The Darkest Heart

by Dan Smith

  ‘It’s like we’re being watched,’ Leonardo said, coming to stand beside me and scan the forest.

  ‘You are being watched.’ I nodded towards the wheelhouse, where Rocky was sitting. She was on her haunches, mouth open, tongue out to one side, staring at Leonardo as if she trusted him even less than I did.

  ‘I swear that dog doesn’t like me.’

  ‘She knows you’re afraid of her,’ I said.

  I’m not afraid.’

  ‘Of course you are. And she sees it better than the rest of us. She can smell it on you like I can smell your sweat.’

  Leonardo watched her for a moment, the two of them trying to stare each other down. Only when Rocky got to her feet and closed her mouth did Leonardo look away.

  ‘We made good time,’ he said, trying to ignore the dog. ‘I was worried we wouldn’t make it. The plane won’t stay long.’ He leaned forward, putting his forearms on the gunwale beside me and looking out at the trees lining the shore. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  I glanced at him but didn’t answer.

  ‘Why did you take my pistola? What do you think I’m going to do?’

  ‘You don’t need a gun on this boat.’

  ‘But if there’s trouble, wouldn’t two guns be better than one?’

  ‘If I need your help, I’ll let you know.’

  Leonardo nodded. ‘There’s not just your boat to protect now, though, is there? There’s her as well.’ He inclined his head towards Daniella still standing by the bow. ‘She’s nice. Nicer than her friend I met the other night. I mean, she was good, but Daniella’s got something else. She’s got fire in her.’

  ‘Don’t.’ I stared at him.

  Leonardo opened his mouth to speak but I turned my back on him and went to Daniella.

  Rocky trotted behind me, panting hard from the unrelenting heat, but decided not to join us. Instead, she slipped into the wheelhouse and jumped onto the seat beside the old man. She turned once and collapsed with a grunt.

  Standing with Daniella, watching the water, it occurred to me that there was no sight like it anywhere else on earth, no sounds to match those that drifted across from the forest. The sun was comforting on my back and I tried not to think about how Leonardo was using Daniella to work his way under my skin. For a moment I pretended he wasn’t on the boat with us. For now it was just Daniella and me.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ I said to her.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Her brow was furrowed, her lips tight. She was still a little angry with me.

  ‘I remember a time, sitting with my sister on a bench high up in the favela, looking out at the sea. I was twelve, thirteen, and from the hillside, the sea looked calm, and I wondered what it would be like to sail away on it. I thought it would make me feel like a different person.’

  Daniella turned to me. ‘I didn’t know you had a sister. Older or younger?’

  ‘Older by two years. Sofia.’

  She thought about it. ‘I’ve known you for months and you never mentioned her. Where is she?’

  I shook my head. ‘She died.’

  Daniella stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes on me. ‘What was she like?’

  ‘She was ... my sister. She was my friend, too. She always tried to keep me out of trouble and her temper could flare up like yours.’ I looked at Daniella and found myself smiling. ‘And she took care of me as much as I would let her.’ I put back my head and let the breeze cool my face, remembering my sister as she lived rather than as she had died. I remembered the flick of her hair, the contagion of her laugh and the arguments we had about the company I kept.

  ‘So what about your mãe and pai?’

  I hadn’t told Daniella much about my life before I came here. She had asked, but I always felt as if I wanted to leave it behind me. Something felt different now, though. Something was changing.

  ‘They moved from the country looking for a better life and ended up in the favela,’ I said. ‘I didn’t really know Mãe; she died from cholera when I was five years old. The “dog’s disease” they used to call it. Pai worked for the prefeitura, picking up litter while kids ran around the streets with money in their pockets from drugs. They wore the best clothes and laughed in his face at his uniform. When he came home he drank and fell asleep. One day he just didn’t wake up.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I shrugged. ‘He drank himself to death, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s awful. How old were you?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  Over by the edge of the river, something splashed close to the bank. A hollow sound, a muddle of froth on the water and then nothing but ripples, reaching out for us.

  After Pai was gone, Sofia wanted to get away from the favela, but we just carried on. There was nothing else we could do. She worked hard for some rich people, cleaning their house, doing what they asked, but I wasn’t going to do anything like that. I wasn’t going to work like Pai to get laughed at and earn barely enough to stay alive. I started working for the older boys instead, watching for the police. We used to shoot rockets into the sky when we saw them, so the others could hide, and I earned enough money to buy clothes and shoes with labels on them. Sofia said I should be ashamed of myself, but I didn’t see it like that.

  ‘I never believed I’d be in a place like this,’ I said, ‘with someone like you.’

  Daniella put her hand on mine.

  I felt her touch and for a moment I was on the bench again, on the hillside in Rio, with the sea in front of me and Cristo Redentor watching over us, welcoming everyone into those outstretched arms. From his perch on Corcovado mountain, he could see the wonders of Rio de Janeiro spread below him like a carpet of colour. Sofia said he saw the rich hillside real estate just as he saw the dilapidated and makeshift favelas, slumped, rusting and decaying on the hillsides.

