The Mosquito Coast

  I said, “Emily, if you give us the keys to that jeep, we can get away. My mother will drive us to that place you said—”

  “Awawas.”

  “Yes, and then we’ll leave the jeep and get down the river somehow.”

  “Won’t your father go crazy if you don’t take him?”

  “He’s already crazy,” Jerry said.

  “He can do whatever he wants,” I said. “That’s up to him.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “When I thought he was right—yes, I was. Now that I know he’s wrong, I’m not. Are you afraid of your father?”

  “Mine’s got a gun,” Emily said. “It’s a Mossberg repeater. Plus it’s got a telescopic sight. It’s for the Communists. There’s millions of Communists around here. Hey, if you combed your hair it’d look kind of cute, like James Taylor.”

  “Give us the car keys, please. We’ll take good care of it.”

  “It’s not a car—it’s a Landcruiser. Hey, did your dad really say America’s been wiped out? That’s really incredible, you know? The people on the ship were talking a lot about him. He’s really strange, they said. He’s the weirdest passenger they ever had. Hey, I hope you don’t mind if I say that! If someone said that about my father I’d cry, even though it’s sort of true. Everyone said you were living with Zambus and running around nudo and climbing trees. I wanted to write you a letter. How do you like my hair? I had hot-curls, but Dad made me cut them off. Not wholesome enough. Want some money? I’ve been saving up. I could give you fourteen dollars. Gee, I wish I was a boy—”

  At that moment, with a silence that was like a sudden thud, all the lights in Guampu went out. It was as if a black lid had been clapped onto the place. The chugging of the generator had stopped. Now I could hear frogs.

  “That always happens,” Emily said. “It must be out of gas.”

  The voices from the bungalow were loud.

  “They’re real mad. They were watching Crusade for Christ. Hey, did I tell you about the video machine? It’s a Sony. Dad preaches on it. He can hold services even when he’s not here, like today. The Twahkas freak out when they see it—they like it better than the real preaching. Sometimes they only stay when Dad’s on TV! They all want to be baptized now, so they can watch—”

  “If you don’t get the keys, Emily—”

  “Don’t worry, chicky,” she said, and stood up. “I’ll get them. It’ll be easier in the dark, anyway. Better not crash it.” She walked away, saying, “This is weird, for cry-eye!”

  When she was gone, Jerry started fussing. What if she couldn’t find the keys? What if Dad was looking for us? He cried, he laughed, he kicked the tall grass. He said, “Dad’s a crapster—a liar!” and “Jeez, what are we going to do?”

  “Go home.”

  “Hatfield’s so far away. You don’t even know how to drive. Maybe we should stay here. I hate him, I could kill him.” He took my hand. “Charlie, I’m afraid.”

  “You said you weren’t.”

  “That girl’s right. He really is crazy.”

  Emily came back wagging a flashlight, jingling the keys. “There’s a power cut,” she said. “My dad’s ripping. He just had the generator overhauled. The church sent a guy down from Tegoose.”

  She shone the flashlight onto her own face. She was whiter. She had put lipstick on, there was green dust on her eyelids. The greasy red on her lips made her look older. She smiled and said, “Like it?” She had flecks of red on her teeth. It scared and excited me.

  “Hey, I was thinking. You don’t have to go right off. You could stay here awhile. Maybe meet some Twahkas. A few of them are really neat. We could go up in the plane. And don’t you want to watch some TV?”

  I said, “My father would kill us.”

  “He’s incredible—worse than mine. Hey, why is your brother crying?”

  “Never mind him. But remember—all of this is secret. Don’t tell anyone about us. You have to swear. Cross your heart you won’t tell anyone—not even your father.”

  “I won’t squeal, honest.”

  “What if they ask?”

  “Dad already saw you. He thinks you’re Indians! They took the jeep before. They’re always doing crazy things like that. I’ll blame the Twahkas. It’ll be easy.”

