Valley of the Dead (18 page)

Chapter
30

Upon my right hand I beheld new anguish,

New torments, and new wielders of the lash,

Wherewith the foremost Bolgia [ditch] was replete.

Dante,
Inferno
, 18.22-24

As they walked through the silent woods hand-in-hand, Bogdana suddenly pulled away and gave a tiny yelp. Dante reached for her as she turned to lean against a tree. Adam and Radovan also heard her, and they rushed to her side as well. She bent down, grimacing in pain as she drew in long gasps through clenched teeth.

“Is it your time?” Adam asked.

He seemed to Dante to be the calmest of them. Having been through this before, Bogdana looked resolute, not confused or frightened, but definitely distressed. Probably not from the physical discomfort of childbirth, but at the prospect of giving birth in this horrible place. Radovan looked the way Dante imagined he did at that moment – open-mouthed and terrified at the mystery of life, and panicked at the possibility of seeing a naked female body, especially one doing something for which only it was equipped. Something that had nothing to do with a man’s pleasure or interest, and something so overflowing with agony and impurity.

“No. Not here, not now,” she panted. “It’ll pass. I know it will.”

“Women have given birth in worse places, I’m sure,” Adam said as soothingly as he could. He turned to Radovan. “My son, please keep an eye out for unwanted visitors.” Pale and sweating, Radovan eagerly nodded at this suggestion and turned away from the heaving woman. He looked almost on the brink of fainting, so much so it seemed to Dante the command had been more for the young man’s well-being than for the rest of them.

Still holding on to the tree with one hand, Bogdana gripped Dante’s shoulder with the other. The pressure she applied seemed inhuman, like it would drive him to his knees it was so powerful. Her brown-eyed stare locked on his, and he knew there was no arguing with her about anything at this point. She had become completely primal, physical, unaccountable for anything other than the needs of her body at that moment, and for the other body and spirit for which she was solely and completely responsible.

“Then I feel very sorry for them,” she said, her breaths coming faster and more shallow, her teeth still clenched. “But I will not let that happen. Just stand here with me one moment till it passes.”

They had no choice but to obey, and after a while, Bogdana’s breathing slowed, and her grip on Dante gradually eased. She stood back to her full height and looked at them as she caught her breath and regained her balance. “Thank you,” she said. “My first time, I had pangs the whole day before I gave birth. But we must hurry. My baby will not be born in this valley.”

Dante wanted to hold her by the arm, coddle and comfort her, but it hardly seemed appropriate in their situation, so they walked side-by-side on the trail. Suddenly, Bogdana gave another yelp, and he thought her birth pangs had started again. But when he looked at her, he saw her head turned, her hand over her mouth and nose, retching. He looked ahead and saw that Adam and Radovan were not hurrying to her this time, because they too were coughing and heaving, with their hands covering their mouths. Before he could react, Dante was assaulted by the foulest odor he’d ever experienced. It was not like the stench of the dead, or the burning he’d smelled in various places the past three days. This smell was utterly of the living, but from the most disgusting and diseased parts of life, as though all the shit of a city’s sewers had backed up on to the street during a summer flood and sat there in the sun to stew for a few days. Then when hundreds of people had been led through the sickening slurry, they vomited out the soured contents of their stomachs, adding it to the sun-baked sewage for some more simmering in the still, cloying heat. That was the kind of scent assaulting Dante now, stinging his eyes and nose and making him gag. Through his tear-filled eyes, he could see Bogdana was retching as hard as he was, but having heard how much more sensitive pregnant women were to smells, he was surprised she wasn’t doing much worse.

The nausea subsided enough Dante was able to get the blanket he’d used as a cowl and wrap it around his face like a scarf, providing some kind of protection against the smell. He helped Bogdana do the same, while Adam and Radovan did so as well. With that little protection, and with their getting used to the noxious fumes, they were able to proceed. As they went, they were further molested by swarms of green flies whose numbers seemed to increase with each step. A bit further, and Dante saw tents of various sizes and shapes among the trees ahead. There were so many it was like a small city under the trees. The four stopped when they heard voices and shouting.

