River of Death

  Smith said: ‘Well, granted, granted, you know how to make bonfires. But what’s it all in aid of?’

  ‘Safety measures. Keeps the creepy-crawlies at bay. Wild animals fear fire.’ He was to be proved half right, half wrong.

  He was on his third fuel-hunting trip and was returning to camp when he heard the piercing scream of fear. He dropped the fuel and ran into the brightly lit clearing. He knew the high-pitched scream could only have come from Maria and as he closed on her hammock the reason for her terror was obvious: a giant anaconda, at least thirty feet in length and with its tail still anchored to one of the trees that supported Maria’s hammock, had one of its deadly coils wrapped round the base of her hammock. She was in no way pinned down, just too paralysed with fear to move. The anaconda’s vast jaws were agape.

  It was not Hamilton’s first anaconda and he had a nodding respect for them but no more. A full-grown specimen can swallow a 150-pound deer in its entirety. But while they could be endlessly patient, even cunning, in waiting for their next meal to come along, they were extremely slow-witted in action. While Maria continued to scream in the same mindless terror, he approached within feet of the fearsome head. No more than any other creature on earth could an anaconda withstand three Luger bullets in the head: it died immediately, but even in its death the coil slipped over the girl’s ankles and continued to contract. Hamilton struggled to pull the leathery coil free but was brushed aside by Ramon who carefully placed two rifle bullets into the upper centre of the coil, severing the main spinal nerve. The anaconda at once went limp.

  Hamilton carried her across to his groundsheet close by the fire. She was in a state of mild shock. Keep a shocked patient warm, Hamilton had often heard, and the thought had no sooner occurred to him than Ramon knelt alongside, a sleeping-bag in his hands. Together they eased the girl inside, zipped up the bag and sat to wait. Navarro came to join them and jerked a thumb in the direction of an apparently sleeping Smith.

  ‘Observe our gallant hero,’ he said. ‘Asleep? He’s wide awake. Has been all the time. I watched him.’

  Ramon said complainingly: ‘You might have come and watched us.’

  ‘When you and Senor Hamilton can’t take care of a simple-minded reptile like that it’s time for us all to retire. I saw his face and he was terrified, seemed quite unable to move: not, I am sure, that he wanted to move or had any intention of moving. Has the girl been hurt?’

  ‘Not physically,’ Hamilton said. ‘I’m afraid this is basically my fault. I had a big fire going to frighten off wild animals. Well, anacondas are also wild creatures and as frightened of fire as any other. This one just wanted out: it was the devil’s bad luck that it was roosting in the tree that helped support Maria’s hammock. I’m pretty sure she would have come to no harm. The reptile was simply easing its way down the tree. Apart from the fact that its belly is swollen and obviously would not be requiring another meal for a fortnight, it probably had a much greater matter on its mind, such as getting the hell out of here. All very unfortunate but no harm done.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ramon said. ‘I hope.’

  ‘You hope?’ Hamilton said.

  ‘Trauma,’ Ramon said. ‘How deep does a trauma lie? This has been a traumatic experience. But I think that’s only a side issue. I have the feeling that her whole life has been a traumatic experience.’

  ‘You plunging into the deep waters of psychology, psychiatry or what-have-you, Ramon?’ Hamilton didn’t smile as he spoke.

  ‘I agree with Ramon,’ Navarro said. ‘Twins, you know,’ he added apologetically. ‘Something is wrong or not what it appears to be. Her actions, her behaviour, the way she talks and smiles—I find it hard to believe that this is a bad person, a common whore. Smith, we know, is a bad person. She doesn’t care for him, any fool can see that. So what goes on?’

  ‘Well,’ Hamilton said judicially, ‘he’s got a lot to offer—’

  ‘Ignore Senor Hamilton,’ Ramon said. ‘He’s just trying to provoke us.’

  Navarro nodded in agreement then said: ‘I think she is a prisoner in some way or another.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Hamilton said. ‘Possibly. Has it occurred to either of you that he might be in some way her prisoner, without ever knowing it?’

