Lovers and Gamblers (90 page)

With great effort he dragged himself from the river and crawled along the bank – collapsing in the mud.

He could feel his forehead beginning to swell where it had taken the force of the collision.

What next?

He lay very still, partially stunned. And after a while, as if in a dream, he heard voices – strange foreign sounds – and then it was all too much and he passed out.

* * *

Inevitably morning dawned. The insect and animal sounds filtered through to Dallas. And the smell of four people stuck together unable to wash or clean themselves. It was a sickening smell, but one you soon got used to. If she had the strength she would go to the river and bathe – to hell with the alligators – but she felt unable to move. Her stomach was still cramping, but she had nothing left to throw up. She felt so very weak, and there was this strange euphoric feeling. A lightness of the head, an immovability of the limbs. She tried to sit up, and fell back. If a snake had entered the hut at this point and headed towards her she would have had neither the strength nor the initiative to move out of its way.

Evan offered her water. ‘Shall I make a fire and cook the rest of the monkey?’ he suggested.

She sipped at the water. ‘No food,’ she mumbled, ‘don’t feel good.’

He placed a hand firmly on her head, and was alarmed to find her burning up. With dismay he realised that she too had some sort of fever. He did not know what to do. Cristina was flushed and delirious. Paul was dehydrated and possibly unconscious and he had been unable to rouse him. And now Dallas.

A black terror swept over Evan. He had promised his father to look after them all. But how could he look after them if they were going to die on him one by one?

It was an impossible situation. And one that he was powerless to do anything about.

* * *

There was a moving sensation – not unpleasant. And still the strange mutterings – only clearer now – more excited.

Al opened his eyes to find himself being carried on some crude sort of stretcher – and for a moment he imagined he was being carried from the plane, and the thirteen days spent in the jungle had never happened.

His head was pounding, and he raised his hand to it, and felt something warm and sticky. He lowered his hand to find it covered with blood. He must have groaned aloud, because the stretcher was suddenly put down on the ground, and three faces were staring down at him. Three young Indian boys – perhaps sixteen years of age. They were of a deep mahogany colour, with wide, rather flattened faces, and jet black straight hair worn long and parted in the centre. They were totally naked apart from a small piece of cloth twisted around their loins. But they compensated for their lack of dress by being liberally decorated with painted symbols and designs.

They stared at Al and chatted amongst themselves in a language he had never heard in his life.

‘English,’ he said slowly, and then realizing he had been found, and remembering what had gone before, he raised his voice: ‘English!’ he yelled. ‘You speak English?’

The boys jumped back in alarm.

‘Christ! Am I glad to see
you
!’ He raised himself on one arm.

The boys regarded him suspiciously.

‘Plane,’ Al said slowly, ‘the sky,’ he pointed to the sky, ‘crashed.’

The boys exchanged glances.

‘Other people,’ Al enunciated carefully, ‘back there.’ He gestured behind him, and observed that they were travelling through the interior of the forest.

The boys jabbered excitedly together. They obviously did not understand a word he was saying. Finally one boy stepped forward and made a short speech – pointing and gesticulating ahead. Then he indicated that Al should lie down on the stretcher once more, and mimed a man much taller than himself.

Al understood it to mean that they were taking him to a person who would understand him. He complied with their wishes and lay back.

Effortlessly the boys picked up the stretcher and resumed their journey through the steamy forest. They moved quickly, weaving through the thick undergrowth at a fast pace.

Within minutes they were approaching a large clearing, where once more the boys placed the stretcher on the ground.

Al sat up, and realized that he was an expected guest. Almost an entire village of Indians had emerged from their huts to stare at him. Women, children, men – young and old. They pointed and stared and jabbered away in their incomprehensible tongue.

The women were entirely naked, the males were covered by loincloths. The huts they had emerged from were similar to the one Al had left the others at. Crude dwellings consisting of four supports and a thatched roof.

