by James Gray
“Parada!” he yelled. (Stop!)
Almost immediately, two others uncovered their weapons. As they came alongside us, one took a pistol shot at our outboards. That was it. We were dead in the water. A lot of shouting ensued.
“Ramôn! Hijo de puta!” Valeska screamed, but to no avail.
“We got orders from our boss. He wants you back on board.”
In an instant, two goons grabbed her and began pulling her on board their boat. I bolted from under the tarp only to receive a rifle butt on the head. That’s all I remembered.
It was a lucky thing that I survived the hit. I had already received a few solid whacks on the head since coming to Honduras, and the odds of serious brain damage were growing. But I guess I had a thick skull. However, when I came to, nothing seemed to make any sense. I could feel sand in my hands and I could hear water close by. There was also something covering my eyes. It felt like a damp towel. Then I figured out that I was lying on the shore. A moment later, I slid the towel off my forehead and squinted. Even though the sky was thick with clouds, the daylight made me squint. Focusing, I saw María nearby rinsing out some bloodstained bandages, and over by the water’s edge, I could see Peter-Pedro and his brother standing in the rain around our boats. My head started to throb as I attempted to speak.
“What the hell happened?”
“Shhh,” said María. “You were hit on the head with the butt of an AK-47. They threatened to kill Valeska, so there was nothing more we could do to stop them taking her away.” My heart sank. Valeska was in real trouble and we had to get her back.
“After they left, we had to paddle like hell to reach the riverbank because they shot at our outboard motors.”
My eyes focused on Eddy who was sitting nearby smoking a cigarette. He stood and came over.
“How do you feel?”
“Like shit. But I’ll survive. Eddy, we have to find Valeska.” I felt completely weak and dizzy.
“It was Barker’s gang; they are long gone by now,” he said.
I suddenly realized I had a front tooth missing. I fingered the gap.
“That happened when you fell on the side of the boat. You went down hard.”
Pete-Pedro came over and knelt down on the sand beside me.
“Perhaps we can try to catch up with them after the storm blows over. They are going to transfer their cargo to the big lancha. I have a feeling that they will run out of gas before they reach the coast.”
“Goddamn it, I knew it was going to be dangerous, but …” and I vomited. Valeska was gone. I washed in the river and hobbled back to the shelter of the wide-leafed trees.
“I had the mini-camera going,” Eddy remarked. “The whole scene is recorded, for what it’s worth.”
“Yeah, for what it’s worth, but my mind isn’t on the film right now.”
It was all starting to sink in. We had to get back to the coast and fast. “Our plans have to change. We’ve got to find Valeska.”
Peter-Pedro came over from where he had been working with Chili on the outboards.
“After that guy grabbed Valeska, there was nothing we could do, my friend, nothing at all. It was a standoff. Now we’ll have to wait for the bad weather to pass.”
I stood up slowly, then limped over to Chili. He seemed preoccupied with trying to save the outboards. “I did what I could; it happened so fast. Now, our only hope is to get to our planned destination before dark. The river is rising fast and soon the current will be too powerful to motor against it,” he said. He leaned up against a big rock that had a Mayan carving covering its bottom half.
“We have to catch up with Valeska,” I said.
“It’s impossible. They have a head start and bigger engines than ours. Besides, the weather will get much worse tonight, so our best and only plan is to reach Casa Tio upriver, where we will at least be safe and dry. From there, we can figure out a plan. The good news is that we’ll shortly have two outboard engines again. And the faster I stop talking, the sooner they’ll be fixed. I promise we’ll be out of here in an hour.”
It was almost dark when our two pipantes touched the sandbar in front of our next stop. On a sign nailed to a very large tree hanging over the river was written Casa Tio. We were all soaked to the skin but glad to be able to stand and stretch. I looked around and saw that Chili-Chili had started to unscrew the two lugs that held his outboard to the boat. It was the end of the line.
