When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (12 page)

‘Oh, it really hurts; what a weird burning sensation…’

‘Wait, I have a few painkillers and some water left. They must be here somewhere. Oh, yes, here they are; I’ve got them,’ Didier pulled out of his backpack a box of painkillers and a half-full bottle of water. Florent swallowed two tablets and drank greedily the lukewarm water until the bottle was almost empty. Afterwards they ate all of the stolen food.

When they had finished, the Frenchman fumbled again in his backpack, until he finally found the map Florent had stolen from the grave robbers. He unfolded it and held towards the flickering flame of his cigarette lighter, examining it closely. Right away he spotted a few distinct markings. There was a small red circle in the middle of a vast rainforest area criss-crossed by waterways and a single word written down next to it ‘ruins’. A line was drawn from the first circle to another one by a river. Was it the abandoned village with the dead bodies in one of the huts? Then some distance to the east he noticed a small drawing of a plane. A landing strip in the jungle? The last marking was much further down the page: a circle drawn around a city called Cuenca, situated in the Ecuador’s southern sierra. The first red circle marked surely the place where the ancient ruins and the cave full of treasures were. It confirmed what they feared. They were well hidden somewhere deep in the jungle. There were no settlements for at least a hundred miles around. He folded the map and was going to put it back into his backpack when something else written on the cover caught his eye. Two words, a name: Brian Steinwall.

‘Are there any markings on the map? Can you see where we are? Will the map help us get out of the jungle?’ asked Florent impatiently.

‘Well, the location of the ancient ruins is marked but the map doesn’t help us much. We escaped in frenzy. We don’t know how far or in which direction we ran. There is no landmark to guide us now. How can we determine which direction to take? But I found something else written on the map cover. I think it is the name of the gang leader: Brian Steinwall.’

‘The name of the gang leader? What’s the use of that? It won’t help us find a way out of here. Unless you plan to seek revenge on him for shooting at us and killing all the other men.’

‘I haven’t thought about revenge yet but if we ever get back to Quito alive I am going to tell the local authorities about everything we found and saw there, and give them the name of the man we saw plundering ancient graves and killing people. His deeds mustn’t go unpunished. I swear I’ll take care of that.’

‘If we ever get back to Quito alive… I am not so sure about that part.’

‘We’ve still got a chance, however slim it may seem right now. Lay down and get some rest before we hit the trail. Propping your feet up on that boulder over there will improve the blood flow and make you feel better. Yes, I know you can hardly walk but we need to leave this place as soon as possible. It’s too risky to stay here for too long. We must put more distance between us and those bloodthirsty killers. Perhaps they keep looking for us and might eventually discover our hideout.’

After half an hour or so, Didier dared to poke his head out of the cave and peer cautiously around. Then he strolled down the slippery walkway of the tunnel formed between the rock wall and the water cascade and entered the surrounding thicket. He stood there for a short while, looking and listening. Nothing suspicious. He went back to the cavern and helped Florent to get up.

‘How are you now?’ he asked.

‘A little better, I think I will be able to walk slowly, but I cannot carry the backpack.’

‘So leave it here. There are very few useful things left in it.’

‘Okay. I’ll just get my passport and the golden amulet. You did not protect me,’ he whispered, holding the artefact in his hand and staring at it for a long moment; then he put it into his pocket.

They waited another half an hour before finally leaving the cave. Glancing warily from side to side, they strode firmly forward, albeit guardedly, and were soon enveloped by the sea of lush vegetation and milky fog.

Which way should they go to avoid the robbers? They decided to go in the opposite direction to the one they came from when approaching the waterfall.

They were now deep into the afternoon. Progress had been slow. Having to support Florent meant Didier couldn’t simultaneously walk and use the machete. They advanced ploddingly through the underbrush. Soon they again had the peculiar feeling that they were being tracked and watched closely. They kept on, occasionally pausing for a short rest.

