The African Witchdoctor

The African Witchdoctor

by

Dr. Patrick Kent La Bash



The night was black; there was no moon, and the sky was overcast so there was not even starlight to give some definition to the black of the jungle. The soldier could hear the night sounds of the jungle; the insects, the monkeys, and somewhere not too far away, the snarl of a jungle cat. Something was upsetting them. That meant it was dangerous. If it was dangerous to the animals, it was dangerous to him.

“What the hell am I doing out here? Why did I volunteer to come to Africa?” The soldier whispered softly to the night.

Sergeant Pardee was a mercenary, but he was not just a “gun for hire”, he would only hire out to those people that he felt were being wronged. A hundred years earlier in the southwest of the U.S. he would probably have been an Arizona or Texas Ranger. Now he was an ex-Green Beret, and a specialist in jungle warfare. He had served in Viet Nam, and other hotspots around the world. He had survived Beirut only because he was on leave the day the truck bomb exploded. He had been there to give special instruction to some of the Marines in guerilla warfare tactics. He had arrived two days early and had taken a forty-eight hour pass to visit a distant relative. That visit had saved his life. Soon after that, he had put in his papers; he had retired a master sergeant, and tried to find a peaceful life… It was not meant to be.

One of his buddies from the Green Berets who had retired two years before him had showed up at his apartment in Washington, D.C. three months after he had moved in and had told him that he was needed in Africa. There was a small country that was in the middle of a revolution, and the government was going to win if the rebels did not get some help soon. His buddy had explained about the death squads, the torture prisons, the corruption, and the general lousy state of things there. Pardee had tried to say “No.” That is when his buddy pulled out a packet of photographs. It was a series of photos taken in a village and the landscape was strewn with mutilated dead bodies; men, women and children.

“Remind you of someplace?” Thorpe asked.

“Yeah. The village near Nha Trang.” Pardee grunted.

“Well, this is worse. There ain’t no Green Berets to make things right. These people are willing to die for the right to be free, and die they will if they don’t get help soon.” Thorpe had stood and was striding back and forth in the living room. “I came to that village just two hours after that was done. And let me tell you these government ‘soldiers’ – and I use that term loosely – are worse than the Viet Cong were.”

“Thorpe,” Pardee said softly, “I understand why you want to help. You are black; your people came from Africa. Me, I am just a W.A.S.P. – sort of – what makes you think that I want to get involved?”

“Pardee,” Thorpe stood in front of the man on the couch, “you are a warrior, and more… you are an honorable man. I know you.” He pointed to the photos, “I know what that kind of shit does to you. The question is; what are you going to do about it?”

Thorpe was right; he could not look at those photos and not feel the blood lust rising in his heart. Someone had to help, and he was not doing anything now, except being bored stupid watching television and going to the movies. He had nodded and said, “I have to pack.” That had been over six months ago and Thorpe was dead – or at least Pardee hoped he was. If Thorpe had been taken alive by the government soldiers, he would be tortured until he told them everything about the rebels, or died along the way.

He began to feel around the tree he was leaning against. Was there a way to climb it? He extended his hand upward and tried to find a low branch that he could use to pull himself up with. He walked around the tree, and was nearly back to where he started when his hand came into contact with a limb. He shifted his pack on his back and then after thinking about it, he took his pack off and tied a rope to it and set it near the base of the tree. He jumped and caught a good hold on the branch and pulled himself up. He pulled his pack up after him, and wedged it against the bole of the tree. He began feeling around for another branch that would take him higher. Finding it he repeated the procedure. He did this three more times and estimated that he was some twenty to twenty-five feet above the ground. He had found a paired set of branches that grew out from the bole a few inches apart. The result was that he had a place to sit that was wide enough so he felt safe from falling should he drop off to sleep.

“Sleep? How in hell am I going to sleep, I am so jumpy I doubt if I will ever sleep again.” But, as the night wore on and the tension that he had been under for the last five days drained him of his reserve energy, he fell asleep. He awoke with a start. There was a hand feeling his face. His eyes flew open and he grabbed the arm and twisted. He was just about to throw the person to the ground when he saw that he had hold of the arm of a very old black man.