The boys, seemingly having done their part, stepped back and blended in with the onlookers. A few children ventured nearer for a closer look. Their eyes were as bright as buttons, and even they were covered in intricately painted designs.

Finally the taller man they had indicated appeared. He emerged from a hut, and everyone stood back to let him pass. He was indeed tall, and obviously someone important – for his hair was greased and coaxed into a fine tower – and some kind of stylish comb emerged from the top. Also his chest was covered by an intricately carved shield, and he wore more necklaces, bracelets and adornments than anyone else.

He approached the stretcher, regarded Al solemnly, and addressed him in a deep monotonous voice.

The only trouble was that English did not appear to be the language of the day.

‘Hey…’ said Al – his initial relief at being found turning into slight anxiety – ‘how about speaking a little
English
around here.’

The Chief – as Al had decided to christen him – replied in his own language, and stared – awaiting a reply to what was obviously a whole load of questions.

Al attempted to stand – realizing he must look as funny a sight to these Indians as they did to him.

He pointed to himself. ‘English,’ he said clearly, ‘Al King.’

He was hoping that his name would cause at least a spark of recognition. After all, he was known throughout the world – his disappearance must have caused a lot of waves – maybe word had filtered through.

Suddenly he wanted to laugh. Who was he kidding? He was stuck in the middle of some dumb jungle and he actually expected a bunch of naked Indians to know who he was! It just showed how conditioned he was to his own fame. He could remember dreaming of going somewhere where no one would recognize him. Now here he was. Big fuckin’ deal. Wrong place. Wrong time.

Christ! His head was throbbing, his stomach was one aching mass, and he was worried about getting back to the others. He proceeded to pantomime a series of events. A plane flying, falling from the sky, more people, a journey. He indicated strongly that they had to return down the river.

The Chief seemed to understand him – indeed he even started to mime a reply.

Al took it to mean that soon it would be dark, and they could not travel at nightfall. Early in the morning, the Chief seemed to be indicating. Then he was addressing members of his tribe, and two women came and shyly started to pull Al towards a hut.

He went with them, although there were still many questions he had to try and ask. The Chief had expressed to him that his head wound would be treated, and that then they would eat.

Al wondered how far they were from civilization. Radio contact? An air strip? When the others were rescued how long before they could all be out of here?

The women were peeling the clothes from his body, talking and giggling amongst themselves. They laid him on a rush mat, and other women appeared with an earthen pot filled with some sort of milky liquid. They proceeded to dab his cuts and scratches. It was cool, and had an almost numbing effect. His head wound they treated particularly carefully.

He tried to lie back and relax, but he was so worried about the others, and wished that they could be on their way back for them.

The Indian girls were similar in appearance. Stocky, smooth bodies, with firm jutting breasts. Greased hair. Much ornamentation. They wore beads around their necks and arms, and their lower lips were pierced and had little strings of white beads inserted, The delicacy with which they attended him reminded him of a trip he and Paul had once made to a Japanese whorehouse.

They took his filthy torn clothes away to wash, and offered him a loincloth to put on. He felt stupid in it – but what the heck – it seemed to be the thing to wear.

Dinner with the Chief was the next event. They sat on the ground in a semicircle with other men of the tribe, and the women served them a series of tasty dishes in earthenware pots.

Al did not know what he was eating, and he didn’t much care. He wolfed everything down ravenously – from a mushy stuff which tasted like bananas – to a sort of sour dough bread. Not steak and champagne – but it beat the shit out of nothing!

The Chief launched into a friendly discourse about what he seemed to regard as flying birds and the stupidity of men who went up in them. He shook his head in amazement a lot – and Al noticed that the other members of the tribe copied everything he did.

‘Telephone,’ Al kept on repeating in pidgin English, illustrating the act of making a phone call.

The Chief nodded and smiled, but did not appear to understand.