***

Meanwhile, José and Antonio once again decided to comb the thicket surrounding the waterfall. This time they walked very slowly, pausing every now and then, carefully listening and peering behind every bush and tree they passed. But there was nothing to hear or see, no sign anywhere of the two young men

‘They could not have gone far. They must be somewhere around here. I am sure that at least one of them got shot
–
I heard him scream in pain,’ José said.

‘Yes, but our chances of finding them now are low; it’s nearly impossible to see anything in this damn mist.’

José, however, was undeterred and continued to search.

They approached the waterfall and had almost to yell now to make themselves heard against the roar of the tumbling cascade. Moving stealthily like a cat, Antonio renewed his efforts to find the two fugitives. Then he noticed something bright red glistening against green foliage.

‘What is it?’ asked José.

‘Blood.’ Antonio touched it cautiously with his finger. ‘So it means they definitely passed through here, and at least one of them was injured. Let’s look around the waterfall.’

They followed the blood trail for a few hundred yards until they came to the waterfall. They stepped onto the wet, narrow rock ledge hidden behind the spattering cascade curtain. It was difficult to miss the cave entrance, a gaping hole. As they came up to it Antonio grabbed his loaded gun and raised it ready to shoot. Then he leaned forward and cautiously peered inside. Little could be seen in the dense gloom. José shone a torch into the blackness, revealing a dank small chamber with uneven, rough stone walls.

‘There’s nobody here.’

‘Wait a moment, shine your flashlight at the back, behind the boulder on the left. I can see something lying there.’

‘What is it, a backpack?’

The bright flashlight beam swept from side to side until it picked up a small, blue rucksack smeared with blood and mud. Antonio grabbed it and shook out its contents, but there was nothing inside to disclose the identity of its owner.

However, they knew now they were on the right track and it seemed the injured man had become too weak to carry a backpack.

Antonio and José left the cave and immersed themselves again in the dense undergrowth surrounding the waterfall. After half an hour of futile search they gave up, disheartened.

‘We’re just walking in circles. Let’s go back,’ said José. ‘If one of them is badly injured, and it looks like it, they’ll never get out of here alive. Either wild animals will get them, or they’ll fall into the hands of the Indians.’

Back at the cave of Inca tombs, Brian was waiting to greet them. ‘So you come empty-handed,’ he said in a bad-tempered voice. ‘I cannot believe you failed to catch them, you bunch of losers. What am I paying you for, you useless halfwits?’

‘We know for sure that at least one of them is wounded,’ José said defensively, speaking in a subdued voice.

‘Well, if so they’ll not get far in this damn jungle maze. It’s too late to search further now. It will get dark soon. We may still catch them later. You will set off tomorrow at dawn to look for them again. And you’d better not come back empty handed then. We must catch them and kill. Or else we will be in deep shit because they saw the treasure, probably saw me shoot the Indian workhand and they stole my map. My name was on its cover and the location of the ancient Inca ruins was marked on it. If they get out of here alive, they may not keep their mouths shut about what they discovered here. But where the hell did they come from? They were not some savage Indians. Just who are they? It’s fucking unbelievable they managed to find the ruins. I thought nobody knew about them but us. Are you sure nobody followed you the last time you came here?’

‘Followed us? No, I don’t think so. One of them was quite tall and had blond hair. They looked like foreigners. Maybe some treasure hunters? Too many of them around lately… not professionals like us, just simple amateurs… poking their noses where they shouldn’t. Cheeky bastards. There’s no stopping them. They won’t give up searching until they strike it rich. It seems no place is really safe, even so deep in the jungle.’

‘Come on, stop bitching. What’s the use? Better tell me if they have stolen any of the gold.’

‘Well, I can’t say for sure… we’ve never counted the pieces.’

‘Damn it! You should definitely use your brain more often. It will get rusty otherwise. Anyway, we must be on our guard,’ said Brian ‘If they managed to find their way to this place, it means others may also come here soon. So get back to work. We must hurry. We need to dig up all the graves and get the valuables out as quickly as possible. We mustn’t allow anyone else to see us here.’

