They continued walking in silence along a trail that wound through shrub-covered hills. Indy thought about the promise he'd made in the maze to stick with Salandra. But he'd made it under duress, and in his book that meant it didn't count. Besides, he wasn't even sure who or what had solicited the promise.
Then again, he didn't want to hurt Salandra. He felt an attachment to her. Not love. No, it wasn't that. He didn't think he would ever love anyone as he had loved Deirdre, the wife he had lost three years ago in the Amazon. There would never be anyone like Deirdre. The tenderness he had shared with Salandra was no doubt born out of the baffling and frightening experiences they had stumbled upon. But the closeness they felt now wouldn't last. Besides, as Salandra freely admitted, she was from another world, and she would go back.
"You will go to Roraima with me, won't you?" she asked. "I have to find my father, and you know I need your help getting the alicorn."
"You want me to go back into that maze?" Indy exclaimed, astonished. "After what we went through to get out of it? No, thanks."
"I don't mean back that way. There are other portals that eclipse the between-world. Besides, I'd like you to meet the Gatekeepers."
"The Gatekeepers?"
"They live in your world. They are born here and live their lives here. They are in this world, but not of it. They will tell you more about the two worlds."
He was about to question her about the Gatekeepers when he remembered his strange dream in the between-world in which he had found a wall covered with Rongo-rongo script, and easily decipered it. He told Salandra about it. "It said that Easter Island was a gate between worlds. The first gate."
"That was not an ordinary dream," she responded as they continued toward the village. "What you read was true. In a sense, Easter Island is the navel of the world, because it is a gate."
"But there are many places in the world that the ancients called the navels of the world—Delphi, Stonehenge, Chaco Canyon in the Anasazi territory, to name a few," Indy countered.
"Of course. Those are all primary gates. Just like the one near Orongo on Easter Island."
"You sound like you've been there."
"I went through it when I visited you."
"I don't remember any visit."
"It was brief. You might have noticed me as a passing bird."
"Guess I didn't recognize you." He'd come to expect the unusual from Salandra, and her comment hardly surprised him.
The trail curved and the village came into view below them. It looked as if it consisted of a single street, with a few buildings on each side. Indy was wondering how long they would have to wait for a ride when he noticed a stone statue a short distance from the road.
They walked over to it. The stone figure was about six feet tall, and its face looked part human and part feline. Its eyes were those of a cat, its mouth was filled with animal teeth, and its hands were claws.
"It's like the thing I saw in the maze," Salandra said. "Cat and man."
"I'd guess it's a jaguar-man. It's a common theme in myths and legends from the Amazon to the Andes."
"What do you think it means?" she asked.
"I've heard it said that the feline god represents the conflict between forces of good and evil," Indy answered.
"Look, there are more."
They moved to the next statue. "An owl with a snake in its beak," Salandra said.
"It looks more like an eagle to me than an owl. But I guess it doesn't matter. Both of them symbolize light and power."
They walked slowly past three other statues. All of them showed anthropomorphic features. A lizard-man, a snake-being and a frog-thing. The latter two were similar to Indy's own visions in the maze.
"How do you know so much about these creatures?" Salandra asked. "Have you been here?"
"No, but I've studied the myths of the region."
"Do your books tell you that these mythical beings are inspired by the underworld?"
"Not in the sense that you mean."
"The between-world we traversed is the home of many mythical creatures. But in my world, they are myth and fact."
They walked over to the next statue. It was another jaguar-man, but this one was different. Mounted on its back was a second figure, which also possessed similar feline qualities. Its head was directly above the lower figure.
"It's known as a double," Indy said.
"Yes, I know. We have a few like this in the Great Plaza in Pincoya. They have a secret meaning."
Indy vaguely recalled the statues in the plaza. Pincoya and the interior world already seemed distant, and truly otherworldly. "I don't think anything is so secret about it. I'd say the top one is some sort of divinity or spirit guide."
"That could be," Salandra said. Then she added: "But there is more to it than that."
"Tell me about it?" Indy was annoyed by the way she talked around subjects sometimes, as if the knowledge would be too hard for him to comprehend. "Are mythical beings like these worshipped in your world?"
"The stone images aren't worshipped. Each one holds a certain meaning to us that represents part of what we are. Seeing these figures here reminds me that we are all one at heart."
"I guess you can see all kinds of things in them. They remind me of my profession, and I'll be glad to get back to it," he responded.
As they returned to the road, they saw a horse and wagon approaching from the direction they'd been walking. They waved as they recognized the old farmer. He pulled on the reins of the two horses, and the wagon rolled to a stop. "You want to go to Popayan?"
"We sure do," Indy said.
"Then you drive the wagon for me. I want to visit my son, who lives there. But I get too tired."
"I'll be happy to drive." Indy helped Salandra aboard the wagon, then took the reins as the old farmer slid over on the bench. He realized he didn't know the man's name. They'd eaten at his house without even exchanging names. He introduced himself and Salandra, and the farmer said he was Mariano.
"We were looking at the statues," Indy said. "Very interesting."
Mariano waved a hand as if they were of no importance. "There are many more near San Agustin. Hundreds. But we are not going that way."
