by Dan Smith
And when we were both naked she gripped my shoulders and lay back, opening her legs, pulling me on top of her, desperate to feel something other than what she had felt since leaving Mina dos Santos.
‘Tell me you love me,’ she said between breaths. Tell me you love me,’
So I told her.
I told her and I told her.
Afterwards, we lay together in a tangle of limbs, and I stroked Daniella’s hair until her breathing deepened.
My thoughts returned to the last conversation I’d had with Sister Beckett. By opening my eyes to a truth my mind had already been trying to understand, perhaps she might be able to save my life as I had been unable to save hers.
I could not trust Costa, but nor could I kill him. He had made it clear that such an event would have consequences. I would have to find another way to deal with him. And as I watched Daniella sleep, the seed of an idea began to take hold in my mind.
57
When dawn touched the sky, I turned the engine over and headed out onto the water. Daniella stirred, hearing the Daus’s heartbeat. She rubbed her eyes and looked about, then got to her feet and hugged the sheet around her. She came to the wheelhouse to sit beside me, and for a while, didn’t speak.
The Deus passed over the calm water as the day opened before us, the sun rising and the world coming to life.
‘Did you sleep?’ Daniella’s first words.
‘Not really.’
She nodded, still not looking at me.
‘You OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ She edged closer to me, putting her head on my shoulder. ‘Yes.’
As we travelled east on the River of Deaths, we kept watch for any sign of being followed, but there was none. We didn’t see any other boats.
Coming closer to the spot where the Estrella had grounded, I told Daniella she needed to get dressed, so she threw off the sheet and went to the back of the boat. She found her skirt and vest, and pulled them on, kicking Raul’s jeans and shirt into the store.
We rounded the bend in the river and spotted the Estrella in the distance, still marooned. ‘There they are. The sand didn’t shift,’ I said. ‘Good.’
Daniella looked up at the boat in the distance, a streak of white, reflecting the sun. ‘Why is it good? If it shifted, they might have got away.’
I slowed the engine. ‘I have to leave you now, Daniella. You have to get off the boat. I want you to stay with Santiago and Matt.’
‘What? Why?’
I chose my words, wondering how I was going to tell her, but knowing I had to. One way or another, she deserved to know everything and, if anything happened to me, she might need to know. ‘Remember what I told you about Costa? About the money?’
‘I shouldn’t have said it,’ She jumped in. ‘I was angry. I shouldn’t have made ... shouldn’t have suggested—’
‘It’s not that.’ I put a hand on her cheek, making her look at me. This isn’t about what you said, this is about what Costa is going to do.’
She creased her brow, not understanding.
I swept the hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear and thought about how much I loved her, how much I admired her now, even more than ever. There was something between us that few lovers ever have – a bond of life and a shared experience of death.
‘Sister Beckett said something to me last night,’ I said, ‘and I can’t believe I was so stupid. If I had half your brains ...’
Daniella shook her head.
‘I don’t think he was ever going to pay me. What he asked me to do ... his people won’t want to leave a trace. You, the old man, me, we all lead back to what he asked me to do.’
‘But you didn’t do it,’ she said. ‘You didn’t do it, Zico, everything’s going to be OK. You said so.’
‘No, I didn’t do it, but it was still done. And whether it was done or not, I don’t think it would matter. There might be people waiting for me, Daniella. Waiting for us. Costa will want to bury his secret with me. Hide it deep.’
‘So why did you listen to him? Why did you let him ask you to—’
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ I said. ‘And maybe I was blinded by the money. I thought we could use it for ...’
‘I know what you wanted it for. I understand.’
‘But we don’t need it; I can see that now, Daniella. We’ll manage another way.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked.
I shook my head, looking at the Estrella. ‘I’m not sure. But I have to go to Raul and Carolina and you can’t come back to Piratinga. Not yet. Costa will already know you came with me, it’s not safe for you there.’
We were closer to the Estrella now, and Santiago had heard our engine. He was coming on to the deck to stand with his back to the sun.
‘Let me come with you,’ Daniella said. ‘I can help. Like I did last night.’
‘No. Santiago and Matt will take care of you. And if anyone follows from the mine, you just tell them I passed by without helping. You don’t know me.’
‘You still think someone might come after us?’
I looked back at the river and shrugged. ‘Maybe Leonardo mentioned the name of the boat, I don’t know, but those guns were worth something and if they had plans for them ...’I took a deep breath. ‘I just don’t know, Daniella, but I need you to stay here with Matt and Santiago. Will you do that for me? Please?’
Daniella watched me for a long time before nodding.
‘I’ll send someone to help you get off the sand,’ I said. ‘To pull the Estrella out.’
‘Let me come.’
‘You’ll be safer here.’
‘I’ll be safer with you.’
I remembered the last time she had said that – when we went ashore at Mina dos Santos. She had been wrong that time, and she might be wrong this time too. I couldn’t take that risk.
‘Can you forgive me?’ I asked.
‘For what?’
‘For all of this.’
‘Of course,’ she said.
