When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (6 page)

‘I doubt I’ll manage to get far today, I feel too exhausted.’ Florent broke the silence. ‘I don’t understand how you can stand all this without complaining. My legs hurt so bad I can hardly walk.’

‘Complaining doesn’t bring us any closer to finding a way out of here. Anyway, I am used to walking in harsh mountain conditions. I am more of an outdoor than indoor man. I live in the south of France, in Toulouse, not far from the Pyrenees. Every year, in the fall, I used to take a two-week walking trip in the mountains. Some years I stayed in France, others I crossed onto the Spanish side.’

‘You used to? Did you stop? Why?’

‘Something happened… something bad. But I don’t want to talk about it now.’

‘How bad? An accident, someone died?’

‘Don’t insist. I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Ok, I won’t.’

‘What about you? How much of an outdoorsman are you?’

‘I wouldn’t call myself an outdoor type. I’m from Liège and have an occasional weekend in the Ardennes. Of course, the Ardennes can’t equal the Pyrenees. Anyway I prefer to ride a bicycle than walk.’ Florent paused for a few seconds and then exclaimed:

‘Oh, I can’t stand it anymore. I need a rest.’

‘Make an effort. We should push on a few more miles before we take a rest. Just think, each step we take brings us closer to getting out of this bloody jungle.’

Another hour went by. Accompanied by hordes of biting insects and mosquitoes, they marched steadfastly on. Strangely, walking calmed them down, because they were focused on one goal: to go straight ahead, to advance as far as possible.

After some time the fog started to thin out. The dense jungle around them looked as if no human had ever set foot in it. The temperature rose and the heat became agonising.

At noon they decided to stop soon for a short break and to look for something to eat.

Unexpectedly from a short distance away came a sound of rushing water. First it was just a soft murmuring, barely audible. Then it grew in strength as they approached its source. They followed the sound filled with a new surge of hope. Maybe a river flew nearby.

‘A river? Another waterfall?’ Didier wondered.

A few more steps and from behind the dense wall of trees emerged again a foamy, rushing stream of water falling from a high rocky cliff with an immense roar. The sharp rays of the sun made it shine with all the colours of the rainbow.

‘A waterfall. It looks exactly like the one we saw yesterday,’ said Florent, disappointed. ‘Do you think it possible to find two waterfalls the same so close to each other?’ Then he cried out: ‘Oh, no, not again. I can’t believe it, we’re back where we started from yesterday. All that effort for nothing. Really, each step we take brings us closer to getting out of this bloody jungle? You must be kidding.’

They found traces of a camp fire and some charred remains of fish – bitter confirmation of their fears. They had lost nearly a whole day walking around in a circle. Their shoulders slumped helplessly and they furiously threw their backpacks on the ground.

‘Half a day wasted. It’s your fault. You got all mixed up and guided us this way,’ Didier said acidly.

‘And you followed me blindly without saying a word that we were going in the wrong direction,’ Florent retorted, visibly upset.

‘Why should it always be me who takes care of everything?’

‘I feel completely drained. I just can’t think straight in this bloody heat, like my brain doesn’t want to work properly. ’

‘Neither can I.’

‘I’ve had enough. There is no point in walking anymore today. I don’t believe it will bring us even one step closer to getting out of this bloody jungle… it’s so awful…worst place to be stranded… it’s just like rambling through a bloody endless maze…each place looks pretty much the same no matter where you go. There are no cues, no points to guide you. I pushed on and I could have sworn I walked in a straight line…. had no idea we kept walking in circles.’

‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean. You are damn right, it’s so easy to get lost in here.’

The two young men realised it was no use quarrelling – anyway they felt both too tired to argue.

‘It couldn’t be helped,’ said Didier conciliatorily. ‘This hellish jungle fooled us both and is sucking our strength away. But we’ll not surrender to it. Let’s think about food and rest before we collapse completely exhausted. I think we must walk a few more miles today. Be glad that at least we can catch some fish again.’

A
fter resting by the waterfall, the two companions knew they must set off again.

‘We must find a better route,’ said Didier. ‘Make sure we are not drawn back again to this cursed place. I think we have no choice but to follow the course of the stream even though it means going into the creepy gorge.’

He looked at Florent. What a messy sight he was. He’d changed nearly beyond recognition from the young man he’d first met. His gaunt face was gleaming with sweat, full of scratches and covered with dense stubble. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes were surrounded by dark circles.

