City of the Beasts (15 page)

"What do they want of us?" Alex asked.

"To see what we're like, maybe," she suggested.

"That's what I want, too," he said.

"We mustn't tell anyone what we've seen, Jaguar."

"It's strange they didn't attack us, and that they don't seem to be interested in the gifts your father put out," Alex commented.

"Do you think they're the ones who killed the soldier on the boat?" Nadia asked.

"I don't know, but if they are, why didn't they attack us today?"

That night Alex stood guard with his grandmother, totally unafraid, because he didn't perceive any scent of the Beast, and he wasn't worried about the Indians. After their strange encounter, he was convinced that pistols would be of little use in case the natives wanted to attack. How would you aim at nearly invisible beings? The Indians dissolved like shadows in the night; they were mute ghosts that could be on top of them and murder them in an instant, before their victims realized they were even there. Deep down, however, he was sure that killing them was not what the People of the Mist intended to do.

CHAPTER TEN
Kidnapped

THE FOLLOWING DAY was slow and boring. It rained so much that they could not dry their clothes before the next cloudburst came along. That same night, the two soldiers disappeared during their watch, and it didn't take long to discover that the boat was gone, too. The two men, who had been terrified since the death of their companions, had fled downriver. They had been near mutiny when they'd not been allowed to go back to Santa María de la Lluvia with the first boat; no one was paying them to risk their lives, they said. César Santos had replied that it was precisely what they were being paid for, they were soldiers, weren't they? The decision to desert could cost them dearly, but they preferred to face a court-martial rather than die at the hands of the Indians or the Beast. For the rest of the expedition group, that boat represented the only possibility of returning to civilization; without it or the radio, they were completely isolated.

"The Indians know where we are. We can't stay here!" exclaimed Professor Leblanc.

"Where do you plan to go, Professor? If we leave this place, the helicopters won't be able to find us when they come. From the air, all you can see is a mass of green; they'll never find us," César Santos explained.

"Can't we follow the river and try to get back to Santa María de la Lluvia on our own?" asked Kate.

"Impossible on foot. There are too many obstacles and detours," the guide replied.

"This is your fault, Cold! We should all have gone back to Santa María de la Lluvia as I proposed," accused the professor.

"All right, it's my fault. What are you going to do about it?" the writer asked.

"I'm going to denounce you! I'm going to ruin your career!

"Maybe I'm going to ruin
yours
, Professor," she replied, not giving an inch.

César Santos interrupted, saying that instead of arguing they should join forces and analyze the situation: the Indians were distrustful and had not shown any interest in the gifts; they were simply watching them—but at least they hadn't attacked.

"You don't call what they did to that poor soldier an attack?" Leblanc asked sarcastically.

"I don't believe it was the Indians, that isn't their way of fighting. If we're lucky, this may be a peaceful tribe," the guide replied.

"But if we're not lucky, they will eat us," grumbled the anthropologist.

"That would be perfect, Professor. That would prove your theory about how ferocious they are," said Kate.

"All right, enough foolishness," cut in the photographer, Timothy Bruce. "We have to make a decision. Do we stay or do we go?"

César Santos took control. "It's been nearly three days since the first boat left. Since they were traveling with the current and Matuwe knows the way, they must be in Santa María de la Lluvia by now. Tomorrow, or two days more at the most, Captain Ariosto's helicopters will be here. They fly by day, and we will have to keep a bonfire going all the time so they can sight the smoke. The situation is difficult, as I said, but it isn't desperate. Lots of people know where we are; they will come look for us."

Nadia was calm, hugging her little monkey as if she didn't understand the magnitude of what was happening. Alex, on the other hand, concluded that he had never been in such danger, not even when he was hanging off the face of El Capitán, a sheer cliff that only the most expert dare to climb. If he hadn't been roped to his father's waist, he could have died.

