Tribesmen Read Online Free PDF

signs of life, he was hurting so bad that he didn’t really give a shit that the village was deserted. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he allowed himself a sliver of concern that the abandoned town meant that they weren’t making a movie. That was beyond his control. At least now he was getting some alone time with his needle and spoon.
    “This may seem like a bad time,” he had said back in the village, picking up a piece of dusty pottery. “But I really have to take a shit.” He let the terracotta bowl slip from his hand and it crashed to the ground in a puff of red dust. The sound reverberated out into the empty collection of native housing.
    “I don’t think they big on toilet paper here,” Tito said. “Or indoor plumbing.”
    “Banana leaves,” Jacque said with a shit-fondling smile on his face. He knew full well what Denny was going to do out in the jungle. The mouthy jig was torturing him. Why did I think that? Jacque is a nice guy. The need always made him edgy.
    “I won’t go too far, and I’ll keep an eye out for any villagers or whatever.” Denny’s words were as put-together as he could make them while all the pores of his face were opening up and screaming for a fix. He ducked into the tall grass surrounding the village and headed south.
    It was as if somebody hit the light switch as he crossed into the jungle. In the village, the sun was waning; but under the dense canopy of the jungle, nighttime was in full swing. Trying his best to remember landmarks, Denny walked south until it was impossible to hear the chatter of the rest as they searched the village.
    “Fuck you, pig,” Denny found himself muttering every time he heard a twig snap somewhere in the darkening forest around him. When he deemed he was far enough into the wild, he stopped and wedged his ass between the intersecting trunks of two overlapping trees. The boughs made a cozy little seat, perfect for sitting down and cooking a fix.
    He tried to whistle as he opened his kit, but the complete silence enveloping him as he puckered his lips kept him quiet. His hands shook as he tried to untie his balloon of golden magic powder.
    “What are you doing?” a voice asked from the darkness.
    Denny jumped, juggling the balloon between his sweaty fingers before clasping a tight fist around his valuables.
    “Who’s there?” Denny froze and began to stammer. “This isn’t what it looks like.” He scrambled for something that could provide some semblance of an excuse. “I…I’m a diabetic.”
    The little black woman stepped out of the darkness, stooped and gnarled by time.
    “Oh thank god,” Denny said, not only relieved that he wasn’t caught by someone on the crew, but also to see a ‘native’ at long last. “Hello, ma’am,” he said, giving her a short Miss America wave and peering into the darkness. “My name is Dennis Roth. I’m with the movie.” He kept his voice loud and slow, figuring that she probably couldn’t speak English. But didn’t she ask what he was doing?
    The old woman took a step forward, leaning on a curved driftwood cane for support. Her eyes were glassy black pearls, stuck far back in her head and surrounded by sunken brown skin. She blinked once.
    “The film. Pelicula . Cinoche .” Denny held his hands up to his face and pretended to crank a camera.
    “You’re making a film on our island?” The old woman’s voice was soft and warm and it swabbed each of his ears like a velvet Q-tip. There was something both pleasant and strange about the sensation.
    “Where are the rest of you?” Denny asked her and squinted into the rapidly darkening jungle. He needed to discern whether his new friend was alone. There was no movement behind her. The only sound in the dusk was the rattle of her jewelry as she stepped forward once again.
    Her hair was weaved with seashells. More bits of shell and polished coral hung around her neck in long ropes. The ropes were longer than traditional necklaces. They