The Sick Horror at The Lost and Found (11 page)

After one of her husband’s unexplained
departures, Tuna woke one morning and found him stretched out
before her front doorstep, dead. His clothes were wet and his lungs
were full of water. The police said he must have drowned, and that
someone dragged his corpse there. But the mysterious second party,
whether he was Tuna’s husband’s murderer or accomplice, was never
discovered. The villagers surmised that he drowned in the very mine
where he found the gold, and that whoever he was working with
didn’t speak up for fear of having to give up the secret of the
gold’s location.

“
But the truth is,” the old
woman related to María, “There never was a mine. My husband never
said so, but I knew there was never a mine.” She clutched María’s
arm and pulled her closer. “My husband was a grave robber,” she
whispered.

The woman closed her eyes and began to
cough quietly, but I could tell her lungs couldn’t take much. She
rocked back and forth, as if continuing the conversation was
greatly straining her.

With my weak Spanish, I couldn’t
really capture much of the exchange between María and Tuna. But
according to what María later summarized for me, they spoke of
black deeds and ancient Indian magic. The imposing and impassive
slopes of Volcán Barú dominate the Chiriquí landscape. From its
base in the town of Boquete, it doesn’t look much like a volcano.
But take a step back and travel across the highlands to The Lost
and Found, and you will see postcard perfect panoramic views of the
mountain, set in breath-taking contrast to the hills and rugged
mountain terrain surrounding it. The volcano now sleeps, but
thousands of years ago it erupted and spat out massive boulders,
scattering them for dozens of miles around the Chiriquí landscape.
Hidden in the rivers and fields along the road between Boquete and
The Lost and Found, and even more so on the road to Bocas, ancient
symbols called petroglyphs can be found carved into the black stone
of these volcanic rocks. One of the more well-known petroglyph
sites is part of a tour The Lost and Found runs to hot springs near
the town of Caldera. The boulder there is called The Elephant
Stone, because of its resemblance to a sleeping elephant. Most
archeologists believe that pre-Columbian Indians carved the symbols
into the stone, and that the boulders served as kind of an ancient
altar, adorned with the images of the spirits that the Indians
worshipped and feared. But no one really knows their
meaning.

“
Or, at least…” Tuna
coughed, turning to look at Gabriel. “They are forgetting their
meaning.”

Our expert guide Gabriel is a Ngäbe
Indian, the predominate indigenous group in western Panama. But his
parents were killed when he was a child, and he was raised by
Latinos. The other Ngäbe, his brothers, seem completely subjugated
to me. One of the volunteers at the Lost and Found, Nico, is
somewhat more generous in his assessment than I and prefers to
describe them as, “cautious and reserved.” Of course, he worked
with the Ngäbe during his time in the Peace Corps and may have gone
a little native.

“
The Ngäbe know,” Tuna
said, staring at Gabriel. “But they are either afraid or they
choose to forget.” Gabriel fidgeted again with his nose, although I
am not really sure he knew what Tuna was talking about.

According to Tuna, below
the ancient altar of symbols existed the
huacas
, tombs of Indian nobles
accompanied by gold idols depicting their deities. The idols were
buried to protect them from the invading Spaniards. But the gold
was protected in other ways as well. Powerful
sukias
, shamans renowned for magic
powers and abilities to communicate with the spirits, bewitched the
tombs and burial grounds of their chiefs and kings, invoking the
vengeance of the most malevolent of the spirits. The spirits
enchant the
huacas
, and none of the Indians would dare desecrate the altar of
their gods. But there would come a day, the legends say, when white
foreigners who do not believe in the gods could resist their
protective curse. When they shake the earth and light fires, the
stones will rise, so the legend says.

“
My husband tried to dig
around the curse, but the spirits struck him dead.” Tuna began to
raise her voice and tears flowed. “He did not find a mine. There is
no mine.”

I have no idea if the story
she told was true or if this was her first confession. But the old
lady trembled and stared into María’s eyes. María walked over and
hugged Tuna, who began to weep to so piteously that Gabriel and I
looked at each other, wondering whether we should leave. But María
leaned close and whispered something into her ear. Tuna’s demeanor
changed dramatically. She stopped shaking and looked at María,
repeating, “
Gracias, gracias, Madre,
gracias.
”

It was dark by the time we left the
village of Valle de la Mina. Gabriel left us for his home, and we
walked along the highway in silence. I don’t know what was
bothering María, but she seemed on edge. The exchange with Tuna had
affected her.

We were walking in awkward silence for
a while when a ragged old mutt ran from across the road toward us.
María leaned down and petted him, and he trailed behind us as we
walked toward The Lost and Found.

Suddenly, around a sharp bend in the
highway, an eighteen-wheeler truck roared up from behind us. We
turned at the same time as the dog, which stood right in the
truck’s path. For a moment it looked like the truck would pass
right over the little creature, but then we saw him get smoked by
the crankshaft or the center of the rear axle. He bounced more than
four feet in the air in the wake of the huge truck. We stepped to
the side of the road, and the lights of the semi temporarily
blinded us. When we looked back for the dog it had
vanished.

We walked to the spot in the road
where it should have been -- but nothing. Then suddenly we saw him
yelping at the side of the road, running around in circles. He
looked at us and then just flopped over onto his side,
panting.

I wanted to just move on, but María
wanted to help. She cradled the dog in her arms and at first it
growled, quietly but deeply. After a moment it went back to
panting.

“
Do you hear that?” María
asked, lifting her head.

I looked around. “What?”

“
Someone
crying.”

I listened intently. I heard nothing.
Maybe the wind in the trees. Maybe some water running.

