by Dan Smith
‘I don’t know what I expected.’
There was barely enough light to make out the buildings littering an area that had been mined sometime in the past. Any life which had been here was stripped away and the red dirt pounded with power hoses until the ground was cratered and wrecked as if it had been carpet-bombed. Mud walls were shored up with logs, so gnarled and rotten they might collapse under a heavy rainfall.
Among the potholes and trenches and wide spaces of hollowed ground, a series of walkways crawled amongst the dilapidated wooden buildings. The paths were made from all kinds of material, whatever was to hand at the time. There was no order to the planks, logs, pieces of packing crates, cardboard and sheets of plastic that provided routes over the cloying dirt.
‘How many people live here?’ Daniella asked, still trying to take it all in.
‘Hundreds. But this is just small. I’ve heard of places that have thousands of people, all hosing the ground, trying to make a living.’
‘Trying to make a fortune.’
‘No one makes a fortune in a place like this, unless they’re the one taking a cut off the top.’
‘Hm?’
‘There’s always someone taking a cut off the top. Someone who says the land is theirs. Someone who takes a percentage.’
Daniella shook her head at what she saw before her. ‘It’s ugly.’
‘This is nothing. You should see it beyond the houses. During the day, it’s like Hell.’
Past the lights and further into the darkness, the ground was a wasteland of mud beds and craters. Within minutes of the sun rising, the noise would be like a thousand souls screaming as the hoses worked all day, cutting the ground with water pumped from the river. There would be men and women everywhere, working the main holes, panning in the igarapes, the streams that run off the main river. Like busy ants, all of them searching for that one unobtainable nugget of gold. And there were those who would kill for just the tiniest flakes of panned metal.
‘Come on,’ I said, shifting the pack on my shoulder. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’
We filtered among the primitive shelters on the outskirts of the mining town, as the sky flickered in the distance, followed by the low rumble of thunder.
‘Another storm,’ Daniella said. ‘Coming this way.’
As if in confirmation, the sky lit up over the far side of the mine, like a camera flash, bathing everything in a silvery light. It lasted only a fraction of a second but in that instant the full nightmare of the mine was revealed. From the dilapidated buildings caked with mud and grime, to the heaps of rubbish, teeming with rats and insects. Then the light was gone and the weather let out a long and threatening growl.
‘Walk faster,’ I told Daniella. ‘It’s coming.’
Once past the outskirts of this growing town, we came to more substantial buildings, constructed with more care and ability. These were the homes of the miners who had been here longer, and they were built to last. They had roofs and doors and windows. Some of them even had mosquito netting to repel the insects and keep disease at bay. Many of these buildings had been expanded with additional rooms and porches and outbuildings which split the paths and forced them into a warren of alleys and lanes through the mud.
It reminded me of my home in Rio; the never-ending maze of the favela built into the hillside. As if the place itself were alive, always seeking to swallow new people and stretch itself out. Fat and bloated, like a diseased creature whose appetite can never be satisfied.
Our footfall was light on the wooden walkways that snaked among the buildings.
‘You know where we’re going?’ Daniella asked. She kept her voice to almost a whisper, but if I’d asked her why, she wouldn’t have been able to explain it. There was just something about this place that made her want to feel unnoticed; something unpleasant and threatening.
‘It’s changed since I was last here.’ I stopped to check my bearings, identifying a route to the building we were aiming for. ‘It’s bigger. More houses. More paths.’
‘When were you here?’
‘Six months ago. Maybe a bit more.’
‘And it’s changed that much?’
‘Places like this are always changing and ... That’s where we’re going.’ I pointed to a large building built higher up, on a rise. ‘Fernanda’s. That’s where she’ll be.’
‘Who? Where who will be?’
‘No one. It’s where we’ll get supplies,’ I said. ‘There’s a bar there, too.’
‘That’s the shop?’
‘Shop, hotel, bar, brothel. The woman who ran that place last time I was here was doing everything.’ I took Daniella’s hand and started walking again.
We navigated the slippery catwalks, heading towards and then away from the building as we followed the pathways. We passed one or two people still sitting outside their shacks despite the approaching storm. People drinking, talking, arguing, playing guitars or listening to music on old tape players. Some watched us, following our progression with suspicious eyes, but most smiled, raised a hand and wished us luck.
‘Why do they wish us luck?’ Daniella asked.
‘Luck that we’ll find gold. They think we’re miners like them. Your disguise must be working. Maybe they can smell you.’
Daniella nudged me hard in the arm, feeling more relaxed now that we were among people, knowing they were not hostile towards us. I had warned her about this place, made her fear it before she came here, but it was best to keep her on her guard. These were not bad people, they were here to earn a living just like anyone else, but when gold and drink and drugs come together, lead and steel and iron are never far out of mind.
I felt the first spots of rain on my shoulders and took Daniella’s hand. ‘Come on,’ I said, picking up my pace, knowing the storm would be on us soon.
As we went, I looked out towards the place where the miners would be working tomorrow. Hell had not been an unfair description for it. Further away, though, beyond that area of activity, there were countless abandoned and water-filled holes; the perfect place for something to disappear.
