Ayahuasca Dreams

AYAHUASCA DREAMS

They sat behind the hospital’s buildings in a small park that resembled more of a courtyard than a park. It was Springtime, and the Oak and Maple trees carelessly dropped their pollen on the metal benches. The weather was fair and sunny, not a breezy day. At least the stench of the homeless on the nearby benches would not put a sour note on their lunch break. Their conversation often gravitated over the mundane but grew animated each time the topic of their countries was brought up.

The memories of their homeland always made room for nostalgia. Each one brought a dream to this country, but in the daily struggle for survival, inevitably, they were swallowed by the city, and their dreams were thwarted by reality. New York City had taken a toll on them. Its oppressive universe had turned them, one train ride at a time, into mechanical pieces going back and forth from their cramped apartments to their dead-end jobs. They were runaway slaves whose freedom and worth were counted on hourly wages. They needed a break.

It was New York City in the early nineties, the era of Rodney King and O.J. Sympson. The city brought Freddy B., Ricky G., Harry, and Evelyn together. They could not be a more dissimilar group.                      

Freddy B. was a small guy, shorter than the one-meter-eighty American guy. He was mild-mannered, polite, and unassuming. He was a bolding South American man, a physician in his former life. He displayed a hint of shyness and a passion for storytelling. He was a social butterfly.

Ricky G., the newer member of the group, had migrated from his Caribbean Island to escape its economic dead ends and stagnation.  e was of a sunbaked brown, mulatto’s skin, and easy smile.  Ricky’s love for drums and passionate temper were proof that his ancestors made a voyage from Africa. His suave, easy-going ways, however, did not reflect his inner life. I  concealed his introverted nature and turbulent spirit well. But the necessity and life’s harshness turned him shrewd and greatly suspicious of others’ intentions. He viewed life with great skepticism.

Harry was the only American-born, third generation, amongst them. His ancestors made their one-way voyage from the slums of Belfast to Indiana. H  was a Hemingway look-alike fellow of an ever-expanding ego and an American certitude about all things-particularly the ones he did not know-.

He was a country boy seeking a new life in New York City. H  stood taller than the rest of them and, like Hemingway, had a love for adventures, booze, and girls. H s weekly visits to ill-reputed houses of pleasure in the Bronx were not a secret. H  had fallen prey to the Latinas’ “Ay Papi“ groans and moans while they found their way to his wallet. Harry was known to blow half of his paycheck on his escapades. “What is life if not an endless pursuit of pleasure?” he liked to say. His bravado was only surpassed by his libido.

Harry carried a sense of superiority and paternalistic attitudes toward Freddy and Ricky, given that these two had thick accents. B  beneath Harry’s façade of self-importance and fake air of sophistication lay a history of childhood trauma and resentment toward his absentee mother. Harry liked smoking fake Cuban cigars while dreaming of being what he was clearly not. The mystery of the mind: our exteriors portray the opposite of the burning ashes of our interior desolation.

Evelyn, who was also South American by birth, was older than them. His good nature and easy smile rendered her reasonable and prudent; inevitably, by default, she became their maternal figure. Her large anatomy and wide hips rendered her perfect for the role. Often rolling up her eyes, she enjoyed the guys’ macho bravados and testosterone-driven dreams while rejoicing in her secret views that guys are eternal children. “They are kids that never grew up,“ she often said.

Evelyn believed that a man’s actions, other than by survival, were driven by his deep insecurity and wounded pride, which manifested both as an insatiable quest for power and control. Ultimately, women were left to deal with men’s flawed natures. Either whenever they acted as abandoned children, perpetually needing a mother, or whenever they acted like vengeful tyrants in a conquered land, controlling and subjugating the women in their lives.   

Over the years, her view of men soured. After two failed marriages, the most recent to an abusive, jealousy-stricken Indian fellow from Trinidad, Evelyn had no time for dreams, promises, or adventures. Reality had sentenced her for the remainder of her working life to her hospital gig and the periodic family court trips chasing her children’s father for child support.  

                                                                         ***

This Friday, they were in a festive mood. They had received their paycheck. Freddy began volunteering stories about his land and his stay in the Peruvian Amazon jungle. Calmly in his soft, monotone voice, he recounted his adventures, clearly embellished, of his time as a Medical Intern in Peru’s hinterland.

“In my country, there’s this city by the Amazon, Iquitos.“ Most of them had not heard of the city.

For some odd reason, the farther a place is, the more it inflames people’s imagination. Harry and Ricky got tickled with curiosity and started asking questions.  

“Man, that sounds cool!. Where is it exactly?“ Harry asked, imagining all sorts of trekking scenarios, hiking, and even hunting. “Is it hot there?”

