When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (15 page)

Being about a head shorter than him she was at a disadvantage. Moreover, driven by fear and desperation, Didier felt an instant surge of powerful energy inside him. So he gathered all his remaining strength and held the girl even more firmly. Despite numerous attempts, she failed to free herself, and eventually gave up, helplessly accepting the unexpected twist of fortune. He pulled her closer to him, feeling the agreeable warmth emanating from her smooth skin; leaning his chin on her black, shiny hair he inhaled a delicate, pleasant musky scent. Didier pulled her with him towards the river, still covering her mouth. Only once they reached the riverbank did he loosen his tight grip a little.

A few boats were moored there, in total four canoes, each made from a hollowed single tree trunk. He pushed the girl forward, then lifted her into one of the dugouts, and hurriedly jumped in too. He grabbed, one by one, the two paddles lying on the bottom of the canoe and gave them to her, commanding her to row. Submissively, the Indian girl did as she was told.

With a soft splashing of waves the prow of the boat cut easily through the yellow-brown, murky surface of the water and slowly drifted away from the shore. On both sides of the riverbank lush green foliage emerged from the misty depths. Long, loosely hanging branches of huge trees wrapped tightly around with vines bowed down to the water, in some places even plunging beneath the surface. Occasionally a huge tangle of brown and black roots could be seen towering high up into the air. Sitting aloft a high branch was a brightly coloured toucan which emitted a screeching cry as the boat went past.

As they held a course in the middle of the river, Didier became aware of something moving towards them, wide ripples all around it. Protruding above the surface was a large, long head, covered with rough black skin, sprouting a pair of bulbous, shining eyes. It was a caiman swimming in their direction, its immense, slimy bulk almost completely submerged. Didier gazed as if transfixed at the animal, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear, disgust and fascination. Instinctively he loosened his grip on the Indian girl’s body and took away the hand that had been covering her mouth. A loud, abrupt splash of water at the boat’s side jolted him from his trance. But it was too late.

The young woman had taken advantage of his moment of inattention and jumped into the water. She was swimming fast towards the shore, her strong arms and legs moving nimbly and smoothly. Stunned, he watched her head drifting away, rhythmically bobbing above the water, her jet-black, smooth, shiny hair floating like the tendrils of seaweed. Next to the canoe floated the two paddles. In a surge of panic Didier impetuously leant out of the boat as far as he could trying to grab hold of them. He succeeded in reaching one of them and hauled it into the dugout.

The caiman, attracted at first by the boat, had begun to approach it, but then on seeing an easier prey changed direction and started to follow the daughter of the shaman. She, however, was a fast swimmer and quickly reached the shore. Through the dense fog Didier could just make out a vague outline of her slender naked body, water dripping from it, coming out of the river onto the marshy ground and dashing immediately straight ahead. When the hefty bulk of the caiman reached the shore it slid out of the water onto the muddy ground and then moved up to a dry spot on a small sandbar. But the monstrous animal was too late to catch the girl.

Didier moved the boat closer to the second paddle and managed to rescue it from the water. He realised there was no time to lose. It wouldn’t be long before the girl raised the alarm and then the Indians would set off after him. Without lingering a moment longer he began to paddle vigorously. The scenic, wide-spread river spectacularly meandered through the thickets, flowing gently and lazily downwards. Every now and then above its slightly rippled, dark-ochre surface loomed a giant black caiman head. But the creatures seemed reluctant to attack the boat and kept their distance. As time passed by, the fog began gradually to dissipate, and visibility started to improve. The sun rose higher and higher above the horizon; it was extremely hot and humid, an uncomfortable, almost unbearable, combination. Moreover the merciless sunrays burnt Didier’s unprotected skin.

He was hungry and thirsty but had nothing to eat or drink. His throat went dry, his tongue felt stiff and his lips were chapped and cracked. However, he could not stop. He pressed on, hoping to get to a village inhabited by friendly people who would help him.