"How long have you lived on the mountain?" Indy asked as they rode off.
"Seventy-eight years. I was born on the mountain. I have grown coffee all of my life."
Neither Indy nor Salandra had said anything about the Indian burial cave they'd passed through as they'd left the maze. Indy wondered what the old man knew about it. "Did you know there is a cave up there?"
"I don't go up there, not for many, many years. Ghosts live up there."
"I'm glad you didn't think that we were ghosts," Indy said.
Mariano laughed. "You two are foreign to me, and strange, but you are not ghosts. They never come out during the day. The sun burns their eyes."
"Have you seen these ghosts?" Salandra asked, curiously.
"Three times in my life I have heard their horrible cries. One time I came face to face with a ghost. I thought it was a man who was in need of help. I tried to carry him down the mountain, but he died and crumbled like he was made of old paper. I ran away, and when I came back with others, there was nothing left of him. From that day, I have never gone back up there."
What Mariano was saying sounded similar to Salandra's explanation of what happened to those who were venturing into the wrong world deprived of nalca. "I thought ghosts were already dead," Indy remarked.
"These ghosts were all dying. That's what it sounded like. These mountains are filled with memories of the ancient ones who lived here."
Hours passed. They drove by sugar cane plantations and descended into a peaceful valley shrouded in palms, bamboo, and agave. At sunset, the city came into view below them, a welcome sign beneath a sky that had faded to pink, orange, and pale green. "Popayan," Mariano announced.
The temperature was mild, which meant that the valley was a few thousand feet above sea
level. They were soon passing bell towers, domes and church spires, plazas and fountains amid whitewashed stucco houses with colorful flowers blooming above patio walls. In the waning light, Indy thought he could be in Spain. When they finally reached the railroad station, they said farewell to the old farmer.
Indy hadn't told Salandra his plans yet, and he wasn't exactly sure what she had in mind. They walked into the open-sided station and Indy studied the schedule, which was posted on a tattered piece of paper next to the ticket window, To his dismay, he found that the train connected with Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast, rather than Cartagena. Now he'd probably have to take a boat to Cartagena before he could catch a ship going to the States.
He turned to Salandra, who was eyeing him curiously. "Um, I'm going to Santa Marta. You can come with me if you like," he said.
She smiled. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten me. Santa Marta is our destination. It's right where we want to go."
"It is?" He didn't like the sound of that. He reached into his boot and pulled out his money, then peered into the barred window. "When's the train leave for Santa Marta?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"We missed it?"
"No. It's late. It comes any time now "
Indy bought two tickets, and they moved out onto the platform.
"From Santa Marta, it's a five-day walk into the mountains to the Gatekeepers," Salandra explained. "The mountains are very close to the ocean. You'll see. It's a beautiful walk, too."
Indy was about to tell her he'd never wanted to go to her world in the first place, and he wasn't planning on going back. But at that moment a breeze sprang up, and a cloud of dust swirled around them on the platform. He shielded his face with his arm and backed away from the pesky dust devil.
"Are you okay?" Salandra looked as if the dust hadn't touched her.
"Salandra, I don't think..."
A whistle blew as the train chugged into the station, and his words were drowned out.
"What did you say?" she shouted.
He shook his head. "Nothing." He'd tell her when they were settled in their seats and on their way.
16
Breakdown
September 1929
Santa Marta, Colombia
Salandra leaned her head against Indy's shoulder as the train chugged out of the station. Indy took her hand as he tried to think of a way to tell her his plans. But within seconds, she was sleeping. So much for that. He'd wait until morning, he told himself, and closed his eyes. His sleep was restless, and marred by a nightmarish train chasing him down the track. Then the engine transformed into the head of a monstrous snake and swallowed him. He was trapped inside it, and the interior of the train looked suspiciously like the maze. Then the huge frog-thing hovered inches in front of his face and repeated its message over and over: You will spend eternity here unless you keep your promise. Eternity... Eternity.
When the train rolled into Santa Marta at eight-thirty the next morning, Indy was more than ready to get off. But Salandra was still asleep. "Wake up. We're here." He was amazed that she could sleep so soundly. He'd been awake since the first light.
Her eyelids barely opened and she moaned softly. "I'm not feeling well. The nalca. Please."
Indy found the pouch nestled under Salandra's arm. She took a sip, then held up a hand. "Close the top."
"There's plenty here," Indy said. "Why don't you take more?"
"I'm saving it. You'll need it again when we go back."
"Yeah. There's been something I've been meaning to tell you about that. You know—"
The conductor loomed in front of them and asked to check their tickets. He briefly examined theni, then moved on.
"Can you help me get up?" Salandra asked. "I feel weak."
He guided her into the aisle, but he didn't want to let the matter of their plans slip away again. "As I was saying. I just think that—"
"Ouch!" A huge suitcase slammed into his lower back. Indy glared at the double-chinned woman as she pushed past them. "Senora, you oughta get a horn for that thing."
Indy helped Salandra step down from the train. She seemed wobbly, and he steadied her. "You okay?"
