Lovers and Gamblers (91 page)

Al shoved the Indians into action – and instead of standing and staring they began to help. Running to fill the flasks with water, beating the insects off the three inert bodies.

‘Evan,’ Al shouted, ‘where is Evan?’

He looked through the hut, there was no gun, and it occurred to him that perhaps his son had gone off hunting. But would he have left them with no water? It didn’t seem likely.

Al bent to Dallas. Her face was covered in bites. So much so that her eyes and lips were swollen to a horrible degree. ‘Can you hear me?’ Al whispered. ‘Hey – beautiful – can you hear me?’

She mumbled something incoherent. She was in the grip of a raging fever.

Al turned to one of the Indians and by a series of actions tried to explain that someone was missing.

The boy nodded. He appeared to understand. He turned to one of his friends and jabbered away in the native tongue. Then the two of them rushed off into the forest.

There was nothing to do but wait. Nothing to do but feed water to Dallas, Paul and Cristina – and hope that they could stay alive another day.

One of the Indians sat quietly beside Cristina digging the maggots from her raw infected arms. She was too weak to even cry out in pain.

Another one produced the magic white lotion and dabbed it on Dallas’s face.

They talked amongst themselves all the time, obviously discussing the accident, and how these people had come plummeting down into the jungle.

They went to the river and caught fish with their bare hands for dinner, which they skinned and prepared over an open fire. It was quite delicious. Al only wished that the others could taste it. He saved a piece in the hope that Evan would shortly emerge from the forest. He didn’t.

It was after dark when the two Indians returned. They shook their heads and lowered their eyes. In their hands they carried the gun Al had left with Evan, and the boy’s shirt – torn to shreds and covered with blood.

‘Where
is
he?’ Al screamed, frustrated in his efforts of not being able to understand their language.

The Indians tried to explain. With gestures they drew a picture of a large fierce animal. ‘Onca,’ they kept on saying, ‘onca nigra.’

It meant nothing to Al. Then as they continued to try and explain to him he realized what they were telling him. Evan was dead. Evan had been killed by an ‘onca nigra’ whatever that was.

He could not believe it. To have gone through so much… it couldn’t be true…

‘The body,’ he said, ‘where is the body?’

They understood him. They glanced at each other and opened their arms to the sky. It was a very final gesture.

Al knew what they meant. Cathy. Bernie. The law of the jungle devoured bodies that were not immediately buried.

For the first time in his life Al cried. He could not claim to have ever been particularly close to his son – but in the past days they seemed to have developed a deep bond of mutual trust and love that had never been apparent before. The future had promised a fine relationship between them. He held his head in his hands and sobbed like a baby.

The Indians looked away in confusion.

And so the night passed.

In the morning they carried Dallas, Cristina, and Paul to the canoes and set off as fast as possible.

The journey took much less time as the river current was with them, and the boats fairly whipped along at an alarming speed.

Al travelled in the canoe with Dallas, cradling her head on his lap. He couldn’t help blaming himself for Evan’s death – if he hadn’t left them… He knew the answer to
that.
If he hadn’t left them to fetch help they would all have died.

But it seemed so cruel and unnecessary. If only Evan had stayed where he was he would have been all right. Obviously he had gone to hunt for food… He had died trying to keep them all alive.

Returning to the Indian village was almost like returning home. The Chief himself came to the river to greet them and peer at the other white people. He clucked his tongue at their condition, and issued orders. Three of the boys were dispatched off into the jungle, three more sent off on up the river in their canoe.

Then Dallas, Cristina, and Paul were carried to the village and whisked off by the womenfolk.

There was nothing Al could do except sip strange herb tea with the Chief and attempt to carry on a conversation by mime.

He was weary. The strain of the past fourteen days was finally taking its toll. How long before they could get out of here? How many more had to die before they saw the light of civilization?

He tried to ask the Chief – who merely nodded and smiled.

It was unreal – the whole thing was some sort of nightmare.