“Well, it’s far from Lima…you can only get there by only by boat or plane… It’s always hot,  but it rains a lot.“ Replied Freddy.

For Ricky, the idea of flying to South America and interacting with the Incas was beyond exciting.

“But… what’s unique about the place?”. Ricky asked, revealing his interest.

Freddy’s fervor increased with each question. He could not miss the chance to brag about his country, which is a common trait among his fellow countrymen; patriotism runs deep in his land. The saying goes that “an Argentinian commits suicide by climbing on his ego and jumping from it.“ A Peruvian died while climbing on it.

In full storytelling mode, Freddy gave them an unofficial, firsthand account of life in Iquitos. “Listen, I was an Intern there,“ he said, revealing pride and nostalgia for his land. Now, he might as well be the Ambassador of his country.  

“We had to go there for a year as Interns,” he said while stiffening his back. His authoritative tone gave him all the credibility he needed in the group’s eyes. They were now paying close attention to him.

“You see, the jungle’s heat makes people wild.“  Harry was static; the chance of adventure plus the prospect of running wild. “Get out of here! … what do you mean by wild?“ said Harry. “You’re lying“.

Freddy then got defensive, as if Harry questioned his honor.

“So you know, there are these fruits that women eat… let me tell you, these women have these nice legs, their skin..“ he said as he appeared transported to a different time and place. “They are always horny…they are always available…insatiable”.

Ricky imagined voluptuous Amazonian women barely covering their privates and swarming the guys like flies on manure. “You’re lying!“ Ricky agreed with Harry. “There’s no way!.“

“No…believe me!” Freddy topped himself out of a sense of manly discretion, not wanting to divulge his escapades in the Jungle. He looked like someone busy remembering past events.

Evelyn, who was quietly enjoying the guys’ conversation, finally intervened: “Freddy is not lying…I know a woman from there.“ She told them that she had heard all kinds of stories about the place. “It’s wild there,“ she affirmed.

The city seemed to them to be a faraway land, an isolated and mysterious recess of the world. The fact that it was in the middle of the Amazon, surrounded by three rivers, inflamed their imagination.   

Freddy was redeemed by Evelyn’s comments and continued, like a tourist agent, selling the place to his friends. He sealed the deal with stories of Shamans, tropical heat, exotic fruits, piranhas, and anacondas, and finally, he mentioned Ayahuasca.

“Ayahuasca?“ asked Harry. “What’s that?”.

Freddy gave them an academic account of the psychedelic properties of Ayahuasca and how his ancestors, for thousands of years, drank it to be transported to the deepest corners of their minds, solving any latent spiritual problems. While in a dream, one was supposed to reach a state of full mindfulness.

“Yeap,” said Evelyn, “I heard that too.”

Harry heard enough. Ricky and Harry could not get the idea of meeting these Amazon women out of their heads.

Harry impulsively decided that he needed to visit this place. ” Say no more. Let’s go there! … there’s no way… I got it, see it!”. Given his weekly trips to the Bronx’s red-light houses, Harry felt particularly compelled to experience these exotic women.

                                                                                   ***

Life went on, and for the next few months, the conversation about Iquitos dwindled. Often, however, while they waited for the rest of the crew, Freddy and Harry mentioned Iquitos. Inevitably, Harry again asked about the Amazonian women. “Ricky can’t stop talking about it either,” Freddy confessed.

“I’m telling you; you guys will not be disappointed…trust me.” Harry was obsessed with these mythological women. “I mean, are they really that good?”

Finally, as with all things human, dreams eventually turn into reality. After Harry forcefully brought up the issue again, he compelled them to “Man up!”.

In the Summer of nineteen ninety-four, the conversation entered a new arena. The guys decided it was time to visit Iquitos. They planned their trip.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I am going to pass on this one.“

As much as Evelyn would have liked to join them, she had serious responsibilities; traveling out of the country was a more complex plan than for single guys. “Just make sure you bring me an Alpaca wool sweater,” she said with maternal affection. Then she said, “… stay away from the Charapas Ardientes.“  

                                                                                ***

They booked a direct flight from JFK Airport in NYC to Lima, Peru.

JFK, like all airports, was filled with rush, excitement, and expectations. One may distinguish between two types of travelers based on their looks: the departing ones, with their joyful, blissful faces, and the arriving ones, tired, dirty, greasy, and frustrated.

On the day of their departure, November 17, the JFK airport seemed an overwhelming hive. But amidst this organized chaos, or perhaps because of it, the processing ended up being efficient and timely.

