He snorted. “The delightfully vacant Eve. How did you know we came back together?”
“Well, first you went together, right?”
“No.” He looked surprised. “I went into the village by myself. It was about nine-thirty by the time I got there. I was looking for a café by the waterside – there was only one place open, and she was already there. The café’s called End of the World, how appropriate is that! The coffee was diabolical… but they make really good smoothies and fresh juices. So anyway I sat with her, and she told me all about her marriage, and how she can’t stand Max. And how this is the first time ever they’ve been alone without the kids, and how she’s going crazy, missing the kids, blah-blah.”
“Did you meet Consuelo?” Ute said.
“Who’s that?”
“The woman who runs the café.”
“Oh yeah, nice woman. She’s the mother of our waiter, what’s his name, the small guy at reception… Hold on, when were you there?”
“Yesterday.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Well, you didn’t ask,” Ute said. “You mean she’s Héctor’s mother?”
“Who? Oh yeah, Héctor. It’s a small place, this, everyone’s related. No wonder they all look inbred in the village. And then who do you think should turn up, in their four-by-four? Our Mexican honeymooners. They were nice enough though, they offered us a lift back, but I felt like walking, and Eve said she wanted to walk too. So I had to enjoy her company all the way back. She’s not as stupid as I thought actually. She has at least three folds in her brain – one for hunger, one for thirst and one for sleep. And maybe a fourth, to hate Max with.”
Ute smiled, but something distracted her. Why did Héctor tell her that Jerry and Eve had gone into town together? He had no reason to lie. After they would all leave in a week or so, he’d never see her and Jerry, or Eve and Max again. What did he care for their private passions and relationships? Or maybe he hadn’t said that, maybe he’d said they’d just walked back together.
She was dehydrated and probably reading too much into everything. She kept rocking gently inside the hammock, too listless to get up for water.
Carlos’s sun-baked neck and slanted black eyes were imprinted painfully in her mind. She tried to focus on Jerry instead. He was acting a bit strange, out of character. He had never lied to her before, as far as she knew, but what if now, here… No, she was being absurd.
“What is this fragrance?” Jerry sniffed the air. “It’s like an opiate. It’s everywhere.”
“You mean that sweet smell? Incense, probably,” Ute said. “It’s a bit strong.”
She could have just drifted off to sleep right there… Carlos was probably having a siesta now, breathing gently in the shade of his cabin. Long strands of his damp hair would be stirred by a fan, his high-cheeked face sculpted in repose, the feral smell of damaged animals tainting the air, but not unpleasantly. Just one quick, hushed coupling with Carlos would make her pregnant, she had no doubt about it. She discarded the dangerous dream-thought.
“Hey,” Jerry rocked the hammock lightly. “Did you want to go and look at the national park or stay here?”
“Go.” Her tongue felt thick, and her limbs were rubbery.
“Good,” he stretched lazily. “Would be a shame to waste the tickets. Though if you ask me, I’m happy to lounge about all day. I had another sleepless night. So…”
He produced the map-sized tickets from his back pocket and waved them at her. She mustered enough energy to smile. Jerry tossed his laptop onto the bed and brushed her dry mouth with a quick kiss. He packed a small day-pack with a large bottle of water and hats. Every movement was an effort, but Ute put on her battered trainers, smeared some sunscreen onto her face, drank half a litre of water, and together they crunched down the white pebble path to the main gate.
“Mmm, we’re gonna have to go past everyone,” Jerry said. “Your friend Max is probably there too. Yep, I can hear him.”
Héctor was carrying plates. They went into the reception area, trying not to draw attention from the people eating outside.
“Héctor,” Ute said. “Could you call us a tricycle? We want to go to the park’s entrance.”
“No problem.” He picked up the phone. “But I’ll call it to the other gate, because it’s closer to the main road. You’ll have to walk back through the compound.”
“Where is the other gate?”
“It’s right behind your cabin.”
