Manus Xingue

by Jack Challis

  Maria re-enters the river holding the two large leaves in her mouth and walks upstream keeping a watch on the water all around her. A low branch hangs over the river. She hurries towards it as she notices a few black piranhas gathering. Reaching the branch, she grabs it, but she needs to place one foot on the horizontal mud-bank to pull herself out; this would leave a very clear tell-tale footprint!

  To combat this Maria pushes aside a large leaf of a water plant growing on the bank with her foot. She places this foot on the bank and gently pulls herself out of the river, using the branch. The large leaf then returns to its original position, completely concealing her footprint from view!

  Maria then lays down the large leaves she has been carrying in her mouth – and uses them as stepping-stones. She picks each one up as she steps off it, placing it in front, thus walking away from the river without leaving any footprints. At intervals, she deliberately leaves a solitary clear footprint heading in the wrong direction to confuse any pursuers. She then heads back through the jungle towards the track where she left the unconscious Chevez, her stricken husband.

  Just a short distance back on the track, Lacy has finished cleaning and dressing Dublin’s wounds. However, Dublin refuses to expose his right arm, which bears several deep scratches, for two very significant reasons. The unassuming Jack Lacy is forced to concede to the Irishman’s wishes.

  ‘Right,’ says Dublin, taking a pull from the bottle of bourbon, ‘let’s get a move on.’

  ‘You should take it easy, Frank, for a couple of hours – you’ve lost lots of claret and the booze is only thinning your blood – acting against the anti-coagulants I’ve given you.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ replies Dublin, ‘I’m not losing Chevez now. If I remain here, my wounds will stiffen – then I will be fucked – let’s go.’ The two SAS men move off.

  Maria reaches the still unconscious Chevez and removes the small branches camouflaging her husband. Slinging his rifle on her shoulder, she is just beginning to pull Chevez to his feet when she then hears Dublin and Lacy coming down the track! Quickly, she picks up a cut branch and pushes it into the ground in an upright position directly in front of her to break up her outline. Then, taking the mask made of green leaves, she puts it on; she remains standing upright.

  Dublin and Lacy are now abreast of Maria. Dublin is looking straight ahead concentrating on the ground, following the false trail left by Maria. Lacy looks straight at the mask Maria is wearing, then looks away – but then turns and takes a second look!

  Strangely, Lacy does not seem to notice Maria. (The reason, the Kier Verde are know as the Invisible People.)

  Maria waits until the two SAS troopers have moved past. She then slips off the mask of leaves, swinging it onto her back. Chevez begins to stir. Maria helps him to his feet. Supporting him, she guides him into the jungle, away from the track. After supporting her husband for four hundred metres, Maria suddenly realises she has dropped her leaf mask!

  Dublin and Lacy soon reach the small river. Dublin looks into the water for any potential danger with the help of his Polaroids. He also notices the massive shed skin of the anaconda.

  ‘I can only see a couple of black piranha and a few stingrays,’ says Dublin. ‘It’s the big snake I’m worried about – all big constrictors are at their most hungry and dangerous after shedding their skins!’

  ‘If Chevez has crossed with a bleeding wound,’ says Lacy, ‘it could be dangerous for us to cross now. That anti-coagulant on your wounds is not working yet – you’re still bleeding, Frank,’ continues the worried Lacy. ‘Let’s give it a miss for a while – have a smoke.’

  Irishman Frank Dublin looks at Lacy with contempt.

  ‘You’re no young Lochinvar, are you?’

  ‘Who the fuck is he?’ Lacy asks. ‘Sounds like a poof to me.’

  ‘He was a brave man,’ snaps Dublin. ‘Not a dainty shirt-lifting, golden-riveting ex-Marine like you!’

  ‘I’m not afraid of the water,’ defends Lacy. ‘It’s what’s waiting in it that gives me the shits.’

  ‘I am going across,’ says Dublin. ‘Faint heart never fucked a pig – cover me.’ Dublin protects himself with a condom, against candera attack. He enters the river and wades into midstream, watched intently by Lacy. He notices Maria’s prints heading downstream but knows it is a trick. Reaching the opposite bank, he follows her footprints and blood-trail, until they disappear completely. The experienced Dublin knows this is also a trick. He retraces his steps, re-enters the river, and calls Lacy to join him in midstream. Lacy reluctantly enters the river and joins Dublin.

