Hours later, after a landing as gripping as the take-off, the members of the expedition could finally find some relative calm in the miserable hotel in Santa María de la Lluvia. The next day they would go back to Manaus, where they would take planes to their countries. They would make that trip down the Río Negro, the same way they had come, because César Santos’s plane refused to leave the ground despite the new engine. Joel González, Timothy Bruce’s assistant, whose condition was much improved, would be going with them. The nuns had improvised a plaster cast that immobilized him from neck to hips, and they predicted that his ribs would heal without consequences, although possibly the poor soul would never recover from his nightmares. He dreamed every night that he was in the coils of an anaconda.
The nuns also assured them that the three soldiers’ wounds would mend. Fortunately for them, the arrows had not been poisoned. On the other hand, Mauro Carías’s future looked dim. Tahama’s blow had damaged his brain, and in the best scenario he would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, fed through a tube, his mind in the clouds. He had already been transported to Caracas in his own airplane, accompanied by Omayra Torres, who would not leave him for an instant. The woman had no idea that Ariosto had died and could not protect her any longer; nor did she suspect that as soon as the foreigners told the story of the fake vaccine she would have to face the authorities. Her nerves were shattered. She kept repeating that it was all her fault, that God had punished Mauro and her for the measles virus. No one understood what she was talking about, but Padre Valdomero, who went to offer spiritual counsel to the wounded man, paid attention and took note of her words. The priest, like Karakawe, had suspected for a long time that Mauro Carías had some plan to exploit the Indians’ lands, but had not discovered what it was. The doctor’s apparent ravings gave him the key.
While Captain Ariosto was in command of the barracks, the entrepreneur had done whatever he wanted in the territory. The missionary had been powerless to unmask those men, although for years he had reported his suspicions to the Church. His warnings had been ignored because he lacked proof, and also because some considered him half crazy. Mauro Carías had made a point of spreading the rumor that the priest had talked nonsense ever since being kidnapped by the Indians. Padre Valdomero had once traveled to the Vatican to denounce abuses against the native peoples, but his superiors in the Church had reminded him that his mission was to carry the word of Christ to the Amazon, not to get involved in politics. He had returned defeated, asking himself how he could try to save souls for heaven without first saving lives on earth. And beyond that, he wasn’t certain about the propriety of Christianizing the Indians, who had their own form of spirituality. They had lived in harmony with nature for thousands of years, like Adam and Eve in Paradise. Why, Padre Valdomero wondered, was it necessary to teach them the concept of sin?
When he learned that the International Geographic party was back in Santa María de la Lluvia, and that Captain Ariosto had died, the missionary called at the hotel. The soldiers’ versions of what had happened on the altiplano were contradictory; some threw the blame on the Indians, others on the Beast, and there was one who pointed a finger at members of the expedition. Whatever the case, without Ariosto in the picture, there was at last a small opportunity to see justice done. Soon another military man would be in charge of the troops, and there was no guarantee that he would be any more honorable than Ariosto. He, too, might succumb to bribes and crime, as happened all too often in the Amazon.
Padre Valdomero turned over the information he had gathered to Professor Ludovic Leblanc and Kate. The idea that Mauro Carías had generated epidemics with the help of Dr. Omayra Torres and protection from an officer of the army was a crime so horrible that no one would believe it without proof.
“The news that they are massacring Indians in that way would enrage world opinion. It’s a shame we can’t prove it,” said the writer.
“I think we can,” César Santos interjected, taking from a jacket pocket one of the vials of the supposed vaccine.
He explained that Karakawe had managed to slip it from the doctor’s luggage shortly before he had been murdered by Ariosto.
“Alexander and Nadia surprised him looking through the boxes of vaccines, and though he threatened to hurt them if they told, they reported it to me anyway. We thought that Karakawe had been sent by Carías; we never dreamed he was a government agent,” Kate said.
“I knew that Karakawe was working for the Department for the Protection of Indigenous Peoples, and that was why I suggested Professor Leblanc hire him as his personal assistant. That was a way for him to go on the expedition without raising suspicion,” César Santos explained.
“So you used me, Santos,” the professor protested.
“You wanted someone to fan you with a banana leaf and Karakawe wanted to go on the expedition. No one was the loser, Professor.” The guide smiled, and added that Karakawe had been investigating Mauro Carías for many months and had a thick file regarding the man’s dark dealings, especially the way he was exploiting the lands of the Indians. Surely he suspected the relationship between Mauro Carías and Dr. Omayra Torres, and that was why he had decided to follow where she led.
“Karakawe was my friend, but he was a quiet man and never said more than what was absolutely necessary. He never told me he suspected Omayra,” said Santos. “I imagine he was looking for the clue that would explain the mass deaths of the Indians, and that was why he stole one of the vials of vaccine and gave it to me to keep in a safe place.”
“With this, we should be able to prove their sinister history in spreading epidemics,” said Kate, holding the small bottle against the light.