  She walked us to the riverbank. Before we crept into the water, she said she wanted to kiss me. I couldn’t do it with Jerry watching, so I told him to start swimming. When I heard him splash, I kissed her cheek. She grabbed me and put her mouth against mine. Her lips were soft, our front teeth nicked together, she dug her fingers into my back and bumped me with her bones. I kept my arms straight down.

  I had been worrying about how to get back to the boat, but I was so glad to get away from her kissing, the river seemed easy. But the river was cold. I looked back and saw her little light and wanted to kiss her again.

  29

  MOTHER WAS AWAKE, standing outside the cabin, as we climbed on board.

  “Where have you boys been?” She was trying to be angry, but she sounded scared. It is easy to know how people feel by the way they speak in the dark. Emily had shown me that, and now Mother.

  “Over there,” I said. “It was my idea, so don’t blame Jerry.” I looked for the dugout, but couldn’t see it. “Where’s Dad?”

  Mother said, “I thought you were with him. I was keeping watch. Then all the lights went out.”

  “Their generator’s busted.” We strained to see the far bank, but Guampu was in darkness—just jungle, and the chalkmarks of white bungalows. I said, “He was lying to us, Ma.”

  I told her what Emily had said about Baltimore and America. That’s stupid.

  Mother said, “It doesn’t matter.”

  “America’s the same, Ma! There’s nothing wrong!”

  “He hated it the way it was. That’s why he left. That’s why we’re here. He’ll never go back.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Jerry said.

  “Neither am I,” I said.

  “There’s no way out,” she said. “We have to do as we’re told.”

  “We’re making a terrible mistake—that’s what you said!”

  In a sad defeated voice, Mother said, “I should never have said that to you. It’s true, but we have to live with it. This is our life now.” She was going to say more, but she was choked by her crying—it was small, like one of Clover’s sobs.

  “We can get out, Ma. There’s a jeep parked right over there in those trees, on this side of the river.” I showed her the keys and told her where I had gotten them. “You can drive us,” I said. “The five of us—before he gets back.”

  “You mean, leave Dad behind? I can’t believe what you’re saying.”

  “It might be our last chance,” I said. “Please, Ma. Wake up the twins and let’s go. Hurry, or he’ll stop us.”

  “You want Dad to come back to this boat and find we’ve run out on him? That’s horrible, Charlie.”

  “I want to go home!” I grabbed Mother’s shoulders and shook her.

  “What about me?” she said. “Don’t you think I’d jump at the chance to go? But look how dark it is. Dad’s not here. I’m always so frightened when he’s away.”

  She did not push my hands aside, but she was trembling so badly I let go. If she was not willing to drive, there was no way we could escape in that jeep. And yet I could tell she was weakening. She sounded as if she might agree. But she was scared. Father was somewhere out there in the dark—in the dugout or on shore.

  I said, “Maybe he’s left us.”

  “We can’t do anything without him.”

  “He might not come back!”

  Jerry said, “Please, Ma! Please!”

  Mother’s voice shook as she said, “I can’t think straight in the dark.”

  “Tomorrow will be too late. Spellgood will be looking for his keys. He’ll see our boat. We’ll get arrested!”

  A light leaped on in Guampu as I spoke. Now we could see the hard outli
nes of the bungalows. Behind them, like the bonfire of sunrise, something blazed. High flames turned the nearby trees green and gold, and wet them with light, and gave them frantic Zambu shadows. The fire set the birds squawking and scraping, and human shouts reached me at the same time as the stink of burning gasoline.

  “Fire,” Jerry said. The flames lit his face.

  The generator was the next to go. The tanks went with a bang and blew the whole shed sideways into the river. Pools of fire and burning sticks moved quickly, dancing in the current. The people in Guampu were shouting, and the whole jungle was awake with monkey noises and the sounds of birds’ wings thrashing the tree branches.

  Mother said, “Oh, God.”

  The twins woke up and started calling from the cabin.

  Jerry made slow scared groans in his throat.

  And Mother was whimpering, hitting the boat’s rail with the flat of her hand and saying, “Oh, God, oh, God, we should never have stopped here. Why didn’t we keep on going?”

