City of the Beasts

  There was no one, no trace of the members of the expedition, nor of the soldiers, nor of Captain Ariosto, nor of the bodies of the murdered Indians. Weapons, luggage, even Timothy Bruce’s cameras were there. They also found a large bloodstain darkening the earth near the tree where Alex had been tied. After a brief inspection, which seemed to leave him very satisfied, Walimai was ready to leave. Alex and Nadia dropped in line behind him without asking any questions, so nauseated by the odor they could barely stagger. As they got some distance away and filled their lungs with the cool morning air, their spirits revived but their temples were pounding and their stomachs were churning. Borobá joined them shortly, and the group plunged into the jungle.

  Several days before, on seeing the birds of noise and wind circling in the sky, the inhabitants of Tapirawateri had fled from their village, abandoning the spare possessions and domesticated animals that inhibited their ability to hide. Screened by vegetation, they traveled to a safe place and there crafted temporary dwellings in the branches of the trees. The parties of soldiers sent by Ariosto passed by very close without seeing them; but the foreigners’ every movement was observed by Tahama’s warriors, who blended into the scenery.

  Iyomi and Tahama had argued a long time about the nahab and the advantage of approaching them as Jaguar and Eagle had advised. It was Iyomi’s opinion that her people could not hide forever in the trees, like monkeys. The time had come to visit the nahab and accept their gifts and their vaccines; it was inevitable. Tahama thought it was better to die fighting, but Iyomi was chief of chiefs, and finally her judgment prevailed. She had decided to be the first to approach, which was why she came to the camp alone, adorned with the proud crown of yellow feathers to demonstrate to the foreigners who was in charge. Seeing Jaguar and Eagle—who had returned from the sacred mountain—among them was reassuring to her. They were friends and they could translate; that way the poor creatures dressed in stinking cloth would not feel lost in her presence. The nahab welcomed her; no doubt they were impressed with her regal bearing and her many wrinkles, proof of how long she had lived and of the knowledge she had acquired. Despite the meal they offered, the ancient chief found herself obliged to demand that they leave the Eye of the World, because they were a nuisance there. That was her last word; she was not prepared to negotiate. She retired majestically with her bowl of meat and corn, certain of having terrorized the nahab with the weight of her supreme dignity.

  In view of the success of Iyomi’s visit, the rest of the tribe worked up their courage and followed her example. They returned to the site of their village, overrun now by foreigners who obviously did not know the most elementary rule of prudence and courtesy: You did not ever visit a shabono without being invited. There the Indians saw the great shiny birds, the tents, and the strange nahab about whom they had heard such horrifying stories. Those strangers with their rude behavior deserved a good clubbing, but by Iyomi’s order the Indians were to exercise patience with them. They accepted their food and their gifts, so as not to offend them, then left to hunt and harvest honey and fruits so they could repay the gifts received, as was proper.

  The next day, once Iyomi was sure that Jaguar and Eagle were still there, she authorized the tribe to present themselves once more to the nahab and be vaccinated. Neither she nor anyone else could explain what happened then. They could not understand why the young foreign friends, who had insisted so strongly on the need for vaccination, suddenly tried to prevent it. They heard an unknown sound, like brief thunder. They saw that when the vials burst, the Rahakanariwa leaped free and in his invisible form attacked the Indians, who fell dead without being touched by arrows or clubs. In the violence of the battle, the others escaped however they could, in disarray and confusion. They didn’t know who were friends and who were enemies.