“LATAM airline anuncia la salidad de su vuelo 785 con destino a Lima Peru”, announced the official-sounding Spanish female voice at the airport. The flight attendant explained that it was a direct flight, and they would be flying at an altitude of 40,000 ft for seven hours.

Once onboard, Freddy, Ricky, and Harry each devised their traveling strategy. Harry started drinking travel-size bottles of whiskey, while Freddy could not shut up as Ricky pretended to be reading a magazine that he “found“ in one of the airport Kiosks.

The flight was uneventful.

They arrived in Lima in the morning after their shut-eye flight. Surprisingly, the Peruvian International Airport was also large, but with thousands of Inca-looking and other South American ethnic faces roaming up and down the corridors. It all moved at a slower pace.

“Cual es la razon de su Viaje?“ asked the official-sounding customs officer. Under other circumstances, he would have given them a hard time, but given that they traveled with US passports, the Agent saw that they were tourists looking for fun and trouble when they mentioned Iquitos.

“Welcome to Peru,“ said the now friendly-sounding Agent. And, “Good luck,” said the Agent with a smirk. Ricky quickly got an ominous feeling.

“Alright, guys…here we go!”. Harry, in a midwestern, optimistic, and adventurous tone, pulled Ricky away from his descent into negative thoughts.

“I can’t believe we’re here.“ 

The plan was to spend a couple of days in Lima and then take a short flight to Iquitos.

Lima was, as expected, dry, with high humidity; it was a big city with some architectonic jewels from the Spanish colonial times and delicious food. However, it did not trigger their imagination. Lima was just another city and did not have what they were after—La Charapa ardiente.

They could not wait to depart Lima for Iquitos. The flight would not be long, which was comforting. It would be the same airline but less formal—a domestic flight in an international airport.

The airport wait turned out to be longer than the flight. In the blink of an eye, they were airbound. Less than one hour later, the pilot instructed the flight attendant to “prepare the cabin for arrival,“

Harry and Ricky, who were by the window seats, saw the lush vegetation. Miles upon miles of greenery, cut by an undulating mighty river, as far as their eyes could see. They were in awe. No New York City skyline compared to the majesties of nature. Then, a few miles ahead, like a small dot amid endless water and vegetation, lay Iquitos. A small airport nestled in the Jungle welcomed them.

Iquitos, from the beginning, did not disappoint. The moment they exited the airport, very high humidity, like a large veil, covered them. The grounds were wet with small puddles, which was a persistent feature. The air seemed damp and stuck to their skin as it infiltrated their nostrils. It was a sensory experience. The scent of moisture, sweat, heat, and the perennial threats of rain left no doubts that they were in the rainforest. The sky had a menacing gray quality between sunny and cloudy—all the people seemed wet and sweaty. The air smelled of mystery and enchantment.  

“It’s so pretty…so many colors, “exclaimed Harry, who was not prone to appreciating beauty. The varied colors of Iquitos homes and the disordered architectural styles spoke to a mix of époques and people. The animated traffic and the multitude of noises overwhelmed their senses. They were truly in a foreign land.

Iquitos was a place where people went to hide from authority or look for extraordinary experiences, aka trouble. The place was both alluring and intimidating. It seemed a land of excesses, where all grew large and abundant.

Freddy soon became their unofficial tourist guide and started imparting rules. Most of his rules were hearsay that he recalled from his months there. He knew deep down the futility of his warnings. The place was wild, and his companions were eager stallions.

“Cuanto dias sera su estadia, senores?”, asked the pleasant receptionist.

They checked into a local hostel that Freddy remembered from his old days and had a decent reputation. It was not in the center of town, but not too close to the outskirts. The zone is to be voided past sunset. A shanty town of floating houses in the murky waters of the Amazon amid piles of trash and rancid odors. But the more sordid the place, the higher the pleasures.

Ricky was amazed by the similarity in architecture between Iquitos and his Caribbean Island. “It must be the heat,“ he thought. He knew firsthand that topical people, at least the ones he knew, tended to be friendly, extroverted, and animated, always thinking about food, alcohol, and sex—the people here struck him as very similar.

On their first night there, they wanted to venture out to the Plaza de Armas but encountered the torrential rains of this part of the world. In a matter of minutes, a monsoon poured several inches of rain. Then, as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

“All right guys, time to hit town,“ said Harry.

It was past sunset, and the sky displayed a deep, dark blackness. A few floating clouds could still be distinguished by distant lighting. They walked around the Plaza and, attracted by the sound of music, ventured out past Mercado Belen—another landmark of the city.

As they got closer, it seemed like a red-light district—a row-home street of makeshift clubs, with loudspeakers booming animated rhythms. It was in full swing with dancing, pisco drinking, and other local drinks. The girls were lively, expressive, and approachable but did not seem Amazonian, but regular Peruvian girls having fun.