Even after the darkness had fallen over the rainforest outside, the cave continued to resonate with the steady sounds of pickaxes striking rock and of shovels turning soil.

B
y now both of the young men were so hungry and exhausted that they could barely walk, their legs feeling as heavy as lead, and they had a burning sensation in their feet. Though careful, they could hardly avoid stumbling from time to time and slipping on the mud and the wet rotting leaves covering the ground. At one point a large black and brown tarantula crossed their path, barely escaping being crushed under their feet. They could hear nothing but the wheeze of their own breathing. They failed to notice at first that the birdsong had stopped and that an eerie unnatural silence had fallen over the rainforest.

Suddenly, something moved furtively between the tall grasses and huge fern leaves, and some dark shadows flitted by.

Their pursuers? Wild animals?

Their eyes darted back and forth scanning the surroundings. There was no one to be seen anywhere. Yet the uncanny feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away and even became stronger with every passing minute.

They quickened their pace but had not proceeded far, when once again they heard a barely perceptible rustle of leaves as if stirred by a gentle breeze.

Unsettled by the creepy sensation that someone else was lurking close by, Didier and Florent stopped and listened while looking frantically all around them. Their ears twitched lightly ready to pick the slightest sound.

‘Nothing. Nobody. That’s so weird. I could swear we are being watched.’

Once more they strained their eyes trying to pierce the misty thicket, scrutinizing every bush and tree. And then they saw a pair of large, black, shiny eyes staring at them intently from behind a tall fern.

The eyes were undoubtedly human.

Not long afterwards a dark figure emerged from the dim fog.

Instantly Didier turned round and pulled Florent’s passive body towards him ready to flee, but suddenly they were surrounded on all sides by immobile figures. They were short, just about five feet high, and almost completely naked; their bodies were slender and muscular, their skin cinnamon coloured, their hair jet-black and shoulder length, neatly parted in the middle or with evenly cut fringes covering their foreheads. All were men, their private parts held in place with a narrow hip cord. Some had stretched earlobes, hanging loose, almost touching their shoulders; the lobes were pierced in the middle, the holes filled with wooden pegs.

Two of the men had wreaths of plaited red and yellow parrot feathers about their heads. Their cheeks and foreheads were painted with stripes of slightly transparent, bright red paint.

The Indians!

Each of them was holding a long, smooth wooden spear with a sharp tip, and had a blowgun slung across his back. Their big bright eyes stared at Didier and Florent insistently, as if wishing to pierce them through, read their minds. They were both so stunned that they did not dare to move, and stood as if rooted to the ground. The faces of the Indians wore an expression of hostility mixed with curiosity. Together, as one man, they kept moving forward, forming a tight circle.

‘We’ve fallen into a trap,’ muttered Florent.

Desperately, he watched the wall of dark bodies, looking for an opening to escape. Finding none he charged at it wildly, wanting to force his way through, but the Indians caught him in a strong grip while he struggled at the edge of panic.

Shouting in a completely incomprehensible language the Indians began to gesticulate and talk all at the same time. Didier tried to speak to them in Spanish but his words were drowned out. With quick, agile movements they seized him, and grabbed the machete hanging at his side. Then they used a thin rope to tie his hands tightly, wrists crossed, and proceeded to do the same with Florent. But when they touched his wounded chest, a shrill scream of pain escaped his throat. So they let it go and tied a long rope around his waist instead. One of the warriors held the end of it firmly in his hands. Finally, menacingly brandishing their long spears, they ordered the prisoners to follow them.

The party set off and walked in single file, one behind the other, at a brisk pace and after a few hundred yards they came out upon a narrow, well-trodden trail padded with a thick layer of fallen, partly decayed leaves.

After about half an hour the path began to wind gently up a small hill covered with sparse vegetation. Nearly at the top was a large oval hut, about thirteen feet high, and next to it a few giant trees sprang from the ground.

