When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (7 page)

T
he picturesque city of Cuenca surrounded by the green slopes of mist-veiled mountains was bathed in bright early morning sunshine. The temperature was increasing steadily and it would become hot later, but at this time of day it was pleasantly agreeable. Emilio Benitez Moreno was staying at his large colonial-style residence on the banks of the fast-flowing Río Tomebamba, one of the four rivers that crossed the town. He was sitting at a small wooden table on an open-air patio enclosed by shady arcades and filled with sumptuous plants. Having finished breakfast he stood up languorously and went to admire his unique collection of Pre-Columbian art.

It had always been the biggest passion of his life, even greater than his desire for his second wife, Gabriela, twenty-five years his junior. He indulged his obsession with great devotion and determination, not counting the cost. He prized himself as having an exquisite sense of taste and an eye for beauty. He loved to surround himself with beautiful objects, and people.

His collection – more a private museum – had grown so much over the years that it now occupied four large rooms on the second floor of the house. These rooms were always locked and Emilio carried the key constantly with him. The walls of these rooms – from the polished, waxed wooden floors upwards – were lined with glazed, illuminated display cabinets. Inside could be seen fine examples of Pre-Columbian art, including pieces of pottery. But the heart of the collection were golden artefacts often ornamented with emeralds and other precious stones, a glittering array of masks, figurines, necklaces, amulets, rings and vases.

In his younger years Emilio had held a high position in the Ministry of Tourism. Later he opened his own luxury hotel. Now, nearly in his sixties, he had a whole chain of them in popular locations across Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands.

His two sons from his first marriage were now totally in charge of their management – leaving him with more time to spend enlarging and taking care of his precious collection.

This morning, having surveyed his precious assets in the glass cabinets, he headed to the room that served him as an office as well as a library. There he would wait for Brian Steinwall, who was supposed to be delivering him some new masterpieces. At half past eleven a young maid appeared to announce his arrival. Her jet-black, thick hair pulled straight back and pinned in a tight, small bun, contrasted sharply with her unnaturally pale, porcelain skin.

‘Take him to the living room and then bring something to eat and drink,’ Emilio instructed her briefly.

She nodded obediently, then left closing the door quietly behind her.

Brian was an American. He’d come to Ecuador nine years ago, when he’d just turned thirty, and decided to make it his home. He’d been lured initially by the stories about Atahualpa’s legendary Inca treasures, supposedly hidden in some unknown, inaccessible place in the jungle. He’d tried himself, several times, to look for the treasures but without success.

However, Ecuador enchanted him and he did not want to go back to the United States. He learned Spanish, and when his financial resources began to diminish decided to find a new source of revenue. He’d noticed that more and more Americans were deciding to spend the last years of their life abroad and were enthusiastic about Ecuador. They were drawn to Cuenca with its picturesque colonial architecture, pleasant climate and peaceful lifestyle. Brian opened a real estate agency and on his website encouraged retirees to visit the city and settle down. A constant stream of clients brought him a good income. Nevertheless he did not forget why he had originally come to Ecuador. He didn’t go treasure hunting himself anymore but had enough money to pay other people to search for him. Meanwhile he bought two apartments for himself, one in Cuenca and the other in Quito, and, depending on the season, his personal preferences or business development, he divided his time between them.

In the Spanish archives in Quito he’d learned how many Spanish ships had sunk in the region carrying huge loads of gold and silver coins. Most of them disappeared in the treacherous waters full of jagged underwater rocks and coral reefs near the peninsula of Punta Santa Elena. One of the galleons had been on its way to England when it crashed in 1648 on the rocks and sank without trace. It carried huge amounts of gold and silver, the value corresponding to about thirteen million dollars in today’s money. The bullion had been amassed by the governor in Peru on the orders of the Spanish government to send to support King Charles I of England in his struggle with Parliament.

In 1684 and 1763 another two ships with cargoes of Spanish gold and silver coins sank north of Punta Santa Elena. And in November 1800 a frigate, the
Santa Leocadia
, from Paita in Peru also sank in the area. Heading towards Panama, heavily loaded with chests of gold and silver, it was lost when blown off course in a raging hurricane.

Brian had hired some highly experienced divers and sent them in search of the sunken treasures. They found only a pair of silver and gold coins. Despite doubling the amount of money he had promised to pay them, they declined any further exploration. The risk was too high because the ocean there was swarming with sharks.

Since then, Brian had concentrated his searching on land. His men made some illegal excavations on certain archaeological sites. Sometimes he flew himself in a small plane to look at ruins. He was particularly interested in the almost inaccessible areas of the Amazon jungle.