  Navarro looked at Ramon, then accusingly at Hamilton. ‘There you go again, Senor Hamilton. You know something that we don’t know and you’re not telling us.’

  ‘I know nothing that you don’t know and far be it from me to suggest that I look more closely and, perhaps, think a little more deeply. But, then, you are young.’

  ‘Young?’ Navarro was indignant. ‘Neither of us, Senor Hamilton, will ever see thirty again.’

  ‘That’s what I meant.’ He put his fingers to his lips. Beside him, Maria was stirring. She opened her eyes, still huge with fear and horror. Hamilton touched her gently on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right now,’ he said gently. ‘It’s all over.’

  ‘That horrible, ghastly head.’ Her voice was no more than a husky whisper and she was shaking. Ramon rose and walked away. ‘That awful snake—’

  ‘The snake is dead,’ Hamilton said. ‘And you are unharmed. We promise you, no harm will come to you.’

  She lay there breathing shallowly, her eyes closed. She opened them again when Ramon returned and knelt by her side. He had an aluminium cup in one hand, a bottle in the other.

  Hamilton said: ‘And what do we have here?’

  ‘The finest cognac,’ Ramon replied. ‘As is only to be expected. Smith’s private supplies.’

  ‘I don’t like brandy,’ she said.

  ‘Ramon is right. You’d better like it. You need it.’

  Ramon poured a generous measure. She tasted it, coughed, screwed her eyes shut and emptied the cup in two gulps.

  ‘Good girl,’ Hamilton said.

  ‘Awful,’ she said. She looked at Ramon. ‘But thank you. I feel better already.’ She glanced across the clearing and fear touched her eyes again. ‘That hammock—’

  ‘You’re not going back to that hammock,’ Hamilton said. ‘It’s safe enough now, of course, it was just sheer bad luck that the anaconda was up the tree when your hammock was slung, but we can understand your not wanting to go back there. You’re in Ramon’s sleeping-bag and on a ground-sheet. You’ll stay just where you are. We’ll keep a big fire going all night and one of the three of us will keep an eye on you till the morning. Come the dawn, I promise you not even a mosquito will have come near you.’

  Slowly she looked at the three men in turn then said huskily: ‘You are all very kind to me.’ She tried to smile but it was only a try. ‘Damsel in distress. Is that it?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s a little bit more to it than that,’ Hamilton said. ‘But now’s not the time to talk about it. Just you try to sleep—I’m sure Ramon will give you a night-cap to help you on your way. Oh, hell.’

  Smith, who obviously felt that he had maintained his distance long enough, was approaching, his whole attitude manifesting his resentment of Maria’s close proximity to the three men. As he dropped to his knees beside her, Hamilton rose, looked at him, turned and walked away, the twins following.

  Ramon said: ‘Senor Hamilton. Quiexada, piranha, anaconda, a sick girl and a villain. To pick so divine a resting spot in such unique company is a gift not given to many.’

  Hamilton just looked at him and moved off into the forest to retrieve his load of firewood.

  Early in the morning Hamilton led the others in single file through the rainforest and across firm ground, firm because the terrain was gently rising and the water table was now well below them. After about two hours’ walking Hamilton stopped and waited until the others gathered round him.

  ‘From here on,’ Hamilton said, ‘no talking. Not one word. And watch where you put your feet. I don’t want to hear as much as the crackle of a broken twig. Understood?’ He looked at Maria, who looked pale and exhausted, not so much from the rigours of the walk, for there had been
none, but because she had not slept at all: the previous night’s experience, as Ramon had said, had been something more than traumatic. ‘It’s not much further. Half an hour, at most, then we’ll have a rest and carry on during the afternoon.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’m beginning to hate this rainforest. I suppose you’ll be telling me again that no-one asked me to come.’

  ‘A snake on every tree, is that it?’ She nodded. ‘No more worry,’ Hamilton said. ‘You’ll never again spend a night in the forest. That’s another promise.’

  Tracy said slowly: ‘I take it that that can mean only one thing. I take it that we’ll be in the Lost City tonight.’

  ‘If things go as I hope, yes.’