  ‘The footprints that lead downstream and across the river come to dead ends,’ informs Dublin. ‘Those prints were also heading in the wrong direction. I think we’ll follow these faint prints heading upstream.’

  The two SAS men follow Maria’s footprints in the right direction – upstream. Lacy is on tenterhooks: he jumps out of his skin when he disturbs some stingrays. ‘Fuck me,’ swears Lacy, ‘I nearly pissed myself.’

  ‘Jesus, you’re as jumpy as a sixteen-year-old virgin,’ hisses the Irishman.

  Dublin spots the overhanging branch and heads straight for it. Unknown to the two SAS troopers, a huge anaconda is slowly disappearing into the river out of their sight! Dublin inspects the branch; he notices some river water on it where Maria hauled herself out onto the bank. With his rifle barrel, he pushes aside the big leaf and reveals Maria’s footprint!

  ‘Blimey, Frank,’ says Lacy, ‘Chevez has small plates.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ replies Dublin. ‘It’s a woman’s footprint, a native woman.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asks Lacy.

  ‘Only a native would walk barefoot in a river with stingrays around,’ answers Dublin. ‘This single, woman’s footprint leads us in the right direction – north.’

  ‘Can we discuss this on the bank?’ asks Lacy, looking around nervously. ‘I can feel something touching my crutch.’

  The Irishman gives Lacy a long angry look. ‘You are a badged SAS trooper now – learn to control your fear – if you have any pride – or balls.’

  ‘Fuck pride!’ answers Lacy, unashamed. ‘I have balls alright and they are dangling in this poxy river – I have a feeling I am going to lose them any minute now!’

  The SAS men leave the river, Lacy a little livelier than Dublin. Lacy takes a quick look backwards at the river just in time to see the massive triangular head of the anaconda break the surface of the tepid water! He spins around, ready to shoot the giant constrictor. Dublin grabs the rifle barrel. ‘Forget it!’ says the Irishman. ‘Just count ourselves lucky – we are now in Kier Verde territory – no shooting unless we have to!’

  Dublin begins to look for tracks and finds the first single footprint deliberately left by Maria.

  ‘What’s happened to Chevez, Frank?’ Lacy asks.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ Dublin replies, scouting around for a trail. ‘This single footprint leads east – to mislead us. If we keep heading north, a penny to a pinch of snuff, we’ll find a genuine track.’

  The two SAS troopers head north, soon finding a faint jungle trail. They quicken their pace. Lacy notices the mask of leaves lying by the side of the track, dropped by Maria. He picks it up and stares at the mask.

  ‘Frank, do you know what “Déjà-vu” means?’ Lacy asks.

  ‘Of course I do, you prick! Do you think I’m stupid because I am a Paddy?’

  ‘I saw this mask just before we reached the river.’ says Lacy.

  ‘It’s some native, voodoo bollocks.’ dismisses Dublin.

  ‘Gospel, Frank – it was standing or hanging there, just looking at me – but it just didn’t register!’ insists Lacy.

  ‘Bullshit – sling it,’ orders Dublin. ‘Chevez is a Catholic – the only good thing about him – he won’t believe in all that shite.’

  ‘Are you a Catholic?’ Lacy asks.

  ‘Born and bred – a life-long Celtic supporter,’ answers Dublin proudly.


  ‘But you would still kill Chevez?’ questions Lacy.

  ‘Yes,’ answers Dublin, ‘but I would give him time to say a quick Hail Mary first. Mind you – I would prefer to kill a useless, Cockney Protestant like you – it would save time – and give me a lot more pleasure.’

  The two SAS troopers begin to follow another faint trail before it peters out. Dublin stops and rubs his chin.

  ‘Whoever made these false trails knows their arse from their elbow,’ moans the Irishman. ‘Every faint trail we find and follow just disappears – very clever.’

  Dublin moves a few paces forward, then stops.

  ‘Now, just look at this,’ he says to himself; ‘a single, clear, woman’s, right footprint – just like the one we saw before heading east – left there for all the world to see.’

  ‘The other print was a right foot – maybe she has only one leg, Frank,’ says Jack Lacy, without engaging his brain; trying to be helpful.