He visited archives and libraries, delving into old records and books, intent on tracking even the slightest hints about the hidden riches of the former Inca empire. He paid his men to loot ancient Indian tombs, robbing them of the most valuable artefacts. He would sell to dealers and collectors, first only in Ecuador, later also in Europe and in the United States. The demand for Pre-Columbian treasures on the global art market was increasing rapidly. They were highly sought after by collectors worldwide. At auctions some of the items were fetching astronomical prices. So Brian never had a problem selling on his stolen masterpieces.

He’d known Emilio for almost five years now. First he’d become one of his most important customers, and later a valuable business partner. His high-level connections had provided him with many useful contacts. Brian was shown into Emilio’s living room, classically and tastefully furnished. Emilio joined him, impatiently dismissing the maid who had put a tray with drinks and snacks on the table. He sat down on a cherry-red leather Chesterfield and leaned back, relaxing.

The long thick curtains were drawn halfway, leaving the room bathed in a slightly dim light. A high window, slightly ajar, allowed a warm gentle breeze to caress them. There was an open door giving access to a wrought-iron balcony.

‘How did it go? Do you bring good news?’ Emilio asked after a brief greeting.

‘Better than I expected. This time we came across some real treasures. Exceptional pieces. You will be delighted.’

‘You have excited my curiosity. I hope you will show me something now.’

Emilio poured some rum into two glasses standing on the table and offered Brian a Cuban cigar.

‘There is plenty for you to look at but let’s start with these two fine pieces,’ said Brian.

He leaned down, opened a large black bag and pulled out two golden figurines.

Emilio took one of them and held it carefully in his hand. He felt its weight, turning it gently around, his eyes full of awe and admiration for the masterful craftwork. The first intricately carved figurine represented a strange form, a half-man, half-jaguar.

‘How wonderful. A jaguar, the ancient Inca deity ruling the kingdom of the night. Magnificent, it is so unique,’ whispered Emilio.

The second of the artefacts represented the figure of a man with a snake head, the eye sockets filled with two round emeralds.

‘How many more pieces do you have?’

‘I have only these two with me, but my men have assured me there are many, many more where these came from. They could not tell exactly how many. Not only figurines. There are also masks, rings, beakers, necklaces and amulets. All of them made of gold and inlaid with emeralds.

‘They could not take it all at once. There are inestimable quantities. Tomorrow they are going back for the next load. I’m going with them. I want to see this place with my own eyes.’

‘Maybe you have finally succeeded in finding the legendary treasure of Atahualpa,’ said Emilio.

‘Who knows? Anything is possible. However, I cannot say for sure. I must check for myself. Anyway, the Incas had countless amounts of gold and precious stones. The Spaniards managed to get hold of only a small share of them. The rest lie buried somewhere in the rocky labyrinths or in a tropical thicket.’

‘You must make sure that no one else learns about this discovery,’ said Emilio.

‘Do not worry – it’s already done. In the beginning there was some trouble with the savage Indians living around there. Apparently the treasure is on their territory. They even killed two of my people, but after seeing how well my men were armed they quickly left them in peace.’

Unexpectedly from the corridor came a soft sound of footsteps. Brian quickly put both figures back into the bag. He and Emilio preferred to keep their business deals secret. A tall, slim, long-haired brunette entered the room. It was Gabriela, Emilio’s wife, dressed in a bright, light dress that boldly revealed her deep décolleté and her slender shoulders. The strong, intoxicating scent of her perfume enveloped the room.

‘I’m leaving now, my darling,’ she said ‘I’m meeting Maria and then we are going to do some shopping. I will be back this evening.’ She went up to Emilio and kissed him gently on the cheek.

‘Sad old fool,’ Brian thought to himself. ‘He believes that she married him for love. No, it was not for love, not for his sagging body, but for his money.’

Brian tried to avoid her gaze. He sat unnaturally still and very straight, his back only slightly pressed against the sofa. Gabriela too paid him little attention, just nodded at him slightly in greeting. She waved goodbye and went quickly out of the room.

Until now Brian and Gabriela had managed to hide their affair. For some months they’d been meeting once or twice a week, in some secret place, changing it each time, for a few hours of passion together.

Both men waited until her footsteps receded, then in hushed voices continued their interrupted conversation.

‘Your men can be trusted?’ asked Emilio, ‘Are we sure that they told you about everything they found and will not sell some pieces later on the black market?’

‘I can vouch for them. If I ever catch them cheating, I promise that I’ll take care of the situation. They would pay for it dearly. And I’m sure that those who were hired to do the digging will not say a word. Their lips are sealed.’

