Macunaíma, page 2
Soon as he turned six they gave him water out of a rattle and Macunaíma started talking just like everybody else. And he asked his mother to put down the manioc she was grating and take him for a walk in the woods. His mother didn’t want to cause she couldn’t just put down the manioc, nossir. Macunaíma sat whining all day long. At-night he kept wailing. The next day he waited with his left eye a-snoozing for his mother to start her work. Then he asked her to put down the basket she was weaving from guarumá-membeca grasses and take him for a walk in the woods. His mother didn’t want to cause she couldn’t just put down the basket, nossir. So she asked her daughter-in-law, Jiguê’s gal, to take the boy. Jiguê’s gal was very young and her name was Sofará. She came up hesitating but this time Macunaíma stayed stock-still without sticking his hand on anybody’s charms. The girl put the kid on her back and went out to where the aninga lily grew along the banks of the river. The water had lingered there to plunk out a whimsical tune on the fronds of the javari palm. Off in the distance it was a pretty sight to see, with lotsa biguá and biguatinga birds darting round where the river branched off. The girl put Macunaíma down on the shore but he started whining, there were too many ants! . . . and he asked Sofará to bring him up to the ridge deeper in the forest. The girl did. But no sooner did she lay the tot down among the tiriricas, tajás and trapoerabas on the forest floor, than he grew manly in a flash and became a handsome prince. They were out there walking a good long time.
When they got home to the maloca the girl seemed mighty worn out from carrying the kid on her back all day. It was because the hero had played around with her a whole lot . . . No sooner did she lay Macunaíma in his hammock than Jiguê came back from net fishing and his gal hadn’t done a lick of work. Jiguê flew off the handle and after picking for ticks really laid into her. Sofará weathered the blows without a peep.
Jiguê didn’t suspect a thing and started braiding a rope from curauá fiber. He’d just spotted some fresh tapir tracks and was fixing to make a trap to catch the critter. Macunaíma asked his brother for a bit of curauá but Jiguê said it weren’t no kiddie toy. Macunaíma started wailing again and it was one helluva night for them all.
Next day Jiguê got up bright and early to set the trap and seeing the kid pouting he said:
“Good morning, everybody’s lil sweetheart.”
But Macunaíma sulked silently.
“Don’t wanna talk to me, huh?”
“I’m mad.”
“What for?”
Then Macunaíma asked for some curauá fiber. Jiguê glared at him and told his gal to get some twine for the boy. The girl did. Macunaíma thanked her and went to ask the pai-de-terreiro to braid him a rope and blow some petum smoke over it.
When everything was good and ready Macunaíma asked his mother to leave her caxiri brew fermenting and take him for a walk in the woods. The old woman couldn’t on account of her work but Jiguê’s sly sweetie told her mother-in-law that she was “at your command.” And she went into the woods with the kid on her back.
When she put him down among the carurus and sororocas on the forest floor, the little one started growing started growing and turned into a handsome prince. He told Sofará to hold on a sec he’d be right back so they could play around and went to lay a snare at the tapir’s watering hole. No sooner did they get home from their walk, mighty late, than Jiguê also came back from setting his trap on the tapir’s tracks. His gal hadn’t done a lick of work. Jiguê was mad as heck and before picking for ticks really let her have it. But Sofará weathered the beating with patience.
Next day as the dawn rays were just clearing the treetops, Macunaíma woke everybody up, bawling frightfully, to hurry! hurry over to the watering hole and fetch the critter he’d caught! . . . However, nobody believed him and they started in on the day’s work.
Macunaíma was very upset and asked Sofará to hop over to the watering hole real quick just to see. The girl did and came back telling everybody that in-fact there was a very big very dead tapir in the snare. The whole tribe went to fetch the critter, ruminating on the tot’s intelligence. When Jiguê came home with his curauá rope empty, he found everybody dressing the kill. He lent a hand. And while divvying it up, he didn’t give Macunaíma a single piece of meat, just the tripe. The hero swore vengeance.