The large tent nearest them might have been white or beige at one time, but now it was thoroughly spattered with black and brown, from the ground to nearly the top. The smell and flies seemed to intensify near this one, and the shouting was coming from here. As they watched, the sides of the tent would fly outward in one spot then swing back, then fly outward in another spot, as though people were fighting inside, pushing one another against the canvas. Among the shouts Dante could now distinguish the moan of the dead, crescendoing sometimes to the pained, outraged roar they made. Above this steady drone a living voice hovered, occasionally punctuated by other, violent sounds.

“Oh, Alexis, you’ll have to stop this foolishness!” There was a thwack and a roar. “God almighty, you always did have a hard head!” A grunt and another thwack were followed by a wet slapping sound, a splash, and gurgling. “Christ, by my mother’s eye teeth, you crazy whore-loving fool. Stay down. Ugh! Now you got it all over me. Stupid, whoreson bastard!”

The next thwack and cursing brought two men crashing through the tent flaps and into Dante’s view. The first one out of the tent was a dead man. His skin was mostly grey, though around his head and neck there were several gashes of red. The left side of his face was completely smashed in, revealing teeth and bone in places. His clothes were dripping everywhere with some foul slop of piss-soaked shit.

The dead man was followed out of the tent by his living assailant, who was only slightly better for wear. He was a tall, lean man with long, grey hair and beard, carrying a short-handled shovel in his right hand. At some point in their fighting, his arms had also been smeared with the latrine’s contents. He brought the flat side of the shovel down again on the dead man’s forehead, finally causing him to fall back on the ground. But as with the other dead people Dante had seen assaulted, this one writhed and moaned, still trying to get up. The living man stood over the struggling corpse.

“If that damned head is so hard we’ll just take it off completely!”

He planted the edge of the shovel below the dead man’s chin, put his right foot on the shovel’s blade, and pressed it down through the flesh and bone of the neck. The dead man’s hands shot up to claw at the handle of the shovel as his blood spilled out on to the ground. Then there was a wet, cracking sound and his arms went slack and fell still, sticking out straight from his sides. There was no underbrush in this sick, dead forest, so Dante could see the jaw was still moving. He shivered and looked away.

The grey-haired man finally noticed them. “Oh, hello strangers,” he shouted to them in a surprisingly friendly tone. He tossed the shovel back by the entrance to the tent and looked down at the body and head, then back to the four newcomers. “Just a moment. Can’t leave this lying around!”

He looked around, as though trying to decide what to do with the remains. He picked up the arms and laid them across the body, then he kicked the head a couple times till it lay next to the left elbow. Folding the corpse’s legs under it, he made it about as compact as it could be. Then he picked up an end of one of the fallen tree trunks, dragged it over, and let it drop on top of the dead man. There was a crunching, splintering sound. Dante had no idea whether it was from the rotten wood cracking or the dead man’s ribcage or skull being crushed. He shivered, but did not look away as the man hauled another log over and dropped it on to the body as well. The man kicked some twigs and leaves on to the pile then walked over toward them.

“Sorry about that!” he said as he came closer. “I should’ve kept a closer eye on old Alexis there. He was acting kind of funny when he came in this morning, but he said he was just sick and hungover. I knew something was up, so I told him to stay away from my girls and come back later and maybe I’d let him have a turn. He was looking really dodgy when he went to take a shit. When he was in there so long, I just knew he’d gone and died. So I went in to take care of it. The damn fool had gone and fallen in, so now I have shit all over me!”

Dante and the others couldn’t help but recoil and hold their blankets tighter to their faces.

The man laughed. “Not from around here, eh? Sorry. I’ll go wash up then. Come on.”

“Are you just going to leave it there?” Adam asked. “Not bury or burn it?”