When we were close enough to the other boat, Daniella climbed down and let me row her out to the Estrella.
I told Santiago I had business in town, and that I would send help as soon as possible. He and Matt knew not to ask any questions.
Daniella held me tight and kissed me before I left, and once I was back on the Deus, I started the engine and raised a hand to her, then settled behind the wheel and guided the boat east along the river.
As I rounded the bend, Daniella was at the stern of the Estrella, watching me disappear from sight.
I tried not to think that I might never see her again.
58
Several hours into the morning and the sun was already scorching the land. Any sign of last night’s storm was long gone and the cloudless sky gave no protection. The Deus chugged along the River of Deaths with me behind the wheel willing it to go faster. The current was flowing in my favour, so the journey was quicker in this direction, but it still seemed like an eternity before I reached the Araguaia and turned north towards Piratinga.
The creeping sense of dread that had settled in my stomach stirred into life. For these past few hours, alone on the river, I had thought of nothing but Daniella and the old man. I had led them into danger and my regret was dampened only by my fear for them.
I knew I couldn’t take the Deus into town because Costa would have people watching. He would know about it, the moment I arrived. I also suspected that whoever had hired Leonardo – either the seller or the buyer of the weapons – would be planning their next course of action. I had to assume that they would know the name of this boat; perhaps they would even know my name.
There was nothing I could do if they knew who I was, but there was something I could do to prevent them from finding the boat and tracing it to the old man.
The Deus e o Diabo would have to disappear.
Just before noon, the sun arcing towards its highest point, I came to the final bend in the river before Piratin
ga. The river was more than five hundred metres wide here and at least a hundred metres deep. On both sides, the beach was receding beneath the murky waters as the season swelled the course. Soon the levels would reach the tops of the mudbanks and flood into the trees, washing through the forest floor.
It was the perfect resting place for the boat that had served the old man so well for so many years.
I took the Deus into the centre of the Araguaia and cut the engine. The need for urgency that had gripped me earlier had subsided now that I was so close to Piratinga. Desperate though I was to check on the old man, I was also afraid of knowing what had happened to him.
I threw the anchor overboard and sat for a while in the silence of the day, summoning the courage to move. The world seemed to be at peace, but the sense of dread grew heavier in me as I contemplated what I was going to do. I felt cold, despite the heat of the sun. When I held my hands out in front of me, my fingers trembled.
Leaning back, I turned my face to the sky and spoke a quiet prayer to whoever or whatever might be listening. I didn’t know if there was a god watching me or if he would even care about me, but I asked him to make everything all right. I would cast away the shadow and live my life in the light if I could have Daniella and Raul’s lives in return.
With a deep breath, I pushed myself up from the seat behind the wheel and went to the stern to drop the smaller boat into the water. I left one rope, preventing it from floating away, and it drifted in the current, lazily bumping the hull of the Deus.
A flock of red macaws passed by, with a swish of feathers and a shrill screech as they went. I turned to watch them glide over the forest in the distance and waited until they were tiny specks of black and then nothing, as if it were important for me to see them disappear from view.
When the birds were gone, I unfastened the first of the fuel barrels. It was only half full, but shuffling it from the stern to the main deck was difficult on my own, and I sweated hard under the sun. As soon as there was enough room, I tipped the barrel onto its side and rolled it towards the wheelhouse where I unscrewed the cap and let the diesel pour out and wash over the planking.
It darkened the boards, soaking into the dry wood and running over them, draining between the gaps. It caught the sun and glistened in a rainbow of colours as the fumes shimmered in the heat.
The second barrel was heavier and took longer to move but I persevered, manhandling it to the deck and spilling its contents across the Deus, letting the fuel soak into the empty rifle cases. When I was done, the deck was awash with fuel and the air was thick with its smell.
With a heavy heart, I climbed over the gunwale and dropped into the smaller boat. I untied the rope that secured it to the Deus, then slid opened the box of matches I had taken from the wheelhouse. I lit one and used it to light the others, watched them flare in a burst of sweet-smelling phosphorous. The flame grew, twisting around the box, curling towards my fingers.
‘Sorry, old man,’ I said, then flicked the matches up into the Deus.
The fuel caught immediately, igniting with a hollow whoosh and a sudden rush of heat. I pushed the smaller vessel away into the river as the fire sucked the oxygen from around me, drawing it in to feed itself. Within seconds, the canvas coverings were ablaze and black smoke washed around the Deus like a demon. Sparks jumped as the wood took hold and began to burn. The fire danced around the boat, reaching out to every part of it, flickering and playing as it consumed my friend’s livelihood.
By the time I was a hundred metres away from her, the Deus was alight from bow to stern. The canvas was gone, pieces of it still spiralling into the sky, glowing, smouldering. The scraps disintegrated and broke into tiny, flickering fireflies of cinders that spun in the heat and the smoke. The bow, which had been my lookout perch on so many journeys with the old man, split with a loud crack in the intensity of the inferno. Her boards popped and the planking sprung from its fixings. The tyres burned black and stinking.
