Authors: Dan Smith
âHmm,' she agreed.
âI was angry before. About you being here.'
âI know.'
âNot just because I thought it was dangerous, though. You were right when you said I'm like another person sometimes. I didn't want you to see that. But now? Now I'm glad you're here. Maybe we should come out on our own sometime,' I said. âWhen this is
all done with, I mean. We can spend a few days together. Leave everything behind like we're the only ones left in the world.'
Daniella smiled and raised her eyebrows. âImagine my mother's face if I told her we were going to do that.'
âYou're here now, aren't you? Anyway, she'd have no choice if we were married.'
Daniella turned to me, a quick movement. âAre you asking me to marry you?'
âI can't afford you at the moment.'
âYou don't have to afford me, Zico. You just have to love me.'
âI do.'
âSo
are
you asking me?'
âWould you say yes?'
âTry me.' She put her hand on mine, her skin warm. There were faint impressions across her fingers, from the stitching at the edge of the waterproof under which we had retreated.
âWhen the time is right,' I said.
Daniella sighed. âIf he wasn't here ...' She let her words trail away, taking another deep breath.
âDon't,' I told her. âDon't say it. Don't even think it. I have to focus. I shouldn't have said anything.' There were times, like right then, that I felt she was all I needed. We could be together, have a good life. Not a rich one, not a
wealthy
one, but a good one. Other times, I thought I wasn't good enough for her, that maybe her mother was right. After all, I was aiming to finance our marriage on the proceeds of Sister Beckett's death. Our relationship was to be based on a murder that I couldn't avoid.
She smiled and squeezed my hand. âWe
are
going to get out of this, aren't we?'
âOf course we are.'
From the store at the back of the
Deus
, we took a black and white spotted hammock that had seen better days, and I strung it between two of the supporting poles as close to the wheelhouse as I could. I guessed that Leonardo was going to stay at the stern, protecting his crates and keeping his watchful eyes on us.
When Daniella asked if one hammock would be enough, I told her I didn't expect to sleep much that night. I'm going to watch him. Keep you safe.'
We were close enough to the bank to hear the cicadas, and now that the rain had passed, and the lull in its wake had settled, they were singing louder to make up for lost time. The other insects had come out in force, too, flickering across the surface of the river. From time to time there was a sharp splash in the water as
tucunaré
, or one of the other wide-mouthed surface feeders, leaped for an insect which strayed too close to a hungry fish. And, as the evening darkened, bats emerged from the forest, flitting across the river and taking the insects from the air.
âYou'll need a net,' I said to Daniella, as I tied off the first end of the hammock. âTo keep the mosquitoes away.'
âDengue fever,' Daniella said. âYou think that's what Raul has?' She pulled the strings tight at the other end, waiting for me to take them from her.
There'd been an outbreak of dengue when I was in Rio, in the dirt of the
favela.
Many people had been ill with it, headaches, fever, aching muscles and joints, the fever lasting not much more than a week. There were those who had bruised like the old man, and others who had been much worse. I'd seen people bleeding from their eyes, blood oozing through the pores in their skin. They weren't so lucky. They died slowly, the blood leaking out of their bodies.
Some of the old women said it was evil spirits in their bodies making them sick; that there was nothing they could do to stop them. Sofia told me that the Candomblé priests and priestesses said it was destiny. Not good or evil, just destiny. Either way, they believed there was no hope for the sick â that those who were going to die were going to die. But I had to believe Raul would be all right. I had to.
âWith treatment he'll be fine,' I said, as much to convince myself as to convince Daniella. I forced a smile and took the hammock cords from her hands, tying them off, making sure it was safe.
âI hope they got to the hospital in time.'
I stayed where I was, both hands on the hammock, staring at the black and white design. Like dots on a piece of newspaper. âThey did,' I told her. âI can feel it. The old man will be fine.'
âWhat makes you so sure?'
âBecause ...' I tried to find the right words. âBecause I can't imagine life without him.'
There was rice and
farinha
left in the tins, but they were dry and dull on their own, so I put a lure on one of the old man's lines and fished in the place where I'd seen
tucunaré
surfacing for the insects.
Leonardo watched from a safe distance as I pulled the lure across the water, close to the shore, where the river was littered with sunken forest. Above us, bats skittered and dived in the final moments of dusk, small black shapes flickering like old movie pictures, their movements spasmodic and unreal.
âYou're not much of a fisherman,' Leonardo said after twenty minutes of fruitless attempts, the sun finally sliding away, the river lit only by the winking cataract of a crescent moon on the blind face of the night.
But even in the darkness, I continued to cast, telling myself that if I caught a fish, then the old man would be all right. If I landed us something to eat, it meant the old man was in the hospital with nurses around him and Carolina at his side.
âIt's too late,' said Leonardo. âThey won't bite in the dark.' But, as if to prove him wrong, I felt the line tug and I landed a good fish with plenty of meat on it.
I took it as a lucky sign.
The old man would live.
âSo now what?' Leonardo asked as I took the fish from the hook. âWe going to eat it raw?'
âWho said anything about we?' I looked up at him. âYou want to eat fish,
you
catch one.' I dropped the roll of fishing line on the deck for him and went to the covered section at the back of the boat.
âYou're not going in there,' he said, making me stop and turn.
âAll I want is something to cook with.'
He thought about it, then nodded and raised his pistol as if I might have forgotten he still had it.
âYou know, we all just want the same thing,' I said. There was enough light to make out his shape, the outline of his features, indistinct like a child's drawing. On a moonless night, the darkess would have been complete, but tonight the sky provided a candle.
âAnd what's that?' he asked. âWhat do we all want?'
âTo get you to Mina dos Santos, drop your cargo and never see each other again.'
âAll the same ...' He lifted the pistol again.