Suddenly, his sensitive ears picked up a splashing sound coming from behind. He looked back and saw three hollowed-out boats, some way in the distance but approaching fast. Each was full of Indian warriors. Seized with panic Didier started to paddle frantically, even faster than before, but knew he would not be able to keep up the murderous pace for much longer.

The distance between him and the pursuers was decreasing steadily. Soon the first Indian boat would be on him. He could see now that each of the warriors was holding a spear and had a blowgun slung across his back. They were prepared for a fight. He had no weapon but a machete.

Emerging round a gentle bend in the river Didier saw to his great relief three huts by the shore, connected by a few small wooden walkways. On one of them he could make out human figures, clothed.

A civilised settlement.

They would help him.

***

That very day, at the break of dawn, Brian, Antonio, José and Rodrigo set off towards the river. They walked in single file, each of them carrying a heavy load of valuable artefacts. Two of the Indian labourers had been left behind in the cave, along with food, drinking water and two machetes. They would keep watch until Brian returned in a week’s time with more food supplies.

The sun was already high on the horizon when the group arrived at the riverbank. They headed towards three old huts on stilts emerging from behind a dense cluster of trees. Entering the first of them, they dropped their heavy backpacks, in the middle of an empty chamber.

Antonio’s cousin Diego was not yet there.

Brian stepped outside onto a wooden walkway and shading his eyes against the glaring sun, scanned intently the brown-yellow murky stretch of water flowing lazily below. A few hundred yards away he spotted something floating in the middle of the river. A boat? A caiman? Excited, he lifted the binoculars to his eyes, moving them slowly back and forth across the water.

Yes, he could see clearly now
–
it was a boat.

It couldn’t be Diego. He was supposed to come in a big motor boat, and this one looked more like a small canoe, with a solitary figure sitting in it performing rhythmic movements with his arms as if he was rowing. The boat was getting near now, its bow directed towards the very pier on which Brian was standing. The shadow of a smile curled the corners of his lips. He recognised the occupant of the boat. It was one of the fugitives who had escaped from the cave.

He was alone, so it seemed his wounded companion had not survived, or maybe had been left in the jungle to die. This time the fugitive would not escape them alive. What a fool he was paddling himself right into their hands.

But then Brian noticed something else. Far off yet, but quickly approaching, were more boats. Adjusting the focus of his binoculars he managed to make out three long wooden canoes filled with naked Indians.

‘Antonio, José, Rodrigo, come over here quickly.’

Hearing the urgency in his voice they hurried to join him on the walkway.

‘Our fugitive!’

Steering the canoe towards one of the walkways Didier suddenly realised to his dismay that it was the deserted settlement where he and Florent had come upon the dead bodies. And now that he was closer he could see that the figures standing on the pier bore a striking resemblance to the men they had seen robbing the Inca tombs. The group seemed agitated and were pointing in his direction. Then Didier distinguished among them the tall, well-built blond man with a crew-cut from the cave, the leader of the group. He stood at the edge of the pier holding binoculars in his hand.

Straightaway Didier tried to turn the boat around and head to the opposite bank of the river. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the men on the pier were now holding guns and were taking up positions to fire. He just managed to duck down as he heard the whooshing sound of bullets flying over his head. On reaching the other side of the river he held the boat as close as possible to the steep riverbank, furtively rowing as fast as he could, all his muscles tensed with panic. He did not care when the canoe bumped against roots protruding from the muddy soil, or his body touched the low-hanging branches and ropey vines. He was just intent on putting as much distance as possible between himself and his assailants.

The bullet rain continued as the men on the opposite shore ran to keep level with him. But soon they were confronted by an impenetrable wall of bushes and were forced to abandon their pursuit. They stood there for a while resentfully shouting and waving their arms. Then they fired one final, farewell round of bullets and grudgingly returned to the village.