‘Good. And nobody will ever find the bodies?’

‘No, never. By now there is not much left of them, if anything at all. Caymans and piranhas probably had a good feast.’ Brian grinned broadly.

‘When are you going to bring the rest of the stuff?’

‘In a week’s time, I suppose, when I get back. Then you will be able to take some photos and contact the potential buyers. And, of course, your collection will grow as well.’

In the basement of his house Emilio had created a small workshop where expensive artefacts were transformed to resemble tacky tourist souvenirs. They were dipped in a secret mixture of liquid plastic or caked in plaster, and then when dry, painted in vivid contemporary colours. Some big pieces of pottery unsuitable to be disguised that way, were supplemented with an authentic certificate from the National Institute of Culture stating that they were replicas. Later, other people, generously paid by Emilio and Brian, carried them in their luggage across the border, out of the country. Eventually the smuggled items were passed to appointed dealers. Apart from regular smugglers they used sometimes unsuspecting young travellers as porters; in exchange for easy earnings, they willingly agreed to take a ‘souvenir’ in their luggage and carry it across the border. Emilio also had airport customs employees in his pay. And he knew a few diplomats who – of course not without ample remuneration – never refused him a favour. So far the smuggling had gone well and they’d never had any trouble.

‘I have to go,’ Brian said, getting up from the couch. ‘This expedition involves an hour-long flight, then on by riverboat to the place where we will stay tonight. Tomorrow – right away at dawn – we’ll hit the road on foot. By noon we should finally be at the treasure site.’

‘Good luck and get in touch as soon as you get back.’

Emilio called the maid who silently saw Brian out of the residence.

F
or a long time that night Florent lay awake, curled up uncomfortably on the cold hard floor, tossing and turning every now and then from side to side. When sleep did finally come it was short and fitful. The next morning he felt groggy and weary. There was an excruciating, stabbing pain in his left leg –from the foot to the thigh – as if someone was hammering into it thousands of needles. Rolling up his trouser leg he saw that a small festering wound had appeared around the bite he’d received the day before. The calf was incredibly swollen. Just his bad luck. As if all the earlier misfortunes were not enough. Also he felt as if he had a fever, his stomach ached and his skin itched. His clothes were dirty and sweaty, but he had nothing clean to wear. He just felt wretched and fed up, his willpower to go on was abandoning him.

Didier, apparently unperturbed, went outside their makeshift shelter and stood in the pouring rain, letting the heavy shower rinse his body from all the accumulated sweat and grime. The panic after their gruesome discovery had passed a little, and his thoughts were returning to practical matters. He found an empty water bottle to catch some rainwater.

‘I don’t think I can walk much further, my leg hurts too much,’ Florent whimpered.

‘Give it a try!’ Didier snapped impatiently. ‘I can’t leave you behind, and I’m not going to be stuck here doing nothing for another day or two.’

Florent lifted himself up, leaning at first on Didier, and then stood erect, supporting his body on a stick. He managed, limping slightly, to walk a few steps.

‘I’m not going to get far,’ he said despairingly. ‘Each step I take hurts so much… you can’t even begin to imagine how painful it is…’

‘You have to try. I can’t drag you, I’m too exhausted myself.’

Florent just wished he could lie down somewhere in the shade and do nothing. But he realised that was not an option and his survival instinct kicked in.

‘Do you have a plan?’ he asked. ‘How can you know what’s the right direction? Are we going to end up walking in circles again? And what if we stumble upon the ruthless killers. Maybe they haven’t gone far. How can we be sure we’ll manage to steer clear of them?’

‘I’ve no idea. Don’t expect me to have all the answers,’ retorted Didier. ‘All I know is that I’m fucking hungry. It’s hours since we had anything to eat.’

The shrill cry of a monkey broke into their conversation and they saw a dark silhouette moving agilely in the branches. Didier picked up a small stone and threw it at the animal, but missed.

‘I’m so hungry that I could even kill and rip the skin from that ugly monkey and eat its meat.’

‘You know, I think we have no other choice but to return to the river,’ Florent suggested tentatively after a while, ‘only this time we should head well away from the abandoned village.’

‘Okay, but what then? It will probably be days before we come upon an inhabited settlement, and our stamina is diminishing with every passing hour.’

‘Damn it, I don’t know,’ Florent shouted. ‘We have to do something, because otherwise we’ll end up dying of hunger or infection. Use your brain and you may come up with a solution.’

Didier ignored his outburst.

It stopped raining and they knew they should get going, but lingered for a while in the shelter. The temperature was increasing rapidly, the musty, clammy air dense with humidity and the buzzing and whirring of insects.