âYou don't need to shoot anyone.' I went to rummage in the store at the back of the boat. When I returned, I was carrying a lamp and an old can of cooking oil, much like a jerrycan, that had been split down the middle, from top to bottom. The edges were rough where it had been ripped in two and there was a grill to place across the top.
âCan't always get ashore,' I said. âAnd you can't exactly light a fire on the deck.'
Leonardo gave Daniella a knife to gut the fish while I tended the barbecue. When the coal was hot enough, we laid the fish on the grill, and soon the air was filled with the smell of its cooking flesh.
Daniella and I ate it with cold rice, sitting by the barbecue for its warmth. Leonardo took his knife and his share of the meat, a handful of rice, and limped back to his cave like a wounded and dangerous animal. He sat in the doorway to the storeroom, blocking our path to anything that might be used to cause him harm.
âYou should have let him starve,' Daniella said.
âWhat good would that do?' I squinted and looked down the length of the boat. The moon was little more than a wink, but combined with the glow from the barbecue, the light was just about good enough for me to see Leonardo's dark shape sitting alone. âAll it would do is piss him off. We need to keep him happy. Happy people make mistakes, they get lazy, they forget to do something, watch something ...'
âAnd then what?'
âAnd then I don't know,' I said, thinking about my knife.
âWould you ...' She stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth and looked at it before putting it down on her plate.
âI'II do what I have to do. But for now, all that means is getting him to Mina dos Santos.'
âWhat he did to those people yesterday,' she said. âHow can he do something like that?'
âIt happens all the time.' I stared into the embers that glowed and weakened.
âI know ...' she sighed. âBut those people did nothing wrong.'
âLeonardo doesn't care about that.' I watched her face, seeing nothing but shadow and shape, a glint of orange where the coals reflected in her eyes.
Daniella and I sat together, talking and watching the night, keeping our voices low to exclude our captor. And when she kissed me, I allowed myself to be lost in her taste for just a moment before dragging myself back to the boat and the reality of our situation. Eventually, she rested her head on my shoulder and became quiet.
âYou're tired,' I told her. âYou should sleep.'
âNot sure I'll be able to. I never liked sleeping in a hammock.'
âYou should try.'
âWhat about you?'
âI already told you. Not tonight.' I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. âTonight I watch over you.'
âYou promise?'
I held both her hands in mine. âI promise.'
For a while it felt as if we were alone and I had to remind myself that Leonardo was still there, like a ghost, sitting in the darkness.
35
I waited until Daniella was settled in the hammock, then I went to the side of the boat and sat on the deck, positioning myself so Leonardo couldn't get to her without passing me.
âShe's asleep?' he asked.
âWhat does it matter?' I spoke quietly so Daniella wouldn't be disturbed by our words.
âIt doesn't.' Leonardo came to sit near me. He settled on the box seat, a couple of metres away, taking the high ground.
Clouds had formed above us, covering much of the sky including what there was of the moon, and I assumed that the pistol was still in his hand, probably pointed straight at me. Now the only light was from the remains of the barbecue, and everything outside the boat was black. The world had ceased to exist beyond the weak orange glow of the charcoal; everything had been erased and only we remained, surrounded by the alien sounds of the night forest coming to life. As if demons were pushing at our small barrier of light, waiting for it to fade before they could storm our last defences.
It was enough to drive a man insane.
âI looked in your pack.' Leonardo leaned forward to spit into the fading embers. âI thought it was mine at first, it's hard to tell the difference in the dark.'
âDid you find anything you like?'
âUh-huh.' He fumbled for a moment, then a match flared and I saw his face in the brilliance of the flame. The smell of phosphorus floated to me, a sweet and pleasant odour that faded almost
as quickly as it had appeared. He flicked the match overboard and dragged on his cigarette.
âWhat's this?' He clicked on the torch from my pack. The beam was directed at the newspaper clipping Costa had given me yesterday morning.
I fought the urge to sit up and snatch it from him. I couldn't let him think it was important. I didn't want him to mention it to Daniella.
âWho is she?' he asked.
âCan you read?'
âOf course I can read.'
âThen read it.'
Leonardo turned the clipping so he could look at the words. He shone the torch at the black print, then shook his head and threw it to me. âYou read it. My eyes are tired.'
âYou can't read.'
He didn't reply.
âDon't be ashamed,' I told him. âThere are worse things about you. And I can't read either. How about that? Two illiterate gunmen struggling over a piece of newspaper.' I looked at the typed words and wondered what they said about the small woman surrounded by people. âBut I'll learn.'
âYou won't.'
âWhat makes you say that?'
âBecause there's no reason for it. You are what you are.'
I turned the paper over in my fingers, staring at the picture of Dolores Beckett. âMaybe I want to change,' I said. âBe something else.'
âImpossible.'
âFor you maybe.' I folded the clipping along the creases that were already there, the soft paper closing in on itself, hiding the doomed nun from sight. I slipped it into my shirt pocket, back where it had been before, as if it were its rightful place.
âSo who is she?'
âShe's no one.'
I watched Leonardo finish his cigarette and light another one
from the firefly stub of the first. His face appeared in the glow every now and then when he took a long drag, and I could hear the faint crackle of the tobacco, the inhalation of breath. Somewhere out in the darkness, life surged. The simmering blackness, completely devoid of light, was filled with the electric hum of peeps and flutters and croaks and chirrups. An endless assortment of life, each with its individual voice contributing to an orchestra of sound that was almost tangible; as if I could reach out over the side of the boat and touch it, draw it into the light with my fingertips.
âIt's so damn dark,' Leonardo said.
We might have been suspended over oblivion, the last remaining people on earth. He shivered and drew himself closer to the embers.
âYou afraid of the
mapinguari?'
I asked. âMaybe the
boitatá?'