The Secret Path

by Karen Swan

  They walked in a line behind Jed, below the giant ceiba trees, watching – as per his instructions – where they put their feet. If there was beauty here there was also peril – coral snakes, Brazilian wandering spiders; although not much was as nasty, according to Jed, as the red caterpillars that would get them if they sunbathed in the shade of almond trees.

  It was a long walk back towards the road, where they’d left the Jeep – there was no car park, of course, just a break in the trees where the locals knew to stop – but Tara could tell something was wrong just by the shift in Jed’s shoulders. He stopped, still a way from the road, hidden by the trees. Instinctively everyone else stopped too, watching him as he stared at the seemingly innocuous scene. The car was where they had left it. It was not on fire. There wasn’t a jaguar sitting on the roof. And yet something had caught his attention.

  Slowly, he began walking forwards again, emerging from the tree cover and going to stand by the front wheel arch.

  That was when Tara saw it too. The tyre was flat, the car now sitting at an angle different to when they’d left it. Only by a few degrees, but still – Jed had clocked it immediately.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Jimmy asked curiously, as Jed crouched down on his heels to examine it more closely.

  Jed looked up at him. ‘Nothing serious,’ he smiled after a moment. ‘We must have hit a rock on the way over here. Some of them are pretty sharp. They’re not like them smooth roads you got back home.’

  Holly guffawed. ‘Oh trust me, you’ve clearly not seen the state of our roads lately! There are potholes you could bathe your granny in!’

  Jed chuckled at the idea. ‘Not to worry. We got a spare. We’ll get it changed and be heading back in no time.’ He looked across at Jimmy. ‘You want to help me, big man? I could use your muscles.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Jimmy said excitedly, as though this was every bit as exciting as shooting down waterfalls.

  Tara watched as Jed sprang up. She knew for sure now that he was hiding something from them, something that had been going on since they’d landed here – that incident on the road last night, the contempt in that man’s stare as they had driven by . . . even those trucks all parked around their Jeep at the clinic – was that really innocent, or another warning too?

  Jed patted Jimmy on the shoulder. ‘Good boy. This way, then. We’re going to need to get it out of the back and there’s a nut that can be stiff. I hope you’ve got some strength left.’

  Jimmy pulled a muscle pose.

  ‘That should do it!’

  They went round to the back of the car; Holly was getting Dev to hold the rucksack while she refolded the wet towels. Tara crouched down by the tyre, examining it closely herself. She put a finger to the hole. It was small and neat, precise almost. This hadn’t been done by a sharp stone. This was no accident. As a surgeon, she knew exactly what a cut by a knife looked like.

  This wasn’t just talk, and it was more than a threat.

  This was a statement of intent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Rory sat up on the bed. He was wearing just a pair of shorts, a bottle of beer on the side table. His face was flushed, though she didn’t know if it was from the beer, the sun or even his earlier bike ride.

  ‘Sorry.’ She shut the door behind her with a sigh. ‘Turned out to be a bigger afternoon than we expected.’

  ‘And you couldn’t text? Let me know where you were?’

  Tara was amused. ‘We’re in the rainforest, Ror! How good do you think phone signal is around here?’ She went and sat on the end of the bed, falling back with a groan. The mosquito net was knotted above the bed and tucked behind the headboard. The ceiling fan whirred, pushing the hot air around the room, but creating a breeze at least. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the day still in her bones.

  ‘. . . So?’

  She twisted to look back at him. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Oh. We went to the clinic to drop off the supplies, ended up helping out a bit, and then took Jimmy to the waterfalls. It was only supposed to be a quick thing – but he was having so much fun. Jed took him off to see some rare monkeys and we had a picnic. It was really amazing actually.’ She reached for his leg, rubbed it affectionately. ‘I wish you’d been there.’

  ‘Ha! So do I.’ His voice was testy.

  ‘Ror, you’d gone cycling. I had no idea how long you were going to be.’

  ‘So you thought you’d just take off for the day?’