César Santos had warned all of them about various insects and animals in the jungle, from tarantulas to serpents, but he had forgotten to mention ants. Alex had stopped wearing his boots; not only were they always damp and foul smelling, they were also too tight; he supposed they'd shrunk from being wet. Even though he rarely took off the sandals César Santos had given him, his feet were covered with scabs and abrasions.

"This is no place for delicate feet," was his grandmother's only comment when he showed her the bleeding cuts.

Her indifference turned to concern when Alex was bitten by a fire ant. He hadn't been able to choke back a yell; he felt as if someone had burned his ankle with a cigarette. The ant had left a small white mark that within a few minutes had turned as hard and round as a cherry. Pain rose up his leg like flames, and he couldn't take another step. Dr. Omayra Torres warned him that the poison would last for several hours and he would have to bear it with no relief but warm-water compresses.

"I hope you're not allergic, because if you are, the consequences will be more serious," the doctor observed.

He wasn't, but the bite ruined a good part of the day nevertheless. By evening, as soon as he could put weight on his foot and take a few steps, Nadia told him that while the others had been doing their chores, she had seen Karakawe hanging around the boxes of vaccines. When the Indian realized that she had spied him, he took her by the arms so brutally that he left his finger marks on her skin, and he warned her that if she said one word about what she'd seen, she would pay for it. Nadia was sure that the man would do what he threatened, but Alex thought they couldn't
not
tell, they needed to warn the doctor. The girl, who admired the doctor as much as she did her father and was beginning to cherish the fantasy of seeing her become her stepmother, also wanted to tell her about the conversation they'd heard in Santa María de la Lluvia between Mauro Carías and Captain Ariosto. She was still convinced that Karakawe was the person sent to carry out Carías's sinister plans.

"Let's not say anything just yet," Alex urged.

They waited for the right moment, when Karakawe had gone off to fish at the river, and presented the situation to Dr. Omayra Torres. She listened very closely, showing signs of uneasiness for the first time since they had met her. Even at the most dramatic moments of their adventure, this delightful woman had not lost her calm; she had the steely nerves of a samurai. She was not shaken this time, either, but she did want to know every detail. When she found that Karakawe had opened the cases but not broken the seals on the vials, she sighed with relief.

"These vaccines are the only hope for the Indians. We must guard them like a treasure," she said.

"Alex and I have been watching Karakawe; we think he's the one who tampered with the radio, but my father says that we can't accuse him without proof," said Nadia.

"Let's not worry your father with these suspicions, Nadia, he already has enough problems. Among the three of us, we can neutralize Karakawe. I want you two to keep an eye on him every minute," Dr. Torres said, and they promised that they would.

That day went by without incident. César Santos continued his attempts to repair the radio transmitter, without results. Timothy Bruce had brought a radio they had used to listen to news from Manaus during the early part of the trip, but the signal was too weak to pick up now. They were bored, because once they had caught some birds and a couple of fish for the day's meals, there was nothing more to do; it was pointless to hunt or fish anymore because the catch would be covered with ants or rotted in a matter of hours. Finally Alex could understand the mentality of the Indians, and why they never accumulated anything. The members of the expedition took turns keeping the campfire smoking as a signal in case their rescuers were looking for them, although according to César Santos, it was still too early for that. Timothy Bruce produced a worn pack of cards and they played poker, blackjack, and gin rummy until the light began to fade. There was no hint of the penetrating odor of the Beast.

