Maube led the way up the trail and I did my best not to slide back down ass-first on my belly – again. The first time had been more than enough. The day had begun with two hours in a rattle-trap machine that did not deserve to be called a truck over rough terrain and between trees. I expected internal bleeding and spinal injuries, but to my surprise, we survived. Now we were hiking. Maube wasn’t using GPS, a map, or even a compass. Like the Swallows that return to Capistrano, he just knew the way.
Maybe it was more like the salmon who return to their birthplace to spawn. We did have a river to guide us the last two miles. A breathtaking waterfall accompanied us on our ascent. Said ascent was made using tree roots and fingernails along with four letter words. Anyway, we just barely made it to the top of the hill without me barfing or injuring myself when Maube called for a stop. That suited me just fine.
I dug in my back pack for a canteen and took a long pull on it, then peeled a banana and munched on it. Between that and the Gatorade, I felt better quickly. All too soon Maube stood up and I figured the death march had to continue, but no, he just started peeling out of his clothes and shoes.
“Hey, pal, is there anything you’d care to explain?”
Maube smiled, shook his dreadlocks, and hummed a few bars from Deliverance. Then he said, “Yoo don’ take nuttin’ wit’ you in de holy cave, mon.”
“You mean we’re there?”
He nodded. I asked, “Where is it?”
“Bottom of de hill.” He said as he tossed his backpack off the cliff to the base of the hill we’d nearly killed ourselves climbing. I stripped, placed everything in my bag, and followed suit. I trusted Maube. He scared me at times, but I trusted him. “If it’s at the bottom, why did we climb up here?”
“’cause yoo don’ get dere from dere, yoo get dere from here.” With those enigmatic words, he began hyperventilating and jumped over the waterfall. For lack of a better idea, I followed him, hyperventilating as I fell the fifty feet into the water below. Maube splashed just before I did, found my hand, and towed me down, not up. Trust, trust, trust… next thing I knew, we popped up in a very dark place. It took a lot of effort to convince myself that I wasn’t blind. That's how dark it was. I also understood the need for the jump, coming from the surface and free-swimming, we’d never have made it deep enough. A hand guided me to the side and we climbed out of the pool. From there, he placed my hand on his shoulder and began to walk and count steps. For some reason I could not explain just then, I was not the least bit afraid. I knew nothing bad would happen to me. A great sense of calm came over me.
It seemed like a long time, but I’m sure it was only a few minutes before we entered the chamber. Sunlight and drops of water streamed in from cracks above and my eyes adjusted. There were carved idols, drawings on the cave walls, and an altar. Maube gestured for me to stay put while he approached the altar and prostrated himself before it. I stood still and continued to experience a sense of security I hadn’t experienced since I left the womb. Okay, hyperbole, there, but I can’t explain it any better than that. As I stood there, I felt myself being touched all over, like soft whispery raindrops. The touches stopped when Maube stood up and guided me back through the darkness to the pool and from there back to the outside world.
We floated about half a mile before finding a spot where we could get out of the river. I don’t remember walking back to where our back packs waited. I don’t remember making camp or eating a big lizard. Maube said I was in a daze that lasted until the next morning when we hiked back to the truck and drove back to the where the boat would pick us up.
Ten days later, I booked a flight back to the States, ending my Caribbean exile. I knew it was time.
We never spoke of his Shaman-to-Shaman gift; I don’t know how Maube knew that I would find what I needed in that cave. I’m just glad he did.