The Darkest Heart (46 page)

I threw the anchor overboard and sat for a while in the silence of the day, summoning the courage to move. The world seemed to be at peace, but the sense of dread grew heavier in me as I contemplated what I was going to do. I felt cold, despite the heat of the sun. When I held my hands out in front of me, my fingers trembled.

Leaning back, I turned my face to the sky and spoke a quiet prayer to whoever or whatever might be listening. I didn't know if there was a god watching me or if he would even care about me, but I asked him to make everything all right. I would cast away the shadow and live my life in the light if I could have Daniella and Raul's lives in return.

With a deep breath, I pushed myself up from the seat behind the wheel and went to the stern to drop the smaller boat into the water. I left one rope, preventing it from floating away, and it drifted in the current, lazily bumping the hull of the
Deus.

A flock of red macaws passed by, with a swish of feathers and a shrill screech as they went. I turned to watch them glide over the forest in the distance and waited until they were tiny specks of black and then nothing, as if it were important for me to see them disappear from view.

When the birds were gone, I unfastened the first of the fuel barrels. It was only half full, but shuffling it from the stern to the main deck was difficult on my own, and I sweated hard under the sun. As soon as there was enough room, I tipped the barrel onto its side and rolled it towards the wheelhouse where I unscrewed the cap and let the diesel pour out and wash over the planking.

It darkened the boards, soaking into the dry wood and running over them, draining between the gaps. It caught the sun and glistened in a rainbow of colours as the fumes shimmered in the heat.

The second barrel was heavier and took longer to move but I persevered, manhandling it to the deck and spilling its contents across the
Deus
, letting the fuel soak into the empty rifle cases. When I was done, the deck was awash with fuel and the air was thick with its smell.

With a heavy heart, I climbed over the gunwale and dropped into the smaller boat. I untied the rope that secured it to the
Deus
, then slid opened the box of matches I had taken from the wheelhouse. I lit one and used it to light the others, watched them flare in a burst of sweet-smelling phosphorous. The flame grew, twisting around the box, curling towards my fingers.

‘Sorry, old man,' I said, then flicked the matches up into the
Deus.

The fuel caught immediately, igniting with a hollow whoosh and a sudden rush of heat. I pushed the smaller vessel away into the river as the fire sucked the oxygen from around me, drawing it in to feed itself. Within seconds, the canvas coverings were ablaze and black smoke washed around the
Deus
like a demon. Sparks jumped as the wood took hold and began to burn. The fire danced around the boat, reaching out to every part of it, flickering and playing as it consumed my friend's livelihood.

By the time I was a hundred metres away from her, the
Deus
was alight from bow to stern. The canvas was gone, pieces of it still spiralling into the sky, glowing, smouldering. The scraps disintegrated and broke into tiny, flickering fireflies of cinders that spun in the heat and the smoke. The bow, which had been my lookout perch on so many journeys with the old man, split with a loud crack in the intensity of the inferno. Her boards popped and the planking sprung from its fixings. The tyres burned black and stinking.

Further away still, the third fuel barrel ignited. There was no loud bang or violent destruction of the boat, though. Instead, a
rush of flame erupted from the stern, as if the cap had popped from the drum and the diesel had squirted up under immense pressure. The curling ball of yellow and orange rolled skywards, chased by a rising pillar of fire, up and up until it was ten metres tall. It burned bright for a few seconds, but as it rose, the flame darkened at the edges, shifting and thickening once the fuel had burned away, and was engulfed in dense black clouds.

With her anchor line burned through, the
Deus
began to drift downriver, towards Piratinga, but she would sink and die long before she reached the town.

Close to the bank, I paddled towards the place where the trees gave way to the sandy beaches, and I watched, unable to tear my eyes from what I had done. Seeing the boat burn filled me with an awful sense of finality and the aching need for reassurance. I hoped I had done the right thing.

The
Deus
released a pillar of heavy, terrible smoke into the blue sky as she washed further downriver, then she listed and began to take on water.

