by Dan Smith
Behind her, from the path that opened onto the bank, a trail of blood marked the journey to where she now lay.
Dolores had a hand to her mouth, her eyes closed, and was muttering an inaudible prayer while Kássia stood sentry.
I looked away from the dead woman, not wanting to see the images that were trying to fill my head. My sister’s face burned through everything.
‘We need to go,’ I said as I tried to push the visions away. ‘It’s not safe here.’
Kássia nodded, but refused to take her eyes from the line of trees.
‘Someone is going to come looking for this woman,’ I said. ‘Whoever did this is still in there. We heard the shot. They’re going to come looking.’
‘Yes.’
‘We have to go.’
Sister Beckett sat back on her haunches and pushed to her feet. ‘This woman is Xavante.’
‘What does it matter?’ I asked. ‘We need to leave. Now. You don’t want to end up like—’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We must see if anyone else needs our help.’
‘No way. Definitely not.’
But Dolores ignored me. She headed straight to the wall of dirt that bordered the beach, and hauled herself up amongst the shrubs. Kássia followed.
I looked back at the Deus, raising my hands to Daniella in exasperation, then I, too, followed.
‘Wait,’ I said, trying to keep my voice to a whisper. ‘Sister Beckett; wait a second.’
She stopped. ‘I’m not leaving without—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said. ‘Sure. Fine. But let’s not stomp in there like a startled tapir, OK? Let’s be a little quieter. You heard that shot right? A gunshot? That means someone has a gun and they might shoot at us.’ I tried not to sound as if I were talking to an imbecile. ‘You don’t want them to know we’re coming.’
She thought about what I’d said. ‘OK, Zico. You’re right.’
‘Well at least that’s something. And you,’ I asked Kássia. ‘You’re really not armed?’
‘Only with our words,’ Dolores answered for her.
‘But you know how to use a weapon, right?’ I took the smaller of my two pistols and held it out to Kássia. ‘Otherwise why are you here?’
‘No guns, Zico. Kássia is my companion,’ Dolores said.
‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘And we all need a companion who looks like she’s trained.’
‘Kássia does not need a weapon, Zico.’
‘I say she does.’ I tried to press the pistol into her hand.
Dolores opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off saying, ‘Let her speak for herself. She has a tongue, right?’
Kássia shook her head and refused the weapon.
‘Fine.’ I held out a hand. ‘After you then.’
Sister Beckett remained where she was, sizing me up. ‘How do you know my name is Sister Beckett?’
‘What?’
‘Before, coming off the boat, you called me Sister Beckett. And again just a few moments ago.’
‘Did I? You must have said. Look, we really haven’t got time to—’
‘I told you my name is Dolores.’
‘We shouldn’t be standing here,’ I said.
Sister Dolores Beckett looked into me again, as if she knew exactly who and what I was; as if she knew my intention. Then she adjusted her glasses and stepped to one side.
‘Lead the way, Zico. I am in your hands now.’
46
A worn path cut through the trees and emerged into a small, planted area of corn that had grown almost to head height. The stalks were in neat rows, and were well tended, but there was something menacing about the way they stood straight and still, with only the slightest breeze rustling through them. The leaves buzzed in the waft of warm air, creating an unnerving hush, and even the insects paused as we entered the plot. Their humming and creaking stopped, the silence ringing in our ears, our footsteps soundless on the red earth.
Once we were moving among the plants, though, the insects began their song once more, stopping as we reached them and restarting when we had passed. Their music washed around us like a wave, just as the water cut and washed around the bow of the Deus.
On either side of the small cornfield, manioc grew in lines, and beyond that, a meagre collection of primitive buildings was huddled in a clearing. There were six in all, three on either side of a track which cut to the edge of the clearing and disappeared among the trees at the far side.
Behind the shacks to the left of the track, a large cleared area was strewn with ash and the charred remains of trees which hadn’t been consumed by the burn. Weak wafts of greenwood smoke rose from that place, spinning, spiralling, thinning and disappearing as they met the air above where vultures waited in the treetops.
The sombre creatures hopped from one foot to another, opening their wings like storm cloaks and screeching to one another. Their calls echoed in the still and overbearing heat of the dull afternoon, reminding me of the day Costa forced this job on me; the day the old man had chased the vultures from his roof, telling me it was a sign of death to have them there.
I had laughed then, but I wasn’t laughing now.
‘Smallholding.’ Sister Beckett said to herself as we watched the settlement from the edge of the cornfield.
Already, the shadow closed around me. Ahead, there was the unknown, and behind, there was Kássia.
I hadn’t felt her as a threat before, but I was beginning to think that Sister Beckett knew my intention towards her. And I was certain that Kássia was more dangerous than she appeared.
‘We have to go and look,’ Sister Beckett said, and I stepped deeper among the corn, forging a route towards the buildings.
Some of the plants were bent towards us, broken off and trampled, and there were traces of blood on the ears, their trailing silks like brushes dipped in crimson.
‘She came this way.’ Kássia spoke to me, her eyes going to the pistol in my hand. ‘Bleeding the whole way. She was strong.’ She leaned close to my ear. ‘I hope you know how to use that thing.’
