City of the Beasts

by Isabel Allende

  “Oh, you mean like your socks,” his grandmother interrupted.

  The party still had the feeling that they were being observed by hundreds of eyes from the thicket. They felt exposed, lighted as they were by the flickering flames of the bonfire as well as a pair of kerosene lanterns. The first part of the night went by without any major alarms, until Kate, Alexander, and the soldier were on duty. Alex had been sitting for more than an hour, bored, gazing at the night and the reflections on the water, watching over the sleep of his companions, thinking about how much he had changed in a few days. Now he could sit quietly for a long time, in silence, concentrating on his thoughts, forgetting his video games, his bicycle, and television. He discovered he could transport himself to that private place of stillness and silence that he had to reach when he climbed mountains. His father’s first lesson in climbing had been that when you are tense or anxious or hurrying, you lose half your strength. It takes calm to conquer a mountain. Alex had learned to apply that lesson when he climbed, but until now it hadn’t been of much help in other areas of his life. He realized that he had many things to think about, but his most recurrent image was of his mother. If she died . . . He always stopped himself there. He had decided not to allow that thought, because it was like tempting disaster. He concentrated, instead, on sending her positive energy; it was his way of helping her.

  Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted his thoughts. As clear as a bell, he heard giant steps crashing through the nearby undergrowth. His chest contracted as if he were suffocating. For the first time since he had lost his glasses at Mauro Carías’s headquarters, he missed them, because his vision was much worse at night. Holding the pistol in both hands to steady the trembling, as he had seen in movies, he waited, not knowing what to do. When he saw leaves moving, as if a band of enemies were stalking through them, he let out an earsplitting yell that sounded like the siren of a sinking ship and woke up everybody in camp. In one instant, his grandmother was by his side, rifle at the ready. The two of them found themselves facing the huge head of an animal that it took a few instants to identify. It was a wild pig, a humongous boar. No one moved, paralyzed with surprise, and that saved them because the animal, like Alex, did not see well in the dark. By luck, the breeze was blowing in the opposite direction, so it didn’t smell them. César Santos was the first to slip cautiously from his hammock and evaluate the situation, despite the poor visibility.

  “Don’t anyone move,” he ordered, almost in a whisper so as not to attract the boar.

  The meat of the wild boar is very tasty, and there would have been enough to feast on for several days, but it was still too dark to get off a good shot, and no one cared to take up a machete and tangle with such a dangerous animal. The pig strolled calmly among the hammocks, sniffed the provisions suspended by ropes to keep them out of the reach of mice and ants, and finally poked its nose into the tent of Professor Ludovic Leblanc, who came within an inch of cardiac arrest. There was nothing they could do but wait until the hefty visitor got bored with checking out their camp and left, in the process passing so close to Alex that he could have reached out and touched its bristly coat.

  After the tension was broken, and everyone could laugh and joke, the young American felt like a chicken-heart for having shouted as he had, but César Santos assured him that he had done the right thing. The guide repeated the instructions for an alarm: crouch down and yell first; shoot later. He had just got the words out when they did hear a shot; it was Ludovic Leblanc firing into the air a good ten minutes after all danger had passed. The professor definitely had an itchy trigger finger, as Kate described it.

  Cesar Santos, Nadia, and one of the soldiers had responsibility for the third shift, when it was even colder and darker. The guide hesitated to wake his daughter, who was sleeping soundly, hugging Borobá, but he knew that she would not forgive him if he didn’t. The girl shook off sleep with two swallows of heavily sugared black coffee, and bundled up the best she could in a couple of T-shirts, her light cardigan, and her father’s jacket. Alex had slept only two hours and was very weary, but when he saw that Nadia was getting ready to stand her shift, he got up, too, prepared to keep her company.

  “I’m fine, you don’t have to worry. I have the talisman to protect me,” she whispered, to ease his concern.

  “Go back to your hammock,” César Santos ordered. “We all need sleep, that’s why we set up turns.”