“I have something for you, too, Kate,” and Timothy smiled as he showed her the rolls of film in his hand.
“What’s this?” she asked, intrigued.
“These, old girl, are images of Ariosto murdering Karakawe at point-blank range, of Mauro Carías destroying the vials, and of the Indians being shot. Thanks to the good offices of Professor Leblanc, who distracted the captain for half an hour, I found the time and opportunity to switch rolls before those chappies destroyed them. I gave Ariosto the film from the first part of the trip and saved these,” Timothy Bruce reported.
Kate had a reaction unusual for her. She threw her arms around Santos and Bruce in turn, and gave both a kiss on the cheek.
“Blessings on you, lads!” she exclaimed, overjoyed.
“If this contains the virus, as we believe, Mauro Carías and that woman are guilty of genocide and will have to pay for it,” murmured Padre Valdomero, holding the small vial in his fingertips, his arm extended as if he feared the poison would jump out in his face.
It was he who suggested that they establish a foundation for the purpose of protecting the Eye of the World, and especially the People of the Mist. With Kate’s eloquent pen and the international prestige of Ludovic Leblanc, he was sure they would succeed, he explained enthusiastically. They would need financial backing, it was true, but among them they would succeed: they would go to churches, political parties, international organizations, governments . . . They would knock on every door until they found the necessary funds. They had to save the tribes, the missionary insisted, and the others were in agreement with him.
“You, Professor, will be the president of the foundation,” Kate offered.
“Moi?” asked Leblanc, genuinely surprised and enchanted.
“Who better than you? When Ludovic Leblanc speaks, the world listens . . . ,” said Kate, imitating the anthropologist’s pompous tone, and they all burst out laughing—except for Leblanc, naturally.
Alexander and Nadia were sitting on the dock of Santa María de la Lluvia, where some weeks before they had held their first conversation and begun their friendship. As on that occasion, night had fallen, with its croaking frogs and screeching howler monkeys, but this time there was no moon. The sky was dark and dotted with stars. Alexander had never seen a sky like
that; he had never imagined there were so many thousands of stars. The young people felt as if they had lived a lot of life since they met; they both had grown and changed in those few weeks. They sat without talking, staring at the sky, brooding over the fact that soon they would go their separate ways, until Nadia remembered the little basket she was bringing to her friend, the same basket Walimai had given her as they left. Alex took it with reverence and opened the top; inside shone the three eggs from the sacred mountain.
“Keep them, Jaguar. They are very valuable; they are the largest diamonds in the world,” Nadia whispered to him.
“These are diamonds?” Alex asked, frightened, afraid to touch them.
“Yes. They belong to the People of the Mist. According to what I saw in my vision, these eggs can save the Indians and the rain forest where they have always lived.”
“Why are you giving them to me?”
“Because you were named chief to negotiate with the nahab. The diamonds will help you do that,” she explained.
“Oh, Nadia! I’m just a fifteen-year-old. I don’t have any power in the world; I can’t negotiate with anybody, even less be responsible for this fortune.”
“When you get to your country, give them to your grandmother. She will know what to do with them. She seems to be a very powerful woman, and she will help the Indians,” the girl assured him.
“They look like glass. How do you know they’re diamonds?” he asked.
“I showed them to my father. He knew immediately. But no one else must learn about them until you are in a safe place, or they’ll be stolen. You understand, Jaguar?”
“I understand. Has Professor Leblanc seen them?”
“No, only you, my papa, and me. If the professor knew, he would go running to tell the whole world,” she declared.
“Your papa is a very honest man. Anyone else would have kept the diamonds.”
“Would you?”
“No!”
“Well, neither would my papa. He didn’t want to touch them. He said they carry bad luck, that people kill for those stones.”
“And how am I going to get them through U.S. Customs?” asked Alex, hefting the weight of the magnificent stones.
“In your pocket. If anyone sees them, they’ll think they’re Amazon tourist souvenirs. No one would suspect that diamonds of this size exist, certainly not in the pocket of a kid with half his head shaved.” Nadia laughed and ran her hand over the bald crown of Alex’s head.
For a long time they were silent, looking at the water below their feet, and the shadowy vegetation around them, sad because in a very few hours they would have to say good-bye. They felt that nothing as extraordinary as the adventure they had shared could ever again happen in their lives. Nothing could compare to the Beasts, the city of gold, Alexander’s voyage to the depths of the Earth and Nadia’s climb to the nest of the marvelous eggs.
“My grandmother has been assigned to write another article for International Geographic. She has to go to the Kingdom of the Golden Dragon,” Alex commented.
“That sounds as interesting as the Eye of the World. Where is it?” she asked.
“In the mountains of the Himalayas. I would like to go with her, but . . .”