They sat and let themselves be swayed by the atmosphere. Between music, Pisco Sour, and Tacacho with Cecina, Patarashka, and Chonta salad, they lost track of time. The jukebox played some old Bachata ballads that, inexplicably to Ricky, found their way to the Jungle.

“Oh shit!“ Freddy panicked. He did not say a word.

They have already violated one of Iquitos’s rules: “Don’t go out to the outskirts of town after sunset.” The outskirts of town was a nesting ground for shady characters, outlaws, Brazilian drug dealers from Manaus, smugglers, and Traficant of Pleasures. It was a fun place for underground pleasure-seekers, but it was not a good place to spend your last days on this planet.

Freddy could not stop his heart. He did not want to show fear. “We must go!“ he finally said. Ricky and Harry thought that it was not that late. They may still catch a motor taxi.  

“C’mon man, it’s only ten,“ Harry, half-drunk, protested. Freddy prevailed.

They started walking back to the Plaza de Armas.

The street was deserted and covered in an impenetrable shade of black. A few street lights emitted a moribund, dark yellow light; small puddles still left over from the past flash storm covered the unpaved, muddy sidewalks. The night was very dark and intimidating.

The heat, humidity, and flying insects added to the eerie scene. Harry babbled animatedly, half-drunk, while Freddy and Ricky walked in silence. Ricky could not stop looking behind his back. He sensed that they were not safe. There was no one else out on the streets.

As they walked near the corner street, by the intersection of an alley, Ricky saw shadows moving. His heart went into overdrive; he felt like he was choking. Right as the shadows were closing in on them, Ricky yelled, “Run! They are coming for us!” 

They ran in the middle of the road while being chased by a gang of thugs. The thugs were closing in when suddenly, the light from an upcoming Motor taxi illuminated them. Freddy yelled and waved it down. They hopped on, gasping for air. Ricky reached to seek the reflection of the blade of one of their muggers. Harry became very silent when he realized what had happened. They got lucky. Their panic outran the goons’ murderous desires.

                                                                                    ***

The next day, they were still shaken up but not deterred from their adventure. They soon forgot the episode. It was time to head to another village. The idea was to spend a few hours, grab a bite, and head back before sunset—no sense in risking another scene like the one last night. At best, they figured once in town, they would go to the Malecon.

This time, it had to be via water taxi. On a single-engine boat with six occupants, they headed for Mazan, a small town nearby. Later, they would try to catch a glimpse of the pink dolphins.  

Of course, the boat’s Captain did not have life-saver vests or ponchos. They hopped in the boat, but Ricky could not help but look up. He distinguished a menacing cloud pattern that he recognized back home. “Is there any rain in the forecast, Senor?” he asked, barely hiding his worries. “No, senor,“ the makeshift  Captain replied.

Ricky knew full well that the tropical weather was unpredictable. Any sunny day abruptly turns into a storm. Almost a half-hour later, as if reading Ricky’s mind, at the turn of a switch, the sky turned black. They could not see each other’s faces. A dense darkness and a thick fog enveloped them. A strong wind heading south started moving their vessel. Thunder and large lighting t versed the skies. They all became silent. The sky then broke down, and rain, as only can be found in these latitudes, hit them like small pebbles. The Captain cursed himself for neglecting the ponchos.

The boat started swerving as the Amazon’s waters got choppy, jumping like a wild bronco. They tried looking at each other, but the rain and the darkness negated any eye contact. Harry, who never lacked for words, remained silent. Freddy seemed to have been praying.

The Captain reasoned, based on experience, that there was no point in heading back to Mazan. The headwinds were too strong and risked tipping the boat. He decided to go ashore at a little beach nearby. He did not see it but knew, based on the hundreds of times he had navigated under this treacherous weather and the time they had been in the water, that there was a small beach not too far from the Tucuman fishing village. He also knew that the storm would quickly subside.  

                                                                                         ***

They disembarked and quickly tied the boat to a large marsh root. The thick, brown river mud swallowed their feet, and the smell of rotten eggs quickly filled their nostrils. The Captain instructed them to stay near the boat. He planned to quickly get to the village to get some ponchos and more diesel fuel “just in case.“ The storm remained in full force. 

Less than ten minutes after the Captain left, the rain finally subsided. The heat took over again. The  Jungle went back to life.   A full moon revealed the shore a few meters from the boat and the impenetrable dark foliage on their backs. They were wet, hot, humid, muddy, and miserable. They reached to see the flickering lights of a small village a few hundred yards away. But they did not dare to move. Any detour in the Jungle or an encounter with wildlife may prove fatal. A better idea was to wait for the Captain. At least they were not in the middle of the Jungle, Freddy said as if reading their minds.