He finished his tea and went to see Dallas. The women had her stripped off and were bathing her bruised, cut, scratched, and bitten body with the white liquid.

People wandered in and out of the hut to stare at her, and Al was suddenly filled with an uncontrollable jealous fury. ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ he screamed at two Indian males, who merely smiled politely in return, had a good look, and wandered in to stare at Cristina next door.

Goddamn savages! How many days before they could get out of this pisshole? How many fucking days?

* * *

It took three. Long enough for Dallas, Cristina, and Paul to be well enough to travel.

The medicines the Indians employed were amazing. They calmed the fever in both Dallas and Paul, and treated Cristina’s arms with some sort of raw plant wrapped around them.

The three of them were exhausted and weak, but no longer next to death.

Cristina was able to understand a very little of the Indians’ language – it seemed several of the words were close to Brazilian or Portuguese. They were able to ascertain the fact that the only way out of this village was by river, and when they were well enough to travel, a three-day journey would take them to a larger jungle settlement – and from there a day’s journey would take them to a trading village which had a small airstrip. From there it was only a few short hours to the outside world.

‘I guess we’ll be a big surprise to everyone,’ Dallas managed weakly. She was growing stronger every day. But the stronger she grew physically, the more she clung to Al. He never left her side, and they talked about Evan and Bernie and why it had all happened and why they had been saved.

Paul was in a very weak state and seemed to have lost any kind of lust for life. He lay in his hammock – eating, listlessly, accepting the medicines the Indians persuaded him to take.

Cristina could talk of nothing but her parents. How wonderful they were – and how she would make everything up to them. She had cried for Evan. But now her tears were dry and she was anxious to get home.

They were all anxious to get home. But where was home for Al? He kept on shutting Edna out of his head – but she was still his wife. What a shock it would be for her – she had probably resigned herself to the fact that Evan and he were dead. Now he would come strolling out of the jungle alive. What would she expect from him?

He would have to go to her, explain about Evan. Tell her what a hero her son had been. Dallas would go with him. One thing he was sure of – and that was that he and Dallas were not going to be parted – no long absences – in fact no absences at all. They had talked it over and decided that that was what they both wanted.

Thank God she seemed to be recovering. But he was still worried about Paul, and couldn’t wait to get him into a proper hospital.

The Indians had been wonderful – kind and helpful – they couldn’t do enough. But as soon as Al felt everyone could travel, they set off.

The Chief came to the river to bid them farewell. He seemed genuinely sorry to see them go, and in a strange way Al had grown fond of him and his tribe of gentle people. Untouched by civilization they seemed to have got human relationships together very nicely indeed. Al would have liked to have done something for them. But what did they need? They were self-sufficient – they needed none of the artifices of modern society.

The Chief and Al solemnly exchanged hand clasps – and on impulse Al took the heavy gold chain from around his neck and gave it to the Chief, who appeared delighted. He examined the various medallions and charms excitedly. A St. Christopher. A small gold spoon. Brazilian hand. Solid gold tag inscribed ‘Al is King’, and a gold and onyx dice.

The Chief then removed his own necklace – a fearsome combination of quartz stone and animal teeth, and placed it ceremonially around Al’s neck.

‘I’ll be back,’ Al smiled. ‘When I want to get away from it all I’ll know where to come.’

Then they were off, in a convoy of three canoes – and their journey back to the outside world had really begun.

Twenty-two days after vanishing on the trip between Rio and São Paulo, Al King reappeared in the outside world.

Headlines screamed hysterically – AL KING ALIVE – SUPERSTAR SURVIVES PLANE CRASH – AMAZING JUNGLE RESCUE OF AL KING.

None of the newspapers had the facts – just news of his survival through the wire services. Journalists from all corners of the world were rushed to Rio where Al was expected to arrive from some obscure jungle trading village.

Nobody had much information – only that he was alive, and had apparently survived an air crash, trekked through dense jungle, and was on his way back.