“Everything has to go up to Casa Tio. In a few hours, the river is going to become angry. There will be no more sandbank, and even the spot under our feet will be underwater. There will be lots of current, too much for us to continue. We could be stuck here for a few days.” My morale started to sink. After coming this far, the whole expedition was now in danger. But what could I do? What could anybody do? We emptied the boats, then hauled them up to high ground for safety. Because of the thick overhead clouds, night’s curtain had fallen fast and heavy. But when we finished moving everything up to higher ground, there was already a warm glow coming from inside the hut and a delicious aroma of turtle soup filled our cozy little shelter.
As they brought up the last case of equipment from the boat, I asked, “Where is Uncle Tio anyway?”
“In the other world,” said Peter-Pedro. Then he smiled and lowered his gaze.
“We miss him a lot,” he said and went inside the hut.
Uncle Tio must have liked living here. The hut was well built and much more spacious than where we had stayed the night before. That was a lucky thing, because once all the gear was inside, there was still enough room to move around. At one end, there was a low table surrounded by four wooden benches. In one corner, there was some dry firewood. There were a few dishes, pots and a sink with running rainwater that came from a cistern out back. Underneath a small lean-to near the house, there was a lot more firewood. I took out more candles and spread them around the room, and gradually the place began to feel like home, even if the roof leaked a little.
As María prepared something to eat, we straightened out the gear and hung up our wet clothes to dry on a long cord that stretched along one side. Chili-Chili gently rubbed María’s shoulders as she cut up some mangoes. It was the first time that I had seen her tense. She had been working hard and was starting to worry about her son and about Anton, back at Barra Patuca. The storm must be in full swing there and she must have sensed full well that it was far from being over.
She wasn’t the only one who had something to worry about. I couldn’t stop thinking about my Valeska. What had happened was a catastrophe. And now a serious hurricane was about to run over the top of my schooner and I wasn’t even there to do anything about it. I might lose Valeska to some goons, and Numada to a storm. And we were stuck in the middle of nowhere and running out of supplies.
Outside our snug little shelter’s walls, the trees were shaking like a bunch of voodoo fanatics during a fire ant attack. Their loud rustling sound came in waves. Sometimes, something would groan, crack or fall to the ground with a dull thump, but we were well-protected among the trees, and for the moment there was really nothing to worry about.
Later on that evening, the wind began to blow even harder. In the flickering candlelight, we sat around the table and told storm stories. And just when the meal was ready, a steady stream of water leaked through the roof and fell into Cowboy George’s bowl of soup. This gave everybody a good laugh and broke the tension a little.
Later, Peter-Pedro put on his plastic poncho and went down to the river for a quick look. When he came back, he looked worried. “Mira amigos, the sandbank is under water and it’s only the beginning. I’m afraid that the river is about to go wild.”
For me, the news was another blow. It meant that we wouldn’t be going back to search for Valeska for at least three or four days. She was on her own. I couldn’t think straight anymore. At times, I felt like jumping in one of the boats and riding the current back to Barra Patuca. Impossible. It would have been suicide, for sure. A dug-out
canoe with a puny outboard hanging off the stern was no match for that raging torrent.
I had to stay positive. We were all in good health; we had shelter, and some rice, a few dozen eggs, flour, tea and some canned food. When we finished that, we would be able to live off the land, but living off the land would be a full-time job if we wanted to keep our stomachs full. Chili-Chili said that food would be hard to find unless we came across a trapped animal or some iguanas up in the hills. Apparently there were lots of iguanas living up in rocky outcrop not too far from our own shelter. And nearby, fallen coconuts were everywhere. It was the torrential rain that worried me. When would it stop, and when it did, how fast could we get back to the coast?
VALESKA
After they grabbed Valeska, Ramón made sure that she wouldn’t be able to move. He put her facedown in the pipante, then tied her feet and her hands.