  A few years later, though, Sofia was gone and I sat alone on that bench, thinking maybe I could find the life we had talked about. And that’s why I had taken that last job, because I thought it would give me enough money to get out. But all it had given me was more trouble and a reason to run. It occurred to me now that I was still doing that one last job; over and over, always trying to get away.

  Just one more life.

  I took my hand from Daniella’s and touched my fingers to the shirt pocket containing the newspaper cutting. I pictured Sister Dolores Beckett and felt that doubt again. This was not what I wanted.

  ‘You hear that?’ Daniella said, breaking the moment.

  I tilted my head.

  Raul came out from behind the wheel to join us as we scanned the blue sky. Not a cloud. Nothing at all to mar the perfect blue sheet above us.

  Daniella shaded her eyes as she looked up and pointed, saying, ‘Is that what we’re waiting for?’

  I followed the line of her finger to see a dot of white and silver, the fuselage catching the sun as it descended, the drone growing louder as it approached.

  18

  Within minutes, the Catalina seaplane was low enough to touch the treetops with its white belly. The stifling day was filled with the buzz of its propellers as it came down, skirting across the forest on the far side, then banking so it was in line with the river. It dropped and dropped, skimming the water, the ridge on the underside of the plane slicing into the ripples created by its draught on the river. The plane lifted once, as if the pilot were having second thoughts, then touched down again, frothing the surface and pushing a wake out behind it.

  The twin propellers, attached high on the wing that spanned the fuselage, slowed to a monotonous drone as the plane continued past the spot where we were anchored.

  Its old paintwork was faded and rusted, its white body stained and in need of attention. The only livery markings were the red and blue stripe coursing from its upturned nose to its rounded tail.

  ‘They must be brave,’ I said to Raul. ‘Flying in that thing.’

  It reminded me of a flying version of the Deus, and I was glad I was on the water and
not in the air. At least if a boat went down, there was a chance of swimming, but if a plane fell out of the sky, it meant certain death – especially here. Last year, vaqueiros on the fazenda east of Piratinga watched a light aircraft come down in the forest, and sent men out to find it, but it was too far into the dense vegetation. There was no way to get to it. A couple of days later, a second plane came, circling over the trees, and then a helicopter, but they were too late. The only thing they took out of the forest was bodies and, even then, the story was that there wasn’t much left of them.

  The forest is cruel.

  Rocky trotted up and down the deck, excited by the activity, then put her paws up on the gunwale and barked at the Catalina as it turned and headed back. Eventually, it came to a halt in the centre of the river, the engines still running, the props still chugging.

  Rocky continued to bark, so Raul grabbed the scruff of her neck and pulled her back, telling her to be quiet.

  ‘We’ll have to get alongside it,’ he said, heading back to the wheelhouse and starting the boat again. ‘Take care of the anchor, Zico.’

  I took Daniella by the hand and led her to the back of the Deus, opening the door to the rusted covered section. This is one of those times I want you to do as I ask,’ I said. ‘Stay out of sight. Please. It’s better no one knows you’re here.’

  ‘It stinks in here,’ she complained.

  ‘Engine oil,’ I told her. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Not just engine oil,’ she said, using her foot to slide out an old plastic bucket. The rest of us had been able to relieve ourselves over the side of the boat, but it hadn’t been so easy for Daniella. The bucket had been the best solution.

  ‘It’ll only be a few minutes. That plane’s not going to stay long. Props are still running, so that means they want to get away fast.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Please, just ...’ I motioned towards the door.

  She frowned and looked like she was going to resist, but rolled her eyes and went into the small room.

  ‘It’s safer this way,’ I told her, closing the door and going to the anchor.

  I pulled it up and hauled it onto the deck while Raul turned the boat and puttered out to where the plane cooled its belly in the river.

  The bow of the Deus slipped beneath the wing, passing the blistered window that protruded like an insect’s eye behind the yellow-tipped propellers.

  Raul nudged us closer to the Catalina’s fuselage and the plane door opened, a man leaning out to take the rope I threw to him. Rocky hurried over, ignoring Raul’s calls, but she had stopped barking and the man hardly acknowledged either her or me as he secured us together. He kept his head down, and when he was finished, he pulled his cap low and stepped aside for Leonardo to climb aboard.

  The two men shared a few words, then Leonardo disappeared into the darkness of the plane’s interior.

  I waited, watching the dark space, glancing up at the pilot sitting in the cockpit, headphones around his neck. The window was open beside him and he was smoking a cigarette, drumming his fingers.

  He lifted his large sunglasses and winked at me.

  ‘What’s taking so long?’ Raul called from his place behind the wheel. I shrugged then glanced over at the section where Daniella was keeping out of sight. Rocky had lost interest in the plane and was sniffing at the crack in the door as if she were missing Daniella’s company.

  ‘Come here, girl,’ I said, beckoning her over. ‘Come away from there.’

  She looked round at me, then at the door, as if deciding what was more interesting, then trotted over to me, toenails clicking on the deck.

  When she was at my side, I rubbed her head and watched the plane, wondering if I should go after Leonardo. Maybe he needed my help. Just then, though, he reappeared, dragging a wooden crate across the floor of the plane.

