The Scorpion's Tale (36 page)

Steven glimpsed the Sumaco Volcano, rising
above the jungle in the distance. This would have been a
spectacular sight, but he was too preoccupied with Father Mateuse
to enjoy the view. Even if he managed to find the priest, would he
really want to help Steven kill his friend? Steven knew his journey
into the mountains was a long shot, but he had no choice. He felt
lonely and desperate.

When the bus arrived in Tena, Steven was
starving. The driver directed Steven to a local eatery across a
pedestrian bridge. The restaurant was small, with an open-air
dining room and an unobstructed view of the river he had just
crossed. Steven decided that with such a pristine-looking river
nearby, he should probably go with the fish, and left the details
of preparation to the waitress who approached him for his
order.

Steven sat back and examined the restaurant.
There were several Europeans mixed in with local Indians and
Ecuadorians, probably from Quito on business. Steven overheard a
conversation at the next table between two young women speaking
English interspersed with Spanish. He figured this was a good
opportunity to locate the priest. He leaned closer to the table and
excused himself.

“Hello. I am sorry to interrupt your
conversation, but I couldn’t help overhearing you speak English. I
was wondering if you could help me.”

The young woman nearest Steven smiled at him.
“We are students from Quito. We are studying English and we’re
practicing.”

Steven returned the smile. “You both speak
English quite well. I wish my Spanish was half as good as your
English.”

Both women smiled politely.

“I am visiting a missionary in this area and
I don’t know where to find him. His name is Father Pierre Mateuse.
Have you heard of him?”

The first women nodded. “Yes. I am a Quichuan
Indian, and my family lives in Tena. We all know Father Mateuse. He
is a good and holy man. His closest mission is in Archidona, just
north of Tena. There is a bus you can take or you can get a local
driver to take you. It’s a short drive, about fifteen minutes.
Father Mateuse goes back and forth into the mountains to different
missions, but you can ask at the church when you arrive and they
will tell you where to find him.”

Steven thanked her for the help just as the
waitress arrived with a whole, grilled fish staring back at him.
The fish was simmering in red beans and cooked onions. Steven felt
a resurgence of confidence as he hungrily consumed the local
delicacy, happy that it hadn’t taken long to locate the priest.

-------------------

It was three o’clock when Steven left the
restaurant, and the sun was casting afternoon shadows around him.
Tena was a completely different world. Although Steven was indeed
an outsider, he felt welcome. He watched students in school
uniforms pass by, smiling at him, and children played on the shores
of the river. He thought about missed opportunities with his
daughters.

There were signs everywhere for hostels and
ecological excursions into the rainforest, which Steven assumed was
the major source of revenue for Tena. He passed an open-air meat
market, and was glad he had ordered the fish after glimpsing the
carcasses hanging from the ceiling. The meat was unrecognizable,
and he could only imagine the type of animals being displayed for
consumption.

As Steven walked down the street, he felt he
was being watched. He turned his head, searching his surroundings,
determined to find who was tailing him. He walked into a shop and
then quickly emerged to scan the area. He thought he saw a figure
duck into a store behind him. He walked slowly toward the bus
terminal and turned down an alley. Halfway down the block, he
darted off, wedging himself into a small opening between two
buildings. Minutes later, a tall, skinny man crept by, moving
tentatively, his head jerking in every direction like a chicken. He
was nervous and sweating. Steven waited until the man passed him
before springing from his hiding place, slamming his pursuer into a
wall.

“Who the fuck are you?” Steven screamed.

The man cried out in Spanish and covered his
face, expecting a beating.

“I didn’t hurt you–yet! But if you don’t
answer my question I’m going to, comprende?”

The man fell to his knees and began begging
for his life, something Steven could comprehend in any
language.

Suddenly, Steven was spun around. A huge fist
slammed into his abdomen, driving him to his knees. Steven managed
to look up, only to see two uniformed policemen. The larger one
stood directly over him with a menacing expression, while the
smaller officer yelled at Steven’s stalker, who scrambled to his
feet and ran away.