A penetrating smell of wood smoke mingled with the ever-present aroma of wet earth and decay. In front of the hut was a small cluster of curious women and children, waiting for them patiently. Like the men, the women were completely naked except for a thin cord tied at the hip. Their long blue-black hair, parted in the middle of the head, fell loosely down their backs. Their bodies were well-formed, with gracefully rounded broad hips. Older children stood close to the mothers, some of whom cradled infants in their arms or in a primitive carrier worn diagonally across the chest. One of the Indians walking at the head of the column shouted something to the waiting group. Immediately there were loud bursts of laughter and then the women and children began gesticulating vividly and shouting over each other, uttering nasal sounds with a rising then falling pitch.

Visibly reassured, the older children broke away from their mothers and ran up to the men and their two prisoners. They ran alongside them, laughing, gesticulating and pulling at the strangers’ clothes. When the party neared the hut, the women joined in too, touching the prisoners’ shoes, shirts and leather belts and excitedly groping their bodies. A hundred hands, small and large, rough and soft were sliding swiftly wherever only it was possible. The two young men accepted all the attention passively, without shielding themselves, except when Florent put up a hand to cover the wound near his shoulder. The Indians were fascinated by the appearance of their prisoners. Hair proved to be of special interest, and it did not matter whether it was on the head, the chin, the arms or the chest. They stroked and pulled at it in turns, surprised by its softness. Then they started to undress their captives. Didier was soon without a shirt and next they tried to take off his trousers, but did not succeed and eventually gave up trying, limiting themselves to touching the body parts hidden beneath. They couldn’t understand why the white strangers had covered their bodies with clothes but eventually seemed satisfied that they were just ordinary men, not some strange creatures. Because of the blood-stained dressing covering his wound, Florent was left largely in peace.

A few yards behind the first hut was another one looking nearly the same. It so perfectly blended into the surroundings that it was hard to distinguish it from the adjacent undergrowth. It had been made of a few tree trunks, bound together with lianas to form four walls which had been covered with layers of palm leaves woven into a waterproof roof sloping down from a high ridge beam to the ground.

The fog had almost entirely dissipated. Up above the sky was clear except for a few white wisps of cloud. The lonely bright golden ball of the setting sun was nearing the horizon, turning the light blue of the sky into a fiery purple colour.

The day was coming to an end.

At the bottom of the hill, through small openings in the dense, exuberant greenery, flashed the dark-ochre water of a river meandering across a wide flat valley. The last orange rays of the setting sun were dancing playfully on the slightly rough water surface making it shimmer, so that at times it seemed as if the river was flowing with liquid gold instead of water.

The hut was entered through a narrow opening. Inside, the air was saturated with a strong smell of wood smoke and roasted meat and burnt animal hair. Three small fires were burning, or rather slowly dying, in different places on the earthen floor of the big chamber. In one of them a weak flame was still visible, while in the other two faint embers were glowing beneath a thick layer of ashes spread widely on the floor. Nearby were logs and a few black clay pots and bowls. The entire chamber was full of hammocks hanging from wooden poles quite low to the ground. In one of them sat a small brown woolly monkey, swinging slightly.

In the shadows loomed the shapes of a jumble of objects hanging from the ceiling and attached to every wall: various bundles and plaited baskets – some empty, some full – calabashes, bunches of green bananas and blowguns made of hollowed chonta wood. The Indian warriors used the blowguns with curare-tipped darts to hunt for prey. The curare, from the bark of a special sort of liana, was a strong muscle relaxant that caused death by asphyxiation due to paralysis of the skeletal muscles.

A row of thin spears, made of extremely hard chonta palm wood and smoothly polished, were placed against the wall next to the entrance. Close by, on a horizontal wooden pole sat a large parrot proudly displaying its brilliant deep emerald-green and yellow plumage, and screeching loudly.

The Indians led Didier and Florent deeper into the hut and indicated that they should sit down on the ground near a small bundle of palm leaves by a wall. One of the men took off their shoes and then tied their ankles tightly so that they had no way to wiggle their feet free. Meanwhile the others took Didier’s backpack and started to go through all its contents. They fingered questioningly every object. They were most puzzled by the mobile phone which by now was completely dead. They turned it for a long time in their hands, looking at it from every angle, clearly baffled as to its purpose. Eventually they became bored and threw it aside. They found the clothes much more interesting and one of the Indians even tried on Didier’s mud-stained trousers.