  Grudgingly, Alex obeyed. He vowed to stay awake, but within a few minutes, sleep overcame him. He could not calculate how long he had slept, but it must have been more than two hours because when he awakened, startled by the uproar around him, Nadia’s stint had been over for some time. It was just beginning to get light; the mist was milky and the cold intense, but everyone was up. There was an odor in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.

  “What happened?” he asked, rolling out of his hammock, still groggy with sleep.

  “Don’t anyone leave camp for any reason! Throw more wood on the fire!” ordered César Santos, who had tied a kerchief around his face and was standing with a rifle in one hand and a lantern in the other, staring into the swirling gray mist that rose from the jungle at dawn.

  Kate, Nadia, and Alex hurried to feed more wood to the fire, adding a little more light. Karakawe had raised the alarm: somehow one of the caboclos on his shift had disappeared. César Santos shot twice into the air, to call him in, but as there was no answer, he decided to go with Timothy Bruce and two soldiers to search the surrounding area, leaving the others around the fire, armed with pistols. Everyone followed their guide’s example and tied a handkerchief over their noses in order to breathe.

  Minutes dragged by that seemed eternal, without a sound from anyone. At that hour, the monkeys normally would be waking up in the treetops, their cries, which sounded like dogs barking, announcing the coming of day. That early morning, however, a spinechilling silence reigned. The animals, even the birds, had all fled. Suddenly they heard a shot, followed by the voice of César Santos, and then shouts from the other men. A minute later Timothy Bruce ran into camp, out of breath; they had found the caboclo.

  The man was lying facedown among some ferns. His head, however, was facing upward, as if a powerful hand had twisted it ninety degrees, breaking the bones in his neck. His eyes were wide open, and an expression of absolute terror deformed his face. When they rolled him over, they saw that his chest and abdomen were striped with deep gashes. There were hundreds of strange insects, ticks, and small beetles swarming over the body. Dr. Omayra Torres confirmed what was obvious: the man was dead. Timothy Bruce ran to get his camera, to record evidence of what had happened, while César Santos picked off some of the insects and put them in a little plastic bag to take to Padre Valdomero in Santa María de la Lluvia, who knew a lot about entomology and collected species from the region. The stench near the body was much worse, and it took a great effort of will not to run away.

  Cesar Santos gave instructions to one of the soldiers to go back and keep an eye on Joel González, whom they had left alone at the camp, and to Karakawe and another soldier to sweep the area. Matuwe, the other Indian guide, was profoundly affected by the corpse. He had turned gray, as if he were seeing a ghost. Nadia hugged her father and hid her face in his chest so she wouldn’t have to look at the dreadful spectacle.

  “The Beast!” Matuwe exclaimed.

  “Beast, nothing. The Indians did this,” Professor Leblanc differed, pale from shock and holding a cologne-soaked handkerchief in one trembling hand and a pistol in the other.

  At that instant, Leblanc stepped back, stumbled, and plopped down in the mud. He yelled a curse, and tried to get up, but with every movement slipped and flailed, struggling to get out of the dark, soft, lumpy goo. From the horrendous odor, those watching knew it wasn’t mud but a monumental bed of excrement; from head to foot, the famous anthropologist was literally covered in manure. César Santos and Timothy Bruce held out a tree branch for him to grab on to. They hel
ped him up, then—at a prudent distance, trying not to come in contact—went with him to the river. Leblanc had no choice but to get thoroughly wet, shivering from humiliation, cold, fear, and rage. Karakawe, his personal assistant, flatly refused to soap him or to wash his clothing and, despite the tragic circumstances, all the others had to contain themselves to keep from exploding with nervous laughter. The same thought was on everyone’s mind: the being that produced that deposit must be as big as an elephant.

  “I am almost sure that the creature that passed this eats a varied diet: plants and fruit, along with some raw meat,” said the doctor, who had tied a handkerchief around her nose and mouth as she examined the sample under her magnifying glass.

  Kate was on all fours, exploring the ground and vegetation; her grandson imitated her.