We emerged from the corn and came to a stop, standing at its periphery, three of us in a line, Sister Beckett in the centre.
Five metres away, the closest of the buildings on this side of the track stood with its door swung open to the flattened dirt in front of it. A crude construction of mud bricks baked dry in the sun. Young trees had been cut from the forest to provide roof beams and supports, and palm fronds had been laid over them for shelter. The door was designed with some expertise using similar saplings, cut to exactly the right size and shape, then bound with a weave of palm leaves.
At our feet, the spots and sprays of blood led to a grisly pattern of deep red that was soaked into the earth on the track. Its dark, uneven shape was etched into the ground as a grotesque reminder of what had happened here.
On the shack itself, a rope was trailing over the roof support on the near side of the door, pulled taut, its tail tied off to a sturdy tree. On the other end of the rope, a bare-chested man was hanging by his neck so he was just centimetres from the ground.
His arms were tied behind his back, his dry toes brushing the dust, his chin pulled up and to the side. His face was a palette of blood and bruises and his eyes bulged in the indignity of his death.
He was dressed only in a pair of shorts, emerald green with a white stripe on the side.
There were others there, too. Other bodies that were defiled and brought together on the patch of land that had recently been cleared.
I could see now that not only charred trees lay scattered in the fresh burn, but a tangle of limbs, both male and female, lay there too. And there were limbs that belonged to neither man nor woman. Childish hands that were yet to grow but were now reduced to lifeless skin and bone and flesh.
It was obvious to me that the bodies were to be burned, and that whoever had perpetrated this slaughter was still here, finalising their massacre.
I put my hand on Sister Beckett’s shoul
der and whispered. ‘Are you ready to go now? Have you seen enough?’
As I spoke, though, a man stepped out of the building in front of us, with a rifle in one hand and a blood-etched machete in his belt. He stopped to look down at the stain before him. ‘Caralho.’ He kicked at the mark. ‘Where the fuck did she go?’ And he saw the trail on the ground, followed it with a turn of his head, looked up, eyes dark under the brim of his hat, and saw us, standing in a line, watching him.
Sister Beckett took a sharp, involuntary breath.
We all remained still, as if frozen. Wondering, calculating. The cicadas continued their indifferent chorus.
Then the man shifted his rifle, taking it in both hands and turning it on us.
So I raised my pistol and shot him through the heart.
The report was startling in that place of death and darkness. A hollow and intrusive sound, accompanied by a wisp of powder smoke hanging in my face before breaking up and vanishing.
The man took a step back, confusion in his eyes, and released the rifle, which clattered to the dirt. He stood for a second in the ringing silence, blood beginning to show on his shirt, then his legs weakened and he fell to his knees, tottering as if in prayer, before falling forward on his face and lying still.
Then a voice called out into the grey afternoon.
‘Edson!’
Kássia pushed Sister Beckett to the ground, taking her low, making her small, and crouching in front of her as a second figure stepped out of the building, straight into my line of fire. This one didn’t have time to take his eyes off his dead partner before I shot him in the chest, knocking him back against the doorframe, his body turning as he crumpled to the ground.
And then came more.
Two men appeared from behind the other buildings, running out into the path and spotting their friends. I fired on them too, but they weren’t so close and my first shot went wide, kicking dust.
I dropped to my knees, aiming along the sights, wishing I had one of Leonardo’s rifles, and I fired again as they ran to find cover.
‘We have to get out of here.’ Kássia spoke now. ‘We have to get her away.’
‘They’ll follow,’ I said.
‘Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t.’ Kássia took hold of Sister Beckett and pulled her to her feet as the men took their first shots at us. She kept hold of the nun and ran her to the side of the nearest building, taking cover behind its thick wooden and brick walls.
I fired another shot and followed, hitting the wall at a run, putting my hands out to stop myself.
Now everything was silent except for the regular gasp of our breathing.
Sister Beckett was white, all colour drained from her face, and she was shaking her head, staring at me. ‘You killed that man.’
‘I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t come up here.’
‘But—’
‘What else could I have done? Should I have let him kill you?’
‘No, but—’
‘Well, of course I killed him. What world do you live in, dragging us up here to get shot at, thinking you can just walk in and talk to these people?’
‘We had to do something.’
‘We should have left. You should have done what I told you and we should have left.’
Sister Beckett stared, open mouthed, flinching when another shot cracked somewhere close and wood splintered from the corner of the building, the lead whistling as it altered course and crashed somewhere amongst the trees.
‘Take this.’ I handed my pistol to Kássia. ‘Just take it. Two shots left. I want you to let them know you’re still here.’
‘What are you going to do?’ She looked at it.
‘Go round the back.’ I drew the other pistol. ‘If they think we’re still here ...’ I shrugged. ‘It’s the best we can do. We can’t wait for them to come and get us.’
Kássia nodded, taking the pistol.
‘I’m guessing you don’t need me to tell you how to use it.’
Kássia took a deep breath and wrapped her fingers round the handle. ‘Go.’ She leaned out from the edge of the building and fired into the street. ‘Only one left.’