From Fernanda’s, I estimated it would take a fit man no more than ten minutes to walk out there in the dark. Perhaps twenty if he were carrying a heavy burden.
Just one more life, the shadow whispered.
50
Fernanda’s was central to the whole mining community. Set on the top of a rise, along with some of the older buildings, it was where the original garimpeiros had settled. The hotel had started out as just a small shack, but Fernanda had been here as long as anyone, and she had expanded her empire in the mud.
Without the sophistication to build on two levels, Fernanda’s had sprawled outwards as far as it could, devouring the neighbouring plots when others had moved away, given up, or died. Maybe Fernanda had bought some of them out or even pushed people away. She was a resourceful woman.
The rain was falling hard by the time we reached her place. It was rattling on the tin roofs and pounding the wooden walkways, becoming harder with every step we took. When we made it under the roof that covered the exterior of Fernanda’s place, we were both soaked through.
There was music here. Louder than we’d heard elsewhere, and there were many voices to compete with the white noise of the insects and the rain that hammered at the covering over our heads.
A generator thumped somewhere in the background, providing power to this outlandish community, and the damp earth was littered with a nest of cabling running in every direction. Sometimes the snaking wires were lifted from the ground by crude telegraph poles, sometimes they ran across the roofs of the buildings, but they always found their way back to lie in the mud, waiting for an opportunity to split and let loose their deadly current.
Straight in front of us, as we came up the walkway, one end of Fernanda’s complex was given over to a store. Not a shop, like we had in Piratinga, because the people of Mina dos Santos couldn’t be trusted in a shop. Here, everything was sold through a hatch in
a wooden wall, beyond which dim orange lights lit the goods that lined the shelves. There was everything a miner could need, from biscuits to rice and ammunition to alcohol. And if Fernanda didn’t have what you wanted, she would get it for you.
At a price.
A dog, crouched between bony paws, lifted its nose and sniffed the air as we approached. Seeing nothing of interest, it rested its chin again and followed us with sad brown eyes.
Inside the store, two women broke from their conversation as we came close, and one of them shuffled over to lean on the counter, looking bored. ‘What you need?’
I wiped my face and scanned the shelves, wondering what Santiago might want for his stay on the sandbank if we couldn’t get him free in the morning. Something cheap that would last him. Something I could use if it turned out he didn’t need it any more. Rice. Beans. Some beer, maybe, a bottle of pinga to keep them going. I glanced down and spotted the shotgun by the counter before looking the woman in the eye and telling her what we needed.
She scribbled it all down on a pink pad and then jabbed the prices into a calculator.
‘You want to have a drink while she puts it together?’ I said to Daniella as I placed the notes on the rough counter. ‘See some more of this place?’
Daniella pushed back her wet hair and glanced around looking doubtful, but she nodded her head. ‘OK.’
I couldn’t tell if she was being brave or inquisitive, but it was a good opportunity for me to do what I had really come here for. I didn’t want to leave Daniella, but I couldn’t see any other way, and if she was alone inside Fernanda’s for a while, she’d be fine.
‘What time d’you close?’ I asked the woman behind the counter.
‘We never close,’ she said.
‘I’ll come back for it, OK?’
The woman shrugged and scooped the notes from the counter. ‘You paid for it. It’s your stuff.’
‘You’ll remember me?’
‘I’II remember you.’
I nodded and put a hand on Daniella’s arm, guiding her to walk beside me.
We moved away from the store, keeping under cover along the boarded path, passing a group of women standing outside part of Fernanda’s complex.
The women here were working, two of them standing together, leaning against the wall, talking and laughing loudly. One of them, an Indian girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, stood straight and stepped towards me when she saw me coming. Her flat stomach and discernible ribcage were naked, while her developing chest was barely covered by the faded yellow bikini top. Tight blue shorts hugged her hips so closely that almost every contour of her was visible. She had tattoos around her calves, crude flip-flops on her feet and she flicked her hair from her face as she approached, backing away when she spotted Daniella beside me. She smiled anyway, just in case she caught my eye and I decided to use her services later.
As we passed, a man came out from the doorway beside which the women stood. He had his arm around a girl, but the moment they were outside, she disentangled herself from him and went straight to the other women. She adjusted the crotch of her shorts before lighting a cigarette and joining the conversation. The man who had been with her stumbled in front of us and headed for another drink.
We followed him, coming to a large boarded area, open at the sides but roofed with a combination of foliage and sheet plastic that amplified the sound of the rain. The heavy drops battered it with a hollow discord, attacking it from all angles. It pounded the ground outside, splashing mud in all directions, and thrashed the paths with such force that it broke into a mist and sprayed the boarded area, but no one took any notice of it.
The original building was set back from where we were standing now, and to get to it we had to pass through the throng of people. It seemed as though almost the whole town congregated here at night, there was a lot of noise and people, and I guessed that Fernanda didn’t have to do too much of the conventional gold digging to earn a fortune in this place.
To one side of the large, open area, a band of four men provided something close to music. An accordion, some drums and a couple of guitars hammered out a samba rhythm that was as disjointed as Mina dos Santos. Around them, miners were dancing, shuffling their feet and twisting with the women.