Her nod was barely perceptible. She looked glassy-eyed, but Indy was determined to say what was on his mind. "About this trip. I was thinking that—"
"Are you from the States?"
Indy turned to see a kid, who looked about fourteen. His black hair was thick and unkempt. His skin was brown, and his dark eyes had a sparkle in them. "What's it to you?"
"I will be your guide," he said in heavily accented English. "I can show you the city and take you to see the hacienda of San Pedro Alejandrino. It's where Simon Bolivar died. I can give you a very good price for a tour."
Aggressive kid. "Not now."
Salandra's legs gave out, and she collapsed. Indy grabbed her around the waist. "I don't think we're going anywhere except to a hotel."
"Let me help," the kid said. He moved around to the other side of Salandra and draped her arm over his shoulder. But she was too tall for him to do any good.
"I'll handle the lady," Indy said. "Just lead us to a hotel."
"Si, senor. My name is Ricardo. Please, follow me. I will get you a room, and a doctor to take care of the lady."
"No doctor," Salandra whispered.
"Just the room, Ricardo."
Indy and Salandra hobbled through the station and out to the street. Ricardo hailed a taxi, a vintage Model T, and they climbed aboard. It was a small village, but an ancient one, the first founded in the Americas. It had been an isolated outpost for the Spanish in the sixteenth century, and today, in 1929, it still seemed relatively isolated.
The main plaza was crisscrossed with walkways, and interspersed throughout the expanse were well-tended plots of flowers and shrubbery. A colonial cathedral was situated on one side, and the hotel was across from it. Indy thanked the driver, and out of curiosity asked where he got spare parts when his taxi broke down.
"From the other broken ones," he answered.
"Right this way," Ricardo said. "You will like it here. The best hotel in Santa Marta."
Its dusky stone walls gave the hotel an ominous look, but once they were inside, the morning sun streamed through the high windows into the quaint lobby of polished woodwork and colonial antiques, creating a homey, comfortable feeling.
Salandra had recovered enough to walk on her own, but as soon as they reached the second-floor room, she eased onto one of the single beds. "Are you going to be all right?" Indy asked.
"It's going to take me a couple of days to adjust to your world."
My world, Indy thought. It sounded as if she was conferring ownership on him. He didn't know what to think of Salandra and her origin anymore. "I thought you were a traveler. How come you're having so much trouble?"
"I didn't have time to prepare for the change." Her voice was soft, weak.
"How do you prepare?"
"Change of diet. Small quantities of nalca for several days. I don't remember ever feeling this sick. But I'm not as sick as you were on the ship."
"How sick was that?"
"You were ill for more than two weeks. You almost died."
The time factor again. He didn't think he'd ever understand what had happened, and the last thing he wanted to do was repeat the experience. He walked to the window and gazed over the plaza. "Salandra, listen. I've been trying to tell you that I'm not going back with you. I'm going home."
When there was no response, he turned. She was fast asleep again.
If ever there was a pirate's hangout, this place was it, Indy thought as he walked along the beachfront the next morning in search of a boat to Cartagena. Suspicious characters abounded, and he seemed to fit right in with his whip and fedora. No one paid him any heed.
My world, he thought, recalling Salandra's words. While she'd slept yesterday, he'd written a long letter to Brody, detailing what had happened to him. He'd probably be home before the letter got to Brod
y, but he'd wanted to write down his recollections while they were still fresh in his mind. Already, some memories were indistinct, blurred, shadowy, and he was confused about the sequence of events. He wasn't even sure how much of it had been a dream, and how much of it had actually happened.
Ricardo had been waiting in the hotel lobby, and accompanied Indy to the post office, then the telegram office where he wired Brody for money. Once Indy had made his plans for getting to Cartagena, he'd tell Salandra he was leaving as soon as the money arrived. She seemed much better this morning, but still hadn't been ready to leave the room.
A massive, craggy rock jutted out of the ocean a quarter mile offshore, and a small island was barely visible in the distance. Maybe someday this idyllic Caribbean coast, with its white sands and tranquil aqua waters, would attract throngs of foreign visitors. But the concept of tourism definitely hadn't arrived here yet.
Indy and Ricardo reached a harbor with a stone jetty. Several fishing boats were docked on a pier. Indy asked about a ride to Cartagena, but none of the fishermen was any help.
"Indy!" Ricardo called out as he hurried over to him. "I've found the captain of a freighter. It's not such a good boat, but he goes back and forth with supplies." He led Indy across a street and into a waterfront tavern. The place was dark, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. A crusty, bearded man, who looked as if he'd been drinking since sunrise, hovered over the bar, drink in hand.
"My friend here would like to go to Cartagena," the kid explained.
The bleary-eyed captain turned to Indy. "Come back in a week or so. I'll be ready to leave. But I'm going to need some money in advance."
"I'll think about it," Indy said.
"Don't think too long," the drunk called out after him.
"I'd be better off walking," Indy said to Ricardo as they left the tavern. He'd try again later.
"Senor Indy, I have a question," Ricardo asked as they headed back up the beach, "Why did you say that only you want to go to Cartagena? Is your lady friend staying here?"
Indiana Jones and the Interior World Page 13