Next day he asked Sofará to take him for a walk and they stayed in the woods till night-fall. No sooner did the boy touch the leafy forest floor than he turned into an ardent prince. They played around. After three go-rounds they ran through the forest cuddling each other. After the poking cuddles, they did the tickling cuddles, then buried each other in the sand, then burned each other with flaming straw, it was plenty of cuddling. Macunaíma grabbed the trunk of a copaíba and hid behind a piranhea. When Sofará came running, he whacked her in the head with the timber. It made such a gash that the girl fell writhing in laughter at his feet. She pulled him by a leg. Macunaíma moaned with pleasure clutching the gigantic trunk. Then the girl bit off his big toe and swallowed it. Wailing with glee Macunaíma tattooed her body with the blood from his foot. Then he flexed his muscles, lifting himself onto a vine trapeze, and leaped in a flash onto the piranhea’s highest branch. Sofará clambered up after him. The tender limb bowed swaying under the prince’s weight. When the girl made it up top they played around again swinging in the sky. After playing Macunaíma wanted to cuddle Sofará. He coiled his body ready to pounce in a frenzy but got no farther, the bough broke and down they went crashing all the way splat to the ground. When the hero came to, he looked round for the girl, she wasn’t there. He was getting up to find her but piercing the silence from a low branch overhead came the fearsome yowling of a suçuarana cougar. The hero keeled over in fright and shut his eyes so he’d be eaten without seeing. Then he heard a giggle and Macunaíma got smacked in the chest with a gob of spit, it was the girl. Macunaíma started chucking rocks at her and whenever she got hit, Sofará would shriek with excitement tattooing his body below with the blood she spat. Finally a rock clipped the girl right in the kisser and busted three teeth. She leaped off the branch and thwap! landed straddling the hero’s belly as he wrapped his whole body round her, howling with pleasure. And they played around some more.
Papaceia the star was twinkling in the sky by the time the girl got home looking mighty worn out from carrying the kid on her back for so long. But Jiguê, getting suspicious, had followed the pair into the woods witnessing the transformation and all the rest. Jiguê was a big dummy. He got real angry. Grabbed an armadillo-tail whip and whacked the hero’s rump with all his might. The bellowing was so tremendous that it cut short the immensity of the night and lotsa birds fell to the ground in fright and were transformed into stone.
When Jiguê could spank him no more, Macunaíma ran out to the new growth in the clearing, chewed some cardeiro root and came back healed. Jiguê took Sofará back to her father and slept easy in his hammock.
* * *
Notes for each chapter can be found here. –Tr.
Chapter 2. Coming of Age
Jiguê was a big dummy and the next day he showed up pulling a young woman by the hand. She was his new gal and her name was Iriqui. She kept a live rat hidden in her mass of hair and was always getting dolled up. She painted her face with araraúba and jenipapo and each morning she’d rub açaí berry on her lips making them all purple. Next she’d dab some bilimbi fruit over it and her lips would turn all scarlet. Then Iriqui would wrap herself in a striped cotton shawl dyed black with acariúba and green with tatajuba and scent her hair with essence of umiri, she was lovely.
Well now, after everyone had eaten Macunaíma’s tapir, famine struck the mocambo. As for hunting, nobody caught any more game, not even a single armadillo turned up! and seeing as Maanape had killed a river dolphin for them to eat, the cunauaru toad called Maraguigana, Father of the Dolphin, was angered. He sent a flood and the cornfield rotted. They ate up everything, even the stale rinds ran out and the bonfire that burned night and day didn’t roast a thing, nossir, all it did was ease the chill that had fallen. There wasn’t even a scrap of jerky for folks to grill.
So then Macunaíma wanted to have some fun. He told his brothers there was still lotsa piaba lotsa jeju lotsa matrinxão and jatuaranas, all them river fish, just hit em with some poison timbó! Maanape said:
“We can’t find any more timbó.”
Macunaíma gave a make-believe answer:
“Right by that grotto where there’s buried money I saw a whole motherload of timbó growing.”
“Alright then come show us where it’s at.”