“What are you doing?” Pardee said. And then looking around to orient himself he asked, “How did you get up here?” What worried Pardee was the old black man had gotten up there, and had done it without waking Pardee. The old man smiled and gestured toward the ground. Without a word, the old man went down the tree so fast that Pardee was stunned at his agility. He looked down and saw the old man standing a little ways from the base of the tree leaning on a staff. Pardee made his way down to the ground and stared at the old man. The old man waved for Pardee to follow him and turned to move off into the jungle.

Pardee hesitated, thinking, and then grunted to himself, “Hell if the old guy had wanted to do me harm, all he had to do was roll me off the limb.” Pardee shook his head and began to follow the old man.

He had been following the old man for nearly three hours and was about to stop and tell him that he wasn’t going any farther when the old man disappeared. Pardee blinked. He stared at the spot where the old man had been, and looked slowly around. The old man was gone. He had just vanished. “Horseshit! He can’t vanish. He has to be here somewhere.” Pardee unslung his rifle and clicked the safety off. He began a slow approach to the spot he had last seen the old man. As he looked at the ground, he noticed, for the first time, that there were no tracks where the old man had passed. No footprints, no bent blades of green, no broken branches – nothing. There was no indication that anyone had passed that way in all of time. Pardee looked down his back trail and what he saw had made his heart thump; he had left no tracks either. There was no sign that he had walked down the trail. Then it hit him; the trail only went back some twenty yards and then it, too, disappeared. The jungle had closed in and there was no sign of any way through it. As Pardee turned to face forward again, he jumped; there, standing at the precise spot he had last seen him was the old man.

“What in the hell? Where did you go? Where the hell are we?” Pardee had let the muzzle of his rifle move to a position that was pointing very close to the old man.

The old man looked at the rifle barrel and laughed. He waved his hand and Pardee moved forward almost against his will. When he was next to the old man, an old and wrinkled hand rested on his arm. And, suddenly, he could see a clearing ahead of him. In the small clearing were two huts. One hut was larger than the other and they were set about twenty feet apart. The old man spoke to him in a language that he could not understand and waved at the huts.

“Home?” Pardee asked. “Have we come to your home?”

As they approached the huts the old man was speaking again, “Welcome, Pardee. I have been waiting for you for many years. Please, come in and sit by the fire.”

Pardee had ducked his head and entered the hut. He suddenly swung his head toward the old man, “I can understand you. I know what you are saying.”

“Of course you do.” Chuckled the old man. He waved his hand toward a low stool and had taken Pardee’s rifle and leaned it against the wall of the hut. As Pardee stared, the old man again waved toward the low stool. “Sit. Please. I am honored to have such a brave man in my humble home.”

“But, how can I understand you? A minute ago I could not. Now everything you say is clear. How is that possible?” Pardee sank onto the stool, still staring at the old man.

“Because you need to understand; so you understand.” The old man sat on a low stool on the far side of the fire and loosened a small pouch that was tied to a cord around his waist. From this pouch he took a pinch of a grey powder and sprinkled it into the fire. A green smoke rose and a sweet smell filled the hut. “You are the one that will help bring freedom to my people. I have seen it.” He tossed another pinch of powder into the fire and this time the smoke turned a very bright red and the hut was filled with a smell of cordite. “There will be many battles, and you will lead many men in this war. But, you will never be harmed. You will not die. You will not suffer the sting of the bullet or the stab of the blade. You are one of the chosen guardians of the people.” He tossed a third pinch of dust into the fire and the smoke was white – not the white of normal smoke, but the pure white of light. “You will be victorious. You will be one of the people when this is over. You will stay in Africa forever.”

Pardee had sat silent and listened to the old man. Now he shook his head, and spoke, “I am sorry, old man. But our last regiment was wiped out and we are fleeing for our lives. Most of my men are either dead or captured and without an army our cause is hopeless. I wish what you said could be true. I really do. But…” Pardee had let his voice taper off as he stared at the smiling face of the old man across from him.