Alex realized that another trip would be nearly impossible. He had to get back into his normal life. He had been gone for several weeks. It was time to go back to class or he would lose the school year. He also wanted to see his family and hug his dog, Poncho. He especially wanted to deliver the water of health and Walimai’s herbs to his mother. He was sure that with them, in addition to the chemotherapy, she would get better. Having to leave Nadia, however, really hurt. He wished that dawn would never come, that he could stay forever with his friend, beneath the stars. No one in the world knew him so well; no one was as close to his heart as this honey-colored girl whom he had met, as if by magic, at the ends of the Earth. What would she be like in the future? Would she grow up wise and wild in the jungle, thousands of miles from him?
“Will I see you again?” Alex sighed.
“Of course!” she said, hugging Borobá with feigned happiness, so that Alex wouldn’t see her tears.
“We’ll write, won’t we?”
“Let’s say the mail around here isn’t the very best . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if letters take a long time, I’m going to write to you. For me, the greatest thing that happened on this trip was meeting you. I will never, ever forget you; you will always be my best friend,” Alexander promised, his voice quivering.
“And you will be my best friend, too—as long as we see each other with our hearts,” Nadia replied.
“Until we meet again, Eagle . . .”
“Until then, Jaguar . . .”
P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
About the author
* * *
2 Life at a Glance
3 A Writing Life
About the book
* * *
5 A Conversation with Isabel Allende
8 Alex and Nadia’s Adventures Continue: An Excerpt from Kingdom of the Golden Dragon
Read on
* * *
21 Have You Read?
More by Isabel Allende
About the author
Life at a Glance
Author photograph by William Gordon
ISABEL ALLENDE was born in 1942 in Lima, Peru, and raised in Chile. She fled Chile after the 1973 military coup and assassination of her uncle, President Salvador Allende, and worked in Venezuela from 1975 to 1987, when she moved to the United States. She now lives in California.
Isabel has worked as a TV presenter, a journalist, and a playwright. Her first book for adults, the acclaimed The House of the Spirits, was published in Spanish in 1982 and has been translated into twenty-seven languages. Since then, she has written ten more novels, a collection of stories, and four memoirs, and her books have become bestsellers across four continents.
In 2004, Isabel was inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
A Writing Life
Isabel, when do you write?
From 9 AM to 7 PM, Monday through Saturday.
Where do you write?
In a small cabin off my garden.
Why do you write?
Because I love to tell stories.
Pen or computer?
Computer.
Silence or music?
Silence.
How do you start a book?
With a first sentence that comes from the womb, not the mind.
And finish?
When I give up.
Do you have any writing rituals or superstitions?
I always start on January 8th.
Which living writer do you most admire?
I don’t know. I admire many writers.
What or who inspires you?
People and places. Also history.
If you weren’t a writer what job would you do?
Journalism.
What’s your guilty reading pleasure? Favorite trashy read?
I have no time for trash, except for glossy magazines at the beauty salon.
About the book
A Conversation with Isabel Allende
Your adventure trilogy—City of the Beasts, Kingdom of the Golden Dragon, and Forest of the Pygmies—has been published for both young adults and adults. How do you explain its crossover appeal?
Most books for young adults are also read by adults. I am very careful with style, language, and research. I do not underestimate my young readers; I treat them as if they were experienced readers. Maybe that’s why adults are also reading this trilogy.
Did you intend to write a book that a young adult audience could appreciate, or did City of the Beasts evolve that way as you wrote it?
From the beginning I wanted to write a book for young adults. In the process I realized that the genre had the same challenges as literature for adults, plus a few others. One of the challenges is tha
t a young readership usually has a shorter attention span, so I had to get to the point fast. Action, dialogue, strong characters, interesting plot, magic—all that was necessary.
“We all have an animal spirit that accompanies us,” says Nadia to Alexander. “It is like our soul.” Can you tell us a little more about this belief, and the spirituality that lies behind this book?
In many cultures, including Native American, people identify with animals. The idea is that the person can acquire the characteristics of a certain animal (strength, speed, shrewdness, et cetera) by adopting the animal as a spirit guide. I chose the eagle and the jaguar for my protagonists because I wish I had the vision of the eagle and the courage of the jaguar.
The idea of discovering the “heart of the Amazon” has a fascination for us all. You have been in the rain forest. What was the most remarkable thing about that experience?
The most remarkable feeling I had in the Amazon was that it is still a primitive, almost untouched territory. In spite of the irrational exploitation of the rain forest, one can still feel the vastness and innocence of a magic world. It’s like going back in time . . . to the Garden of Eden.
Do you believe that there is magic in the world that we can all experience, or is magic something that we can seek only in books?
My life is full of unexplainable coincidences, prophetic dreams, intuition, imagination, signs, and small miracles. I believe that we are surrounded by mysteries. We know very little, and we can explain only a fraction of what happens in our lives. Isn’t that somehow magical? I don’t believe in magic wands, but I do believe that there is much more to the world than what we understand with our limited senses and minimal knowledge. By being open to the mysteries, my life and my writing are enriched.
“I wish I had the vision of the eagle and the courage of the jaguar.”