They went. The bank was treacherous and you couldn’t tell what was land and what was river among the mamorana groves. Maanape and Jiguê went searching searching in the mud up to their teeth, slipping and sliding thwap! in bogs covered by the floodwaters. And they went jumpingjumping out those holes, hooting and hollering, hands over their behinds on account of them dirty rotten candiru fish trying to get inside. Macunaíma was laughing on the inside watching his brothers monkey around hunting for timbó. He acted like he was looking too but didn’t dip a toe in, nossir, staying high and dry on solid ground. Whenever his brothers passed close by, he’d squat and groan wearily.
“Quit busting your tail like that, kiddo!”
So Macunaíma plunked down on a riverbank and kicked his feet in the water shooing away the mosquitoes. And it was lotsa mosquitoes black flies no-see-ums gallinippers katynippers sandflies skeeters mitsies maringouins midges gadflies, that whole mess of bloodsuckers.
When late-afternoon rolled around the brothers came to fetch Macunaíma, all in a tizzy cause they hadn’t come across a single patch of timbó. The hero got scared and played dumb:
“Find any?”
“We found squat!”
“Well I spotted timbó right here. Timbó used to be folk just like us once . . . He caught wind they were hunting for him and split. Timbó used to be folk just like us once . . .”
His brothers marveled at the boy’s intelligence and the three went back to their maloca.
Macunaíma was very upset on account of being so hungry. The next day he said to his old lady:
“Mama, who’s gonna take our house to the other side of the river up on that rise, huh, who’s gonna? Shut your eyes for a sec, old lady, and ask it like that.”
The old lady did. Macunaíma asked her to keep her eyes shut some more and carried their tejupar platforms arrows baskets barrels sacks sieves hammocks, all them bits and bobs, over to a clearing in the woods up on that rise on the other side of the river. When the old woman opened her eyes it was all there along with fish game ripe banana trees, way too much food. So she went to hack down a buncha bananas.
“Pardon my asking, Mama, why’re you pulling down so many naners like that!”
“To take back to your brother Jiguê with his lovely Iriqui and for your brother Maanape who’re all starving hungry.”
Macunaíma was very upset. He stood pondering pondering and said to the old woman:
“Mama, who’s gonna take our house to the other side of the river down where it’s flooded, huh, who’s gonna? Ask it like that!”
The old woman did. Macunaíma asked her to keep her eyes shut and took the entire load, the whole shebang, to the place from just-today over in the flooded swamplands. When the old woman opened her eyes everything was back where it was before, right next to the tejupars of brother Maanape and brother Jiguê with his lovely Iriqui. And they all rumbled with hunger once more.
So then the old woman flew into a devilish rage. She put the hero on her hip and took off. She marched through the woods and made it way out to that great big clearing known as No Man’s Land. She walked a league and a half in, you couldn’t even see the woods anymore, it was a grassy plain whose only movement was the gentle swaying of the cashew trees. Not even a guaxe bird livened up the solitude. The old woman put the tot down in the field where he couldn’t grow up no more, nossir, and said:
“Now your mama’s going away. You’ll be lost out here in this field where you can’t grow up no more, nossir.”
And she disappeared. Macunaíma took a good look round that desert and felt like he was gonna cry. But wasn’t nobody around, he didn’t shed a tear, nossir. He plucked up his courage and hit the road, a-trembling on his little bowlegs. He wandered from hill to dale a whole week, till he happened upon the Currupira roasting some meat beside his trusty hound Papamel. And the Currupira lives in a tucunzeiro sapling and asks folks for tobacco. Macunaíma said:
“Hey Grampa, gimme some meat to eat, wontcha?”
“Sure thing,” went the Currupira.
He cut a chunk from his leg roasted it and gave it to the boy, asking:
“Whatcha doing out in this here field, junior!”
“Taking a stroll.”
“You don’t say!”
“Yessir, just taking a stroll . . .”
Then he told all about his mother’s punishment on account of him being so darn mean to his brothers. And as he was telling about moving the house back to where there wasn’t any game to hunt he howled with laughter. The Currupira looked at him and muttered:
“You ain’t a kid no more, junior, you ain’t a kid no more, nossirree . . . That there’s what grownups do . . .”