Florent sat hunched uncomfortably with his back against the wall. He twisted around, trying to ease his stiff, tensed muscles and joints. As he leant to one side the golden amulet slipped out of his pocket and hit the hard floor with a loud clatter. The Indians turned in unison and stared at the bright object. One of the warriors with a crown of feathers on his head bent down, picked up the golden disc and then held it up. At once his shiny eyes filled with anger and he fixed Didier and Florent with an intimidating gaze and began to shout something heatedly. The other Indian men looked closely at the object too and their expressions also changed, their dark eyes hardening and flashing ominously. Everyone pointed in turn at the amulet and the prisoners and a feeling of hostility and rage began to build within the chamber.

The women took no notice and bustled about the near-dead fires. One of them began to fan the faint embers with some long feathers and then tossed a few new pieces of wood onto the rekindled flames.

The oldest looking of the Indians took hold of the golden amulet and began to say something in a quiet voice to the other men, as if trying to calm them down. They all stood gazing at him with awe, listening intently to his words, except that is for the one with the garland of parrot feathers who had first seen the amulet fall from Florent’s pocket. Unnoticed he left the group and surreptitiously walked over to the wall against which the long spears were placed. He took hold of one of them and, nimbly as a cat, ran up to Florent. In one rapid movement he raised the spear high above his head and then plunged it down, aiming its sharp tip into the middle of the young Belgian man’s chest. Florent sat frozen and utterly stunned, gaping in shock and disbelief. The spear buried itself easily in his body, piercing him through. It all happened so fast that Florent did not even manage to utter a sound. His eyes opened wide in surprise, fixing his attacker with a questioning stare, as if silently asking

‘Why?’

Immediately crimson blood started leaking from the wound forming a wide warm stream running rapidly down his body and finally collecting in a shallow puddle at his feet. When the initial paralysing moment of bewilderment had passed, Florent moved his lips, trying to say something, but all that came out was an incomprehensible babble that immediately turned into wheezing and whistling. Then he began foaming at the mouth and a thin rivulet of red fluid trickled down his chin. Strange gurgling noises escaped his pale bluish lips and he started to gag while his body shook in violent spasms. Finally he toppled forward onto the earthen floor, face first, and his body shuddered once more and went still.

As all this happened Didier sat petrified with fear not daring to move or make the faintest sound. The killer ran quickly to the wall against which the spears were placed, grabbed another one and, holding it in his hand ready to strike again, headed immediately to where Didier was sitting. But before he could plunge it down into the Frenchman’s immobile body, he was seized by the other warriors.

They took his spear away and put it back against the wall. The oldest man started shouting something at him in an angry voice, and ordered the others to tie the killer and lead him outside. They left Florent’s body just lying where it fell, ignoring it.

Soon the rumble of furious voices stopped and the men fell silent. Impenetrable darkness enveloped the rainforest.

The interior of the hut was only lit by the flickering flames of the dry wood logs popping and snapping on the three fires.

Didier sat in the dark corner, feeling numb, not daring to stir, still full of disbelief, horrified by what had just happened to Florent. Not to mention that he himself had escaped death by a whisker, had almost become the next innocent victim of the brutal killer. And what a horrible death! At the thought of it his muscles tensed, his breath quickened and his heart bounced against his ribcage; his body became rigid and ready for action at any moment. He would fight till the end, even if he did not really stand a chance of winning the combat. So many mixed emotions rushed through him. He was tired, sad, disappointed, angry, guilty, frightened, all at the same time. Soon, however, one of the emotions rose above the others: anger. A wave of anger washed over him, an anger so strong that it was nearly blinding him and he could barely contain it and hold his body still. It did not leave much room over for other feelings. Silently, he clenched his fists.