Then it was dark, and Al was guided to a hut – where for the first time in thirteen days he had a proper place to sleep – a most comfortable hammock. As he rocked back and forth he thought of Dallas, and the others, and could not wait until morning when he would be on his way to fetch them.

* * *

Evan thought he should eat, even if the others didn’t want to. He uncovered the remains of the monkey which he had carefully wrapped in a towel – and was horrified to find it crawling with maggots. He threw it out of the hut in disgust. Now there was no food at all, but he did have the gun. He fingered the weapon lovingly. He too would be able to go out in the forest and hunt like his father. He would have to.

The thought excited him. It spurred him to get up and stretch his cramped limbs. The stench in the hut was awful, even though there were no walls. He tried not to look at the others. He was frightened that one of them might be dead.

He had no idea what time it was, but maybe if he was able to kill some fresh meat he could persuade them all to eat. If they ate they would get better.

Thinking that way at least gave him something to aim for. At least he would be doing something constructive instead of just sitting there.

He set off into the jungle, filled with a sudden sense of adventure. He was like his father – strong. A survivor.

He saw some monkeys, but he decided that something different might whet the appetites of the others, he didn’t know what – but it would be silly to just shoot the first animal he came across. That would be the easy way – why take the easy way?

He continued on into the interior of the forest – not at all frightened – and not taking much note of the direction he was travelling in.

The foliage was becoming sparse – the ground clearer. The area appeared to be changing in character. He noticed a huge black and green snake coiled around a tree trunk. It was a real monster, and he stepped well away from it.

Suddenly, with no warning, a large black jaguar appeared no more than fifteen yards ahead of him.

Evan froze to the spot, as did the animal. For moments they stood and stared at each other. Then simultaneously they moved – Evan reaching for his gun, and the jaguar tensing itself ready to spring.

* * *

The Indians woke Al before it was light. They were anxious to be on their way.

He wondered how they were planning to bring back the four others he had told them about. He had made them understand they would be too sick to walk. They did not seem bothered. They kitted him out in a pair of thonged sandals such as they wore, and still clad in his loin cloth he was beginning to feel almost like one of them.

They set off, trotting through the jungle, expecting Al to keep up with them. It was impossible for him, and they made faces and laughed as they had to slow down for him. Eight young men had been sent on the mission, and they talked excitedly together in their native tongue – enjoying the break in their usual routine.

Al had explained, as best he could, about the hut he had left the others at. The Indians seemed to understand him, and the Chief had indicated that it was no more than one day’s journey away. It had taken him
two
days to reach them, but he didn’t argue. They obviously knew best.

They journeyed to the river, where Al was shown the reason he had been found by them. The tree trunk blocking the river was a trap – set by the Indians. Nobody passed their section of the river without them knowing about it.

They set off in three canoes kept concealed in the undergrowth, going against the current, but making good time anyway. The Indians were very proficient in their use of the small wooden paddles used to propel the boats along. They ignored the alligators – navigating around the islands and rocks with great skill.

The sun burned down, but Al noticed how the flies and mosquitoes seemed to have left him alone ever since his body had been bathed in the white lotion. They certainly didn’t bother the Indians.

Half-way through the day they stopped and rested for no more than half an hour, chewing on raw fruits they had brought with them.

Then they were off again, the flimsy canoes moving exceedingly fast.

The knew exactly where to stop – pulling the boats up on the bank – and skipping curiously over to the hut.

Al followed. He had been gone three days and two nights – a lifetime in the jungle. But he had left them with food, water, and Evan to protect them. They shouldn’t be too bad.

The Indians stood in a silent circle around the hut. Al pushed his way through them. He was horrified at what he saw. Three silent heaps – insects crawling all over them.

He went to Dallas first, feeling urgently for her pulse. She was alive, and so amazingly were Cristina and Paul. But all three of them were very sick.

There was no water left in the two leather flasks they had used to carry their supplies, and they were parched with thirst and dehydrated.