“How do you like that? I’ll bail out the water if you are a good girl. If not, I’ll let you drown. You’ve got a nice ass though,” he said, and grabbed her rear with two hands. “And in this position, you’re not too dangerous to fuck.”
Valeska tried to relax, but she was fuming. Ramón had always been a menace. She had never trusted him even when things were going well with Barker. He was simply warped, a sicko, a pervert. She lay facedown in the dirty bilge water and imagined how she would get even when she escaped.
When their boats finally reached the big lancha that they had hid in the creek, it was late at night and the storm was gaining strength. Ramón noticed right away that their reserve gas cans had been stolen and flew into a rage. However, because of the strong current, they were sure that they could make it with what they already had in the fuel tank built underneath the floor. Once the cases were transferred into the other lancha, Ramón and his gang covered its entire length with a large tarp and slept, but not before fastening Valeska in the front of the boat under the short bow deck. She told him that she had to pee so he untied her and gave her a bucket. When she urinated, the guys laughed and hooted. After she pulled up her pants, she took the bucket and threw it in their faces.
“This is what you all deserve!” she yelled.
Ramón gave her a solid shove, making her tumble onto her back. “One more like that and I’ll turn you over to my friend over there. How would you like that, Freddy? I think you could do a real good job on that little bitch.”
The big Garifuna grinned and nodded and rubbed his crotch.
“So crawl back into your hole and stay out of sight or else my oversized friend here will stick it to you real good.”
Valeska had no choice. She spent the rest of the night with her hands tied to the gunnel and sitting on a coil of rope as the rain pounded down on the deck above her head. For the first time in her life, she was beginning to wonder if she would survive. She kept thinking about Barker and how much she hated him, and how she would make sure he wouldn’t get away with what he did to her and her uncle.
At first light, the wind and rain were fierce. But they had no choice, so the big lancha slipped into the swirling current and quickly headed downstream toward the coast.
Meanwhile, up at Uncle Tio’s camp, the low black clouds swirled overhead as if they had been placed in a giant mixer. Heavy rain was still hammering down and the fierce gusts of wind were making the trees crack and moan. Just a stone’s throw from the camp, the Patuca River had risen considerably and was filled with debris. I caught a glimpse of the remains of a wooden dock as it rushed by, followed by an overturned pipante and a small thatched roof. Someone upstream had just lost everything. Close to our shelter, a mature tree suddenly split right down the middle, but miraculously stayed standing.
I felt so useless; that was the worst part. We were stuck, prisoners of a vicious storm. Storm or not, something had to give.
“All is not lost, you guys. We’ll find Valeska sooner or later. They won’t kill her. I’m sure of it,” said Peter-Pedro. “She is worth more alive than dead. Meanwhile, instead of waiting around like turtles on a log, my brother and I will show you something very special not far from here, a place that will take your minds off our mishap.”
I saw Cowboy George and Eddy immediately come to life. We had to continue — the Lopez brothers were right; sitting around was the worst thing to do. So we packed a few small bags of food, prepared the camera for some serious weather, and followed our two guides into the storm, disappearing into a narrow trail heading to the hills. It wasn’t long before our sortie turned into an adventure. The path was overgrown and strewn with fallen branches. On steeper ground, the mud made walking slippery and even dangerous. After a seemingly endless stretch of climbing, we finally reached a narrow path that cut into a wall of white rock. On one side of the escarpment, the tallest treetops were at least one hundred feet below us.
“Just look ahead and don’t think too much,” Peter-Pedro advised.
At the other end of the passage, we scrambled over a series of large mounds covered with vegetation and tangled roots until we finally emerged on an immense flat terrace of cut stone. At the far end was an opening that led into another mound. We stopped and organized our wet gear. We were soaked to the skin. As I wiped the water and mud from my eyes, I noticed something particular about the rock. It seemed cut by hand.
“Hey, Chili, this really looks like some kind of ancient Mayan ruin, don’t you think?” I said.