The sounds of the Jungle, like a pulsating organism, emerged again with renewed intensity: birds chirping, insects flying, and distant roars. New York City was noisy and busy, but the spectacle they witnessed put it to shame. New York City’s noise was artificial; God designed this one. It was nature’s orchestra.

A few minutes went by, and they worried about the Captain’s return. The mosquitos and other flying insects were relentless. They also heard a hissing noise not too far away; they could listen to each other’s thump of their hearts. The moon’s reflection on the water made a mirror out of the Amazon. They now saw each other’s faces. Fear is an emotion that is very hard, if not impossible, to hide. Harry babbled nonsensically. They were scared.

Suddenly, they heard movements in a nearby brush. They looked at each other again. ” It’s probably a wild pig,” Freddy said, appeasing his terror. A big cloud covered the moon, and thick darkness again took over; their fear multiplied. The ruffling in the bushes grew louder.  

They were surrounded by the Jungle and facing the river. Ricky, in his pessimistic calculations, figured that their death might be caused by Piranhas or Anacondas. They lacked any survival skills to stay in the Jungle. In the end, but for Freddy, they were city boys. Fear of death has a way of revealing our true nature.

“I hear something! …like a voice,” said Harry. They thought it impossible for another human to lurk in that deep darkness. “Maybe the captain is back,” said Ricky, wandering. “I don’t think so,” said Freddy. 

The clouds moved away again. They sensed each other’s terror. The brushes moved, and Harry could not avoid looking. His eyes locked glance with another set of eyes. He could not believe it. It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her eyes were big and expressive,  rowned by neatly delineated eyebrows and thick blond hair. Her lips were plump and rich; her top was unrobbed, firm, and perky. “Ven pa’aca”, he heard her say. He did not understand but knew that she was calling him.

“Guys! Did you see that?“  Harry asked. “I can’t believe it! is the Charapa, the Amazonian woman “. Harry couldn’t contain his excitement. Suddenly, he stood up too fast for Freddy and Ricky to stop him. He had already taken steps toward the bushes. “Stop!”.  Fear, the faithful companion of the ones lost, took over.

The clouds kept on playing in the skies, in and out of the moon. Then, they saw Harry kissing a woman. They could not believe it. They were as excited as they were terrified. Harry and the woman headed deeper into the bushes. The two lovers were now out of sight, hidden by the clouds. Only moaning and groaning were heard. Freddy and Ricky had a mix of terror and envy.

Harry was delighted with the sweetest lips he had ever kissed and penetrating the softest, warmest, and tighter of crevices he had ever penetrated. The vagina contracted rhythmically, like suctioning. In his ectasis, his arms slid down her back, and he felt an unusual coldness. The skin at the end of her back was cold, scaly, and slimy. But he remained undeterred as he was near an orgasm.

The moon made yet another appearance; Harry looked at her face again. This time, he saw two big, bright yellow eyes with menacing dark pupils staring at him—the cold look of death. Fear, like the tip of a knife, pierced his heart and choked his breath. He froze; his erection was irreparably lost. He could not scream; fear also choked his voice.

He was naked in her arms when he saw her long-forked tongue and sharp teeth, like knives, near his head. He felt his ribs cracking as she coiled her body around his. The moon hid one more time. The dark skies covered the jungle one more time. The air was wet, thick, and stuffy. He was suffocating. He felt that his life was about to end.

Suddenly, a big rumble took over the place. They all heard loud voices and screams.  

Harry was violently yanked out of the bushes. The knife-shaped teeth were closing in near his head but instead slashed his chest and legs as she escaped. The Captain and some villagers had arrived in the nick of time. Freddy and Ricky screamed and ran for their life in the direction of the village. 

The five-minute boat ride back to Iquitos was the longest ride of their lives. They could not wait to get out of the water. Harry’s naked and bloody body trembled as he rocked back and forth. The boat swerved, not because of the choppy waters, as they navigated down the murky waters. They were now determined to cut the trip short. It was no longer storming when they finally arrived.

                                                                                ***

On the same night, they attended a previously booked session at one of the main attractions in Iquitos: the Ayahuasca Medicine Hall. A place that promises to heal old wounds or reveal hidden truths.  

They lay comfortably in a dim room next to each other when each felt a gentle tap on their shoulders. The Shaman said, “How was your trip, Senores? Did the Ayahuasca help you fulfill your desires?“.

Harry woke up and looked around, disoriented and terrified but relieved.

P. R. Thompson

September 28, 2024

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