  “Look, Kate, here are broken branches, and in places it looks like the bushes were crushed by enormous feet. And I found some wiry black hairs,” Alex said, pointing to them.

  “It could have been the boar,” said Kate.

  “But there are a lot of insects, too, the same ones we saw on the body. I’ve not seen them before.”

  As soon as it was daylight, César Santos and Karakawe strung the body of the unfortunate soldier, netted in a hammock, high in a tree, as high as they were able. The professor, who had developed a tic in his right eye, and was so nervous that his knees were knocking, prepared to issue a decision. He said that all of them were running a serious risk of being killed, and that he, Ludovic Leblanc, as the person responsible for the group, should be the one to give the orders. The murder of the first soldier confirmed his theory that the Indians were natural killers, sly and treacherous. The death of the second, in such rare circumstances, could also be attributed to the Indians—though he admitted that the Beast could not be ruled out. The best thing to do would be to set traps and see whether with a little luck the creature they sought might fall in before it came back to kill someone else, then return to Santa María de la Lluvia where they would call for helicopters. His companions concluded that this strange little man had learned something from his wallow in the puddle of excrement.

  “Captain Ariosto would never dare to refuse aid to Ludovic Leblanc,” said the professor. The farther they traveled into unknown territory, and the more the Beast gave signs of life, the greater the tendency of the anthropologist to refer to himself in the third person.

  Several members of the group agreed with him. Kate, however, declared that she was determined to continue, and she urged Timothy Bruce to stay with her, since it would be pointless to find the creature if they did not have photographs to prove it. The professor suggested that the group break up, and that those who wanted to leave take one of the boats back to the village with him. The soldiers, and Matuwe, wanted to go as soon as possible; they were terrorized. Dr. Omayra Torres, on the other hand, said that she had come with the intention of vaccinating Indians, that she might not have another opportunity to do so in the near future, and that she was not going to turn back at the first obstacle.

  “You are a very brave woman, Omayra,” commented César Santos with admiration. “I’m staying. I am the guide, I can’t leave you here,” he added.

  Alex and Nadia exchanged knowing glances; they had noticed how César Santos followed the doctor with his eyes and never lost an opportunity to be near her. They both knew, before he spoke, that if she stayed, he would do the same.

  “And how do we get back without you?” Leblanc asked uneasily.

  “Karakawe can lead you,” said César Santos.

  “I stay,” the Indian stated, as always, stingy with words.

  “Me, too, I’m not leaving my grandmother here alone,” said Alex.

  “I don’t need you, and I don’t need kids tagging along, Alexander,” Kate grumbled, but in those eagle-sharp eyes everyone could see the glint of pride at her grandson’s decision.

  “I am going back for reinforcements,” said Leblanc.

  “Are you not in charge of this expedition, Professor?” Kate asked icily.

  “I am more useful there than here . . . ,” he gabbled.

  “Do whatever you wish, but if you leave, I personally will publish that information in International Geographic so all the world will know just how courageous Professor Leblanc really is,” she threatened.

  Finally they agreed that Matuwe and one of the soldiers would take Joel González back to Santa María de la Lluvia. The trip would be faster than it had been coming, since they would be traveling with the current. The other members of the party, including Ludovic Leblanc, who did not have the nerve to defy Kate, would stay where they were until reinforcements arrived. By midmorning everything was ready; those staying told the others good-bye, and the boat with the injured man started down the river.

  The remainder of that day and a good part of the next were spent in setting a trap for the Beast, following Professor Leblanc’s instructions. It was of childlike simplicity: a huge hole in the ground covered with a net camouflaged with leaves and branches. The thought was that when the creature stepped onto the snare, it would fall in, dragging the net with it. At the bottom of the pit was a battery-powered alarm, which would sound and immediately alert the expedition. The plan was to get to the trap before the Beast could disentangle itself and get free, and to shoot several darts with an anesthesia powerful enough to down a rhinoceros.