  ‘You know where you are?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve known ever since we left the hovercraft.’

  ‘True. How did you know?’

  ‘Because you haven’t used your compass since.’

  Half an hour later, exactly as he had forecast, Hamilton, finger to his lips, stopped and waited for the others to come up to him. When he spoke, it was in a whisper.

  ‘On your lives. Not a sound. Stay hidden until I tell you otherwise. On your hands and knees then lie prone until I give the word.’

  And so on hands and knees they advanced in total silence. Hamilton dropped forward and eased himself slowly ahead, using elbows and toes. He stopped again and waited until the others had joined him. He pointed forward, through the trees. In a lush green valley below them they could see an Indian village. There were dozens of large huts and, in the centre, a very large communal hut, which looked as if it could accommodate at least two hundred people with ease. The place seemed to be deserted until suddenly a small copper-coloured child appeared carrying a flint axe and a nut which he placed on a flat stone and proceeded to belabour. It was like a scene from the Stone Age, from the dawn of prehistory. A laughing woman, statuesque and also copper-coloured, emerged from the same hut and picked up the child.

  In slow wonderment, Tracy said: ‘That colour? That appearance? Those aren’t Indians.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Hamilton said urgently. ‘They’re Indians all right but they do not come from the Amazon basin. They come from the Pacific.’

  Tracy stared at him, still in wonderment, and shook his head.

  Suddenly people, scores of them, began to emerge from the communal hut. That they were not Amazonian Indians was obvious from the fact that there were as many women as men among them: normally, in the Amazonian basin, women are banned from the meeting places of elders and warriors. All were of the same copper colour, all possessed of a proud, almost regal bearing. They began to disperse towards their huts.

  Smith touched Hamilton on the arm and said in a low voice: ‘Who are those people?’

  ‘The Muscias.’ Smith turned pale.

  ‘Goddamned Muscias!’ he said in a vicious whisper. ‘What the hell are you playing at? Head-hunters, you said. Head-shrinkers! Cannibals! I’m off!’

  ‘Off where, you clown? You’ve got no place left to run to. Stay here. Don’t, don’t, don’t show yourselves.’

  The advice was probably superfluous. No-one, clearly, had the slightest intention of showing himself.

  Hamilton rose and walked confidently into the clearing. He had gone at least ten paces before he was noticed. There was a sudden silence, the babble of voices ceased, then the chatter redoubled in volume. An exceptionally tall Indian, old and with his forearms almost covered in what were unquestionably gold bracelets, gazed for some seconds then ran forward. He and Hamilton embraced each other.

  The old man, who was surely the chief, and Hamilton engaged in an animated, if incomprehensible, conversation. The chief, with an expression of incredulity on his face, repeatedly shook his head. Just as firmly Hamilton nodded his. Suddenly, Hamilton extended his right arm and made a semi-circular motion, bringing his arm to a sudden halt. The chief looked long at him, seized him by the arms, smiled and nodded his head. He turned and spoke rapidly to his people.

  Tracy said: ‘I’d say those two people have met somewhere before.’

  The chief finished addressing his people, all of whom had now gathered in the clearing, and spoke again to Hamilton, who nodded and turned.

  Hamilton shouted to his waiting companions: ‘You can come now. Keep your hands well away from any weapon.’

  Not quite dazedly, but not understanding what was happening, the other eight members of the party entered the clearing.

  Hamilton said: ‘This is Chief Corumba.’ He introduced each of the eight in turn. The chief gravely acknowledged each introduction, shaking each in turn by hand.

  Hiller said: ‘But Indians don’t shake hands.’

  ‘This Indian does.’

  Maria touched Hamilton on the arm. ‘But those savage head-hunters—’

  ‘These are the kindliest, most gentle, most peaceable people on earth. In their language they do not have a word for war because they do not know what war is. They are lost children from a lost age and the people who built the Lost City.’

  Serrano said: ‘And I thought I knew more about the tribes of the Mato Grosso than any man alive.’

  ‘And so you may, Serrano, so you may. If, that is to say, I can take the word of Colonel Diaz.’