Beside the band, almost central to the boarded area, stood a pool table with pieces of cardboard wedged beneath its feet to keep it level. There were players around the table, a few balls still unpocketed. At the back, along the edge of the main building, two women stood behind a bar built from brick, the whitewash now stained a dirty brown. They were serving drinks – mostly beer and pinga – to the men who crowded round them.
‘We’ll head inside,’ I said to Daniella, raising my voice and leaning to speak closer to her ear. When she looked at me, I pointed to the main building, at the far end of the covered area. ‘There’s another bar inside. It should be quieter.’
Daniella nodded and showed me a thumbs up.
Away from the music and the weather and with the door closed, it was calmer in here. There were tables, all of them occupied, and there was a crowd at the bar, but the people were quieter, and while there was still the rain on the roof, it was softer. The windows still allowed the breeze to enter and the lightning to illuminate the room in flashes, but there was a different atmosphere.
‘That’s Fernanda,’ I said to Daniella. The woman behind the bar.’
We picked our way through the busy tables and found a space among the drinkers.
‘Two beers.’ I held up two fingers as Fernanda came over.
She nodded once, stopped and looked me up and down. A big woman – strong, not fat – Fernanda looked like she was used to hard work. Her broad shoulders were those of someone who was used to carrying heavy weights, and her arms and neck were thick with muscle. She was wearing tight jeans around her ample thighs, an old pink T-shirt to cover her large breasts and a floppy sun hat that was printed with a jungle camouflage design. She reached up and pushed back the hat, narrowing her small eyes and putting her fingers to her chin.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I—’
‘No wait,’ she cut me off. ‘I never forget anyone. It’ll come to me.’ She took two bottles of Brahma from a fridge behind the counter and flipped off the tops with two quick flicks of her wrist. ‘It must have been a while ago,’ she said, putting the bottles in front of us. ‘There’s a lot of new faces here right now. It’s getting harder to remember them all.’
‘A lot of new faces?’
‘Mm.’
I waited for her to go on, wondering if the new faces were anything to do with Leonardo and the crates of guns he was bringing to the mine. Hadn’t he said something about landowners and the expansion of the mine?
Fernanda remained as she was, though, mouth held tight, eyes narrowed as if she were deciding what she thought of me.
I handed a bottle to Daniella and took a long drink.
‘You weren’t together,’ Fernanda finally said, pointing at Daniella. ‘I’d definitely remember a beautiful girl like you.’ She glanced at me for second, saying, ‘You were with an older guy but I haven’t see you before.’ She leaned over the counter and looked at Daniella’s clothes. ‘Those aren’t yours, are they?’
Daniella smiled, pleased that someone thought she deserved better.
‘Good idea, though. Pretty girl like you, dressed nice, there’d be men round you in a flash. Like flies round a dog’s arse.’ She studied Daniella’s face. ‘You’re a pretty girl. People would pay good money for you. You want a job?’
I opened my mouth to say something, but Fernanda saw the look in my eyes and held up a hand. ‘Sorry. Habit. I didn’t mean to insult her. She’s beautiful, maybe too good for you ... um ...’ She snapped her fingers and stood up straight. ‘You bought supplies from me six, eight months ago. There was a brawl that night and you helped to calm things down. The old man who was with you ... I liked him. How is he?’
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‘Bad,’ I said. ‘Fever.’
‘We get plenty of that round here. Every day someone gets fever. Mostly gold fever, but there’s other types too. The kind you get when you end up living like pigs.’ She leaned forward and put her forearms on the bar, muscles bulging like a boxer’s. ‘People get cholera when you live dirty, so I’m going to start piping clean water.’
Daniella watched for my reaction when Fernanda mentioned cholera. She would be thinking about how my mother died, so I shook my head, letting her know I was all right.
‘That’s my next project.’ Fernanda saw the exchange but chose to ignore it. ‘Clean water. I do what I can to make life better.’
I nodded, thinking maybe she did whatever she could to make her own life better, not other people’s. She’d lighten their pockets, help them spend whatever gold flakes they panned that day, keep them right where they were. That’s what happened in places like Mina dos Santos – people found gold, sold it and spent the money. People never left because they made a fortune. They left because they were sick or tired or dead.
‘So what brings you to Mina dos Santos tonight?’ she asked.
‘We brought passengers. Two women. They staying in your hotel?’ I tried to sound conversational.
At the far end of the building there were rooms, but ‘hotel’ was too grand a word for it. It was more like a shed that was partitioned with flimsy boards. It was stuffy, dirty, full of bugs, and the noise from the bar stopped anyone from sleeping. Turn off the lights in one of those rooms and the place was alive with roaches. No one ever slept with the lights off in Fernanda’s.
‘They might be,’ she said.
‘You’re looking for Dolores?’ Daniella asked me. ‘Why are you looking for her?’
‘I’m not. Just making conversation.’ I looked up at the clock behind the bar. Half past nine. It would be a while before it was quiet enough to sleep, but she might be in bed, watching the bugs climb the wall.
‘You know who they are?’ Fernanda asked, glancing behind me. ‘Your passengers? You know why they’re here?’