  Dublin stares daggers at the mouthy Cockney. ‘A Jesuit priest who once taught me said: “It is far better to keep your mouth shut and be considered a fool – than to open it and remove all doubt.”

  Jack Lacy realises his stupid contribution and tries to make amends.

  ‘Hang a trout, Frank,’ he says. ‘How do you know this trail has anything to do with Chevez? You said the print we found at the river belonged to a native woman and now we find another woman’s footprint!’

  Dublin takes a long pull from the bottle of stolen American Bourbon and studies the tall, blond, Anglo-Saxon before him. Even though Dublin was a Southern Irishman, he served 21 SAS loyally, but he preferred the company of fellow Celts. He would rather be in the jungles of the Matto Grosso with a Mongol Tarter than with an Englishman – especially a big-mouth Cockney. Frank Dublin hated Londoners – Cockneys. He had been conned several times in the Smoke when blind drunk. He never wasted an opportunity to avenge these long-past incidents.

  ‘Look,’ says Dublin, whose new-found patience was probably due to the calming effect of the morphine, ‘when you are tracking someone and you run out of signs – you have to consider the probabilities.’

  ‘The probabilities of what?’ Lacy asks, unable to stop himself giving a facetious answer. ‘You mean whether this native Richard is wearing corals?’ Lacy quickly moves out of the Irishman’s punching range.

  ‘No, you Cockney cretin,’ replies Dublin. ‘I will explain. We have crossed the Japuri River and are now in the land of the Kier Verde – Chevez has a Kier Verde woman and lives around here somewhere. All these are facts. Now here are the probabilities – these prints we are following could belong to Chevez’s woman who has suddenly appeared, found out we are following her tracks and now is leading us into a trap like her husband did. Remember what happened to Taffy Edwards.’

  Jack Lacy listens but looks uninterested.

  ‘That is why,’ continues Dublin, ‘I am going to ignore that obvious print left here, for our benefit. Like Sgt Kane told you – “Give everything you see a good coat of looking over.” This woman knows we are following her – so we will stop,’ concludes Dublin.

  ‘I wonder if she is wearing corals!’ muses Jack Lacy.

  Frank Dublin shakes his head in disgust.

  ‘What do we do now, Frank?’ Lacy asks, rolling a cigarette.

  ‘We just keep heading north – forget any other tracks we find unless they belong to Chevez.’ Dublin sits down on a log and takes a pull at the bottle.

  ‘Give me another shot of morphine, you useless prick, and a couple of antibiotic tablets,’ demands the Irishman.

  ‘It’s not time yet, Frank.’ Lacy replies.

  ‘Do it!’ growls the volatile Dublin, ‘or this big Irish fist will meet your fat, Cockney gob!’

  ‘You’ll have to catch me first,’ Lacy mumbles under his breath.

  ‘What did you say?’ Dublin asks.

  ‘I said, it won’t be the first time,’ answers Lacy, preparing the morphine.

  Dublin takes another swig from the bottle of bourbon. ‘You Cockneys are all the same – a load of Pikeys – Diddycoys, with your “cushty mante” and “gel on Cocker-chavie” – just a bunch of thieving tinkers!’

  ‘Romanies and travellers are the polite names,’ adds Lacy. ‘If you want to find all the real crooks and thieves, just go to the Stock Exchange or walk into any lawyer’s office south of the river.’

  ‘That is my point,’ replies Dublin, ‘it’s a touchy subject with you Cockneys because you are a load of Gyppos – who left your wagons and moved into the bombed houses during the war and became housebound.’

  Lacy gives Dublin the tablets, then stands behind the Irishman to inject him with the morphine.

  ‘Ouch! That bloody hurt – you hit the bone – you useless English pimp,’ swears Dublin. Out of sight, Lacy grins. After another pull at the bottle, Dublin rises unsteadily and moves off.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A MILLION DOLLAR EAR

  About three kilometres away, Tapia, the Kier Verde Indian girl sits nervously outside Chevez’s hut, rocking the baby and looking into the jungle. She is anxious at Maria’s long absence. A movement attracts her attention; it is Maria supporting the semi-conscious Chevez. Tapia helps Maria to get Chevez into the hut and onto the bed. While Tapia undoes the tourniquet on his arm, Maria places some quinine tablets in his mouth and gives him some water.