  She sighed. ‘I just mean, I wasn’t sure how long you were going to be and I felt a sense of responsibility to make sure they all had a fun time. Jimmy’s never even left the UK before. They spend every summer in Suffolk. I wanted it to be an exciting first day for him.’

  Rory swung his legs off the bed, draining the rest of his beer. He got up and put the bottle on the makeshift console table, reaching down to a bucket on the floor which held another three bottles of beer, sitting in ice. He was moving stiffly and she suspected that bike ride was going to come back to bite him tomorrow.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, watching him. ‘It really wasn’t intentional to be gone so long. We’d have been back an hour ago but . . . on top of everything, we got a flat. Jed had to change the wheel.’

  Rory rolled his eyes. ‘Really? Tracking down endangered monkeys. Changing wheels. He didn’t perform open-heart surgery on a leopard too, did he?’

  Tara gave him a look but let the comment pass; he was irritable and a little bit hurt. ‘Tell me about your afternoon. What did you do?’

  ‘Not a huge amount. I hung around here in case you came back.’

  ‘Oh, well that must have been nice surely? Getting some downtime. When did you get back?’

  ‘About two.’

  She winced. She and Jed and the others had only left around one-ish.

  ‘Your brother and brother-in-law decided it would be the perfect day to climb the Cordillera.’

  ‘Oh no, they didn’t.’ She winced again. The highest mountains in the range rose above 11,000 feet. ‘I’m sorry. Was it awful?’

  ‘Put it this way – getting back to you felt like a wholly justified reward. Only . . .’ He spread his arms wide. ‘You weren’t here! And I had no idea where you were! Or when you were going to be back!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s our first day here, wasted. Gone. And I’ve scarcely seen you.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She rubbed her temples automatically, feeling the vice tighten around her skull a little more.

  ‘Could you please stop apologizing?’

  ‘Sor—’

  They stared at one another. They were arguing. They never argued.

  ‘Since when do you even sleep like that anyway?’ he sighed, one hand on his hip as he walked and swigged.

  ‘I’ve always slept well here,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m not sure why.’

  ‘I got bitten to buggery.’ He scratched at an angry bite on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh no. The mozzies always go for you, don’t they?’ she said sympathetically.

  He glanced over, hearing her appeasing tone. He blew out through his cheeks, his body slumping. ‘Well, I guess the day’s not a complete write-off,’ he said finally. ‘We can still go for dinner, just the two of us. Get some time together at last.’ He took in her expression. ‘. . . What?’

  She winced again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Go?’ he frowned. ‘Go where?’

  ‘To Jed’s village. It’s about ninety minutes from here.’

  ‘What – now?’

  She nodded. ‘He’s waiting outside for me.’

  Rory looked towards the door and back at her again. ‘Why?’

  She put a finger to her lips, trying to get him to keep his voice down. ‘Something came up in conversation earlier about his son. He’s sick and has received no medical help whatsoever, no official diagnosis.’

  ‘Well, I
’m sorry to hear that, but why is it your—’

  ‘From what he’s said, it sounds like cholestatic hepatitis. Holly thinks so too. But I’m worried – from some of the other symptoms he listed, there’s a chance it could be AML too. Maybe.’

  Rory blinked. Acute myeloid leukaemia was a tough diagnosis even in a hospital setting. ‘And so you’re going now? Right now?’

  ‘I don’t think we can afford to put it off. He’s six years old, Ror. And anyway, it’s just for the night. I’ll be back before you’re awake tomorrow, I promise.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he echoed, looking dumbfounded.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you then.’ She got up from the bed and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I double promise. Pinky promise, whatever it is.’

  He watched as she got up and unzipped her travel bag. She pulled out the small kit she took everywhere with her – stethoscope, thermometer, blood pressure, tranquillizers, some plasters and bandages – and put it in her rucksack, along with a t-shirt to sleep in and some hardcore insect repellent.

  She pulled off her jean shorts and grabbed a towel. ‘I’m just going for a quick shower,’ she said, padding out in her still-damp bikini.

