by PJ Skinner
‘I’ll pray for them.’ Marta sniffled. She forced a weak smile and went back to the kitchen to help Gloria wash up.
Marta was as deep as a puddle. Nothing bothered her for long. She felt absolved of all blame. Soon, she was applying thick coats of mascara, borrowed from Gloria, to her bare lashes.
Mike knew that he should ring Edward and tell him what was happening. But like many men who depended on the good grace of their sponsors for a living, he did not want to give Edward an excuse to call off the treasure hunt. He did not consider himself a dishonest man, but Mike was economical with the truth at the best of times. Very generous with good news, spreading it thick and fast, he always parcelled out bad news in small portions. He had the entrepreneur’s faith that his schemes would all turn out alright in the end. It was as if uttering bad news out loud made it real. Until then, it was only one of many possibilities. He would wait a couple of days before he rang Edward, just in case everything was alright after all.
***
Sanchez had gone straight home to find Agatha in a state of distress, as he had not been out all night for a number of years. She had feared that some horrible fate had befallen him. He had long ceased to seek comfort for the death of his wife from cancer in the arms of certain courtesans in Calderon. He calmed her fears and asked her to make his favourite lunch. She bustled off, pleased with this return to normality. Then Sanchez rang Segundo’s number from memory. The man answered straight away.
‘Hello, who is calling?’ he asked.
‘It’s me, Hernan Sanchez. I have another favour to ask of you. It will be very well rewarded.’
‘Boss, of course. I am always at your service. What can I do for you this time?’
‘There has been a change in plans, Segundo. I want you to travel to San Martin tonight and take the train to San Lorenzo tomorrow morning. From there, you should travel to Riccuarte where you will try and locate our Mr Malvado before he does any more harm. I believe he will be travelling in the company of a certain Don Moises, an Indian from upriver. Wilson believes, incorrectly I understand, that the expedition is a treasure hunt. I need you to find him as soon as you can. I will provide funds from the usual source. Ask for as much as you need. Any questions?’
‘What should I do when I find him, Señor Sanchez?’
‘You’ll think of something, Segundo. I’ll leave it to your good judgement. I hear that he’s a dead man walking in Calderon. El Duro has a contract out on him if he fails to pay a certain debt. Perhaps we could gain some advantage if we deliver Wilson to him. I’ve always thought that an alliance with El Duro could be highly favourable for our businesses.’
‘I hear you, boss. I won’t be able to send you any news but you can rest assured that when it comes, it will be good.’
‘Thank you, Segundo. I’m grateful to have such a man on my side.’
‘You do me a great honour by confiding in me, boss. I won’t let you down.’
Sanchez hung up the telephone. Then he picked it up again to call his intermediary about giving money to Segundo. There was never any direct contact between the men. It was a matter of principal for Sanchez that he did not get his hands dirty in these matters.
He could smell his lunch being cooked in the kitchen. This galvanised him into taking a quick shower and putting on some fresh clothes. He was sure that he would be taking an extended afternoon nap, so he told Agatha that he was not to be disturbed after lunch. He then sat down to enjoy his potato soup.
***
The train wended its painfully slow way through the countryside, inducing Sam into a torpor. She glanced over at Wilson and Alfredo and discovered that they had both fallen asleep. Alfredo’s head had fallen onto Wilson’s shoulder. She managed to get her camera out of her rucksack and took a photograph of the sleeping beauties. It cheered her up a bit and she started to enjoy the trip again.
The large palm leaves swished over the roof of the train, depositing all sorts of bizarre and interesting insects in Sam’s lap. Ever the scientist, she photographed them all before flicking them back out of the window with her pencil. At one of the stops, she bought a big bag of banana crisps, which she shared with the cheerful woman beside her. Sam and her neighbour made a dash for the nearest bush when the train finally pulled into a siding to let the oncoming train pass. They took turns to shoo away nosey villagers.
Her neighbour got off a couple of stops later. Sam bought some sweet fried plantain with bits of over-cooked pork, which she ate with relish. She always felt better after having something to eat. By the time they pulled into San Lorenzo, she was very cheerful, unlike her travelling companions, who were dehydrated and grumpy.