Within a few minutes she sank and disappeared, as if she had never existed.

Once I was ashore, I shouldered my pack and abandoned the tin boat, trudging across the sand towards the path leading into town. Walking on the sand was hard, and the sun was cruel that day. I was thirsty and tired and dirty. Sweat poured from my brow and soaked my shirt. I carried a heavy burden too, in my thoughts – Sister Beckett, Kássia, the
Deus
– but I tried to push them away. I had to keep my head clear and think about Daniella, Carolina and the old man. I was here to keep them safe. I could not help the dead but perhaps I could do something for the living. That was all I had to do.

All I had to think about.

As I came into town, I headed along the shore, passing the houses and bars, scanning the riverside, looking for anyone watching the river. Costa's people would have seen the smoke in the distance, but they would have had no reason to think it had
anything to do with the
Deus.
They would be expecting me to bring the boat into town, so that was what they would be looking for.

I hoped that Sister Beckett was wrong about Costa. I entertained the possibility that he might pay me for the nun's death and leave me to live in peace on the promised piece of land, but I knew there was no chance of that. I wasn't even sure I would want it to be that way. I couldn't live in a place that had been bought with Sister Beckett's blood. Such a place would be cursed.

I slipped unnoticed past Ernesto's bar, feeling the urgency grow to an almost unbearable level. I was close to the old man's place now. I was within reach. Raul was just a short distance away. I wanted to break into a run, to get to the house as quickly as possible, but I had to stay calm. I had to control myself.

My heart quickened and my mind raced. My stomach crawled like the forest insects had swarmed inside me.

I was almost there.

Then I saw them. Two men waiting on the shore.

They were just sitting and looking out at the river. Luis and Wilson. The two men who had begun all this just a few days ago when they came to my apartment. The men who had murdered Antonio and had their lives promised to me by Costa.

I paused and watched them sitting close to Raul's place, waiting in almost the exact spot where the vultures had been the day Costa threatened my friends. I remembered coming back from Ernesto's and laughing when the old man threw rocks at the ugly bird that had perched on the roof.

I kept my eyes on Luis and Wilson as I slipped past behind them, one hand on my pistol, and went straight to Raul's house. Once I was out of sight of the beach, obscured by the building, I knocked on the door.

Somewhere inside, Rocky barked, but my heart thumped and there was a washing, swirling noise in my ears. It wasn't for fear of the men watching the river, it was because I was nervous about what I might discover right now. I needed to know if the old man was all right. I needed to see him standing in front of me, strong and fit.

I knocked a second time, telling myself I always had to knock more than once. Carolina never came straight away.

When I raised my fist to knock a third time, the door opened.

59

‘Zico,' said Carolina. ‘Thank God it's you.'

Rocky came out to greet me, pressing against me and thumping her tail on my legs.

‘Where's Raul?' I went in, ignoring the dog, looking around. ‘Is he all right? I need to talk to him.' I stepped past Carolina, took two paces into the house and stopped.

Their place wasn't much. One main room right here behind the front door, with a low table in the centre and a couple of soft chairs and a sofa. To the far side, there was another table with four chairs where we had eaten together a few nights ago. There was a kitchen and a bedroom, both doors leading off this one room.

It was dark in there, that was the first thing I noticed. The shutters were closed and I was surprised I hadn't spotted that from outside. I had been too wrapped up in watching the watchmen.

The table, which would normally have at least two cups and a flask of coffee on its glass surface, was clear.

‘Carolina?' I turned to look at her.

She had closed the door behind her, guiding it back rather than letting it swing on its hinge and slam in its frame.

‘Where is he?' But I knew. The pain of his loss was already growing in me. It was spreading from muscle to muscle, sinking into my soul and invading every part of me.

Carolina stayed where she was, her face almost hidden in the shadow created by the fingers of sunlight creeping through the shutters. I could hardly see her expression, but I saw her shake her head. She opened her mouth but closed it again as if she didn't know what to say.