  The most difficult part was digging a pit deep enough to hold a creature as tall as the Beast. Everyone took turns with the shovel except Nadia and Leblanc, the former because she was opposed to the idea of hurting an animal, and the latter because his back was hurting again. The ground was very different from what the professor, comfortably installed at a desk in his home thousands of miles away, had expected when he designed his trap. There was a thin layer of humus, and beneath that a thick tangle of roots, then clay as slippery as soap, and as they dug deeper, the hole filled with reddish water in which all sorts of tiny things were swimming. Finally they quit, overcome by obstacles. Alex suggested using a system of ropes to hang nets from the trees, with a lure below. When their prey moved in to take the bait, the alarm would go off and the net would drop over the Beast. Everyone, except Leblanc, thought that that plan might work in theory, but they were too exhausted to test it and decided to postpone the project until the following morning.

  “I hope your idea doesn’t work, Jaguar,” said Nadia.

  “The Beast is dangerous,” Alex replied.

  “What will they do with it if they catch it? Kill it? Cut it up in little pieces to study? Put it in a cage for the rest of its life?”

  “What’s your solution, Nadia?”

  “Talk with it and ask what it wants.”

  “Now there’s a brilliant idea! We could invite it for tea,” he jeered.

  “All animals can communicate,” she insisted.

  “That’s what my sister Nicole says, but she’s only nine.”

  “I see that she knows more at nine than you do at fifteen,” Nadia replied.

  They had camped in a very beautiful spot. The dense tangle of growth along the riverbank opened up farther inland into a majestic forest, the straight, soaring tree trunks forming the pillars of a magnificent green cathedral. Orchids and other flowers hung from the branches and glittering ferns covered the ground. Animal life was so varied that there was never a moment of silence; from dawn to late day, the songs of toucans and parrots filled the air, replaced at night by the clamor of tree frogs and howler monkeys. This Garden of Eden hid many dangers, however: distances were enormous, the solitude absolute, and without long experience it was impossible to get your bearings. According to Leblanc—and in this César Santos was in agreement—the only way to get around in this region was with the help of Indians. Contact with them was essential. Dr. Omayra Torres was the one most eager to find them because, as she explained, she first had to fulfill her mission—the vaccinations—and then establish a basic health care system.

  “I don’t think th
e Indians will voluntarily offer their arms for you to stick, Omayra. They have never seen a needle in their lives.” César Santos smiled. There was a strong current of sympathy between them, and by then they were acting like old friends.

  “We will tell them that it is powerful magic sent by the white man,” she said, and winked.

  “Which is absolutely true,” approved César Santos.

  According to the guide, there were several tribes in the vicinity that had almost surely had contact, if brief, with the outside world. From his airplane, he had sighted shabonos, but since there was nowhere to land, all he could do was mark them on his map. The communal huts he had seen were rather small, which meant that each tribe was composed of only a few families. Professor Leblanc, who declared himself an expert on the matter, assured them that the minimal number of inhabitants per shabono was around fifty—otherwise they would not be able to defend themselves against enemy attack—and, very rarely, more than two hundred and fifty. César Santos also suspected that there were isolated tribes that had never been seen, which was what Dr. Torres expected; the only way these groups could be reached was by air. They would have to fly to the rain forests on the high plain, the enchanted region of the waterfalls, where outsiders had never traveled before the invention of airplanes and helicopters.

  With the hope of attracting the Indians, the guide tied a cord between two trees and hung a number of gifts from it: bead necklaces, bright scarves, mirrors, and plastic trinkets. He held the machetes, knives, and steel tools for later, when the real negotiations and exchange of gifts would begin.

  That afternoon, César Santos tried to reach Captain Ariosto and Mauro Carías in Santa María de la Lluvia, but the radio was out of order. Professor Leblanc strode around the camp, furious at this new difficulty, while the others took turns in vain to try to send or receive a message. Nadia took Alex aside to tell him that last night, before the soldier had been murdered during Karakawe’s shift, she had seen the Indian fooling with the set. She said she had gone to bed when her turn was over, but hadn’t fallen asleep immediately, and from her hammock had seen Karakawe near the apparatus.