Sam sat with the supplies while Alfredo and Wilson went to buy some refreshments and to commandeer a pickup truck. By the time they got back with the truck, Sam was surrounded by a large group of children, who sucked boiled sweets and giggled. Wilson shooed them all away and made sure he got to ride up front in the truck by getting in and staying there, while Sam and Alfredo loaded the supplies into the back. Alfredo had got hold of an old foam mattress, which he folded up against the cabin and floor of the truck.
‘Madam, your throne awaits,’ he said, hopping up into the back and offering Sam his hand.
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ said Sam, climbing over the piled up boxes and sitting down heavily on the improvised sofa.
Alfredo sat down next to her and gave her one of his big smiles. Sam realised that he was in his element. She had never seen him look so content.
‘We’re really going to do it, Sam. We’re going to find the lost treasure of the Incas,’ said Alfredo.
The truck started for Riccuarte, throwing them both in the air and making them giggle like small children. Alfredo’s good humour and the two helpings of banana, which were both sweet and savoury, made Sam feel like a new woman. She dismissed the snub of the previous evening as just two men looking for an excuse to get drunk together and to do some bonding. She felt protected from Wilson by the merry presence of Alfredo. They were on a real adventure and the fun was just starting.
They finally pulled into Riccuarte in the late afternoon and were welcomed by Don Moises, who showed them to a long house with three rooms. Sam had her own room at one end of the house, with a primitive bed strategically placed to avoid any leaks from the ratty looking palm-leaf roof. Wilson and Alfredo shared the other bedroom. The supplies were stored in the middle room.
Just after darkness fell, Dona Elodea came to the house with their supper. No one spoke as they ate their fill of the delicious crispy fish with forkfuls of fluffy rice. Wilson, muttering something about organising things for the morning, walked off down the street immediately afterwards, leaving Sam and Alfredo to clear up.
‘He appears to think he’s coming with us,’ said Sam after Wilson left.
‘Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you?’ asked Alfredo. ‘I decided that we might need him if we find the treasure.’
Sam was nonplussed. ‘But didn’t Mike say that Wilson should only come as far as Riccuarte?’
‘That was the original plan, yes, but I decided to change it. Mike put me in charge,’ said Alfredo in a way that challenged Sam to disagree.
Sam took a deep breath. She would go with the flow. After all, Wilson would never attack her now that Alfredo was on the trip. She suspected that Don Moises might also have something to say on the subject. She was determined to enjoy the biggest adventure of her life and not to let Wilson spoil it.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You’re the boss. I’m going to bed now. See you at the crack of dawn.’
***
Wilson was not ready for bed. He needed a drink but he had already started on his emergency bottle and he had to save the rest for the trip. He walked through the village looking for the inevitable cantina. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to see Don Moises, who was clutching a bottle of cheap rum and a couple of glasses. Wilson was not at all fazed by the sudden appearance of alcohol just when he was feeling desper
ate. He was as superstitious as most of his countrymen and a great believer in fate.
‘Good evening, Wilson,’ said Don Moises. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’
‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ said Wilson. ‘Where can we sit?’
‘I know just the place. Follow me.’
Don Moises led Wilson to an abandoned house with a raised porch, overlooking the river. There were two wooden chairs on the porch and a log table. The two men climbed the rickety stairs and sat down in the chairs. Wilson’s chair creaked and threatened to collapse but ultimately it held up. Don Moises poured them both a generous helping of rum.
‘Your very good health,’ he said, handing Wilson the glass.
Wilson took the glass and drank like a man rescued from the desert. Don Moises noticed and refilled Wilson’s glass without comment. He waited for the alcohol to take effect, watching the river glint in the moonlight. It was dark on the porch and Wilson was well camouflaged in his black clothes, so much so that when he eventually spoke, Don Moises was startled by his teeth appearing in the gloom like disembodied dentures.
‘You’re a man of the world,’ said Wilson. ‘Have you ever heard of the lost treasure of the Incas?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘Aren’t you surprized that we’re back so soon after our last trip?’
Don Moises grunted in a noncommittal way.
‘Has Alfredo told you why we’re here?’
‘He said something about an Inca ruin that Sam found last time she was here.’
‘Ha! That girl couldn’t find her own arse. I don’t know why we have to have useless women hanging around when this is men’s work. They’re all trollops. Didn’t you see the way she led me on last time she was here? She’s nothing more than a prick tease. I bet she slept with her professors at university to get her degree.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. I saw her. They’re all the same,’ said Don Moises.