  “Jerry, grab the twins,” I said. “Come on, Ma, let’s get out of here!”

  “Sit down!”

  It was Father’s voice. He appeared on the river, standing in the dugout, the flames behind him, his face a shadow-lump of menace.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He was struggling with the dugout. He swept his paddle into the fiery reflections and swung alongside.

  “Allie, what’s happening?”

  “The fire’s under control. No one’s hurt. They won’t miss that plane. Good thing I saw it—did them a favor. Nipped it in the bud. Okay, spread out—we’re moving.”

  “You’re a liar!” Jerry said, and went at Father like a mutt. “You lied about everything! You said America was destroyed!”

  “I was right,” Father said. “Look at the flames.”

  “Liar! Liar!” Jerry said.

  “Charlie, get this screamer into the bow. We’re clearing out.”

  I said, “We’re not going with you, not after those lies you told us. You made us suffer for nothing.”

  “Into the bow!”

  “Allie, listen to him. He’s got a plan.”

  “You!” Father said, and pushed Mother against the cabin. “You’ve always been against me. You always tried to undermine me. You’re no more use than these kids!”

  The firelight from Guampu, the burning plane, reddened his face and picked out his hairstrings and bored empty holes in his eyes. I was so afraid of his face then, and the twins crying in the cabin, that I grabbed Jerry and pulled him to the bow.

  The boat still swung on the anchor. And there were two lines from the rail tied to a tree that leaned from the bank opposite Guampu. We could hear the Spellgoods’ confusion and the flames beating like sails in the wind.

  “Let’s kill him,” Jerry said. “We’ll tie him up and bash him with a hammer. Then he won’t be able to stop us. He deserves it.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “You do it.”

  “How?”

  “With a hammer,” he whispered. “Bash his head.”

  I never imagined it in those words. Hearing him repeat them made it impossible. The words were harsh brutes (hammer, bash) and frightened me with blood. The shouts from Guampu were like my wounded conscience shrieking.

  “I can’t.”

  “If we don’t, he’ll come after us. He’ll kill us.”

  “Don’t talk—don’t say—”

  “He lied to us,” Jerry said. “He’s dangerous. He burned their plane and blew up their generator. He hit Ma. That’s what it’ll be like from now on, if we stay with him—probably worse.”

  “Pull up the anchor!” Father yelled. “Get that line off the tree!”

  “Don’t do it,” Jerry said. “He wants to leave. He’ll take us further up the river. And he’ll keep us there. He’s in trouble for starting those fires. We’ll never get home”

  “The anchor! Hurry up!”

  “Let’s just leave,” I said. “We can hop to that bank and get away. Come on, Jerry.”

  “He’ll kill Ma and the twins. I know he will.”

  Then Father was behind us, and shouting.

  “What’s eating you two? Here, give me a hand with these lines, Charlie. Jerry, get a bamboo and start poling fast. If these savages see us, they’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks.”

  He stepped into the center of the coiled sounding chain. Before I could think, or stop myself, I yanked it tight around his ankles. He tried to move and tipped himself over. He came down hard and smashed his head against the rail. He was not knocked out, but stunned and half smiling.

  “I’m sorry!” I said. I was terrified. I kept telling him I was sorry, and went to help him up. But by then Jerry was working at tying Father’s hands, looping rope around his wrists and thumbs.

  “Do his feet,” Jerry said. “Help me!”

  I wound the rest of the chain around his ankles.

  “I’m not going to bash him,” I said. “I’m not going to kill him.”

  “Then tie him tight,” Jerry said, and went on lashing Father’s hands together. Father had taught us these knots.

  “Allie, they’re coming!” Mother cried from the stern.

  Father seemed to understand, but he remained on his back, still enough for us to get double knots on his hands and feet. He murmured and drooled in a dopey, disconnected way, while I apologized for what we were doing to him.

  “They’ve got lights,” Mother said. She could not see us. “Allie, what do you want me to do?”