Nadia, Kate, and the doctor went to the river to relieve themselves and bathe; it had been agreed that no one would venture alone outside the camp. For their most private needs, the three women went together; for everything else they all took turns in pairs. César Santos arranged things so that he was always with Omayra Torres, which annoyed Timothy Bruce considerably since he, too, was captivated by the doctor. Even though Kate had warned the Englishman to save the film for the Beast and the Indians, he had taken so many photographs of Dr. Torres that she refused to pose any more. The writer and Karakawe were the only ones who did not seem to be impressed by the young woman. Kate muttered that she was too old to notice a pretty face, a comment that to Alex sounded like a hint of jealousy unworthy of someone as cool as his grandmother. Professor Leblanc, who could not compete in looks with César Santos, or youth with Timothy Bruce, tried to impress the young beauty with the weight of his celebrity, and never lost an opportunity to read aloud paragraphs from his book, in which he outlined in detail the hair-raising dangers he had faced among the Indians. It was difficult for her to imagine the cowardly Leblanc dressed only in a loincloth, fighting hand to hand with Indians and wild beasts, hunting with arrows and surviving unaided in the midst of all kinds of natural catastrophes, as he described. In any case, the rivalry over Dr. Omayra Torres's attention had created a certain tension among the men in the group, which increased as the hours went by anxiously waiting for the helicopter.

Alex checked his ankle; it still hurt and was a little swollen, but the hard red cherry where the ant had bitten him was smaller. The compresses of warm water had helped a lot. To entertain himself, he took up his flute and began to play his mother's favorite concerto, the sweet and romantic music of a European composer dead for more than a century but a melody that seemed suited to the jungle around them. His grandfather Joseph was right; music is a universal language. At the first notes, Borobá came bounding up and sat at Alex's feet, as absorbed as a music critic, and after only a few minutes, Nadia returned with the doctor and Kate. The girl waited until the others were busy preparing the camp for the night, then signaled to Alex, who casually followed her.

"They're here again, Jaguar," she whispered into his ear.

"The Indians?"

"Yes, the People of the Mist. I think they came to hear the music. Be still, and follow me."

They walked about twenty yards into the thicket, then stopped, just as they had before. As hard as Alex tried to see, he could not make out anyone among the trees; the Indians blended into the background. Suddenly he felt firm hands on his arms, and when he looked around, he saw that Nadia and he were surrounded. This time the Indians were not staying at a distance, as they had before; now Alex could smell the sweetish scent of their bodies. Again he noticed how short and slim they were, but this time he could also see that they were very strong, and that there was something fierce in their attitude. Could Leblanc be right when he claimed they were violent and cruel?

"Ah-ee-ah," he said tentatively in greeting.

A hand clamped over his mouth, and before he could realize what was happening, he felt himself lifted off the ground by his ankles and upper arms. He started to twist and kick, but the hands did not let go. He felt a sharp blow to his head, whether a fist or a rock he couldn't tell, but he realized that if he was smart, he would let himself be carried or they would knock him senseless or kill him. He thought about Nadia and wondered if she, too, had been taken by force. He seemed to hear his grandmother's voice in the distance, calling him, as the Indians—and he—vanished into the darkness like spirits of the night.

Alexander felt sharp stabs in the ankle where the fire ant had bitten him. He was now in the strong grasp of one of the four Indians carrying him. His captors were trotting, and with each step his body jounced brutally; the pain in his shoulders felt as if he were being torn limb from limb. The Indians had pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his head, blinding and silencing him. He could barely breathe and his head hurt, but he was relieved that he hadn't lost consciousness; that meant that the warriors had not hit him very hard, and did not intend to kill him. At least, not for the moment… It seemed to him that they traveled a long way before finally they stopped and dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The relief to his muscles and bones was almost immediate, although his ankle was burning terribly. He was afraid that if he pulled off the T-shirt, it would provoke his attackers, but he waited awhile and when nothing happened he went ahead and removed it. No one stopped him. When his eyes got used to the pale light of the moon, he saw that he was in the middle of the forest, lying on a cushion of humus. All around him, in a tight circle, he sensed the presence of the Indians, although he couldn't actually see them in the faint light and without his eyeglasses. He remembered his Swiss Army knife and casually put his hand to his belt, but he was checked by a firm hand on his wrist. Then he heard Nadia's voice and felt the tiny hands of Borobá on his neck. Alex yipped as the monkey put his fingers on the bump where he had been hit.