Circling the house, I made my way along the rear of the buildings, watching for the pistoleiros, expecting to meet them at any moment. It wasn’t until I heard Kássia fire the final shot from my pistol, though, that I leaned around the wall of the last shack to see the two men taking cover with their backs to me.
Without any warning, I shot the first through the back of the head, blood spraying the second man who flinched away in surprise. My second bullet caught him in the cheek, tearing through the thin flesh. He howled in pain and I fired again, this time hitting him behind the ear, his noise ceasing immediately, his head jerking to the side and banging against the wall, leaving a glistening patch against the dark wood.
I had seen only these two men taking cover, but I couldn’t assume they were alone, so I returned the way I had come, finding Kássia and Sister Beckett just as I had left them. ‘Let’s go,’ I said taking my pistol. ‘Pick her up and let’s get out of here.’
Kássia and Sister Beckett led the way through the corn, and I followed, walking backwards, keeping my eyes on the settlement, watching for movement but seeing nothing.
‘You killed those men.’ Sister Beckett was saying behind me. ‘You killed them.’
‘Yes I killed them,’ I said, without looking at her. ‘And if I hadn’t—’ I heard a loud cry and whipped around to see a man come from behind a tree at the side of the path, swinging a machete.
Kássia raised her arm to protect herself and the blade caught her high on the bicep, slicing through her skin just below the sleeve of her T-shirt, drawing blood and peeling flesh as it glanced away and the man retracted, ready to strike again.
I raised my pistol, but Sister Beckett and Kássia blocked my angle, so I moved into the trees looking for a shot as the man raised the machete for a second strike.
As he lifted the blade, though, Kássia pushed Sister Beckett away from her and grasped the man’s arm. She held it firm as she slipped round behind him, raising her left hand to his throat.
From where I was standing, there was no shot to take without risking Kássia’s life, but I could see that she was more than capable of defending herself, for her left hand was not empty. She had produced a blade of her own from somewhere – narrow and no more than ten or twelve centimetres of bright steel – and she slipped it, point first, into the hollow of the man’s neck. In and out, like she had slid it into wet sand, and then the blade was gone and she was stepping away from him as he reeled, hands to his throat, blood bubbling from his lips.
Kássia didn’t wait, didn’t watch, she went straight to Sister Beckett, pulled her to her feet and continued along the path, coming out to the beach where Daniella was at the gunwale of the Deus.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ she asked as we reached the boat and I pushed Kássia ahead of me, urging her to climb. The wound on her arm was superficial, but a flap of skin was hanging, folded back, and blood was coursing down her arm into the water.
I could hear Leonardo calling out, saying, ‘Cut me loose and give me a gun, Carioca. I can help.’
‘Get to the wheel,’ I shouted at Daniella as Kássia climbed over the gunwale and turned to take Sister Beckett’s hand. ‘Get us moving.’
I put my shoulder under Sister Beckett’s backside as she climbed, and found a hold on the Deus, pushing her up ahead of me.
As soon as we were on the deck, I went to Daniella, taking the rifle and leaning it across the gunwale, pointing it at the beach while she throttled the engine and took us away from the shore.
As we headed out into the river, I waited like that, ignoring Daniella’s questions, ignoring Leonardo’s calls for me to arm him, and braced myself for further shots until the beach was out of sight.
When we had finally left that place of death behind us, I came away from the gunwale and went to Kássia. I h
ad intended to dress her wound, but already her upper arm was wrapped in a bandage. She was sitting with her head in her hands, while Sister Beckett stood over her, speaking in quiet but harsh tones.
‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ I told her, but she didn’t acknowledge me other than to sniff her disapproval.
‘What happened?’ Leonardo was shifting in his seat, struggling to be free from his bonds. He looked back at the shore. ‘Someone going to come after us? Cut me loose, for Christ’s sake. Don’t let me die tied up like an animal.’
‘No one’s dying.’ I shook my head and went to Daniella, sitting beside her behind the wheel, ignoring Leonardo’s calls until he finally gave up.
‘You going to tell me what happened now?’ Daniella asked.
‘Stupid woman.’
‘What?’ ‘Not you. Her. She wouldn’t listen to me, and look what happened,’ I told Daniella what we had seen in the settlement, and about the men I shot.
‘You killed them?’
I could feel Daniella watching me and wondered if she was judging me.
‘I had to.’ I took out my pistols, reached for the spare cartridges I’d left beneath the dash.
Daniella was silent beside me as I reloaded the chambers. She kept her hands on the wheel, moving them only when the river required it. I could feel her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest close to mine, squeezed together as we were on the seat. My fingers were trembling as I replayed the incident in the settlement. The men I had killed, the bodies I had seen. How many people were dead in that place? Ten? Twenty? Children, too. Maybe I would be dead if the men had been carrying weapons like the ones in the boxes at the back of the boat. Those boxes were as full of death as they were full of guns.
‘How did it feel?’
‘Huh?’
‘How did it feel?’ she asked. ‘Killing those men?’
I snapped the cylinder shut and looked at her.
Those men had deserved it. The things they had done to the people in that village had earned them the deaths I had given them. ‘I did what I had to do to protect us.’