  ‘What happened?’ Tapia asks, ‘what did you see?’

  ‘White soldiers on the track.’ answers Maria.

  ‘Americanos?’ asks Tapia, shocked.

  ‘No,’ answers Maria. ‘Different – there are only two – but more dangerous. They are doing their own tracking – and have managed to wound Chevez. These soldiers move slowly and silently – somehow they have found the secret crossing over the Japari River and followed Chevez all this way.’

  ‘Then they will track you back here – we must leave!’ says Tapia, panicking.

  ‘No, we cannot leave – Chevez is too weak – it will kill him.’

  ‘Did the strange, white soldiers see you?’ Tapia asks.

  ‘No, they did not see me – one looked at me when he passed – but did not see me,’ smiles Maria, ‘thanks to your mask – the mask of our people.’

  ‘The mask has gone!’ Tapia exclaims. ‘You have dropped it – that will bring bad luck – the soldiers will find us now!’

  ‘I have left many false trails,’ Maria replies calmly. ‘They will lead the white soldiers into the swamp. Now, little sister, we must see to Chevez’s wounds.’

  ‘This wound needs cleaning,’ announces Tapia. ‘Blow flies have laid eggs while Chevez was unconscious Blow-flies – maggots will soon start eating his flesh – it has to be cleaned quickly. I will go into the jungle and find Sapanus roots to clean the wound and kill the eggs.’

  ‘Also find soldier ants,’ asks Maria. ‘The wound must be closed – be careful,’ she warns. I saw the pugmarks of the evil cat-spirit – it is now in our land, looking for man-meat!’

  Tapia enters the jungle to look for the medical herbs and the soldier ants. Maria cools Chevez’s forehead with a damp cloth. She then oils and cleans her husband’s old bolt-action Mauser, handling it perfectly. She checks the magazine, placing the gun within easy reach. She then hides her shotgun back under the eaves of the hut.

  Chevez wakes from his malarial stupor momentarily; he is still delirious and groans, ‘Maria, where is my gun? – I have lost my gun, cara mia!’

  Maria comforts her husband, cooling his forehead with water.

  ‘You are weak and delirious, Chevez. Sleep – your gun is safe.’

  Maria then places Chevez’s rifle next to him and covers it with the blanket. She boils water. Tapia returns with all the medical herbs and the soldier ants from the jungle. The two women then prepare the herbal medicine and clean Chevez’s wounds.

  ‘Now we must close the wound and let it mend,’ says Maria.

  Tapia holds a small, intricately folded lea
f; by squashing one end of it, the other end opens like a dispenser, allowing a large-headed soldier ant, with massive mandibles, to crawl out. Maria grabs the ant from behind while pinching Chevez’s wound together with the fingers of her other hand. Positioning the wide-open jaws of the soldier ant across the wound, she allows it to bite. The sharp mandibles grip and pierce the flesh, closing it. Maria then nips off the ant’s body leaving just the head, which retains its bite holding the skin together; this is repeated all along the wound and acts as sutures.

  Finishing their task, the two women now excitedly start to see what Chevez has brought back in his cotton bag. Maria shares some brightly coloured bangles with her sister.

  ‘Look, Tapia – coffee, sugar, salt, and some sweets!’ The two women eat the sweets enthusiastically, stuffing their mouths like children – giggling.

  Back in the jungle, the two SAS troopers move slowly; night is falling. ‘We’d better stop soon, Frank,’ suggests Lacy, ‘it’s getting dark!’

  ‘Shut your trap,’ answers Dublin, who is now well drunk and filled with morphine and antibiotics. ‘I will tell you when we stop.’

  Reaching a small clearing, both troopers stop and regard a large pile of ashes, from which smoke is still rising!

  The SAS troopers approach cautiously. ‘I wonder if Chevez lit this Jeremiah.’ Lacy asks.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ replies Dublin, having a look around. ‘The fire’s too big for one man – look at all the bare footprints – must be over a dozen men. We’ll bivouac here. Clear the ash – collect some wood.’

  Lacy is not happy with this decision but keeps his big mouth shut, not wishing to set off the volatile Irishman. He begins to remove the top layer of ash and exposes a human skull split in half!