He mumbled something down the phone line.
“Hey tiger, it’s Daddy, how’re you doing, huh?” Max was shouting into his mobile phone and pacing up and down the veranda. Max saw Ute and Jerry but didn’t acknowledge them, which was a relief.
“Quick,” Ute said, “let’s go before he’s finished.”
They thanked Héctor and shuffled back out, past the bookcase and Oswaldo’s painting. Ute stopped and looked at the row of guest books, a vague question stirring in her head. Last year, around Christmas, Héctor had said. That would be 2008.
“Have you seen these?” she gestured to the bookcase. She was whispering. “Guest books, loads of them.”
“Hmmm,” Jerry said absently. “Sorry, I need the loo, I’ll catch you outside the other gate.” He walked away energetically.
She looked at the shelf: the guest books went up to 2009. She picked up “2008” and opened it. There was nothing inside. She ruffled through the pages, looking for ink. The pages were blank. She put it back in, and quickly pulled another one – “2009”. The same thing there. Her heart was suddenly thumping.
“Your transport will be waiting,” Héctor said. He was carrying an empty tray. “Be very careful in the park. Don’t get lost. You don’t have much time before nightfall.”
She slotted the book back, as if caught snooping. Which she was, in a way. He stopped halfway across the lounge and said:
“Everybody who leaves writes something. If you don’t find their name in those books, it’s because they haven’t arrived.” Then he added, as an afterthought: “Or they haven’t left.”
“Well,” Ute said, dazed. “I’d better write something then.”
“Bueno,” Héctor said and disappeared into the kitchen. Ute rushed to the back gate, where Jerry was already sitting inside a tricycle taxi with his shocking-white legs and squeaky new trainers. The word gringo was invented for him, she thought. The tricycle driver was the guy from the other night, and looked just as peeved with the world now. He didn’t even greet Ute.
A drowsy guard sat in a plastic chair outside the gate, a rifle between his legs. So there were armed guards at every one of the three gates of the Villa. She hadn’t noticed this the first night or the first morning.
“Buenas,” the guard nodded at her.
“Buenas,” Ute said and hopped on, but her voice was drowned in the roar of the motorbike engine. She looked back. The guard in his chair and the gate of Villa Pacifica shimmered like a mirage in a cloud of dust and heat.
8
Jerry fell asleep as soon as they took off. His glasses slid onto his nose from the bumpy ride, and Ute adjusted them gently. This was totally unlike him, he wasn’t a napper. But then he wasn’t someone prone to insomnia either. The driver kept an eye on her in his side mirror.
Ute was under the impression that the park’s entrance was just around the next bend of the road. But the next bend was miles away. Weird: the park began practically at the back gate of the animal shelter, and yet here they were, circling the official entrance from a distance. She felt lost and anxious again. She never travelled without a map. It was like being half blind. You could end up anywhere, and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.
For the entire journey, which lasted about ten minutes, she saw no other vehicle on the road. At the park’s entrance, there was a small kiosk with a man inside it and a large carved sign with “WELCOME TO MANTEÑO NATIONAL PARK”, and a smaller sign next to it saying “Vehicles prohibited inside the par
k”. The small parking space was empty – there was probably nobody in the entire park. Ute paid up the silent driver and nudged Jerry. He came to with a start, looked around him and wiped his cheek.
“I’ve dribbled,” he said, and stepped off the tricycle on unsteady legs. The old man inside the kiosk looked bleary-eyed, as if he too had just woken up from a nap. They unfolded their tickets, and he nodded.
“We close at five,” he said. This seemed to exhaust his duties. There was no gate or anything else to close, just a vast expanse of twigs ahead of them.
“Is there a map of the park anywhere?” Ute peeked inside the kiosk.
“No, no map. Just follow the main path. And be out by five.”
“Is there another exit?”
“No, no other exit.” And the man settled into his corner again.
They started walking.
“How are we getting back?” Jerry said.