“Vaya conmigo!” the smaller officer ordered,
his face inches from Steven’s face. The bigger man yanked Steven to
his feet and pushed him to follow the first officer. Steven tried
to explain himself, but the large officer spun him around again,
slamming cuffs on his wrists. Steven pointed to his bags, but the
small officer placed a finger to his lips indicating Steven should
remain quiet.

“Callate, gringo!” he scolded Steven. The
large officer shoved Steven in the back before picking up his bags.
Steven realized it was pointless to argue. They obviously spoke no
English. Steven walked behind the small officer down the main
street that he had just traveled, humiliated under the disapproving
stares of the locals who had, moments earlier, greeted him with
smiles.

-------------------

The local police station was small and
barren, smelling of stale cigarettes and body odor. The large
officer removed Steven’s handcuffs and pushed him into the
cell.

“Let me out of here,” Steven yelled. “I
didn’t do anything. That guy was following me!”

Both men shook their heads and laughed as
they walked away. Steven turned around to inspect his
accommodations. Thankfully he was alone in this windowless cell.
There wasn’t even a toilet; just a hole in the floor in the corner
of the cell next to a soiled and tattered mattress crawling with
insects. The air was dank and smelled of human waste. Steven heard
the officers come back, this time carrying his bags. They gave
Steven a dirty look, but said nothing as they dropped the bags in
front of the locked cell door, just out of Steven’s reach.

“Let me have my bags, you assholes!” Steven
yelled.

The larger man grinned at Steven revealing an
incomplete set of yellow teeth. He seemed to comprehend the meaning
of the word “asshole”, because he spat on Steven just before he
turned and walked out of sight.

Steven sat as far away as possible from the
mattress and the hole in the floor. He cradled his head in his
hands, a million miles from civilization, at the mercy of
God-knows-who, in the mountains of Ecuador, rotting in a jail cell.
No one had a clue where he was. To be so close yet so far, he
thought.

-------------------

The next morning, Steven was still evaluating
his predicament after a sleepless night. He was at the complete
mercy of an Ecuadorian goon squad. If they decided to shoot him,
there was nothing he could do. Nobody would know what happened to
him. He would simply vanish without a trace. He would be remembered
and missed by a few people, but other than that, there would be
little evidence that he ever existed–no children or loving spouse
to carry on his legacy. Steven believed it a fitting end to his
worthless life. At least his torment would be over. He placed his
elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and managed to
close his eyes.

Steven was awakened by the sound of keys
jingling. He looked up to the grin of the large policeman, who was
motioning for Steven to follow him. He pointed down the hall to the
small officer who was gesturing to Steven to approach him. Steven
mentally had named the large officer “Frankenstein”, and the small
one “Weasel”. Weasel gave Steven a contemptuous look and
disappeared into an office ahead of Steven. He half-expected to be
shot in the back of his head by Frankenstein. Weasel motioned
toward a wooden chair set before an old desk. Both men stood
silently against the wall staring coldly at Steven with their arms
folded against their chests.

Minutes later, a middle-aged man in uniform
entered the room. Although the officers did not salute him, Steven
noticed they stood at attention with their eyes looking forward.
The man nodded his head slightly and the two officers relaxed. The
man took a seat across the table and removed his police hat,
revealing closely cropped hair with a large bald spot in the middle
of his head. He had a thick moustache and a square jaw, and his
eyes were black and cold. He carefully studied papers on the desk
before him. There was an awkward silence as Steven waited for him
to speak. The man cleared his throat and raised his eyes.

“Your name is Steven Capresi?” he asked, in
almost perfect English.

Steven’s heart raced as his hopes soared.
Perhaps this was a reasonably intelligent man, he thought. “Yes,
Sir,” Steven answered respectfully. Steven restrained his impulse
to protest his incarceration. He knew that this man was his last
hope, and he needed to make a favorable impression.

The man continued sizing-up Steven. “My name
is Colonel Lis Padroza.”

Steven nodded deferentially. “Thank you,
Colonel. I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions.”

The Colonel nodded at Steven. “That is wise.
You assaulted a citizen of Tena. That was a mistake.”

Steven bristled, but composed himself. “I
wanted to find out why he was following me, so I grabbed him. He
fell to his knees and began screaming. I never hit him.”

