?”
“Come on man! You ALWAYS say it's unpredictable. But you never told me I'd be with an SS general in medicine man makeup. I feel deceived.”
“You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”
“I'm going to give it one more day. If it gets much worse I'm hitching the next flight back.” Now at least it was his choice to stay or go. It dissolved his anger somewhat, turning his quandry into more of a social experiment. He closed his phone, flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Opening the door, Juan was standing at the other side. He glared into his eyes.
“You cannot trust me, then I cannot trust you,”Juan said to him. He genuinely looked hurt.
“Were you listening to me?” It wasn’t like he had been whispering on the telephone.
“Stop talking and follow me. We are completing phase one of the mission. This will take about 80 minutes. Upon completion you may drink 2 cups of water if necessary.”
Gary was about to snidely, sarcastically thank him - but he bit his to tongue. Truth be told, he knew the old codger knew what he was doing. And he knew that he needed to respect his authority to a degree. He just wasn’t used to be told what to do so sternly, especially by someone who was around the same age. Really it had been a long time since anybody had talked to him that way. And as much as he would never admit it, he felt the man was not justified, not having been formally educated in the way he had been. But formal education was one thing. Learning to read the stars in the skies and listen to the spirit of the sun and the moon were another.
“You are what is known as a poised egoist, ' said Juan. “You make a show to the world. You want to be a big shot, a big humanitarian with books in libraries. Big star. You will never know anything until you become humble as the dust.”
“Oh is that so?”
“Yes.”
“And so now, you're trying to break me down. Right?” He got loud. “Trying to crush the large yet fragile ego of a white man. Well, you're doing a GREAT job. Except for the fact that you don’t realize how humble of a man I actually am. And your words can NEVER affect me.”
Now they sounded like 2 college students engaging in a debate.
“Meester Big Shot, who do you think you are?” Juan sang to himself comedically before chuckling to himself quietly.
They walked over to a side office that had a desk and a couch. Near the couch was a coffee table. Juan sat down at his desk and had Gary sit down on the couch. He slumped down, and noticed a black box with small controls on it. The box had no power source, but was connected via copper wire to a chrome plated piece of metal the size of a clipboard. He touched the knobs on the panel of the box. There were four knobs. Juan said nothing. In the right hand corner of the box there was a metal control switch. He began clicking it up and down, trying to figure out what it was.
“What is this piece of junk?” He said, looking up at Juan. Juan pulled out a notepad and began scribbling in it. “This makes no scientific sense.'” He flipped it over to check for batteries or any alternate power source he could find. 'How do you plug this in, and what is it for? I mean for god sakes, at least a solar panel, something.” He kept engaging the prop and than sarcastically noted, “I guess it reads your ENERGY as they say.”
“Please continue to play with the knobs. But as you do, visualize yourself floating into the sky. Close your eyes, please.”
Now he was certain he was being duped. Never had he seen what he would label as such absurd pseudo science. and his mind was opened to possibilities. But he would not be taken for a fool. “What the HECK are you talking to me about? are you trying to make me play the role of the idiot?”
"I am an idiot, you’re an idiot, we all are-idiots. Now do as I say. Idiot means having ego- we all have one.” Gary closed his eyes.
He decided to use this opportunity to rest. If he wasn't going to have his expectations met, he just wouldn't play ball. He figured he would pretend to, but his mind would be elsewhere. But the game just seemed to get stranger and stranger. Juan pulled out a medal helmet from under his desk. It had copper wires attached to it. Gary kept his eyes glued shut.
“Keep your eyes just like that,” coaxed Juan. He got up and put the helmet on Gavin's skull. Then he pulled out the copper wires and ducktaped them to the chrome plate on the coffee table, which was also attached to the black box. Then he went and sat back down at his desk.
“Think of somebody you love very much,' he said matter of factly. Gary's posture softened. He kept thinking of his ex wife instead of his current girlfriend, which suddenly confused him. Even though they had been divorced five years he still had a soft spot in his heart for her.
“Now think of who you love the most.” Gary hated to play favorites with his kids. But he chose Robert to concentrate on. He thought about the last time he saw him, having lunch with him at an elegant restaurant in Santa Monica. “Have you got a photograph of this person?”
Gary had become compliant. Who carried pictures anymore? Oh, that’s right- he remembered he did have one. He pulled out a black and white print of his son that he had in his wallet. It was actually a band photo of Ginger, his son’s band. He had ripped it out of a magazine. “The only reason I’m choosing him over my other kids is I have this picture,” he thought to himself, assuaging his guilt.
“Please place it on the chrome tray.” Juan decided to match Gary's newfound complacency with courtesy. It seemed to be working.
The picture at this point was absurd. Officer Gary Friday was sitting in a cabin in the jungles of Peru, a mad medicine man placing a helmet on his head that was connected to a black box and chrome tray with no power supply. But Gary's resistance had been overcome.
He drifted into flashbacks. The terrible times he had in his youth. They had prepared him for his rough career but that didn't mean he wanted to revisit old memories. Who was controlling him like this? Was this fake little black box connected to nothing but a helmet on his head and a chrome plate actually working? Whatever. “No hurt in playing along,” he figured to himself complacently.
Juan began to stroke his chin and in his minds eye, gave himself a pat on the back for hard work done. It hadn't been easy to subjugate this brainwashed egomaniac. But this medicine man was determined to change the world, by the psychic transformation of one asshole at a time.
"My Dad was an asshole," mumbled Sargent Friday, finally breaking down somewhat.”
"What is your people's expression?" Lamented Juan, "The papaya doesn't fall far from the tree?"
His father had been a hard boiled SOB. Sent him off to military prep school at the age of fourteen. It was fine with him at the time. He could go through the motions and draw on his own time. His dream job had been to become an architect. He planned to persue this as soon as it was time for college. But as his former idol John Lennon had once said before, “life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.”
He never dreamed of what could happen next.