I remembered a time when I was
younger. I woke up and thought I heard crying, but I wasn’t sure if
it was just the sound of the air coming in through my own nose. I
walked down to the garage, thinking it might have come from
there.

When I opened the garage door, a tom
cat hissed and ran out an open door. There, in the corner, was a
paper bag with kittens, their throats ripped open, bleeding, dead.
For some reason I wanted to tell María about this. To share
something real from my past. But I didn’t.

“
I wonder if it knows it
will die,” María said, looking into its eyes.

“
It looks okay to me,” I
said.

“
It’s hemorrhaging,” she
said.

The dog let her stroke the back of its
head and whined.

“
We always feel most alive
moments before death.” And then, suddenly and deliberately, she put
a knee on the dog’s chest and snapped his neck with both hands. It
made no sound. It just went limp in her arms. I lost my breath, and
she could see I had trouble recovering. She caught my gaze and
seemed angered at first by my shocked reaction. She let the dog
fall from her lap and put her arm on my shoulders and leaned close
to me. My heart was pounding. Her long dark hair fell into my face.
I could smell the faint scent of lavender soap that has become her
smell for me forever. But this gentle closeness, after such
brutality, paralyzed me.

“
All great things must
first wear terrifying monstrous masks,” she whispered and turned
back toward The Lost and Found.

At that moment I thought that María
might not be traveling. She was running – maybe hiding. There are
yesterdays on the road… a little behind you around the bend. And I
wanted to know every inch of the road, no matter how
uncomfortable.

La, la… la, la,la

By Steve Banks

Patty Poo,

Gabriel carried a rock down the hill
before lunch. After lunch his job was to bring it back up. Gabriel
asked why he is only carrying rocks up and down the hill. He looked
sad. We all laughed. I think on the inside he was laughing. Or
maybe later he will laugh.

A thousand apologies again for missing
your call. Try Sunday after one P.M. and before two P.M.

More good news about the zip-line. Two
quetzals flew in today and lucky me, I had a pellet gun to protect
the garden. .. pang!. Made a fucking awesome hat that sold fast on
e-Bay. Gabriel will start the zip-line after a few more loads of
rocks.

Garden doing great. Thinking about
planting coco but not the chocolate kind. Can’t tell you what I
mean over email… need to be discreet, ya know. Someone named
Capitan Gonzalez dropped by but was disappointed because it looked
like the weed didn’t yet have THC in it. He promised to come back
though. Funny, I asked about his boat but he said he didn’t have
one. Sure would be nice if he had a boat to take this stuff back to
the States.

P.S. Kermit (The kinkajou formerly
known as Rocky) was biting his fur. Well, he ate a fair chunk of it
off. Don’t worry we fixed the problem. The thing is we didn’t use
sugar free Kool-Aid to die him green and we all know how much he
likes sweet things. He must have been in heaven… like he was
tasting cotton candy for the first time. Anyway we solved the
problem and used blue sugar free Hawaiian Punch to die him this
time around. The kinkajou formerly known as Rocky (whoever named
him must have eaten one too many retard sandwiches) who later
became Kermit will now be known as Papa Smurf and you shall refer
to him as such in all future emails please.

The only one who respects
you,

Steve

Bar is Messy

By Steve Banks

Andrew,

I find myself quite fetching these
days when I look in the mirror. Have a pin mustache, suspenders,
Panama Hat and wife beater.

Hot girls in the bar last night… right
on! Bar is a mess though… cleaners can’t get in.

Steve

P.S. I know what everything tastes
like.

Response:

Hey Steve,

Good to hear you got skinny girls in
the bar. Remember a hard on counts as personal growth. Put that on
your resume.

Andrew

P.S. Why? Why on earth would you think
to eat hair follicles?

Masonic Pillars in the
Rosicrucian Temple

By Mathew Hope

When I arrived at Bambu Hostel in
David, I asked for the discount I heard was given to volunteers at
The Lost and Found. I was denied. I went back to the pool where
María was lounging on a deck chair, wearing a bikini and soaking up
the sun. There was a small collection of backpackers dangling
around her aura. I offered her a kiss on the cheek. She looked at
me as if I had been testing her. She grabbed the back of my head
and gave me a kiss on the lips. I told her we had to pay the
regular price for the dorm.

“
Dorm?” she said, raising
an eyebrow. She took off her sun glasses and sauntered up to the
front desk. She came back with a private room at half
price.

“
I guess I don’t have the
face for a discount,” I said. She smiled sympathetically, as if she
detected resentment.

“
Oh Matt,” she said. “I am
a woman. There’s no face. It’s your eyes that see what you want to
see.”

The first few weeks with María I was
waiting… waiting with nervous anticipation to see if she felt the
same as me. I was ecstatic to learn that she did, and even more so
to discover we were exclusive. Now I am still on edge. The
interview, where we put our best face forward, is over, and we are
now making the contract. Everyone writes this differently but we
sign when we are on the same page… when we both know what we would
consider betrayal… when we think we know what the other is capable
of.

At three a.m. that night, María woke
me up.

“
Did you hear that?” she
said. I listened and heard the distant sound of thunder.

“
A storm?” I
said.

“
Yeah, I have been
counting. It’s getting closer. We have to leave now.”

She pulled a small backpack from under
the bed and told me to get dressed – not like a gringo – while she
looked for a taxi. We took it to a 24 hour fast food chicken place
not far away and continued on foot, toward the David
fairgrounds.

After a few minutes, María dropped her
backpack and flopped down on a curb in an area with almost no
houses. It was dark and I could really only see her in flashes of
lightning. Despite the electric, metallic smell that filled the
air, the rain had yet to come. María took my hand, and we sat in
the blackness.