Further away still, the third fuel barrel ignited. There was no loud bang or violent destruction of the boat, though. Instead, a rush of flame erupted from the stern, as if the cap had popped from the drum and the diesel had squirted up under immense pressure. The curling ball of yellow and orange rolled skywards, chased by a rising pillar of fire, up and up until it was ten metres tall. It burned bright for a few seconds, but as it rose, the flame darkened at the edges, shifting and thickening once the fuel had burned away, and was engulfed in dense black clouds.
With her anchor line burned through, the Deus began to drift downriver, towards Piratinga, but she would sink and die long before she reached the town.
Close to the bank, I paddled towards the place where the trees gave way to the sandy beaches, and I watched, unable to tear my eyes from what I had done. Seeing the boat burn filled me with an awful sense of finality and the aching need for reassurance. I hoped I had done the right thing.
The Deus released a pillar of heavy, terrible smoke into the blue sky as she washed further downriver, then she listed and began to take on water.
Within a few minutes she sank and disappeared, as if she had never existed.
Once I was ashore, I shouldered my pack and abandoned the tin boat, trudging across the sand towards the path leading into town. Walking on the sand was hard, and the sun was cruel that day. I was thirsty and tired and dirty. Sweat poured from my brow and soaked my shirt. I carried a heavy burden too, in my thoughts – Sister Beckett, Kássia, the Deus – but I tried to push them away. I had to keep my head clear and think about Daniella, Carolina and the old man. I was here to keep them safe. I could not help the dead but perhaps I could do something for the living. That was all I had to do.
All I had to think about.
As I came into town, I headed along the shore, passing the houses and bars, scanning the riverside, looking for anyone watching the river. Costa’s people would have seen the smoke in the distance, but they would have had no reason to think it had anything to do with the Deus. They would be expecting me to bring the boat into town, so that was what they would be looking for.
I hoped that Sister Beckett was wrong about Costa. I entertained the possibility that he might pay me for the nun’s death and leave me to live in peace on the promised piece of land, but I knew there was no chance of that. I wasn’t even sure I would want it to be that way. I couldn’t live in a place that had been bought with Sister Beckett’s blood. Such a place would be cursed.
I slipped unnoticed past Ernesto’s bar, feeling the urgency grow to an almost unbearable level. I was close to the old man’s place now. I was within reach. Raul was just a short distance away. I wanted to break into a run, to get to the house as quickly as possible, but I had to stay calm. I had to control myself.
My heart quickened and my mind raced. My stomach crawled like the forest insects had swarmed inside me.
I was almost there.
Then I saw them. Two men waiting on the shore.
They were just sitting and looking out at the river. Luis and Wilson. The two men who had begun all this just a few days ago when they came to my apartment. The men who had murdered Antonio and had their lives promised to me by Costa.
I paused and watched them sitting close to Raul’s place, waiting in almost the exact spot where the vultures had been the day Costa threatened my friends. I remembered coming back from Ernesto’s and laughing when the old man threw rocks at the ugly bird that had perched on the roof.
I kept my eyes on Luis and Wilson as I slipped past behind them, one hand on my pistol, and went straight to Raul’s house. Once I was out of sight of the beach, obscured by the building, I knocked on the door.
Somewhere inside, Rocky barked, but my heart thumped and there was a washing, swirling noise in my ears. It wasn’t for fear of the men watching the river, it was because I was nervous about what I might discover right now. I needed to know if the old man was all right. I needed to see him standing in front of me, strong and fit.
I knoc
ked a second time, telling myself I always had to knock more than once. Carolina never came straight away.
When I raised my fist to knock a third time, the door opened.
59
‘Zico,’ said Carolina. ‘Thank God it’s you.’
Rocky came out to greet me, pressing against me and thumping her tail on my legs.
‘Where’s Raul?’ I went in, ignoring the dog, looking around. ‘Is he all right? I need to talk to him.’ I stepped past Carolina, took two paces into the house and stopped.
Their place wasn’t much. One main room right here behind the front door, with a low table in the centre and a couple of soft chairs and a sofa. To the far side, there was another table with four chairs where we had eaten together a few nights ago. There was a kitchen and a bedroom, both doors leading off this one room.
It was dark in there, that was the first thing I noticed. The shutters were closed and I was surprised I hadn’t spotted that from outside. I had been too wrapped up in watching the watchmen.
The table, which would normally have at least two cups and a flask of coffee on its glass surface, was clear.
‘Carolina?’ I turned to look at her.
She had closed the door behind her, guiding it back rather than letting it swing on its hinge and slam in its frame.
‘Where is he?’ But I knew. The pain of his loss was already growing in me. It was spreading from muscle to muscle, sinking into my soul and invading every part of me.
Carolina stayed where she was, her face almost hidden in the shadow created by the fingers of sunlight creeping through the shutters. I could hardly see her expression, but I saw her shake her head. She opened her mouth but closed it again as if she didn’t know what to say.
I went to her and raised both my arms, hesitated, not knowing quite what to do. ‘When?’ I asked her. The word came out as a whisper. It felt wrong on my lips, as if someone else had spoken it.