Entering the narrow, dark tunnel of the rocky gorge, Didier led the way with Florent just a few steps behind. They followed the shallow stream which flowed over a stony bed, dotted with slippery or razor-sharp rocks. The water was very clear. The narrow stream was bordered on both sides by steep rock walls dripping with lush vegetation. Directly above their heads huge fern leaves and bunches of tangled thick stringy lianas were dangling loosely in the air, brushing against their hair as they passed.

The humid, sweltering air clutched at their throats and they were soon running out of breath.

Eventually the gorge widened and the stream flow became more rapid. The water powerfully pushed its way between large stones overgrown with moss and then flew rapidly down a fairly steep rocky slope. It was not easy to descend. Didier and Florent kept close to the bank, moving forward step by step, very cautiously. Sometimes they had to grab hold of the thick liana stems above them for support. The vines were everywhere, twisting in the air like long black ropes, sometimes falling loosely down and sometimes weaving closely into a kind of bridge densely interlaced with dangling ferns and colourful orchids. Sponge-like mosses dripped their surplus moisture in beads down the woody stems.

Once, on a sudden impulse, Florent grabbed a branch and felt something sharp piercing his hand. He let go immediately, but it was too late. Several long black thorns were embedded in his palm. He pulled them out one after another, cursing violently.

At last the slope flattened out and the streambed became muddy. They continued walking, their feet slipping and sinking into the sticky, reddish brown sludge. The mud was sticking to their high trekking shoes making them heavy and slowing both men down. Then the gorge ended. Steep rock walls were replaced by trees and bushes. Feeble rays of sun broke tentatively through the dense tangle of branches and leaves. Water in the creek was getting deeper. It was clear and full of fish moving briskly at the bottom.

‘Shall we stop and catch some?’ Didier asked without much enthusiasm.

‘Well, we won’t find anything else to eat around here.’

Their empty stomachs growled with hunger but worse was a feverish thirst and they had run out of water.

‘I don’t think we could drink from the stream – it’s teeming with bacteria,’ said Florent. ‘Once I read somewhere that Indians living in the jungle quench their thirst with fluid from inside the stem of a special sort of liana, but I have no idea which one. Maybe we can try, cut a few of them and see what’s inside. There’s no shortage of them here.’

Instead they caught some fish and roasted them over a fire. Eating was hard and they hardly managed to swallow each bite. Then they put the knapsacks on their backs and set off. They left the streambed because the water was getting too deep and waded through the surrounding thicket. After a while the area started to undulate slightly. They climbed up a gentle slope of a hill and found themselves on level ground.

Suddenly Didier stopped dead in his tracks.

‘Have you seen it?’ He pointed straight ahead to where something bright was penetrating more and more through the undergrowth. Straining their eyes for some time they stared into the distance. Down in the valley something was gleaming.

‘Tell me I am not mistaken. Is it a river?’ Florent asked incredulously.

‘I think so. At least it looks like one to me. Let’s go faster,’ Didier said with newly awakened hope in his voice. ‘Maybe before the evening falls we will come across a village.’

Several more yards of brisk walking and then all of a sudden they found themselves on a steep muddy bank bordering a wide, slow-moving mass of yellow-brown water. On each side, as far as the eye could see, stretched a dense, seemingly impenetrable tangle of trees and bushes. There was a huge variety of plants with foliage of different shapes, sizes and texture. Some leaves were bristling with thorns, others hairy, some were rough, some smooth, but nearly all glistened with beads of moisture. Many hung loosely down, touching in some places the surface of the river. Here and there the huge, straight and smooth trunk of a gigantic tree sprang up from the earth, looming high into the sky like a column supporting the leafy roof above. It had been days since they’d seen a blue sky like the one now over their heads, only slightly marred with small white clouds. The strong rays of the sun scorched mercilessly their scratched and bruised skin.

Didier stopped abruptly, squinting his eyes against the brightness, and stared intently at one spot in the thicket covering the riverbank. Florent followed his fixed gaze but could not make out anything special.

‘What is it? Have you seen something?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Look, there. Doesn’t it look like a village?’

Some three hundred yards away, on the edge of the forest near the river and among some banana trees, stood three oval huts covered with palm leaves.

A village . . . They were saved . . .

New hope filled their hearts and they breathed a huge sigh of relief. They gathered their remaining strength and accelerated their step.

But just before they arrived at the village Didier slowed down and grabbed Florent’s arm, squeezing it painfully, while his body tensed. He looked at Florent as if something was bothering him.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Wait! This village looks strange to me. Something is not right here. I can’t hear any movement or voices. There’s no one in it.’

‘So what? Maybe everybody is indoors, hiding from the sun, taking a nap. Do you sense danger? I don’t.’