Groaning with pain, Florent rubbed at the annoying rivulets of sweat dripping down his forehead and stinging his eyes. Didier sat silently, lost in thought, his mind frantically trying to work out what to do.

‘Listen, your idea is not so bad,’ he said after a while. ‘You’ve got a good point there. We need to get back to the river. We could build a raft, like castaways on a desert island. There’s enough wood here; we’ll cut some branches and tie them together with vine ropes. Sailing down the river we’ll travel faster and further than moving on foot.’ His optimistic words acted like an injection of hope, rekindling Florent’s courage. Yes, they could give it a try. Gathering all his remaining strength he managed to get up and limp behind Didier.

However, they had not gone far before his leg started to hurt unbearably as if someone had put a red-hot iron to his skin. Then his entire body started shivering uncontrollably. His parched and cracked lips felt dry, his hot forehead became pearled with cold sweat and his breath came in gasps.

‘I really can’t go any further,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘I need a break… to sit somewhere, just for a moment,’ he pleaded weakly.

‘Me, too I feel worn out. If we carry on without eating we’re both going to collapse from exhaustion. Put down your backpack and sit on it, and I’ll take a look around,’ Didier told him.

‘I feel sick, I think I have a fever,’ said Florent

‘Yes, you really don’t look well. I must have a few aspirins left in my backpack. Wait, I’ll get them for you.’

Florent swallowed two aspirins, washing them down with some water from a bottle.

‘What can we eat? There’s fruit but it’s too high up in the trees to reach, and we can’t fish because there’s no stream or river nearby.’

‘Yes, yet almost within hand’s reach are lots of other fruits which we’ve never seen before and therefore have no idea if they are edible or not. Just look at these huge bunches of orange-red berries, and those purplish-red ones further on. Maybe they are very nutritious and taste delicious. Who knows? At least they look mouth-watering. Or what about those, as big as a fist, with a light-green skin covered with grey-green scales? They look like some fruit I once saw in a supermarket in Spain, called cherimoya, or something like that, I do not remember exactly. Shall I point you out some more? These here, perfectly round green fruits shaped like a pomegranate, or those yellow ones covered with brown scales. Do you know how many edible types of fruits grow in the Amazon rainforest? More than three thousand. Yes, you heard me right, more than three thousand. Plenty of fruit everywhere and we are going to end up dying of hunger? Does it make any sense to you?’ Didier’s voice rose to a furious shout as he screamed out each word. ‘DAMN IT! I WILL NOT LET THIS BLOODY JUNGLE KILL US. WE WILL NOT DIE FROM HUNGER.’ Unable to contain his anger any longer, he picked up a stick and started to pound as hard as he could against a nearby bush.

‘Get hold of yourself. Calm down, don’t waste your strength in vain. I don’t know any of these fruits, and I don’t wish to risk trying any of them – death by poisoning instead of by hunger.’

Didier continued undeterred: ‘So if you don’t like fruit you have a big choice of tasty bugs, an excellent source of protein, or so they say. Larvae, ants, termites, grasshoppers . . .’

‘Stop it! The very thought of it makes me feel sick. If you want to eat them, then eat them. I’m not going to. So spare me the bullshit.’

‘I have an excellent idea,’ said Didier, ignoring Florent. ‘I will sneak up and observe what the monkeys eat. Plenty of them are jumping about in the surrounding trees.’

‘I once read that what monkeys eat is noxious for humans.’

‘Maybe, anyway, I’m going to try each fruit, see if it is toxic or not.’

‘How?’

‘The guide in Borneo taught me how to do it. You have to rub the fruit on your skin, bite a small bit but do not swallow it, just keep it for some time in your mouth and spit it out later. Then you wait at least an hour and if there is no negative reaction it means that the fruit is edible. Fragrance and flavour are also of great importance. The basic rule is to avoid anything that smells bitter, is very unpleasant or like almonds. Wait here and I’ll take a look around. Sit quietly, but watch out for snakes. A snakebite is certain death out here. And I can assure you that it’s a very painful way to go.’

‘Stop telling me what to do. I can take care of myself. But don’t go far. You might get lost.’

The early morning fog had already cleared almost entirely. However, the jungle thicket remained overcast in a deep grey-green shadow because the dense roof of branches and foliage above prevented sunlight from penetrating down; only the occasional sunbeam managed to break through a few random cracks. Nevertheless Didier could see that they had found themselves in a small valley that was surrounded on all sides by quite steep rocky slopes, dripping with lush vegetation. They would need a lot of strength to cross this terrain. They certainly wouldn’t advance very far today. Everywhere a heavy, sodden, earthy smell hung in the air with a musty, woody tang to it.