Macunaíma thanked him and asked the Currupira to show him the way back to the Tapanhumas mocambo. But what the Currupira wanted was to eat the hero, he showed him a fake way:
“You go this-a-way, child-man, go that-a-way, cut in front of that tree, hang a left, turn around and head right back under my uaiariquinizês.”
Macunaíma started down that route but when he got in front of the tree, he scratched his little leg and murmured:
“Ah! just so lazy! . . .”
and went straight.
The Currupira waited a good long time but the tot wasn’t turning up . . . So then the monster mounted a stag, which is his horse, dug his round foot into the sprinter’s groin and took off shouting:
“Flesh of my leg! flesh of my leg!”
From inside the hero’s belly the flesh answered:
“What’s up?”
Macunaíma sped up and dashed into the caatinga scrubland but the Currupira outran the boy, coming up hot on his heels and gaining fast.
“Flesh of my leg! flesh of my leg!”
The flesh replied:
“What’s up?”
The kid was desperate. It was the fox’s wedding and that old lady Vei, the Sun, was flashing in droplets of rain threshing the light just like corn. Macunaíma went up to a puddle, drank some muddy water, and upchucked the flesh.
“Flesh of my leg! flesh of my leg!” the Currupira came shouting.
“What’s up?” the flesh replied from the puddle.
Macunaíma stole into the thickets on the other side and got away.
A league and a half farther he heard a voice from behind an anthill singing like this:
“Acuti pita canhém . . . ,” very slowly.
He went over there and happened upon the agouti making manioc flour in a tipiti woven from jacitara palm.
“Hey Granny, gimme me some yuca to eat, wontcha?”
“Why sure,” went the agouti. She gave the boy some yuca, asking:
“Whatcha doing out in this here caatinga, sonny?”
“Taking a stroll.”
“Good gracious me!”
“Taking a stroll, uh huh!”
He told all about how he’d tricked the Currupira and howled with laughter. The agouti eyed him and muttered:
“Chilren don’t do that, sonny, chilren don’t do that, nossiree . . . I’m gonna fix your body to match that big ol’ noggin.”
Then she picked up a wooden dish full of poison yuca water and hurled the runoff at the tyke. Macunaíma jumped back thunderstruck but only managed to save his head, the whole rest of his body got wet. The hero sneezed and grew manly. He started straightening out growing up getting stronger and reached the size of a strapping man. But his head which didn’t get wet was blunted forevermore and stuck with that sickening little kid face.
Macunaíma thanked her for doing that and took off singing toward his native mocambo. The beetle-swarmed night came on, tucking the ants into the earth and luring the mosquitoes out the water. The air was stifling hot like a nest. The old Tapanhumas woman heard the voice of her son in the dusky distance and was flabbergasted. Macunaíma showed up scowling and said to her:
“Mama, I had a dream my tooth fell out.”
“That means a death in the family,” the old woman remarked.
“Don’t I know it. You’ll live just one more Sun. All because you birthed me.”
Next day the brothers went off fishing and hunting, the old woman went out to the crops and Macunaíma stayed home alone with Jiguê’s gal. Then he turned into the quenquém ant and bit Iriqui to cuddle with her. But the girl hurled the quenquém far away. So then Macunaíma turned into an urucum tree. The lovely Iriqui laughed, gathered its seeds and dolled herself up painting her face and distinctive parts. She was ever so lovely. And Macunaíma was so delighted he turned back into a person and shacked up with Jiguê’s gal.
When the brothers came home from hunting Jiguê noticed the swap right away, but Maanape told him that Macunaíma was a man for good now, not to mention big and brawny. Maanape was a shaman. Jiguê saw that the maloca was full of food, there was bananas there was corn there was cassava, there was aluá and caxiri brew, there was mapará and camorim fish, maracujá-michira ata abiu sapota sapodilla fruit, there was deer jerky and roast agouti, all them good things to eat and drink . . . Jiguê figured it wasn’t worth the trouble to go fighting his brother and let him have the lovely Iriqui. He sighed picked his ticks and slept easy in his hammock.