  Finally Walimai came to give them an explanation. He said that young Eagle and Jaguar were friends, and that they must help them, but that all the others might be enemies. He said that the Rahakanariwa was loose and could take on any form; it would take very powerful conjuring to send him back to the kingdom of the spirits. He said they needed to call on the gods. Then the two gigantic sloths, which had not returned to the sacred tepui but were ambling around the Eye of the World, were summoned and during the night led to the ruined village. They would never have gone near an Indian dwelling on their own account; they hadn’t done that in thousands and thousands of years. Walimai had to convince them that it was no longer the village of the People of the Mist because it had been profaned by the presence of the nahab and by the killing that had taken place on its soil. Tapirawa-teri would have to be rebuilt in a different part of the Eye of the World, far from there, where human souls and the spirits of the ancestors would feel at ease, and where evil did not contaminate the noble earth. The Beasts were given the chore of spraying the camp of the nahab, immobilizing friends and foe alike.

  Tahama’s warriors had to wait many hours for the smell to disperse enough for them to approach. First they collected the bodies of the Indians and took them to be prepared for a proper funeral; then they came back for the others and dragged them away, including the corpse of Captain Ariosto, slashed by the awesome claws of the gods.

  One by one, the nahab were waking up. They found themselves in a clearing in the jungle, lying on the ground and so dazed that they did not remember their names. And even less how they had got where they were. Kate was the first to react. She had no idea where she was, or what had happened to the camp, the helicopter, the captain, or—most of all—to her grandson. She remembered the baby, and looked around the surrounding area but couldn’t find him. She shook the others, who were slowly coming to. All of them had terrible pains in their heads and joints, and were vomiting and coughing and crying. They felt as if they’d been beaten, but could find no marks of violence.

  The last to open his eyes was Professor Leblanc, who was so deeply affected by the experience he couldn’t stand up. Kate reflected that a good cup of coffee laced with a shot of vodka would do them all good, but they had nothing of any kind to drink. Their clothing, their hair, their skin reeked from the stench of the Beast; they had to drag themselves to a nearby stream and soak for a good while. The five soldiers were lost without their weapons or their captain, so when César Santos assumed command, they obeyed without hesitation. Timothy Bruce, who was very upset at having been so near the Beast and not having got a photograph, wanted to go back to camp and look for his cameras, but he didn’t know which direction to walk in and no one seemed inclined to go with him. That phlegmatic Englishman who had accompanied Kate through wars, cataclysms, and many adventures, seldom lost his bored air, but recent events had made him grouchy. Kate and César Santos could think of nothing but her grandson and his daughter. Where were they?

  The guide inspected the site thoroughly and found broken branches, feathers, seeds, and other signs of the People of the Mist. He concluded that the Indians had brought them there, which had actually saved their lives, since otherwise they would have died of asphyxiation or attack by the Beast. And if that was so, he couldn’t explain why the Indians hadn’t seized the opportunity to kill them and get revenge for their dead. Had he been in any condition to think, Professor Leblanc would have been forced once again to revise his thesis about these tribes, but the poor anthropologist was flat on his back, moaning and half dead from nausea and an aching head.

  Everyone was sure that the People of the Mist would return, and that was exactly what happened: Suddenly the entire tribe emerged from the bush. Their incredible ability to move in absolute silence and materialize in seconds allowed them to surround the foreigners before they knew what was happening. The soldiers responsible for the death of the Indians were trembling like babies. Tahama walked toward them, staring straight at them, but did not touch them. Maybe he thought that such low forms of life did not merit a clubbing from a warrior as noble as himself.

  Iyomi stepped forward and delivered a long speech in her native tongue, whic
h no one understood, then seized Kate’s shirt lapels and, pushing her face as close as she could, began shouting something. The only thing the writer could think to do was to take the old woman with the ring of yellow feathers by the shoulders and shout back in English. There they were, the two grandmothers trading incomprehensible insults, until Iyomi got tired, turned away and took a seat beneath a tree. The other Indians also sat down, talking among themselves, sharing the fruit, nuts, and mushrooms they had found among the roots. Tahama and several other warriors were being vigilant but not aggressive. Kate recognized the baby she had taken care of in a young woman’s arms and was pleased that the child had survived the fatal stench of the Beast and was back at the breast of one of its own.

