“Santa María de la Lluvia is the last outpost of civilization,” the boat captain told them when they saw the village at a bend in the river.
“From here on, Alexander, it is a magical land,” Kate notified her grandson.
“Are there still Indians who have never had contact with civilization?” he asked.
It was Dr. Omayra Torres who answered. “It’s believed there may be two or three thousand, but in fact no one knows for sure.”
Santa María de la Lluvia rose like a human mistake in the midst of an overwhelming natural world threatening to swallow it up at any moment. The settlement consisted of about twenty houses, a large shed that served as a hotel, a second, smaller shed that housed a hospital and was under the charge of two nuns, a couple of tiny stores, a Catholic church, and an army barracks. The soldiers monitored the border and traffic between Venezuela and Brazil. In accordance with the law, they were also supposed to protect native peoples against the abuses of settlers and adventurers, but in practice, they never did. Foreigners were moving into the region and no one was stopping them as they pushed the Indians farther and farther toward impenetrable jungle, or killed them, with no fear of being punished.
A tall man stood waiting on the docks at Santa María de la Lluvia. He had the sharp profile of a bird, strong features, and an alert expression; his skin was tanned by outdoor life and his dark hair was gathered into a ponytail.
He introduced himself. “Welcome. I am César Santos, and this is my daughter, Nadia.”
Alex guessed that the girl was about the age of his sister Andrea, maybe twelve or thirteen. Her curly hair was wild, bleached by the sun, and her eyes and skin were the color of honey. She was dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and plastic sandals. Several colored ribbons were tied around her wrists, a yellow flower was tucked over one ear, and a long green feather pierced the lobe of the other ear. Alex thought that if Andrea could see those adornments, she would immediately copy them, and if Nicole, his younger sister, saw the little black monkey on her shoulder, she would die with envy.
While Dr. Torres, helped by the two nuns who had come to meet them, took the two Mormon missionaries to the tiny hospital, César Santos supervised the unloading of the numerous supplies for the expedition. He apologized for not having been in Manaus, as they had agreed. He explained that he had flown his plane to every corner of the Amazon, but now it was very old and in recent weeks several pieces of the motor had dropped off. In light of the fact that it was in danger of crashing, he had decided to order a new motor, which was supposed to arrive any day; he added with a smile that he did not want to make an orphan of his daughter, Nadia. Then he led them to the hotel, which turned out to be by the river, a wooden construction on stilts similar to the other rickety buildings in the village. Cases of beer were stacked everywhere and liquor bottles were lined up along the counter. Alex had noticed during their trip upriver that, despite the heat, the men drank gallons and gallons of alcohol, at every hour of the night and day. This primitive building would serve the visitors as their base of operations, lodging, restaurant, and bar. Kate and Professor Ludovic Leblanc were assigned cubicles separated from the others by sheets strung on a rope. The rest of the party would sleep in hammocks protected by mosquito netting.
Santa María de la Lluvia was a sleepy little village, so remote that it rarely appeared on maps. A few settlers raised longhorn cattle; the rest dealt in the gold found in the sandy riverbed or wood and rubber from the forests. A few daring souls set out alone into the jungle to look for diamonds, but most just vegetated, waiting for opportunity to fall miraculously from the sky. Those were the visible activities. The secret ones consisted of trafficking in exotic birds, drugs, and weapons. Groups of soldiers, rifles slung over their shoulders and shirts soaked with sweat, lounged in the shade, playing cards or smoking. The little village was in the doldrums, dazed by heat and boredom. Alex saw several bald, toothless men, some half blind, some with open sores, waving their arms and talking to themselves. These were miners crazed by mercury and slowly dying. For too long, they had dived to the bottom of the river, hauling powerful tubes to suck up the sand saturated with gold dust. Some drowned; others died because their competitors cut their oxygen lines, but most died slowly, poisoned by the mercury used to separate gold from sand.
The children of the village, in contrast, played happily in the mud, accompanied by a few tame monkeys and gaunt dogs. There were a few adult Indians, some wearing a T-shirt or shorts, others as naked as the children. At first, Alex was embarrassed, not daring to look at the women’s breasts, but he quickly became accustomed to the sight and after five minutes didn’t even notice them. These Indians had been in contact with civilization for several years and had lost many of their traditions and customs, as César Santos explained. The guide’s daughter, Nadia, spoke to the Indians in their own language, and they treated her as if she were from their tribe.
If these were the ferocious natives Leblanc had described, they were not very impressive. They were small, for one thing; the men were under five feet and the children looked like miniature humans. For the first time in his life, Alex felt tall. This tribe had bronze-colored skin and high cheekbones; the men wore their hair cut as round as bowls, stopping just above the ears, a fashion that accentuated their Asian features. They were descended from inhabitants of the north of China, and had come by way of Alaska some ten to twenty thousand years before. They had escaped being enslaved during the conquest of the sixteenth century because they were so isolated. The Spanish and Portuguese soldiers had been unable to conquer the swamps, mosquitoes, jungle vegetation, enormous rivers, and waterfalls of this Amazon region.