  Rory followed her around to the shaky clapboarded stall around the side of the hut, watching over the top as she stripped off and let the water run over her skin. She could see he wanted to get in there with her, that it was crossing his mind to be impulsive, romantic—

  ‘Jed’s waiting for me,’ she said, lathering her hair quickly and looking back at him through one closed eye. Even a quickie couldn’t be quick enough. ‘I told him I’d be ten minutes. But I’ll make it up to you in the morning – I promise.’

  The Jeep rumbled over the rutted tracks, Tara having to hold on to the roll bar overhead as they travelled through the giant trees. The raucous cacophony of dusk had settled but sleep had not yet come to the denizens of the rainforest and she felt eyes upon them from high perches and low, hidden dens.

  The air was still hot, impregnated with moisture and swollen with the scent of ylang ylang trees; she remembered Jed telling her an obscure fact once that it was the main scent used in Chanel No. 5 and it had made her laugh to think of a Parisian couture house smelling of the Costa Rican rainforest. The scent felt like a physical thing to cut through, as real as the leaves they would have to push back and the tree roots they would have to clamber over when they parked up. Jed had told her there was then a twenty-minute walk from the ‘road’ to the village and she wondered how he did this in the dark, every morning and evening. In spite of her cold shower, the sweat was rolling off her again.

  He stopped the car in a small clearing and they walked in single file again, Tara planting her feet in the spaces where he had put his. They didn’t talk much. They were both tired and she needed her concentration, her senses on high alert. Jed’s body language was relaxed, yet attuned, his head moving fractionally in the direction of every twig snap, every brush of leaves, but there was no tension in the swing of his arms. He knew exactly where to go, even though markers seemed non-existent to her.

  The lone song of a dusky nightjar pirouetted in the air, soaring above the canopies and heading for the stars. The sky was almost blocked from view but when it did peep through, it seemed salted, more bright than dark as galaxies twisted through endless space. Occasional birds, silhouetted in dramatic shapes, pitched past in silence.

  ‘There.’

  She looked up. Jed had stopped walking and was pointing to two carved terracotta statues, positioned either side of the path like a gateway. Beyond them lay a cluster of buildings, not so much houses as huts – they were larger than she had expected, some conically shaped, with pitched, rush-covered roofs that skimmed the ground; others were rectangular and built on stilts, with large hatches that pulled down to serve as windows for light and airflow.

  She could see a rusty child-sized bike abandoned below one house; beside it, a plastic play pit on legs that had once been red but had faded to a gentle pink. But that was as far as Westernization went – a snakeskin was drying on a wooden rack outside one hut, some carved wooden staffs were propped against a wall. She could smell wood smoke and hear the low murmur of voices. Someone was singing.

  It was almost ten now and she still hadn’t eaten since they’d had the mangoes at the rock pools. Her tummy grumbled as if in realization of the fact.

  ‘Should I wait here? Let you go in first?’

  But Jed shook his head. ‘No. You are very welcome.’

  She followed him in, hearing first the shouts of joy of his children as they heard him approach, then seeing their faces as they leaped into his arms. Tara felt a rush of emotion as a young girl with eyes as bright as a squirrel’s flung her arms around his neck – then saw her. She stared at Tara with an unabashed curiosity. Tara smiled back, almost shy herself.

  She saw his wife, Sarita, stand up from a low stool; she was carrying a baby in a papoose and had been feeding another child, a toddler, from a couple of banana leaves fashioned as a bowl.

  Jed said something to her in Spanish and she nodded, looking over at Tara with a curious, clear-eyed gaze, like her daughter’s. She came over to where they were standing. Jed was still talking to her.

  Sarita reached a hand and clasped Tara’s in her own. She said something in a low voice and gently tugged her arm.

  ‘Sarita says it is an honour to meet you. Please sit down, she would like to make you comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tara replied, nodding exaggeratedly to convey her own pleasure. ‘But please tell her not to go to any trouble. I’ve come to see Paco, remember? I’ve come to help you, for once.’