The excitement was intense. Who was with him? How had the plane crashed? How had he managed to make his way through unmapped wastes of treacherous jungle for twenty-two days?

It was the story of the year.

The world waited with bated breath.

* * *

Linda was in bed when she heard. Alone. Idly watching television, flicking between
Charlie’s Angels
and an old Joan Crawford movie. A newsflash informed her that Al King had been found alive, and she sat rigidly up in bed not knowing what to do. The newsflash was so brief – it told nothing.

She leapt from her bed and frantically switched channels – nothing – commercials, soap operas, game shows, comedy, singers. No news.

Christ! Her hand was shaking as she reached for the telephone. If Al had been found alive somewhere… What about Paul? And Dallas, and the others.

She dialled Cody’s number. He would know. She had not spoken to him since they had returned from Rio twelve days previously. She had given him the speech, ‘I like you a lot but…’ Somehow she had not felt it was quite the right time to go falling head first into a heavy affair. If Cody had been a casual lay it would have been OK. But he wasn’t. He was a kind, interesting, funny man – the sort of man she could quite consider spending the rest of her life with. And somehow… with Paul missing – probably dead – it just wasn’t the right timing.

‘If you still want to we can get together in a couple of months,’ she had told a puzzled Cody.

He had not understood. ‘But why?’ he had kept on asking over and over.

She had shrugged. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. Oh, I know I had planned to split with Paul – but I hadn’t
told
him. To be with you now… how can I explain it? It would just be disloyal.’

‘That’s a load of crap – you’re just opting out of what could be a very good relationship.’

‘It’s the way I
feel.
’

So they had not spoken to or seen each other since the Rio trip.

His phone did not answer. She kept ringing until the service picked up. ‘Cody Hills,’ she requested breathlessly. ‘One moment, please,’ the operator replied, leaving her hanging for what seemed like an endless two minutes – then – ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Hills is out of the country.’

‘Out of the country?’ Linda repeated in a dazed voice.

‘He’ll be in Europe for the next ten days. Would you like to leave a name and number?’

‘How… how long has he been gone?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. Would you like me to check for you?’

‘If you would.’ How could he just go away like that? Without even calling her. But she had specifically requested that he did not call her. Yes… but Europe. He
should
have called.

‘Mr. Hills has been gone three days,’ the operator returned to inform her. ‘Is there any message?’

‘Do you have a number I can reach him at?’

‘Sorry, Mr. Hills is moving around. I’m sure he’ll be calling in.’

‘When?’

The operator was getting impatient. ‘I really don’t know that. Now – can I take your name or not?’

Linda left her name. A lot of good
that
would do. Where the hell
was
he. And why hadn’t he told her? She felt strangely hurt, although he was only doing what she had asked him to do.

Shit! She kicked the side of the bed in sudden anger. Then – remembering what the phone call had been all about in the first place – she rushed to her purse. Somewhere, written on a slip of paper, she had Carlos Baptista’s number. If anyone would know what was happening – he would.

* * *

Cody was in London when he heard. He had just arrived back at his hotel after a pleasant dinner at Mr. Chow’s with his stud actor, the director of the picture his actor had just begun, and a young stoned model that the actor and director appeared to be sharing.

As he collected his room key from the desk the clerk remarked, ‘Did you hear Al King’s been found?’

The clerk had been volunteering this piece of information to hotel guests all evening – and reaction had varied from vague interest to an avid desire for details. Cody’s reaction was the best yet. He stood stock still, went very white, and through clenched teeth muttered, ‘You mean they’ve found his body?’

‘
Him
,’ the clerk elucidated. ‘Apparently he came walking out of the jungle. Can you imagine that?’

‘Alive?’

‘Well, he must have been alive if he was walking.’

‘Where did you hear this?’

‘Here – did you
know
him?’

‘Was there anyone with him?’ Cody did not realize it but he was shouting. ‘Was there anyone with him?’

The clerk backed away. ‘I don’t know. They didn’t say.’

Cody grabbed his key and raced to the elevator.