“I was wondering when you would realize this. We’ve been walking over the top of it for the last ten minutes. Amigos, we have just entered Ciudad Blanca, but through a back entrance. Señors, follow me.”
I glanced down at my feet, then stomped the ground. It sounded hollow underneath. Eddy and Cowboy George seemed equally astounded. The Lopez brothers had wide smiles on their faces. They’d known all along what was hidden away in the hills, just back of Casa Tio. We followed our two friends into a dark, damp chamber dripping with water.
It was still and mysterious inside. This great hall was about thirty feet wide and twenty feet high, with shafts of dim light filtering through openings in the ceiling. In the semi-darkness, I could make out carvings of faces on some of the stone slabs, as well as holes where slabs of rock had once been. If the looters hadn’t beaten us to it, I imagined that we might have seen the stone sculpture of a Mayan god or some mythical creature, and all the trimmings, for it seemed as if we had suddenly entered sacred territory. We climbed over more cut stone debris and down some crumbling steps that led to another chamber. The level area near the entrance was covered with a carpet of thick green moss, where someone had recently made a small fire. Looking up, I noticed that the ceiling above our heads was a perfect concave dome decorated with hundreds of sleeping bats.
“How do you like it?” whispered Chili-Chili.
“It’s beyond words. How did you discover this place?” I whispered, too.
“Uncle Tio brought my brother and me up here when we were boys, but he shared his secret with no one else. Someone must have found this place by accident. Originally there were many more carvings and all kinds of artifacts, but they were stolen a few months ago.”
Cowboy George shivered. He pointed to the shed skin of a very large snake. Chili just laughed. He motioned to a petroglyph hidden among some rocks. It was the image of a human-like monkey. Carved in the rock was another coiled snake with its mouth wide open.
“Quite an impressive reproduction,” said Eddy. “I bet there are still live snakes in this place.” His voice echoed inside the chamber.
“Sure, but they usually keep to themselves.” Chili didn’t want to alarm us.
“I like the way you say ‘usually,’” said Cowboy George, looking down at the debris of broken stone on the cavern floor. “Somebody’s been busy here, for sure.”
Along with the stone debris, the floor was strewn with cigarette butts and empty plastic soft drink bottles.
“Modern artifacts,” said Cowboy George.
Moist, musty air swirled into the chamber from the dark narrow
hallway, followed by a distant low-pitched groan. The whole place seemed inhabited by some invisible force.
“This hallway passes right through to the other side of the mound,” Chili-Chili said in a low voice. “There are dozens of other tunnels too, but I’ve never had the courage to explore them.”
“And it’s pitch dark in there and full of bat shit,” added Peter-Pedro.
“Full of all kinds of other things too, I bet,” said Cowboy George.
“Si, amigo.”
I watched Eddy as he gazed around. He was as struck as I was.
“It’s amazing, the tunnels lead off in every direction. It would take weeks to explore them all.”
“You’re right. At least half of Ciudad Blanca is underground. That’s why it’s hard to find.”
Eddy gazed around. “It’s too dark in here to shoot with the camera. There are four light bars back at the camp. Not much, but we can use them to light some of the details.”
“Perfect. Hey, Chili, when we come back, can we go further in and try to locate the center?”
Chili wiped his face with his sleeve. We were all covered with reddish mud.
“The center is where they built the biggest pyramid, but it’s a long way on foot through the jungle. It will be tough to get there in this weather because the pyramid is probably completely surrounded by water. The storm gods have been busy these days.”
“Where does this storm god legend come from anyway?” asked Cowboy George.
“It’s part of our mythology.”
“What do you believe?”
“After what we have seen here, I’d say the storm gods must be more than pissed off,” said Chili.
“I don’t really blame them,” said Eddy.
Chili-Chili led us back out the way we had come. When we finally stepped outside, a blast of rain and wind brought me back to earth.