  ‘Colonel Diaz?’ Smith said. He was clearly floundering in deep water. ‘Who’s Colonel Diaz?’

  ‘A friend of mine.’

  Tracy said: ‘But their ferocious reputation—’

  ‘A fiction invented by Dr Hannibal Huston, the man who found these lost people. He thought that such a reputation might ensure them—what shall we say?—a little privacy.’

  ‘Huston?’ Hiller said. ‘Huston? You—you found Huston?’

  ‘Years ago.’

  ‘But you’ve only been in the Mato Grosso for four months.’

  ‘I have known it for many years. Remember in the Hotel de Paris in Romono you mentioned my search for the golden people? I forgot to mention that I also met them years ago. Here they are. The Children of the Sun.’

  Maria said: ‘And Dr Huston is still in the Lost City?’

  ‘He’s still there. Come, I believe these good people want to offer us some hospitality. First, however, I owe you a small explanation about them.’

  ‘High time, too,’ Smith said. ‘Why all the dramatic, stealthy approach to them?’

  ‘Because if we had approached as a group they would have run away. They have every good reason to fear those from the outside world. We, ironically known as the civilizados—in practically everything that matters they’re a damned sight more civilised than we are—bring them so-called progress, which harms them, so-called change, which harms them, so-called civilisation, which harms them even more, and disease, which kills them. These people have no natural resistance to measles or influenza. Either of those are to them what bubonic plague was to Europeans and Asiatics in the Middle Ages. Half a tribe can be wiped out in a fortnight. The same thing happened to the people of Tierra del Fuego. Well-meaning missionaries gave them simple clothes, primarily so that the women could cover their nakedness. The blankets came from a hospital where there had been a measles epidemic. Most of the people were wiped out.’

  Tracy said: ‘But our presence here. Surely that endangers them?’

  ‘No. Almost half the Muscias were destroyed by measles or influenza or a combination of both. These people here are the survivors, having acquired natural immunity the hard way. As I said, it was Dr Huston who found them. Although mainly famous as an explorer, his real life’s work lay elsewhere. He was one of the original sertanistas—men wise in jungle ways—and a founder member of the FUNAI, the National Foundation for the Indian, people who dedicate their lives to protecting the Indians and rendering them harmless to civilizados. “Pacification” is the term generally used but in truth what they mainly required was protection against the civilizados. Sure, many of the tribes were genuinely savage—well, not s
o many, there are less than two hundred thousand pure-blood Indians left-but their savagery sprang from fear and very understandably so. Even in modern times, those civilised gentlemen from the outer world, and by no means all Brazilians, either, have machine-gunned them, dynamited them from the air and given them poisoned food.’

  ‘This is all news to me,’ Smith said, ‘and I’ve lived in this country for many years. Frankly, I find it very hard to believe.’

  ‘Serrano will confirm it.’

  ‘I confirm it. I take it that you, too, are a sertanista.’

  ‘Yes. Not always a very happy job. We have our failures. The Chapate and the Horena, as you’ve seen, are not too keen on the idea of co-operation with the outside world. And, inevitably, we bring disease as we did here. Come along, Chief Corumba is summoning us to eat. It may taste a little odd, but I can assure you that no harm will come to any of you.’

  One hour later the visitors were still seated around a rough wooden table outside the communal hut. Before them lay the remains of an excellent if rather exotic meal—game, fish, fruit and other unknown delicacies concerning the nature of which it had been thought more prudent not to ask: all had been washed down with cachassa, a rather potent brew. At the end, Hamilton thanked Chief Corumba on behalf of all of them and turned to the others.

  ‘I think it’s time we were on our way.’

  Tracy said: ‘One thing intrigues me. I’ve never seen so many gold ornaments in my life.’

  ‘I thought that might intrigue you.’

  ‘Where do these people come from?’

  ‘They don’t know themselves. A lost people who have lost everything and that includes their history. It was Dr Huston’s theory that they are the descendants of the Quimbaya, an ancient tribe from the Cauca or Magdalena valleys in the western Andes of Colombia.’