“We’ll hitch or something,” she said, thinking of the long, empty road.
They walked along the narrow path, the only visible furrow through this soundless universe of gnarled trees, bramble and three-metre-tall cacti. The sun was an egg poached in clouds, but even so the heat rose from the parched landscape slowly, with a hiss, like some reptilian spirit. Ute crouched to pee by the side of the path, and watched the grey earth soak up her stream, leaving no trace of moisture.
Within two hours, nothing had changed, except that they had drunk most of their water. They were too dazed to speak, and anyway there was nothing to say out there. There was also nothing to see apart from the occasional darting lizard or snake. No doubt some of these species were protected, but apart from the cacti, everything blended into a beige blur. No birds either.
Ahead of them, hills began to appear. The nearest ones were covered in a sparse colourless fuzz, like the head of a vulture. Behind those hills were higher green hills and, further on, peaks lost in mist.
“That must be the beginning of the cloud forest up there,” she said. “Looks appealing.”
“It’s three o’clock now,” Jerry looked at Ute’s watch when they stopped to rip into the mandarins he had thoughtfully brought along. He’d left his own watch at home. He always did this on holiday. “The sun goes down at six, which tells me we should be heading back round about now. The old geezer said they close at five, for all that’s worth. To be honest, it strikes me as a perversity to be here when we could be in our own private garden, swinging in a hammock listening to birds.”
“It can’t be more than thirty minutes to that first green hill,” Ute said, “and then it’s probably the cloud forest, but we can’t see it from here. I get a feeling that place, Agua Sagrada, is up there. It would be a shame to come this far and not see it at least from a distance.”
“Yes, but you forget that I’ve already walked a few miles today,” Jerry said. “And I’m quite keen to get back before dark. We don’t have a torch, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy the company of snakes in the dark. Besides, we won’t see much of it in the dark, right?”
Jerry’s legs were scratched from the bramble, and he was in a scratchy mood.
“OK, I have an idea,” she said. “There must be a path that leads back to the sanctuary, a shortcut. I know for sure that there’s a track that starts at the back gate of the animal shelter. It must come off this main track. Let’s give ourselves another half-hour, and if we don’t come across it, we’ll turn back.” This, she hoped, would give them time to take a closer look at the alluring hills ahead.
“Why didn’t we use that shortcut in the first place then?” Jerry said.
“Because we would’ve had to go across the river again, and you know how they only have two crossings a day.” Or three, when Mikel wasn’t around. “Plus I don’t think that shortcut is supposed to be used at all.”
Jerry sighed and looked at Ute’s watch again. “All right, if you’re sure we won’t get caught out by the dark…”
He was making out as if he was doing her a big favour, humouring her. Ute walked on, resentful. With most couples, it was the woman who was high-maintenance, surely. Maybe Ute was too low-maintenance for her own good. She didn’t make scenes, she didn’t throw tantrums, she didn’t complain when she was thirsty or tired, or felt crap. She did nothing when other women fawned around Jerry. He was delicately handsome, in a long-lashed, sinewy, boyish sort of way. His intellect was sharp, and his personality, at its best, was attractive. And at its worst he was a neurotic and a wimp who passively gazed at the world from his ivory tower. A man of action he wasn’t. It was symptomatic that his favourite poem of all time was ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’. Did he dare to eat a peach? Not often.
Half an hour later, they were entering a greenish, hilly forest. The air was suddenly cool. They could hear birdsong. Just then, they came to a fork. A second track led up north in the direction of civilization.
“This has got to be it,” Ute said. “It’s got to lead back to the Villa.”
“Or to that Agua-something place if we’re really unlucky. That’s right, what if the main track leads all the way to the coast, and this one to the cloud forest? Didn’t the guy at the entrance say there was no other exit?”
“Yeah he did, but I don’t know whether to believe him. Or anyone else around here,” Ute said.
“Anyway, this path leads away from the cloud forest, so it can’t also lead to it.”