The man looked over his shoulder at the wood piled up on top of the body and shrugged. “Why? People should know not to poke around in things, especially around here. And I doubt it makes any difference to old Alexis now. It’ll all settle down soon enough, become part of the dirt, and him with it. That’s the lot of all of us, and today was his turn.”

He started walking away from the latrine, with Dante and the others following him. Thankfully the stench and flies diminished somewhat as they went. As they walked by the various tents, more bodily odors wafted over them – the tangy, musky scent of sex mingling with the sour, rotten smell of human waste; neither was improved by the combination. All of this cacophony of odors was accented by the sounds of lust – the heavy, rhythmic grunts of men and the higher, more erratic shrieks and squeals of women. Dante could see that most of the occupants of the tents were none too careful about closing the flaps all the way, letting the dark world around them behold every contortion and quiver of their abused, debased bodies. They copulated in every possible position and combination, doing so with all the discretion and grace of dogs. Some seemed to have the urgency of canines as well, though most made their motions lazily and carelessly, as though nothing much mattered to them.

Dante tried to turn away, and he also thought of shielding Bogdana’s view from such vileness, but they were in the midst of one vast whorehouse. There was virtually no way one could avoid the sickening spectacle all around them. The ground in front of his feet was the only place Dante could look and be spared some of the embarrassment he felt on behalf of those committing such shameful acts, even though they seemed to feel nothing but deranged abandonment. And even when he chastely looked down, the chorus of cries and groans continued to assail him.

The man led them to a large, round stone that seemed to define something like a town square for all the tents around them. It hadn’t been carved or fashioned to look like a well or fountain, but that seemed to be its function, as water bubbled out its top, trickled down the sides, and ran out in a little rivulet that ended in a mucky, swampy area nearby. The stone was bulbous, more or less spherical, and someone had decorated it to look like a giant breast, adding an aureole around the top. All over the sides there were also crude pictures of genitals coupling with other genitals, mouths, or anuses, the artist having reduced his subjects to just these few, simple parts.

The man knelt down and washed his hands and arms in the water running off from the stone fountain.

“What is this place?” Radovan asked as the man splashed in the water.

“Really new here, aren’t you?” the man said. “This is our camp for those who work in the mines up here.” He winked and gave them a knowing, conspiratorial glance. “Well, for those what need a camp and all its diversions, eh?”

“But why don’t you clean that vile place up, if you decide to live here?” Adam asked, unwrapping his scarf now they were further from the main source of the stench.

“What, our shithouse?” the man said, looking over his shoulder as he rubbed his sinewy forearms under the water. “Why bother? It’ll just get dirty again. Besides, it doesn’t really belong to anyone, so no one wants to do it. Just let it be till we can’t stand it anymore, then move a little further away from it. There’s plenty of room here.”

“All this was not here the last time I climbed this far up the valley,” Adam said. “There were some mines, but never a camp this big. When did all this start?”

“Not so long ago, back when my hair was black,” the man said. “It’s too cold to be up here in the winter. Well, a few bosses and special workers stay all year round.” Again he gave them a sideways look. “But come spring each year, the regular lads climb up here, rebuild the camp, and go to work. And if men are working in the mines, they need booze and food and whores down here. I own a few girls. Make good money here, then go down to the valley in the winter and spend it all, then back at it the next spring. Quite a life, eh?”

“Yes. Quite,” Adam said.

The man finished washing. He stood and shook his hands off. Without soap the improvement was not as great as they might’ve hoped for, but he was now much less noxious. Although Bogdana still kept her scarf wrapped around most of her face, the man nonetheless gave her an appraising look, thoroughly examining her face and body. Oddly, despite his profession, his gaze seemed much less lecherous than some of the men they had met down in the valley. They had looked at her with base, animal craving, while in his look there was only reasoning and calculation, estimates of cost and benefit, the quantifying of things that should never be weighed and measured. Dante gritted his teeth and thought how much better was the drooling leer of a wolf than the unblinking stare of a reptile.