  By midafternoon, Walimai and Alex and Nadia appeared. Kate and César Santos ran over to meet them, and hugged them hard, since they’d been afraid they might never see them again. With Nadia there, communication improved; she could translate and was able to clear up a few points. The foreigners learned that the Indians did not as yet relate the death of their companions with the soldiers’ firearms, since they had never seen weapons. All they wanted was to rebuild their village at another site, consume ashes of their dead, and recapture the peace they had always known. They wanted to send the Rahakanariwa back to his place among the demons and banish the nahab from the Eye of the World.

  Professor Leblanc, somewhat recovered but still not in top form, took over. He had lost his Aussie hat with the feathers and, like everyone else, he was filthy and his clothing reeked. Nadia translated, cheating a little, so the Indians would not believe that all nahab were as arrogant as this little man.

  “Have no fear. I promise that I personally shall protect the People of the Mist. The world listens when Ludovic Leblanc speaks,” the professor assured them.

  He added that he would publish his impressions on what he had seen—not only in an article in International Geographic, but also in a book. Thanks to him, he said, the Eye of the World would be declared an Indian reservation and protected from any form of exploitation. They would see who Ludovic Leblanc was!

  The People of the Mist did not understand a word of that diatribe, but Nadia summed it up by saying this was a nahab friend. Kate added that she and Timothy Bruce would help Leblanc in his proposals, with which they, too, were included in the category of nahab friends. Finally, after endless negotiations about who were friends and who were enemies, the Indians agreed that the next day they would lead all of them back to the helicopter. By then they expected the stink from the Beasts to have dissipated.

  Iyomi, always practical, ordered the warriors to go hunt while the women made a fire and braided hammocks for the night.

  • • •

  “I’m going to ask you again, Alexander. What do you know about the Beast?” Kate said to her grandson.

  “It isn’t one Beast, Kate, there are several. They look like gigantic sloths; they’re very ancient animals, maybe from the Stone Age, or earlier.”

  “You’ve seen them?”

  “If I hadn’t seen them, I wouldn’t be able to describe them, would I? I saw eleven of them, but I think there are one or two more wandering around here. They seem to have a really slow metabolism, and they live for many years, possibly centuries. They learn, they have a good memory, and—you’re not going to believe this— they talk.”

  “Now you’re pulling my leg!” his grandmother exclaimed.

  “It’s true. Let’s say they’re not very eloquent, but they speak the same language as the People of the Mist.”

  Alexander proceeded to inform her that in exchange for the Indians’ protection, the Beasts preserved their history for them.

  “Once you told me that the Indians didn’t need writing because they have good memories. The Beasts are the tribe’s living memory,” he added.

  “Where did you see them, Alexander?”

  “I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.”

  “I suppose they live in the same place where you found the water of health,” his grandmother ventured.

  “Maybe yes and maybe no,” her grandson replied.

  “I need to see those Beasts and photograph them, Alexander.”

  “What for? An article in a magazine? That would be the end of them, Kate. People would come hunt them and cage them in zoos or study them in laboratories.”

  “I have to write something, that’s why they hired me . . .”

  “Write that the Beast is a legend, pure superstition. I can tell you that no one is going to see them for a long, long time. They’ll be forgotten. It’s more interesting to write about the People of the Mist. That tribe hasn’t changed for thousands of years, and it can disappear at any moment. Tell how they were going to be injected with the measles virus, as other tribes have been. You can make them famous and save them from extinction, Kate. You can become the protector of the People of the Mist, and if you play your cards right, you can get Leblanc to be your ally. Your pen can bring a little justice to life here. You can denounce villains like Carías and Ariosto, and question the role of the military, and bring Omayra Torres to trial. You have to do something, or soon other evil people will be committing crimes in this part of the world with the same impunity as always.”

  “I see that you have matured a lot in these weeks, Alexander,” Kate admitted with admiration.

  “Can you call me Jaguar, Grandmother?”

