Owen worked the canoe to within a few feet of the dock before the old man’s words came true. As if on que, and without a sound, a tribesman dressed in warrior garb appeared like a ghost from out of the thick greenery lining the bank at the other end of the dock. Stephenson raised both hands high above his head and said the village Chief’s name. At the sound of Stephenson’s voice, the warrior turned toward the jungle and spoke in his own language. Immediately, several more tribal dressed people solidified along the bank, as if they’d been waiting in place with baited breath.
“Pull us up closer,” Stephenson said to Owen, “so I can tie us off. We’re in good hands now. They’re here to greet us.”
Relieved, Owen did his bidding and Stephenson threw the looped end of a rope around one of the dock’s post. Once secured, Owen hopped onto the dock then helped his grandpa out of the canoe. Stephenson caught his breath then took the lead and the two of them walked the length of the dock. The warrior standing guard bowed then stepped aside and pointed toward the small crowd that had gathered around the end of the dock. Stephenson winked at Owen then turned and bowed. Owen followed his grandpa’s lead and bowed also. He and Owen were greeted at the shoreline by an enthusiastic welcoming committee as though they were celebrities. From there they were ushered into the jungle for a short walk toward the village, and the Medicine Man’s hut.
The first sight they encountered on the periphery of the village was a section of trees decorated with hundreds of shrunken heads dangling haphazardly at various lengths from their supporting limbs. It was as creepy as it was bizarre. Moving past the shrunken heads they came upon a well-worn dirt path meandering off to the left where several young children stood lining either side. Each child held an array of multi-colored flowers that had been skillfully interweaved with vines and fashioned into Lei-like necklaces. As Stephenson and Owen approached, the children took turns cheerfully draping the necklaces around their necks. Stephenson and Owen graciously accepted the offerings then continued along the path toward the village. One-by-one the children fell in line until a mini parade trailed behind them.
The path weaved several hundred feet uphill to a small clearing where several enclosed dwellings populated the landscape on one end. On the other end stood a much larger circular thatched straw hut surrounded by torches and guards armed with spears. Stephenson veered toward the larger hut without hesitation.
When he and Owen got to within a few feet of the hut’s entrance, Owen was halted and instructed to stay outside while the old man was ushered inside to see the Chief Medicine Man.
The Medicine Man was seated upon a raised wooden throne slightly obscured by a thick, gray cloud of smoky incense. Lean and firm, he had the face and body of a young man. He was attired in full ceremonial dress including a full feathered headdress, several beaded necklaces, two huge, hoop styled gold earrings and a similarly designed nose ring.
Stephenson had scarcely entered the hut when the Medicine Man rose from his chair and rushed to greet him. The old man could hardly believe his eyes. The Medicine Man appeared to not have aged at all.
With the aid of a make-shift translator, brought in earlier from a friendly neighboring tribe, the two men stood for several minutes joyfully reminiscing about the past. When the initial excitement of their reunion had worn off the Medicine Man turned more serious and focused their conversion to the evening plans for Stephenson’s upcoming renewal ceremony.
“I am glad to have you back my friend,” the Medicine Man said. “I have thought of you and your companion often. Did he not also wish to return?”
“My friend lives far from me now,” Stephenson said. “He does not know that I have come, but I will be sure to tell him your kind words.”
“Very well,” the Medicine Man said, making a praying gesture with his hands. There was a short pause while he held his pose before he spoke again. “I am honored that you will be the first outsider to receive the benefit of our healing waters.”
Stephenson smiled then bowed and gave thanks to the Medicine Man, first for their long friendship then for approving his request. The Medicine Man returned the bow then said, “Before you go to prepare for our evening ahead, I have a surprise for you; a gift.”
Stephenson looked confused but didn’t respond. He watched as a couple of the Chief’s men approached a covered object and unveiled the gift — a makeshift Sedan Chair similar to that used to transport the Egyptian Pharaohs.
“I had it designed to transport you to the pool site.”
The gift brought tears to the old man’s eyes. It had been many years since he’d been the recipient of such a genuine gesture.
“It’s beautiful,” Stephenson said. “I don’t know what to say.”
Again the Medicine Man bowed. He then pointed toward the door and spoke in a commanding baritone voice. The Translator shared the Medicine Man’s words with Stephenson.
“Go rest my old friend,” he said. “For tonight you will be renewed the same as I. You will once again feel the strength and vibrancy of a young man.”
“Thank you my dear friend for your generous hospitality,” Stephenson said. “I can hardly wait to experience my new lease on life. Without your cooperation, none of this would be possible. I am forever in your debt and will do whatever I can to reward you and your village many times over for your life-saving kindness.”
Stephenson and Owen had scarcely settled into their hammocks for the night when Owen posed a question he’d been pondering since they’d been met at the tarmac.
“Grandpa, back many years ago when you first visited the regeneration pool and were blindfolded, they didn’t have GPS technology so there was no way for you to “mark” its location, but today they do.”
“Yes?” Stephenson said. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“Well, since it’s such a secretive place, it seems logical, given we now have an easy means to do so, that you’d want to document its location. So, did you bring a GPS unit with you to capture the healing pool’s coordinates?”
“Don’t need to,” Stephenson said, letting his words hang in the dark a few moments. Then he added, “I already know where the pool is.”
“What? But, how? Earlier you said…”
Stephenson interrupted him in mid-sentence. “How I know doesn’t matter.”
“Then why all this trouble and secrecy?” Owen asked, his tone conveyed frustration. “If you already know where it is, then why didn’t we go straight there on our own, without involving the village and the Chief?”
“Because I knew in my condition, my age, that we’d never make it there without being discovered or killed in one of the tribesmen’s traps around the forest. And that would have been the end of the pool for me. I also wanted to pay close attention, as a participant, to the ceremony process this time in case the pool has to be activated by a special ritual or magic incantation or something like that. I was so captivated by the experience the last time I was here that I fear I failed to notice some of the more specific, and necessary details.”
The old man’s answers didn’t help. They only served to fuel Owen’s mind to whirl with more questions.
“Everything you do not understand will be made perfectly clear tomorrow,” Stephenson added. “I promise.”
Over the years, Owen had learned that a summary statement like that from his grandpa was meant to end the conversation. Knowing that, he took the old man at his word without reply. Within minutes, the silence overtook them and they were both sound asleep.