Once the group was settled in the hotel, César Santos began organizing supplies for the expedition, and planning the remainder of the trip with the help of Kate and the photographers. Professor Leblanc had decided to rest until it was a little cooler since he did not do well in the heat. In the meantime, Nadia invited Alex to go for a walk with her.
“Don’t go beyond the boundaries of the village after sunset, it’s dangerous,” César Santos warned them.
Following the advice of Leblanc, who talked as if he were an expert on the dangers of the jungle, Alex stuffed his pants legs inside his socks to guard against the voracious leeches that would suck his blood. Nadia, who was almost barefoot, laughed.
“You’ll get used to the bugs and the heat,” she told him. She spoke very good English because her mother was Canadian.
“My mother left three years ago,” the girl clarified.
“Why did she go?”
“She couldn’t get used to it here. Her health was bad, and it got worse when the Beast started roaming around. She could smell it; she wanted to get away, she couldn’t stand to be alone, she screamed. . . . Finally Dr. Torres took her away in a helicopter. She’s back in Canada now,” Nadia said.
“Your dad didn’t go with her?”
“What would my dad do in Canada?”
“And why didn’t she take you with her?” Alex persisted. He had never heard of a mother who would abandon her child.
“Because she’s in a sanatorium. Besides, I want to be where my dad is.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the Beast?”
“Everyone’s ’fraid of it. But if it comes, Borobá will warn me in time,” she answered, patting the little black monkey that was always with her.
Nadia took her new friend around the village, which, because there wasn’t that much to see, took barely half an hour. Out of the blue came a burst of thunder and lightning that streaked across the sky in all directions, and it began to pour cats and dogs. The rain was as warm as soup, and it turned the narrow little streets into steaming mud pits. As a rule, people sought shelter beneath a nearby roof, but the children and the Indians went about what they were doing, completely indifferent to the downpour. Alex realized that his grandmother had been right to suggest that he change his blue jeans for the light cotton clothing she had bought him in
Manaus; it was cooler and quicker to dry. To escape the rain, the two children ducked into the church, where they found a tall, husky man with white hair and the huge shoulders of a lumberjack. Nadia introduced him as Padre Valdomero. He wasn’t at all what you expected in a priest; he was wearing sandals and no shirt, and was up on a ladder whitewashing the walls. A bottle of rum sat on the floor.
“Padre Valdomero has lived here since before the invasion of the ants,” was Nadia’s introduction.
“I came when this village was founded, about forty years ago, and I was here when the ants came. We had to abandon everything and escape downriver. They came like an enormous black blob, unstoppable, destroying everything in their path,” the priest told them.
“What happened then?” Alex asked, who could not imagine a town victimized by insects.
“We set fire to the houses before we left. Because of the fire, the ants detoured, and a few months later, we were able to come back. None of the houses you see now is more than fifteen years old.”
The priest had a strange mascot, an amphibious dog that, according to him, was native to the Amazon, but a breed that was now nearly extinct. It spent a good part of its life in the river, and could keep its head in a bucket of water for minutes at a time. It acknowledged Alex and Nadia from a prudent distance, suspicious. Its bark was like a birdcall; it seemed to be singing.
“The Indians kidnapped Padre Valdomero. What I wouldn’t give to have that happen to me!” Nadia exclaimed with envy.
“They didn’t kidnap me, child. I got lost in the jungle and they saved my life. I lived with them for several months. They’re good people, and free; for them, freedom is more important than life itself. They can’t live without it. An Indian who is a prisoner is a dead Indian. He turns inward, stops eating or breathing, and dies,” Padre Valdomero told them.
“Some versions say that they’re peaceful, but others describe them as savage and violent,” said Alex.
“The most dangerous men I’ve seen around here aren’t the Indians, they’re the people who traffic in weapons and drugs and diamonds and rubber, the gold prospectors and soldiers and timbermen who pollute and exploit the region,” the priest rebutted. And he added that the Indians were primitive in terms of material goods, but very advanced on the mental plane. They were connected to nature the way a child is to its mother.
“Tell us about the Beast. Is it true that you saw it with your own eyes, Padre?” Nadia asked.
“I think I saw it, but it was night and my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be,” Padre Valdomero answered, tossing down a long swallow of rum.
“When was that?” asked Alex, thinking that his grandmother would be grateful for the information.
“A couple of years ago . . .”
“What did you see, exactly?”
“What I have told many times: a giant more than nine feet tall, which moved very slowly and had a terrible odor. I was paralyzed with fear.”
“It didn’t attack you, Padre?”
“No. It said something, then turned and disappeared into the trees.”
“It said something? I guess you mean that it made noises, like grunts. Is that what you mean?” Alex insisted.
“No, son. Clearly the creature spoke. I did not understand a single word, but I have no doubt it was a spoken language. I fainted . . . When I came to, I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I had that strong smell clinging to my clothes and hair and skin. That was how I knew I hadn’t dreamed it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Shaman
THE STORM ENDED as quickly as it had begun, and the night sky was clear. Alex and Nadia returned to the hotel where the members of the expedition had gathered around César Santos and Dr. Omayra Torres, who were studying a map of the region and discussing preparations for the journey. Professor Leblanc, somewhat recovered from his exhaustion, was with them. He had covered himself from head to foot with insect repellent, and had hired an Indian named Karakawe to fan him constantly with a banana leaf. Leblanc demanded that the expedition set off for the Upper Orinoco the very next morning, because he could not waste time in this insignificant little village. He had only three weeks to trap the strange jungle creature, he said.
