There was an opening in the middle of the floor with a set of six steps leading down to the chamber below. It had to be where they were keeping the animals. I decided to look for a cage below and leave the tamarin behind.
I took the lantern in one hand and cradled the tiny tamarin in the other as I took each of the steps slowly. When my foot left the last step and the light reached into the corners of that small room, my body was frozen.
There was one cage in the center of the room. It held all of the monkeys we had brought that afternoon. Their eyes broadcast a fear that must have been reaching panic. I felt in my heart the deepest violation of every law of nature to see that natural wildness that I had never seen other than in play, caged and rooted to the floor of that small room. The chattering that was their language was stifled into squeals that left me stunned.
When I could think, I turned my head to the side and saw another cage holding the macaws. It seemed the grossest contradiction to see those radiant colors of freedom and joy grounded and boxed into a small cage. I would have welcomed one shriek of protest. But there was nothing but silence.
I finally realized that I was grasping the railing to keep me on my feet. My mind was sinking under the weight of the evil in that dark room—and the burden of knowing my part in it.
At first I was lost. My only conscious thought was to bolt and run and keep on running until I could pass out in total exhaustion.
But I didn’t. And the longer I stood there, the clearer my mind became. I was the grandson of my grandfather. Someday I would be the shaman. I’d be the source of strength and wisdom and leadership for our whole village. Like it or not, that day was today.
My thoughts were cool and crystal clear. I began with the caged monkeys. I yanked the spike out of the latch that bolted the door. I didn’t open the door—I ripped it off its hinges. The monkeys first tumbled off-balance onto the floor. I waved my hands in big circles to drive them up the stairs and out the door. When they ran through the upper chamber and burst into the fresh air, there was nothing that could silence their squeals and chattering of freedom.
My only fear was that some of the men upstairs might come out of their stupor. Fortunately, the rum had done its best or worst. None stirred.
I was more gentle as I took apart the cage of the parrots. I carried them up to the deck. They needed to be kept from panic while I gently removed the strings that were wrapped around their bodies without harming the wings that would carry them into the highest levels of the tree canopy.
One by one they took flight in a gust of feathered wind that sent my heart to a new height. When the last magnificent macaw was loosed and restored to where it was intended it to be, I was bathed in sweat. My hands were shaking from tension and exertion. But I was less tired and more refreshed than I had been since my grandfather had wakened me that morning.
Only God knew what my action would bring. I only knew one thing with total certainty. What I had done was right.
* * *
I carried the still sleeping tamarin in my arm and passed quietly between the rows of unconscious bodies in the upper deck. At one point, the lantern’s beam glinted on a long, slender piece of hardness like the gun-pipes. It had a sharp edge that could slice through a bamboo tree. I picked up what I later heard men call a machete and walked down the board leading to the shore.
If I had one wish at that moment, it was to send that arc of evil as far from our village as it could go. I made one more decision that night, for whatever might be the result. I grasped the machete with both hands. I prayed God to grant my wish, and I swung with every ounce of conviction in my body. The machete sliced through the rope that held the boat to the shore. The strong current of the river did the rest.
I watched that cursed thing float more and more rapidly away from our sleeping village until it was carried around the next bend in the river—and out of our sight. I walked to my hut and dropped into a sleep of peace.
FOURTEEN
IN A DEEP sleep, I dreamed of chattering spider monkeys making flying catches of limbs high in the canopy, playing games with their young that only they understood. In my dream, there were also splashes of brilliant color illuminating the highest limbs of giant kapoks where macaws clustered to preen themselves.
The sun was high overhead when the sounds of my mother preparing food broke into my dream world. Disturbing recollections of the previous day invaded my sense of calm. The worst yesterday of my life played on my mind like a cascade of painful scenes until the last one remained in my consciousness. The conflicted picture of that demon ark being carried away on the river’s current was stuck in my mind. It was conflicted because I never fully believed that that sweet victory would pass without payment in pain.
My first conscious thought was to give my grandfather a recounting of the last events of the previous evening. He had to know what it was that could bring retribution to our village.
I ran across the village from my hut to the hut of my grandfather. On my way, I scanned the shore of the river. It was a comfort to see the shoreline unbroken by the demon ark.
I was a bit shaken to find my grandfather’s hut empty. Then I realized that, given the height of the sun in the sky, he would naturally be out about the work of the day.
I walked back to our family’s cluster of huts. My mother was preparing the fruits and cracking the shells of nuts she’d gathered for the noon meal. She stopped and called me to sit beside her. I knew she had no inkling of what my grandfather and I had been through at the hands of our visitors. We chose not to disturb the tranquility of anyone in the village if we could keep it to ourselves.
“I have a message from your grandfather, Ancarit.”
For some reason, those simple words set demons tugging at my nerves. I sat to listen.
“The men from the boat came back early this morning. They came to wake you. Your grandfather stopped them before they got to your hut. They seemed very angry.”
“What did they say? Tell me every word.”