“Your army will find you in three days. You will then turn north and destroy the soldiers that are camped at the bend in the Ulanano River. You will then push to the capitol where you will take the government and bring this war to an end. Then you will return here. Your friend will lead the nation into its peace.” With that the old man through a fourth pinch of dust into the fire and the smoke was black. There was only the smell of the jungle and a blackness so thick he could see nothing. As the smoke cleared, Pardee found that he was seated in the tree and there was light enough for him to see the jungle around him. He sat staring around, wondering if it had all been a dream.

Dawn was breaking, and he had to keep moving. If he stayed here the government soldiers would find him for sure. He climbed down from the tree and looked all around the tree base. He could find no evidence of the old man, or any trail in the direction they had walked. He shook his head, “Must have been a dream.”

He began moving east, toward the border of the country next to this. He hoped that he could sneak across and find some way of getting help. He moved through the jungle with a surprising ease – he felt like he had done this all of his life. He had always been good at moving through the underbrush of a jungle, but now it seemed that he was always walking on a path that had little or no resistance for him. “Well,” he thought out loud, “be grateful. And don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” On the third day since he had left the tree, it was nearing the noon hour when he spotted some movement in front of him. He dropped into cover and readied his weapon. “If I go, a few of these bastards will go with me.” He felt the adrenalin rush that precedes combat. He was ready.

A voice came through the bush. “Pardee? Pardee? Are you out there?”

Pardee was stunned. “Thorpe? Is that you Thorpe?”

“Yeah, man. It’s me.” Thorpe’s voice had a small laugh in it.

Pardee rose from where he had lain and looked his friend in the face. “How in the name of all that is holy did you get here? I saw your position overrun and could not get to you to help. We were too damn busy ourselves. But, how did you get here? How did you know that I would be here?”

Thorpe smiled. “The Witchdoctor told me.”

“The What?” Pardee said.

“The Witchdoctor.” Thorpe said. “He came across us about five days ago and said that you would meet us here.”

“Was this a little old black man carrying a staff and a small pouch at his belt?” Pardee asked.

“Yep. That’s him.”

Pardee hesitated, “Us? Who is ‘us’?”

Thorpe turned and waved his arm above his head and suddenly the jungle began disgorging black soldiers; hundreds and then thousands. “This is us, Pardee. This is the army that the old Witchdoctor said you would need to lead us to victory.”

Pardee stared. He could not believe his eyes. He shook his head and looked at Thorpe, “I don’t understand. How did you find them?”

“I didn’t find them. They found me. When we pulled out of the fight, I and ten others ran for our lives. We came on the old Witchdoctor early in the evening, and he led us to his huts. There he told us where to go, and that we would be met by a division of soldiers ready to fight for freedom.” Thorpe shook his head at the question that was on Pardee’s face, “Yes, I followed his directions – I sure as hell was not going back the way I had come. And, somehow, I believed him.” He shrugged.

Pardee chuckled, “I don’t know that I believed him, so much as I would say that I had followed a dream.” Pardee looked around and asked, “Maps?”

Thorpe raised his hand and pointed at a soldier standing nearby. The soldier came forward and pulled a map out of his pouch. Pardee spread the map out on the ground and pointed at a position and said, “This is where we are now.” He pointed to another spot on the map and said, “according to our Witchdoctor there is a large encampment of government soldiers here on the Ulanano River at this bend…”

Thorpe spoke softly, “I had a scout come in this morning and tell me exactly that.”

Pardee looked at Thorpe and said, “I think that we have one powerful ally on our side.” Pardee paused and looked down at the map and nodded his head, “I am sure glad that old man is on our side.”

Thorpe grunted, “Me, too”

They had marched north as the old man had said and found the government soldier’s camp. They hit them just before dawn and they had won the battle in less than four hours. The Rebel Army had fought with a ferocity that had made Pardee shudder. They had charged into the camp in the dark carrying machetes. They wielded them with the practice of men in an abattoir. Not a single government soldier had survived the engagement. There were one-thousand-two-hundred bodies that had to be buried. The loss to the Rebel Army was one wounded.