  Jed shrugged and in the gesture she understood it was important to honour the wishes of his wife. On their drive over here, Jed had explained the Bribri tribe’s culture – how men were allowed to take more than one wife, though he never would, that marriage was granted through common understanding, that their society was matrilineal – so Tara allowed herself to be taken to the wooden stool where Sarita had been sitting only moments before. Knowing it would be rude to refuse, she obediently sat.

  The space was imposing, surprisingly impressive. The ceiling was high, supported by massive timber poles and struts. It was like being in a wooden Big Top. The roof was covered with splayed hands of dried rushes; she could glimpse the sky through tiny gaps – not so good in the wet season – but right now, tonight, she was grateful for any extra breeze. Some rope hammocks swung off the ground, and bags filled with what seemed to be clothes were knotted and tied to the vertical support poles.

  She watched as Sarita crossed the space, talking animatedly to her husband. The children – the little girl and the toddler boy – stood by their father’s legs, staring at her. Where was Paco?

  She twisted slightly and saw, in the far corner, a large mattress on the floor. But only one. There was a shape under a sheet and it shifted suddenly, as if sensing it was being observed. Tara flinched as she saw the traces of the boy lying there. He was tiny, little more than skin and bone, eyes appearing to bulge in a sunken face, his teeth oversized in his head. His hair had been razed short as he sweated, febrile.

  Instinctively, forgetting her manners, she went over and crouched by the mattress. Dimly, she heard Jed’s voice, talking again in Spanish – so not to her.

  ‘Hola, Paco,’ she smiled. ‘Me llamo Tara. Soy tu amiga,’ she said in her basic Spanish.

  She received a blank stare in return.

  ‘Soy medica. Como estais?’

  Slowly, as if asking his permission, she held up her hand to him and when he didn’t protest, placed the back of it to his forehead. By touch alone she knew he was above thirty-nine degrees. She took his pulse; it was racing. There was some swelling in his hands at the finger joints that she could feel, and a bucket to the side of the mattress suggested he was routinely being sick.

  ‘How long has he had symptoms for?’ she asked Jed as he moved closer.

  ‘Seven months.�
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  Seven months? She could see the fear in his eyes from across the room. Sarita was holding a small wooden bowl in her hands, but she had seemingly forgotten she was holding it, her gaze pinned to Tara.

  She swallowed down her alarm. ‘What were his initial symptoms?’

  Jed thought back. ‘Uh . . . his stomach hurt. His fingers as well. And he kept scratching his skin. The Awa says it is his liver.’

  ‘Awa?’ She remembered. The shaman. ‘Oh, right.’ She looked back at Paco again. He was regarding her as though from a great distance, his gaze focused but blank. ‘May I examine him more fully?’

  Jed translated for Sarita and she nodded, her hands going trepidatiously to her mouth.

  Tara checked his glands.

  ‘Paco, can you breathe in for me?’ she asked him, and though he didn’t understand her words, he innately caught her meaning, copying her exaggerated inhale. Gently, she slid her hands over the right side of his abdomen, palpating for the liver. It felt enlarged, the spleen too. She looked for yellowing to the whites of his eyes but the light was too dim to see clearly. What she could see were some dark stains blooming like old roses on the sheet by his head. She looked back at him with concern. She had various suspicions, but there was little more she could do without running diagnostic tests. She needed a full battery of blood screens, ideally a liver biopsy.

  She smiled at him as reassuringly as she could, clasping his hands in hers. ‘Well done. You are very brave.’ Her Spanish was rusty and not particularly idiomatic but she hoped he could read her meaning in her eyes, her intention to do no harm.

  She rose slowly, knowing she needed to convey her concern with calm.

  Sarita rushed towards her, pressing the cup into her hands, as though the hospitality would be inducement to alter her findings, as though this was something to be negotiated.

  ‘Gracias,’ Tara said softly. And she took a long sip of the drink. It was some sort of juice, sweeter than she anticipated. ‘Mmm. Bueno, gracias.’