July, 1989

South America

Somewhere in the Amazon

A few more steps. That's all it will take. You have to get this letter to the chief.

With another sharp, wheezy inhale, Govinda made his way steadily forward, lugging his left foot behind him. If his tribe had been influenced by Western culture, he would have said that he looked like Frankenstein with that limp.

However, the young man was neither influenced by Western culture, nor was he really in a situation in which the connection would have been amusing. In fact, the only hopeful thought in his mind was that the faint outline of the familiar huts of his people was not far off in the distance.

The cawing of the birds overhead and the buzzing of the numerous insects below was doing nothing for his condition whatsoever. If anything, it was making him jumpy and, probably, making his condition worse.

Pace yourself. You have no time for fear. You are Govinda, well respected warrior of the Waorani. You must keep moving forward.

With a determined glare in his beetle black eyes, and the will power in his heart to stay strong, Govinda continued limping towards the camp. The closer he trudged toward the camp, the harder it was to continue on. Govinda could feel his chest tightening in such a way that it burned fiercely.

I should have been more alert, he thought to himself, clutching at his left breast as if he wanted to rip his heart out of its cavity. The pain was excruciating. But he was Waoranian warrior. More pain equaled more endurance.

As his path began to sway left and right, he figured it would be wise to rest, if only for a nanosecond. He made his way towards a tree with a sturdy looking trunk, and leaned against it. A bálsamo, he thought to himself. It was only then that he caught another glance at his left foot.

The point where the Coral snake's fangs came in contact with his skin was blood red. A deep contrast compared to his dark skin. The sight of the puncture wound made Govinda queasy, constricting his airways even more than they were seconds ago.

As he continued his agonizing trek to the village, he mentally chastised himself. The Coral snake was well known for its bright coral colored skin. Against the sopping wet greens of the ground floor, any idiot could have seen it coming. But Govinda didn't. And as he'd been told all his life, his ignorance had caused him his life.

The young man had been sent away to hunt Jaguars since the tribe was storing food away, so they would be prepared when the rainy season arrived. There were only ever two seasons in the Amazon. The rainy season and the dry season. Govinda trekked out into the heart of the jungle and finally spotted the Jaguar that would be his kill. It was a proud being; a warrior. Just like Govinda. But Govinda knew that in this duel, he must come out the victor.

It was while he was planning his plan of attack when the snake bit him. Apparently, he had been lying on top of the snake's nest, and the snake did not like this arrangement at all. Just like Govinda had planned to remove the Jaguar, the snake had planned to remove Govinda.

And he was successful, Govinda thought as he continued to slowly make his way to the opening of their settlement. Each step was becoming more unbearable, but somehow Govinda knew his fate when the snake first bit him. He had been well instructed by his fellow tribe members, and when the snake bit him, he had caught a look at its fangs. They were fixed which meant that its venom was neurotoxic and would attack his nervous system causing the failure to breathe.

Govi's head felt heavy and his vision blurred. His steps seemed to swerve back and forth violently, until he finally collapsed at the mouth of the camp.

Before survival instinct occurred to him, Govinda thought about Kali, his bride to be. They were to be married by the next full moon. Kali was a beautiful woman, and a lot of other warriors in the camp had sought her out. But it was Govinda who won her father over, and ever since then, the two of them couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Whenever he would pass her during the middle of her daily activities, if he caught her eye, he would smile shyly, and she would return the gesture. They were in love in the worst way. But now, Govinda thought, as he planned his next move of action, her love goes unrequited.

Hand still on his constrictive chest, Govinda let loose a cry of the warrior. It was a word in their native tongue, but it was loud enough that it would catch the attention of the tribe near by. At least he hoped it did. That belt of angst had been his last bit of energy.

Many of the tribesmen did come running to see who it was that was in so much pain. His eyes began to flutter shut, but using up what strength he could, Govinda tried not to shut them. You mustn't sleep. You have a job to do.

Hands cupped his head, and he felt it being lifted onto someone's lap.

Kali.

Kali looked down at her husband to be. While he was never a very muscular man (he was more of the small and nimble type), Kali knew that he had a full form. Or at least he used to have an average form. Looking down at him now, his chest was caved in, literally creating a valley on his poor body.

"Govinda, what happened to you?" she asked frantically to her dying husband to be, in their native tongue. She wiped a hand across his sweaty brow, and at the notice of his eyes fluttering, she called to the gawking onlookers, "Get the chief. Quickly!"

"There is—" Govinda wheezed out. He attempted to clear his throat, and start over. Before he did, he looked Kali in the eyes, envisioning her life without him in it. "—There is no time to explain. Take this—" he coughed and gasped for more air. Kali sat him up, and he continued. "—Take this paper to the chief. It is very important that you do. It concerns Peter Simon."

And it was at that moment that Govinda took his last strained breath, and died in the arms of his love, wishing nothing more than he had not let ignorance get the better of him.