Once beyond the range of their gunshots, Didier slowed down his ferocious tempo, releasing his arms from the almost superhuman fear-fuelled effort of the last several minutes. He had been so absorbed by getting away from the robbers that he had forgotten about the Indians. He turned around to see whether they were approaching but, even though he strained his eyes in every direction, he could not see their boats anywhere.

They had disappeared without a trace. Perhaps they’d been terrified by the bullets flying through the air and realised their spears and blowguns were no match. Then a frightening thought crossed his mind: ‘What if the men in the village have boats and come after me? I have to keep going, I can’t slow down yet.’

Only when an hour had gone by and there was still no one in sight did Didier allow himself a short rest, lying on the bottom of the canoe and breathing deeply with relief.

Standing on the wooden walkway in the abandoned village, Brian seethed with powerless rage. The young man had escaped again. If only he had a boat to go after the insolent fugitive. But Diego was nowhere to be seen. Where was he? He should have been here by now.

It was another two hours before Diego finally arrived. By then they decided not to waste precious time looking for the fugitive and loaded all the valuables into the motor boat. They wanted to get to Brian’s airplane before evening fell.

Didier resumed paddling at a normal rate. Not sure what to expect, he kept a close eye on the riverbanks. The sun, hidden only occasionally by the fluffy white clouds that floated across the clear blue sky, was shining brightly on the river. On both sides the murky brown ochre water expanse was lined by impenetrable walls of lush tropical vegetation. The sun, hovering at its zenith, sent down scorching rays that burnt Didier’s skin. His arms looked as if they had been stoked over a fire.

It was probably nearing noon. From thirst, hunger and lack of sleep he felt dizzy, blood was throbbing at his temples, his ears were still ringing with the sound of bullets and black and shiny spots began to dance wildly in front of his eyes. He felt weak and an overpowering exhaustion was weighing him down. Annoyingly, sweat kept running down his forehead, pricking his eyes. Its thin rivulets coursed down his sore back, over his red, hot blotchy skin.

Now Didier paid no attention to anything around him, not the singing of birds nor the flapping of their wings overhead, not the frolicking of the monkeys in the branches of trees along the riverbanks. He had only one goal in mind: to paddle straight ahead.

He would keep going.

He would not give up.

More and more of the giant black caimans gathered around. Nothing could be heard but the quiet splashing sound as the boat and the powerful animal bodies cut through the slightly wrinkled surface of the lazily flowing river.

Without warning the canoe tipped dangerously to one side and shuddered violently. Flabbergasted Didier looked swiftly around and saw to his horror the gigantic, slimy body of an anaconda emerging out of the water on his right, olive green in colour, covered with large oval, black and dark-brown spots. For a blood-chilling moment he looked straight into the vast gaping jaws of the snake; then the cavity became filled with the black head of a caiman. With the speed of lightning the gigantic anaconda coiled itself around the stiffened paralysed animal that was not even making the slightest attempt to defend itself, and promptly disappeared with its prey underwater. The other caimans did not wait to meet the same fate and in the blink of an eye scattered, not daring to take a chance with such an implacable enemy.

Only as the day drew to an end, and with it the last hope of salvation began to drift away, did there emerge from the sumptuous green of the riverbank a few wooden, rectangular houses built on stilts, with roofs of reed thatch. On a wooden walkway stood a group of black-haired men, women and children, their big dark eyes scrutinising the approaching boat. Each of them was dressed in colourful, somewhat ragged, shapeless clothes.

Without hesitation, Didier gathered the last ounce of strength in his sore arms, and paddled towards them. His ears filled solely with the steady sound of oars slicing softly through the water.

He had just managed to reach one of the piers and step out of the boat when he staggered; the immobile figures and the houses doubled, then tripled and whirled at full speed in front of his eyes, while his knees buckled like rubber under him from exhaustion. He toppled forward and pitched headlong on the cracked wooden boards, immediately losing consciousness.