  About the size of a coffin, the box was constructed from roughhewn wood and carried no markings or distinguishing features other than a coarse rope handle at either end. When it was close to the plane’s door, the other man slid forward a wide gangplank to bridge the gap between the boat and the plane.

  Leonardo took the far end of the crate and pushed it across the plank towards me so I could grab it and heft it onto the boat. Rocky stuck close to my legs, sniffing at the box, until I shooed her away.

  Between us, Leonardo and I manhandled the crate onto the deck and stacked it beside the store cabin where Daniella was keeping out of sight.

  ‘How many more of these?’ I asked as Leonardo climbed back onto the plane, jumping over the gunwale and through the cargo door.

  ‘Four.’ he said, disappearing from sight again.

  The top of the crate beside me had been prised open, so I guessed that’s why Leonardo had taken so long. He’d been checking the contents.

  Not caring that he would see me, I leaned down and pulled up the corner of the lid, shifting it to one side. Underneath was an oiled covering which I lifted to look at the weapons beneath.

  Rocky came close, putting her nose in for a quick sniff then backing away as if she didn’t like the smell.

  ‘I wonder what these are for?’ I said to her.

  They were rifles, but not the kind used for hunting.

  These guns were designed for killing men.

  Five assault rifles were nestled together in a formal line, and I estimated from the depth of the crate that there would be at least another three layers of weapons in there.

  Five crates containing twenty rifles each.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, making the addition, using my fingers.

  ‘A hundred?’ I put a hand on Rocky’s head. ‘What the hell does anyone want with a hundred of these?’

  They were the kind of weapons I hadn’t seen since leaving Rio. Back then, boys bought weapons like these from corrupt policeman selling them from the boot of police vehicles, but they had been used. They were damaged and worn, just as likely to go off in your face as shoot a hole in your enemy.

  These ones looked new and it made me wonder how they were connected to Sister Dolores Beckett. It was too much of a coincidence that she was headed to Mina dos Santos at the same time as a shipment of weapons like this. There were enough rifles here for a small army, but not an army led by a nun who fought for Indian rights. Perhaps an army led by men who wanted to occupy more land; an army that would be glad if a woman like Sister Beckett were to disappear.

  Her name was a reminder of the clipping folded in my pocket and, without intending it, my fingers felt for it nestling against my heart. That soft paper with the grainy picture and the illegible words had become a presence just as the shadow was a presence, the two of them fighting for space in my thoughts.

  Sister Beckett was with me during the quiet moments of our journey and I was struggling over whether or not I would be able to do what Costa wanted. There was no obvious way out of it, though, and every time I imagined myself putting a knife to the nun’s throat, I saw Sofia’s face. I was ashamed of what I was going to do, and she would have been ashamed too.

  Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone who deserved it.

  I glanced up when I heard scraping from inside, then Leonardo came into view again, pushing another of the crates. He stood and put his hands on his hips. ‘You like them?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Maybe if you make this delivery on time I can do some kind of deal for you. A good price for one of them.’ He grinned and there was something different about him. He seemed energised, and I put it down to having met the plane on time. Maybe there were consequences for him if he failed here.

  ‘I have no use for one of these.’ I told him.

  Leonardo raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve seen men like you before, Zico. I know you could find a use for one of these.’

  ‘But for a hundred?’

  Leonardo looked confused for a moment, then smiled. ‘Eighty,’ he said. ‘The last crate is for something else.’

 
‘Ammunition?’

  He raised both hands and pretended to sight down the barrel of a rifle at me. ‘They’re not water guns, Zico.’

  ‘What’re they for?’

  ‘Killing people. What else?’

  19

  It didn’t take long to load the remaining crates onto the Deus, and once it was done, Leonardo stayed on the boat, leaning across to speak to the man who had opened the cargo doors. I couldn’t hear them over the sound of the idling engines, so I took a step back and looked up at the pilot.

  Something had agitated him. From having been almost motionless, he was suddenly animated as if struck by an unexpected urgency. He grabbed the earphones, pulling them back on and twisting in his seat to shout to his partner. As soon as he did this, the man standing in the doorway looked in his direction, an expression of concern and surprise beneath the peak of his cap. There was a fraction of a second when he decided what to do, then he reacted, taking a step back and throwing the tethering rope onto the Deus. He dragged the gangplank back onto the plane with a couple of hard yanks, mock saluted Leonardo, then slammed the door just as the engines throttled hard.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked Leonardo, but all he could do was shake his head as the seaplane moved away from us.

  As soon as it was past the boat, gathering speed on the straight, flat stretch of the river, I saw what had sent them away in such a hurry.

  Coming from the right fork in the river, maybe four hundred metres away and approaching with speed, a boat was skimming across the water. It was a small craft, much smaller than the Deus, and it must have been equipped with a good motor because it was gaining quickly. The old man gunned our engine and started to turn the Deus, but there was no way we were going to outrun the boat. If the people on board intended to catch us, there was no doubt they would.

  ‘Police?’ Leonardo turned to me.

  ‘No,’ I said, my eyes going from the approaching boat to the plane that was now gaining speed. ‘Not here.’