After the battle, Pardee and Thorpe had called in the officers for a planning meeting. Thorpe opened the meeting with a rather strange statement. “Gentlemen, the Witchdoctor said that we would not suffer a loss of life in this battle. And we have not. However, he also said that in the march to the capitol there would be exactly one-hundred soldiers that would pay the price of victory; ten in each of the ten battles that we will fight in the next six weeks.”

They had marked out the route to the capitol and the camps that were between the Rebel Army and their objective. When the meeting had ended Pardee and Thorpe had sat in the commander’s tent and talked for a while about what was going to happen if they won the war.

“If?” Pardee said with a subdued voice. “I think that we can pretty much assume that we are going to win.” He waved his hand toward the open tent flap. They could see the burial detail dumping bodies into a mass grave.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right there. I will just be glad when it is over. I think I am going back to the states and settle down. I think that I have done enough for humanity. Besides, for the first time, I am tired of soldiering. I would like to try some other job.”

Pardee stared at his friend and asked, “Didn’t the old Witchdoctor tell you what would happen after the war?”

“No. All he said is that I would have to find another line of work, because all the battles would be over. Sounds like a hell of a good suggestion to me.”

“Sure does.” Pardee smiled at his friend, “Yes, sir. It sure as hell does.”

Over the next six weeks the Rebel Army fought in exactly ten battles to reach the capitol and lost exactly one-hundred men. Pardee had, on three separate occasions found that his fatigue jacket had bullet holes in it. But he had not been hit. Once in the sixth battle he had been in a hand to hand knife fight when the enemy had thrust his knife straight at Pardee’s chest. An ammunition pouch had deflected the blade and Pardee’s counter strike was deadly.

They had entered the capitol to find that the President for Life had hurriedly resigned and caught a flight to Switzerland for reasons of health. Pardee stood next to Thorpe on the balcony of the President’s Palace and was amused when the political leaders of the revolution had approached Thorpe and asked him to take the office of President and hold it until such time as they could arrange free elections. Thorpe had looked a Pardee and saw him nodding his head. Pardee’s voice was clear as he spoke, “Well, now you have another line of work.”

After three months of helping Thorpe deal with the weeding out of the corrupt civil servants, Pardee had enter Thorpe’s office and sat on the chair in front of the desk. “Well, my friend, it is time for me to return.”

Thorpe looked at his friend and sighed, “Yes, I suppose it is.” He reached for his desk phone and said, “I will send you home on the presidential plane. It’s the least that we can do to…” Thorpe stopped as he saw Pardee shaking his head no.

“Thorpe, I don’t know if you will understand this but I am home. I am going back to the clearing where we met the Witchdoctor. He said that when my job as a military man was done, I was to return to him.” Pardee shrugged, “Besides, I can’t go back to the states; I just wouldn’t fit in there anymore. This is my home now.” He stood and extended his hand to his friend.

Thorpe took the hand and clasped it warmly, “Pardee, I am going to arrange that you are made a citizen of this country and you will have a diplomatic passport. I do not know what the old Witchdoctor has in store for you, but if you need anything that door will always be open to you.”

“Thanks.” Pardee said and turned and walked out of the office. He walked back to the apartment that he had been assigned and dressed for the bush. He walked away from the capitol and began the trek back to the clearing. Everywhere he went it seemed that the people knew him and he was treated as one of their own. He came to the edge of the clearing and found the old Witchdoctor leaning on his staff and smiling. “Welcome home, Pardee. Your place is ready for you.” With that the old witchdoctor turned and led the way into the clearing.

Instead of two huts there was a large house. Pardee looked askance at the old man who laughed and said, “This is your new home Pardee. It is where you will live out your life. Your wife and children will be a joy to you as you grow old. Many more wonderful things are in store for you Pardee. Because you gave so much to us, we give this small return.”

Pardee eventually married a native girl of surpassing beauty, and she gave him four children, two girls and two boys. He and the old man spent many hours talking and over the years Pardee learned of the magic of the jungle from the old man. When the old man passed away, Pardee became the White Witchdoctor.



The End?



If you like this story and wish the series to be continued, please send me a message at labash @ webs-by-labash . net (take out the spaces, leave the hyphens in).