Coming up close they could see that the huts were old, their walls rotten from too much moisture, covered with sodden moss in places.

‘Not a soul in sight.’

Didier went up to the first of the huts and put his head inside.

‘Empty. There is absolutely nothing in it.’

Then they both looked into the next one. On the floor in the middle of a big chamber lay a few bundles of reeds and palm leaves. Probably they served once as bedding. Through cracks in the roof and walls oozed sparse sunlight. A beam glanced across something metal lying on the ground.

Florent bent over and picked up a small flat object; it was made of gold in the shape of a face with eyes outlined with emerald stones; the object was intricately carved and surrounded by a ring of sunrays. Didier came and looked over his shoulder, trying to see what he had found.

‘What is it? Let me see.’

‘It glitters like gold. What a remarkable thing, how wonderfully made. It reminds me of the ancient Inca art. Could it be an Inca amulet?’

‘If it’s real I wonder how it happened to be here. In such an abandoned place in the jungle.’

‘I have no idea.’

They marvelled at its beauty and possible value, then Florent slipped the golden artefact into his backpack pocket.

‘Are you going to take it?’

‘Of course. You do not think I’d leave something so unusual behind. Nobody’s going to claim it. It just seems a shame to let it lie there in this ramshackle hut.’

They headed to the last hut. On nearing it, a putrid, nauseating smell which seemed familiar assailed them, a smell of death.

Immediately a strange feeling of dread overcame them. They sensed that something was terribly wrong.

Hesitating, they approached the narrow entrance and immediately saw limp bodies scattered inside. They counted five of them, all men. Three corpses lay in the very middle of the hut with their faces down; the fourth body was on his back with his arms outstretched, his bloodshot, glassy wide-open eyes staring unseeingly upwards. The last one was in a
half lying
,
half sitting position
on the floor, his back against the wall and his head hanging loosely, his chin touching his chest.

They all looked like typical Ecuadorians, such as they had seen on the streets of Quito, their thick black hair, swarthy skin, wide noses and high cheekbones indicating Indian blood flowing through their veins. They were dressed simply: black trousers and different coloured shirts.

Instinctively, Florent took a step back in fear, and then stopped as if petrified, just staring in disbelief and horror at the scene in front of him. He felt a sudden panic grip him and his face turned very pale.

Didier spoke first: ‘I wonder what happened here. Maybe a drug cartel job. Don’t you think so?’

They did not have to look too long at the dead men to discover how they had died. All the victims had bullet holes and had been killed execution style by a shot to the head or chest.

‘It looks to me that they were killed not so long ago because the bodies don’t seem to have decomposed much yet. And I bet the decomposition occurs fast in this heat,’ Didier remarked, matter-of-factly ‘Let’s get out of here as quickly as we can; who knows, maybe the killers are somewhere around and will come back before long,’ he added in a low, uncertain voice.

There was no need to say it twice to Florent. He was not going to object. They set off at once, striding rapidly, sometimes almost running. Not caring much which way they went they walked straight ahead, just wishing to get as far as possible away from the village and the river.

The land was rough and uneven, full of moss covered stones and slippery, damp leaves. At one point when branches snagged Florent’s clothes, he stumbled and his left leg sank up to the knee into a fallen rotten tree trunk blocking his way. Cursing violently and screaming in pain he immediately pulled it out. A purple-red bug
–
at least eight inches long
–
was stuck to his skin, numerous bright yellow legs digging into the soft flesh of his calf. He pulled it out, furiously threw it to the ground and brutally crushed it with his feet.

‘Damn, this bloody thing bit me,’ he exclaimed, a sharp pain shooting through his leg as if someone had scorched it with a red-hot iron bar.

‘It’s just your bad luck again. You always get bitten by something or other. I have no idea what it is. How are you? Can you walk?’

‘No, not really. It feels as if my whole leg has swollen up.’

‘Lean on me. Is it the same leg that got hurt in the crash?’

‘Yeah, it had just started to heal, and now that damn thing had to attack me. I hope it didn’t inject some deadly venom into my bloodstream.’

Although Florent was a head taller, Didier wrapped his right arm around him and held him tightly, supporting his weight. They kept walking, staggering between the shrubs and trees but had to slow their pace. Even so each step they took was becoming more and more difficult, because they both felt utterly drained. The additional dose of adrenaline produced by the fear of what they had seen and which had enabled them to redouble their efforts was all of a sudden exhausted.

The day was coming towards its end.

Soon it would get dark.

They would stop somewhere and start building a shelter for the night.