“They said you owed them something. They said you had to help them with a hunt. Your grandfather asked them—he pleaded with them—to leave you asleep. They said no. You had to come with them. But he insisted. He promised he could give them what they wanted. They argued until they agreed that he could go in your place.”
I tried to keep the fear and anger that was boiling inside from my mother.
“Mother, don’t be alarmed by this question. I’m just asking. Did they hurt him?”
“Why would they hurt him? No, of course not. After they talked, he led them into the forest where you go to hunt.”
I leaped to my feet. Before I could run after them, my mother took my arm.
“They’re not there. They were gone most of the morning. When they came out of the forest, some of the men were carrying what looked like dead monkeys. Some of them had some of the large birds in their arms. They carried them to the boat. I didn’t see them come out. Ancarit, why would they take the birds? They’re sacred.”
“Not to them, Mother. Where did my grandfather go?”
“He came back and gave me a message for you. He told me not to wake you until he’d gone.”
“Gone where?”
“In the boat with the men. They went down the river, around the bend.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He said that the men wanted him to go with them. They were going far away, to the big river he told us about, to one of the cities.”
“Did he say a name?”
She thought for a minute. “He said the word, ‘Macapá.’”
I’d heard him speak of that city before. From the moment I heard the word, there was no indecision, no confusion. Every doubt about what I had to do next was resolved.
My mind was racing with thoughts of preparation before leaving the only village I had ever known, and may never see again. I stood and began to run to my hut. My mother stopped me.
“He said one more thing,
Ancarit.”
I knew what it was, but I listened anyway.
“He said you were not to follow. He wanted to know you’d be here when he returned.”
For only the second time in my life, I was about to act contrary to my grandfather’s wishes. I was driven by two truths. First, I would follow his path no matter where it led. Second, I was absolutely certain that if I failed, we’d never see him again in this life.
“I have to go, Mother.”
She knew the strength of the bond between my grandfather and me. She held back tears, but she simply said, “I know.”
I ran to my hut for the only possession I would need—a blow-pipe and a quiver of darts treated with the excretion of a yellow dart frog. The forest would feed me, and the river would guide me.
The sun was further along than I’d wished when I took to the riverbank. I ran blindly on the edge between forest and water at a pace I could keep up without rest. I insulated my mind from fear by forcing out every thought that was not of my grandfather.
I ran until the sun dropped out of sight. Since no moon took its place, I could not keep on. I used the last flicker of light to gather enough nuts and berries to calm my hunger. I saved enough to fuel my legs for the run in the morning. I knew I needed to keep up the pace. It was not just that the boat was increasing the distance. There were dangers. If I slowed, a lurking boa could drop from a branch and clench me in its suffocating grip before I knew it was on me. At a good pace, I could even pass a waiting crocodile or caiman in the shallows before it could spring.
By the time I stopped running, it was impossible to build a protective hut in the dark. Instead, I lit a fire in a pit of rocks. I slept close enough to the flame to pull a burning stick out of the pit if I had to defend myself.
Whether I slept at all or just gave in to a fitful rest I have no idea. At the first glint of sunlight, I was back on my feet. I ate the berries and nuts I’d set aside while I ran.
While the sun traced its arc, I kept the same hypnotic pace without rest. By midafternoon, I had underestimated the depth of my exhaustion. I was unaware that my feet were barely skimming the ground until a tree root snagged a dragging foot. I pitched forward on my knees. When I rose and started again, I’d been shaken into alertness, but I was moving at half the previous pace.
Within minutes, I passed below the hanging branch of a castanha tree. I either heard or sensed a slight rustling of leaves above me. It triggered a terror. I didn’t even look. I ducked and sprang to my left. In that instant I felt a massive body brush my right side, scarcely missing full impact with my shoulders.
The body rolled and scrambled to its feet. For a fraction of a second, I was looking into the eyes of a male jaguar, fully as heavy as me, crouched and poised for the attack on an easy prey. I knew he’d go for my head. Jaguars kill by crushing the skull of their prey in the vice of their powerful jaws.
I had precious few options. I pulled a dart out of the quiver and braced for the blow. It came swiftly as lightning. Driven by all of the power in the back legs, the gaping fangs came at my face. I bent this time to the right. As the spotted yellow blur passed shoulder high, I rammed the dart into his throat.
He twisted with pain in midair. I held the dart fast. In his moving flesh, the dart must have caught and split an artery. A fountain of the creature’s blood spurted out on the bank and dyed the river water crimson.
The pain distracted him. He stood shaking his head and spinning in circles. Within seconds, I could see the poison grabbing hold. He finally lost his balance. He fell thrashing into the tinted water.
I stood frozen where I was, watching the jaguar’s flailing legs disappear in a vortex of crimson foam and splashes. Through the turbulence, all I could see was a frenzy of scales and teeth. It took less than a minute for hundreds of snapping piranhas to reduce the jaguar to a skeleton.