I went to her and raised both my arms, hesitated, not knowing quite what to do. ‘When?' I asked her. The word came out as a whisper. It felt wrong on my lips, as if someone else had spoken it.

Carolina took a deep breath and looked up at me. Her eyes glistened in the half-light. ‘Yesterday ... Early ... He asked for you.'

You should have been here for him
, something screamed in my head.
You should have brought him home.

I gave myself a moment to steady my voice. ‘What happened?'

‘The fever never broke. And he started ... he was bleeding, Zico. Everywhere.'

I turned away and wiped my fingers across my eyes before I looked back at Carolina and saw her strength and dignity. ‘Do they know what it was? Dengue fever?'

She swallowed her grief and looked down, nodding.

‘And you?' I asked, putting a hand to my mouth. ‘Do you feel all right?'

When she looked up at me, her despair was clear, but she fought it, determined not to let it pour out of her. ‘Can I get you some coffee?' she asked.

‘Sit down.' I took her hand and led her to one of the soft chairs. I sat opposite and leaned forward, putting my hands on my face. ‘I should have come back with him. I should have ...' My words died in my throat.

Rocky came to me and rested her chin on my lap.

‘There was nothing you could do, Zico. Nothing even the doctors could do. They tried giving him more blood but there was nothing.'

I rubbed my face, pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and tried to think, but my mind was filled with just one thing.

I couldn't believe he was gone.

The old man was gone.

‘I wanted to bring him home,' Carolina said, ‘but they wouldn't let me. I'm going to bury him tomorrow. Will you be there?'

I nodded and we sat in silence, neither of us looking at the other. I stroked Rocky's head and cast my eyes around the room, seeing all the signs that he was still here. His hat on a hook by
the door. A shirt across the back of a chair at the table. A pair of shoes. Photographs.

‘What will you do?' I asked, lowering my head to put my face against Rocky's fur. ‘Will you go to Imperatriz?'

Carolina shook her head. ‘What would I go there for?'

‘To be with your son. Francisco.'

‘I never really wanted that,' she said. ‘I belong
here.
It was Raul's dream more than it was ever mine.'

I looked up at her and felt the tears well in my eyes. ‘He said the same thing to me.' My voice was quiet. ‘That it was your dream, not his.'

‘He said that?'

‘Yes.'

She smiled, a melancholy look. ‘Silly old fools. We spent all our time pretending we wanted something because we thought it was what the other wanted. Don't be like that, Zico. Be happy with what you have. You don't know when it will be taken from you.'

It was as if she had read the dilemma I'd struggled with for the last few days. If she had said it to me before, though, I might not have believed her. Only now could I see that she was right. Costa's money meant nothing if I had to sell my soul to have it. All that mattered was the family I had built around me since coming to Piratinga. I had to live for what I had, not for what I
hoped
to have.

‘You cared a lot for each other,' I said, wondering if it would be the same for Daniella and me. If we were meant for each other the way Raul and Carolina had been.

‘So he never wanted to go to Imperatriz?' she asked.

I shook my head.

‘It makes sense.' She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, she widened them as if something was clouding her vision. There was grief there, but she was proud and stubborn and wouldn't allow herself to cry. ‘You were more of a son to him than Francisco ever was.'

I wiped my own tears from my cheeks. ‘You can't say that.'

‘I can say what I want. I can say what is true. You were
here
, Zico. You shared his life. He spoke of you like you were ...' She
stopped, her throat constricting, the pain wanting to come out, but she swallowed it down, reset herself.

‘But I
wasn't
here,' I said. ‘Not when it mattered.'

‘You sent him back to me. That's all you could have done.'

I stood again, went to the kitchen and checked the flask but it was empty. Carolina had not made coffee today. ‘Let me get you something,' I said, opening a cupboard, the door loose on its hinge. ‘I should fix that.'

‘No.' She came through and put her hand on me. ‘Let me get something for
you.'