  “You mean, like the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everyone to his own taste. I’ll call you whatever you like, as long as you don’t call me Grandmother,” she replied.

  “That’s great, Kate.”

  “Roger, Jaguar.”

  That night, the nahab shared a meager meal of roast monkey with the Indians. With the arrival of the birds of noise and wind to Tapirawa-teri, the tribe had lost its garden, its plantains and its cassava, and since they didn’t want to light a fire and attract enemies, they had gone hungry for several days. While Kate tried to exchange information with Iyomi and the other women, Professor Leblanc, fascinated, questioned Tahama about their customs and war arts. Nadia, who was called on to translate, realized that Tahama had a wicked sense of humor and was telling the professor a series of fantasies. He told him, among other things, that he was the third husband of Iyomi and that he had never had sons, which demolished Leblanc’s theory about the genetic superiority of alpha males. In a near-at-hand future, the stories Tahama told would be the basis for another book by the famous Professor Ludovic Leblanc.

  The next day, the People of the Mist, with Iyomi and Walimai in the lead, and Tahama and his warriors bringing up the rear, led the nahab back to Tapirawateri. A hundred yards from the village, they saw the corpse of Captain Ariosto, which the Indians had left wedged between two large branches of a tree to be picked clean by animals and birds, treatment for those who did not deserve a funeral ceremony. The body was so mangled by the claws of the Beast that the soldiers did not have the stomach to take it down and carry it with them to Santa María de la Lluvia. They decided they would come back later and recover the bones for a Christian burial.

  “The justice of the Beast,” Kate murmured.

  César Santos directed Timothy Bruce and Alexander Cold to collect the soldiers’ weapons, which were scattered around the camp, to prevent another outbreak of violence in case someone got nervous. It was not likely that would occur, however, because the smell of the Beasts lingered enough that they were all subdued. Santos saw to it that the supplies were loaded into the helicopter, except for the tents, which were buried because he didn’t think it was possible to get rid of the smell. Timothy Bruce recovered his cameras and several rolls of film from among the debris, although Captain Ariosto had exposed the film he had commandeered. Alex found his knapsack, and inside, unharmed, the bottle containing the water of health.

  The expedition party was in a hurry to get back to Santa María de la Lluvia, but they did not have a pilot, since one helicopter had come with Captain Ariosto at the
controls and the other pilot had taken back the wounded. Santos had never flown one of these machines, but he was sure that if he could fly his broken-down airplane, he could manage this. The moment had come to say good-bye to the People of the Mist, which included exchanging gifts, the custom among the Indians. The nahab gave up belts, machetes, knives, and cooking utensils, while the Indians produced feathers, seeds, orchids, and necklaces of animal teeth. Alex gave his compass to Tahama, who put it around his neck as adornment, and the warrior gave the American boy a handful of darts dipped in curare and a three-meter-long blowgun, which Alex could barely find room for in the cramped helicopter. Iyomi again grabbed Kate and shouted something at the top of her lungs, and the writer responded with the same passion in English. At the last instant, as the nahab were hurrying to climb into the bird of noise and wind, Walimai handed Nadia a small basket.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Separate Ways

  THE FLIGHT BACK to Santa María de la Lluvia was a nightmare because it took César Santos more than an hour to get the hang of the controls and stabilize the helicopter. During that first hour, no one thought they would reach civilization alive, and even Kate, who was as cool as a deep-sea fish, had bid her grandson farewell with a firm handshake.

  “Good-bye, Jaguar. I’m afraid this is as far as we go. I’m sorry your life had to be so short,” she told him.

  The soldiers were praying aloud and drinking liquor to calm their nerves, while Timothy Bruce showed his deep concern by lifting his left eyebrow, the thing he did when he was about to explode. The only persons who were truly calm were Nadia, who had lost her fear of heights and trusted in her father’s firm hand, and Ludovic Leblanc, who was so airsick he had no sense of their danger.