I didn’t realize how much the attack had taken out of me until I tried to resume my pace. After a few clumsy steps, I fell forward again. I just lay there, knowing I had to rest or I’d be easy prey for a dozen different predators. It was unlikely that another jaguar was in the area since they are solitary hunters. That still left too many threats to ignore.
I resorted to my only defense. I built a large fire in a rock bed. I gathered and ate some of the fruits and berries that the forest provided close at hand, and then fell into a deep sleep beside the fire.
* * *
Again I slept until the first rays of dawn. Much as I regretted the time lost, I knew I had limits. This time, I ate enough of the fruit of the mango tree and nuts from the castanha to last me through the day.
It was midafternoon when I rounded a curve in the river and saw downstream a village several times the size of my own. There were large huts made of sheets of wood instead of just branches. I saw that the villagers wore pants and shirts and moccasins, much like the men on the boat I was following.
By the shore, there was a boat with an engine that could hold ten men. It was tied to a wooden walkway into the river. I could see men on the boat leaning over the side. Something disturbing had their attention.
I wanted to ask about the boat carrying my grandfather, and these river people seemed the best to ask. I walked down to where the boat was tied and listened. It was clear that they were too involved with their own problem to answer my questions, so I asked about their problem.
They looked at me, dressed in the scant amount of native clothing I wore, and turned back to whatever had their attention over the side of the boat. I finally got one of the younger men to explain to me that a thing called the propeller had become tangled in a rope. The boat couldn’t move.
I yelled to them and asked why they didn’t just take the rope away. Most of them dismissed my question in disgust. The young boy looked at me almost in disbelief, but at least he spoke.
“What’s the matter with you? We can’t go in the water.”
He turned away, but I got his attention again. “Why not?”
His grin seemed to be in disbelief at my stupidity.
“I mean it. Why not?”
He grudgingly answered. “Don’t you know what piranhas are?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then just look. There are thousands of them. Probably millions of them in this river. You think we’re dumb enough to go in there?”
All of a sudden several ideas came together. I leaned over the side of the boat and tapped the shoulder of the man who seemed to be in charge. He turned around in obvious impatience. I smiled.
“I’ve got a deal for you.”
He turned away. I tapped him again. “This will interest you.” Perhaps it was hearing a native speak Portuguese, but for whatever reason he turned back. He seemed to be listening.
“If I can get the rope off the thing you call a propeller, will you do something for me?”
He looked doubtful, but he didn’t turn away. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Leave that to me. Can we make a deal?”
Now he was looking right at me. “What do you want?”
“I want clothes like those.” I pointed to what he was wearing. I knew if I were to find my grandfather in the city called Macapá, I’d need to blend in.
“Yeah?”
“Wait. There’s more. I need to ride with you down the river to Macapá. Is that where you’re going?”
“Yeah, but so what? That rope’s wound tight. No one can get down there alive.”
“Just say one word. I’ll trust you. Is it a deal?”
He shook his head. “Don’t try it, kid. Nothing’s worth it.”
“That’s up to me. Will you make the deal?”
He hesitated, then he held out his hand.
I took it in mine as a sign that we agreed.
“Done,” I said and climbed into the boat and crossed the deck to the river side. I handed my blowpipe and quiver of darts to the man at the rail, and I vaulted over the side into the river.
The water wa
s so deep at that point that I couldn’t touch bottom. I looked around for signs of crocodiles or caiman and saw none.
I dove deep in the water and swam under the boat. I could see the end of a thick rope dangling from a circular thing with blades. I knew my breath was limited. I began uncoiling the rope as fast as I could. It took five turns before the rope came free. I held the end of it and swam to the side of the boat.
When I held up the rope, I heard cheers mixed with laughs. Three arms and hands reached overboard to pull me back onto the boat. Their leader was the first one beside me when I stood up.
“How the hell did you do that? That damn river’s full of those killer fish.”
I could have told him that piranha prey on the fish in the river for food. They have no interest in attacking anything alive as big as me as long as there is no blood in the water. My people swim and bathe in the river all the time. It was the blood of the jaguar upstream that caused them to attack and devour it.
But I didn’t say that. I just said, “I really need the clothes. And don’t forget the ride to Macapá.”
“Hell, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Damn. I never saw anything like it.”
He called one of the men over. “Take this kid. Hey, kid, what’s your name?”
“Ancarit.”
“Take Ancarit to that trading post in the village. Buy him whatever he needs.” He looked up at the sun. “And hurry it up. We’re going to get this kid to Macapá.”
FIFTEEN
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
The city of Macapá, Brazil
IT TOOK TWO and a half days of cruising with the current to come within view of the city of Macapá. At about halfway, where our own river spilled into the majestic Amazon, the size of my entire world burst open at the seams. I had never imagined that such expanse, such rushing power could exist.
The city of Macapá on the bank of the Amazon River was just as my grandfather had described it to me. There were no huts, only solid buildings taller than ten of our huts on top of each other. People filled the streets. They seemed to pass among the buildings, trading in shops for the things we would make or hunt—and much more.
Fatal Odds Page 11