Off to his left Didier heard a rustle of leaves and the sound of something hitting the ground. He wasn’t alone. There was someone else in the thicket. He stopped, holding his breath, trying not to betray his presence while all the time peering anxiously around. In the bushes he noticed two dark shadows, monkeys; and nearby a third one, sitting high up in a tree. The monkeys were small, about twenty inches high, and their bodies were covered with thick fur, cream and light-tan coloured around the face, neck and shoulders, and the rest of the body dark brown. One of them was greedily shoving bright orange-red berries into its mouth. The second picked a bright yellow fruit, the size of a small apple, covered with brown scales. After removing the peel, it ate the fleshy pulp, the sticky juice running down its hairy chin. The monkey up in the tree was tossing down some hard-looking nuts that hit the ground with a thud; then it jumped down and gathered them up, laying them on a large flat rock. Next, the creature picked up a stone and smashed them repeatedly. Hidden behind a bush, Didier watched with interest. After a few hits the shells split open. The tasty-looking kernels were soon extracted and eaten by the monkey.

Its two companions, bored with their own delicacies, ran over to join in. Soon a fight broke out as the monkeys squabbled over the kernels. Their shrill squeals and screams tore the air. Then the scuffle was over and all three fled away screeching and lithely bouncing from tree to tree, grasping long liana ropes on their way. Finally the opulent green tropical vegetation swallowed them and they disappeared.

Didier went to investigate and discovered that the monkey had been eating Brazil nuts. He scooped some off the ground then went over to the bush with the orange-red berries, picked one and chewed it gently. It had a slightly tart, yet savoury, flavour and a pleasantly refreshing citrus fragrance.

Nearby lay the trunk of a palm tree. An emerald-green lizard ran along its upper side and then quickly slid down to the ground. Didier found a stick and pushed it into the rotten inside of the tree trunk. It was swarming with large, fat, yellowish-white weevil larvae, some of them as thick as his little finger. He knew that the Indians living in the jungle considered them a delicacy. They were called suri. On the menu at his hotel in Quito he’d seen a dish of cooked palm weevil larvae. Shivering with disgust but driven by hunger, Didier grabbed one of the bugs, removed its head, then put the still wiggling body into his mouth, squashing it with his teeth. A thick, white fat mass flowed onto his tongue. He swallowed it with difficulty, gagging and choking slightly, but had to admit that it didn’t taste too bad, a bit like bacon fat. He smiled to himself, imagining Florent’s reaction if asked to try it.

He’d once heard that palm weevil larvae were very nutritious, full of fat and protein, providing instant energy. They could save them, if hunger could overcome disgust. He put a few more worms into his mouth, grimacing. Then he gathered two handfuls of the larvae and threw them onto a T-shirt he’d brought with him and tied it in a knot, forming a small bundle.

He hadn’t had an adverse reaction yet to the orange-red berry so decided they were probably edible. Florent was sitting on the backpack exactly where he had left him.

‘I have got something very tasty for you,’ he said in greeting.

Florent turned expectantly towards him. ‘Really? What have you got? Let me see, I’m starving.’

Didier put the bundle of larvae down on the ground and untied the knot. The fat worms twisted around.

‘They look really appetising, don’t they?’

‘Genuinely disgusting. You are completely out of your mind if you think I’ll ever put that stuff into my mouth,’ Florent exclaimed in a shocked voice.

Didier took one of the larvae, tore off its head and put it in his mouth, pretending to eat it with pleasure. Florent turned away, almost retching, shaking his shoulders with revulsion.

‘It’s horrible, it was alive.’

‘You do not know what you’re missing, a real delicacy. I saw them on the menu at one of the restaurants in Quito as a component of some expensive dishes. Wait, I have got something else for you.’ Didier pulled some nuts from his pocket and gave them to Florent.

‘They look like Brazil nuts.’

‘Because they are Brazil nuts. I only brought a couple of kernels and two whole shells, but there are more. I spied on a monkey and I saw it smash the shells with a stone. The monkeys were eating some berries. I tried one and so far, as you can see, I’m fine. So today we will not die from hunger.’

Suddenly he grabbed his throat, began to shake and choke, and issuing gagging sounds from his lips doubled over and fell to his knees.

‘Oh, I think this berry I ate was poisonous after all,’ he muttered through his clenched teeth.

‘Damn, this on top of everything else. I told you not to eat any of the fruit but you would not listen. Didier, Didier, how can I help you? What can I do?’ Florent was visibly panicked.