The Colonel chuckled and translated Steven’s
words to the other officers. They both laughed. “I know this man,
Guillermo. He has the brains of an ass. However, he is related to
half the population in this town, which gives him more stature than
a gringo tourist.”

Steven said nothing.

“By the way, Señor Capresi, how did you enjoy
your stay with us?”

“It was lovely,” Steven replied.

“Yes, I’m certain it was,” he said with a
grin, again translating for the two officers, who laughed at
Steven. “Although you did not hurt Guillermo, you gave my men no
choice but to arrest you. I’m not concerned about him, only about
you. If you are not here to tour the rainforest, which I already
know to be true, there is little reason for you to be in Tena,
except perhaps, to meet with Father Mateusse.”

Steven froze. How could this man have that
information? Had he interviewed the women from the restaurant?

The Colonel smiled. “You are wondering how I
know about the priest, correct?”

Steven remained silent. He did not like the
direction of the conversation.

The Colonel folded his hands together. “I
don’t know who you are or why you are here, but I do not care.
Someone wanted you to visit with us for a short while. Guillermo
was paid to follow you and we were paid to follow him and arrest
you.”

Steven tensed. Who else could have known
about the priest and arranged his stay in this jail?

“Your fine is the cash hoard we found on you,
which we shall keep as a donation to our local economy. You are
free to go. My men will escort you to the bus terminal where you
will take the bus to Archidona. Proceed to the church, inquire
within, and you will be directed to Father Mateuse.”

Steven watched as the Colonel walked past and
barked orders in Spanish to his two subordinates. Frankenstein
disappeared and returned with Steven’s bags. Weasel grunted at
Steven and motioned toward the door. Steven took his bags and
followed them to the bus terminal, where he purchased a ticket with
all the change he had left in his pocket, took a final glimpse of
Tena, and caught the next bus to Archidona.

The bus dropped Steven off in the middle of a
deserted square, where Steven walked toward a small church, built
from concrete blocks painted in alternating whites, browns and
yellows. There was a clock tower adjacent to the building and
large, dark wooden double-doors. Steven tried opening the door, but
it was locked. He lightly rapped the doorknocker until a
middle-aged woman answered.

“Hola, Señora. Habla ingles?” Steven
asked.

The woman shook her head.

Steven tried to put together a comprehensible
sentence in Spanish. “Mi nombre es Steven Capresi. Soy Americano y
estoy buscando Padre Mateuse.”

The woman’s face lit up and she began
jabbering away in Spanish.

Steven put up his hands to stop her. “Señora,
por favor, mas despacio. Slower, please. No entiendo mucho
Español.”

The woman smiled and motioned for Steven to
follow her into the church. The main room was small, with
hand-carved wooden crosses, colored candles, and paintings of
Christ. They walked into a room next to the sanctuary, where a man
sat at a desk writing, with his back to Steven. The woman spoke to
him and mentioned Father Mateuse. He turned around and smiled at
Steven.

“I am Father Padron,” he said, in a thick
accent. Carmen has told me you are looking for Father Mateuse.”

“Yes, Father,” Steven replied, relieved he no
longer had to speak Spanish.

“Father Mateuse is at another mission in the
jungle, but is expected to return either later this evening or
tomorrow morning.” He pointed to a cot in the corner of the room.
“You are welcome to stay here and use this room as your sleeping
quarters. We would be honored if you would join us for dinner,
which will be served in two hours.”

Two hours later, Steven entered the kitchen,
where he found Father Padron deep in prayer. Carmen spooned a
healthy portion of rice and beans onto Steven’s plate, placed a
loaf of freshly baked, coarse bread on the table, and poured red
wine from a clay urn into each goblet before joining the men at the
table. Father Padron said a blessing in Spanish, and then they ate
in silence. Carmen refilled Steven’s goblet several times with the
sweet-tasting wine, leaving him a little light-headed. After his
third glass, he was having trouble staying awake. He clumsily
excused himself from the table, thanking them for his supper, and
stumbled back to his room, where he collapsed onto his cot and fell
into a heavy sleep.