“For years now, no one has been able to do that, Professor,” César Santos pointed out.
“It will have to show up soon, because I am scheduled to give a series of lectures in Europe,” Leblanc replied.
“I am sure the Beast will respect your timetable,” said the guide, but the professor showed no sign of having caught the irony.
Kate had told her grandson that the Amazon was a dangerous place for anthropologists, because they tended to lose their reason. They invented contradictory theories and fought among themselves with guns and knives. Some of them tyrannized tribes and ended up believing they were gods. One of them, totally mad, had to be taken back to his country in a straightjacket.
“I suppose you have been told that I am a member of the expedition, too, Professor Leblanc,” said Dr. Omayra Torres, whom the anthropologist kept glancing at out of the corner of his eye, impressed by her beauty.
“Nothing would please me more, mam’selle, but—”
“It’s Dr. Torres,” the physician interrupted.
“You may call me Ludovic,” offered Leblanc flirtatiously.
“And you may call me Dr. Torres,” was her curt reply.
“We will not be able to take you, my most esteemed doctor. There is barely enough space for those sponsored by International Geographic. Our budget is generous, but it has limits,” Leblanc replied.
“Then your team will not be going either, Professor. I am an employee of the National Health Service. I am here to protect the Indians. No foreigner may come in contact with them unless the necessary preventive measures are taken. They are extremely vulnerable to disease, especially those carried by Whites,” said the doctor.
“An ordinary cold can be deadly for them. One whole tribe was wiped out by a respiratory infection three years ago when journalists came to film a documentary. One of them had a cough. He gave a puff of his cigarette to an Indian and that infected the whole tribe,” added César Santos.
At that moment, there were new arrivals, Captain Ariosto, the commander of the local barracks, and Mauro Carías, the wealthiest of the local entrepreneurs. Nadia whispered to Alex that Carías was very powerful. He had business dealings with the presidents and generals of several South American countries. She added that the man didn’t have a heart in his chest but carried it in a totebag, and pointed to the leather case Carías had in his hand. Ludovic Leblanc, however, was greatly impressed with Carías, because the expedition had been organized thanks to his international contacts. He was the one who had interested International Geographic in the legend of the Beast.
“This bizarre creature has all the good people of the Upper Orinoco terrified. No one wants to go into the triangle where it is thought to live,” said Carías.
“I understand that the area has never been explored,” said Kate.
“That is true.”
“I suppose it must be very rich in minerals and precious stones,” the writer added.
“The wealth of the Amazon is found principally in the soil and in its forests,” he replied.
“And plants,” Dr. Omayra Torres intervened. “We don’t know even ten percent of the medicinal properties they contain. As the shamans and native healers disappear, we lose that knowledge forever.”
“I imagine that the Beast interferes with your business interests in that area, Señor Carías, just as the tribes do,” Kate continued, who, once she got her teeth into something, did not let go.
“The Beast is a problem for everyone. Even the soldiers are afraid of it,” Mauro Carías admitted.
“If the Beast exists, I shall find it. The man—certainly not the animal—has yet to be born who can elude Ludovic Leblanc,” proclaimed the professor, who was given to referring to himself in the third person.
&n
bsp; “Count on my soldiers, Professor,” Captain Ariosto hastened to offer. “Contrary to what my good friend Carías has said, they are brave men.”
“And you can count on all my resources as well, my dear Professor Leblanc. I have motor launches and a good radio transmitter,” Mauro Carías seconded.
“And count on me to help with any problems of illness or accidents that may arise,” Dr. Omayra Torres added smoothly, as if she didn’t recall Leblanc’s wish to exclude her from the expedition.
“As I have told you, mam’selle—”
“Doctor!” she corrected once again.
“As I have told you, the budget for this expedition is limited; we cannot take tourists,” Leblanc stated emphatically.
“I am not a tourist. The expedition cannot proceed without an authorized physician and without the necessary serum.”
“The doctor is right. Captain Ariosto will explain the law to you,” César Santos intervened. He knew the doctor and evidently was attracted to her.
“Ahem, well . . . It is true that . . . ,” the captain stammered, looking toward Mauro Carías with confusion.
“There will be no problem if you include Omayra. I myself will pay her expenses.” The entrepreneur smiled and put his arm around the young physician’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Mauro, but that will not be necessary, my expenses are paid by the government,” she said, gently freeing herself.
“I see. In that case there is nothing more to discuss. I hope we find the Beast. If not, the venture will be pointless,” spoke up the photographer Timothy Bruce.
“Trust me, young man. I have experience regarding this type of creature, and I myself have designed some infallible traps. You can see models of my traps in my study of the Abominable Snowman of the Himalayas.” The professor shot him a smile of satisfaction, at the same time gesturing to Karakawe to fan a little faster.
City of the Beasts Page 5