  The airplane was still flaming behind the bungalows, but the generator fire had been squelched by the jungle. On shore, in the darkness, we saw flickering lights—lanterns, spotlights—shaking on the far bank.

  Mother kept crying out. Her voice roused Father, and now he opened his eyes and made a dive at us. But the knots held and tripped him. He banged his head again. He got to his knees and tried to work his hands loose. Jerry picked up an iron pipe from the deck and raised it over Father’s head. I snatched it away from him and threw it overboard. Father had not looked up. He grunted over his knots, then gave a whimper of embarrassment and anger that he couldn’t break the ropes in one hard pull.

  “Hey,” he said in a drunken way, and began biting at his wrists.

  I did not want to be there when he freed himself. Jerry and I ran to the stern. I swung the dugout around to our side of the boat, away from Guampu, and told Mother to get in. She was holding the twins and crouching in the dark, looking toward the Guampu shore, where the small lights swung in the darkness and the distant plane burned.

  A yell went up on shore. It was Spellgood, shouting in Spanish and also in an Indian language, maybe Twahka. His voice had a tunnel echo, as if he was shouting through a bullhorn or a megaphone.

  “Get into the dugout, Ma. Please, hurry!”

  There was a gunshot, not loud, but it had the malice of a poison dart and made a watery wobble and plop into the trees just behind us on the near bank.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s not coming.”

  Another gunshot, and more Indian squawks from Spellgood.

  “Allie!” Mother called to him as she put April and Clover into the dugout. They covered their faces. They were so frightened they had no breath left to scream with. Jerry got in next, then Mother, who was still calling “Allie! Allie!”

  I hopped in and shoved us away from the boat. We were only twenty feet from the bank opposite Guampu, but before we had gone halfway—one paddle stroke—a light settled on the cabin of the boat and lit it from behind. We were hidden by the boat, in its shadow, looking up.

  Father stood and faced the light, and when he tried to cover his face, I saw that his hands were still tied.

  “Communistas,” Spellgood screamed. “Satanas!”

  Mother said, “Allie—here! What’s wrong with him?”

  Father thrashed his tied hands against the cabin roof, beating the knots against the wood.
br />   “Satanas! Diabolos!”

  “Give me a hand here,” Father said in a plain calm voice.

  As he spoke, there was another gunshot. A moment before the far-off crack, there was a smaller sound, almost innocent, like a ripe plum dropping with a mush on the floor.

  And Father went down on his knees saying, “I’m all right! It’s okay! I’m alive!”

  We had reached the bank. The kids jumped out, but Mother remained in the bow.

  “Allie!”

  “Don’t leave me,” he said. He lifted his tied hands. “I’m bleeding, Mother.”

  Mother snatched the paddle from me and in the same movement dug it into the river and shoveled us to the boat, while I held on.

  “Who’s there?” Spellgood said through his megaphone from across the river. He tried to find us with his light. “Who said that?” Father groaned, and groaned again. “I can’t move.”

  By standing up in the dugout on this safe side of the boat, we were able to roll Father over and topple him off the deck into the dugout. He gave an almighty yell, as if we’d broken his back, but we didn’t hesitate. With one of his legs dragging in the river, and water spilling over the gunwales, we made it back to the bank, where the kids were waiting.

  “Hurry,” Mother said.

  “I’m coming after you!” Spellgood cried.

  Father said, “I can’t get out of this thing.”

  Mother dragged him onto the bank and, still hidden from the Guampu shore by the shadow of our hut-boat, we untied Father’s knots. But even with his arms and legs free, he could not move. He lifted his head, but the rest of his body lay heavily against the ground.

  “Help me, Charlie,” Mother said. “All of you—grab hold!” She yanked him through the bushes while we shoved at his legs.

  There were more people on the far shore now. They must have heard the shouts. There seemed dozens of voices. They were calling out to us, and once or twice I thought I heard Emily saying my name. But the river was wide here, the Guampu shore fifty yards away. We moved along, not saying a word until we found the jeep. The voices continued from the other shore. It was as if they were lost and wounded and calling out for help in the darkness—not us.