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…” Jerry reciting was always a good sign of rising morale, or some attempt at struggle with adversity anyway. “And this is the one we’ll take.”
“Yep.” She would come back tomorrow, with or without him. Most likely without.
The sun had gone down with alarming speed, though it was only mid-afternoon. It was at least a few miles to the sanctuary, if that’s in fact where the path was taking them. They had drained the last bit of the water, and though they were thirsty, the heat had mercifully abated. Besides, they weren’t under a harsh open sky any more. This wood was shady. It was almost pleasant. They no longer walked in a column like a commando unit of two, but next to each other.
“You know, Héctor told me about some gringo who died here a couple of years ago.”
“Really? How?”
“Drug overdose. He drowned.”
“What, he overdosed and drowned?” Jerry snorted.
“Yeah, he sounded like a psycho. He fed drugs to the animals, can you imagine?”
“Wow. Maybe just as well he did drown then.”
“Mm,” Ute said. They walked in silence for a while. “Mikel has gone into the park, till tomorrow night.”
“Who’s Mikel?”
“Our host.”
“All right. So that means Max will terrorize the Villa tonight. Mikel is the one who keeps him in check.”
“There’s someone who does it even better than Mikel,” Ute said defiantly.
“Who?”
“Carlos, the guy with the animals.”
“That’s right, the gaucho from Paraguay. He thinks he’s pretty hot, doesn’t he?”
“Well,” she said. “He is who he is.”
“A man of few words, you’d say,” Jerry sneered. “And probably few brains. Anyway, does anyone actually know where Paraguay is?”
“I do,” Ute said bluntly.
“Good for you. I think Eve was a bit taken with him. Primitive men attract primitive women, it’s been that way since the dawn of time. She couldn’t stop giggling when we went across yesterday, poor dumb potato. But he didn’t give her the time of day.”
“You did though, didn’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“You lied to me about walking back with Eve. You walked into the village with her too.”
Jerry stopped and looked at her.
“For God’s sake, what’s got into you?” he said.
“I just don’t like being taken for an idiot,” Ute said, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. But she kept walking
fast, she didn’t want him to see her upset.
Jerry caught up with her.
“Ute, why would I lie to you about such a thing?” he said.
“I don’t know, that’s what I’m wondering.” Her tears were under control now.
“You’re tense, and you’re over-interpreting things, and…”
“Forget it. Just… let’s forget it. You’re right. You know” – Ute was talking fast now – “I feel like I’ve been here for a week.”
“Me too,” Jerry said, and took her hand with an affectionate squeeze. She squeezed his hand back and walked ahead, fast.
The green hills and misty clouds were now far behind them, almost out of view. The sun was gone, and it felt a lot later than it was. Soon the daylight was almost completely gone and they were moving in a wooded dusk. Sounds became amplified as the shapes of the forest blurred. The creatures of the forest were beginning to make their nocturnal noises: scratching, calling, coughing, rustling.
“This is really weird,” Jerry said. They were both walking much faster now, sensing there was a lot of road to cover before they could stop. “Are the days shrinking or what? You said on the Equator they’re always the same length throughout the year.”
“Ah,” she said, looking at her watch. It showed four-fifteen. “I know what’s happening, it’s my watch. It’s falling behind. It did the same trick yesterday. It’s probably more like six. The battery must be dying.”
“And we don’t have a torch.”
The darkness was thickening by the minute. Forests were staggeringly black places at night. They walked some more, and it was now dark.
“God, it’s like walking through Dante’s Inferno,” Jerry gasped behind her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Ute said. She strode on, crunching over now invisible twigs. “It’s much safer to be in a place like this at night than in a place of ten million like, say, Rio – or even London. You don’t get attacked by psychos in a forest.”
“No, just by jaguars,” Jerry snorted. He was out of breath.
“Don’t worry, there aren’t any large mammals in this forest. They’re all up in the hills.”
Villa Pacifica Page 8