There was a loud creaking sound as Wilson threw himself back in his chair and drained his glass. He leaned forward and thrust the glass out to be refilled, which it was. Don Moises waited. Wilson gulped down most of the rum. From the way he was sighing and snorting, it was obvious that Wilson was considering whether or not to confide in him.
Wilson was in a quandary. He needed support for his plan but he was not sure if Don Moises would back him up. Perhaps it was too early to find out. He considered himself utterly superior to the man sitting opposite him and thought that, like all humble people, Don Moises would accept the orders of an educated man with a degree without question. He had thrown in the comment about Sam to gauge his support. The fact that Don Moises had not defended Sam, but had recognised her for what she was, encouraged him to believe that he was ripe for conversion to the Wilson Malvado philosophy of life.
‘It’s not just her,’ he said. ‘That Alfredo is a typical example of a spoilt rich brat who belongs to those few families that rape our country and take everything for themselves. Don’t you agree?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Don Moises. ‘He makes me feel sick. Those rich kids are all the same. Over-privileged and under-educated. Disgusting.’
Wilson warmed to his theme.
‘It’s the rich who get richer, while we labour for them. It’s time we stood up for ourselves.’
‘Ah, but how do we do that?’ asked Don Moises. ‘They have all the power.’
There was a silence as the glasses were filled again by the little mestizo. Both men sat contemplating the river. Wilson emptied his glass again and sat forward, moving his chair so that his knees almost touched those of Don Moises. He looked him straight in the eye.
‘I have a plan,’ he said.
XV
That night, the rain was torrential. It thundered down on the tin roof of their house. Through the window, Sam could see lightning piercing the tree tops and illuminating the dark foliage. It seemed like an omen of some sort. But Sam was not superstitious and had very good memories of a particular thunderstorm spent with a French exchange student at university before she met Simon. To distract herself, she lay in bed, letting her mind roam back to those passionate nights. What was his name, anyway? Jules. That was it. Jules with the sexy French accent and cheeky smile. Sam had not even considered turning him down when he propositioned her out of the blue in the pub one night. He was not exactly deep but he was sincere in his passion and Sam spent a few torrid weeks under the sheets with him. She smiled to herself as the thunder cracked outside and the rain poured off the roofs.
Don Moises, who had been watching over her in case Wilson got any new ideas in his drunken state, leant on the doorway to her room. He wondered what on earth she was thinking about that made her smile and sigh like that. Soon, she was really asleep. He made sure that everyone else was asleep, too, before he curled up like a dog on a blanket outside her door and fell asleep himself.
The next morning, they were up before dawn. Don Moises had already slipped away to the riverbank to supervise the packing of the canoe. It was pitch black inside the house. Sam had trouble finding her things in the gloom generated by the single candle in her room. She cautiously felt around for her penknife, which she had heard fall off her bed during the night, using her feet in case there were any millipedes or scorpions waiting to give her a nasty nip.
Wilson and Alfredo also shuffled about noisily doing similar explorations in ‘brail’ around their room. Sam found a small packet of peanuts in her rucksack and ate them to prevent her losing them again. The salty taste made her even more hungry and thirsty than she had been before. She tried to rationalise her feelings of excitement but found no reason to deny them. She wondered how many of her peers were about to embark on a real-life treasure hunt. She knew the answer.
Alfredo poked his head around the door.
‘Are you ready, Sam?’ he asked.
‘More than ready.’ she answered, smiling brightly.
Alfredo’s answering smile told her everything she needed to know about his mood. It seemed to fill the room and to illuminate the dark corners where the scorpions had gone to hide. He handed her a couple of finger-sized bananas.
‘Breakfast,’ he said. Then he was gone again.
Sam sat on the edge of her hard bed and peeled one of the bananas. She bit into it and enjoyed the slightly harder, sweeter taste of the lady’s finger species. There were twenty-four species of banana in Sierramar. Sam had decided that she loved them all. Even the bland cooking bananas could be pounded into flour that made exquisite, fluffy, fried drop scones with melted cheese in the middle. She was still sitting there musing on the wonders of the banana when Wilson shouted at her from the front door.
‘Are you coming or not, gringa?’
She did not dignify his question with an answer. Instead, she flipped her rucksack onto her shoulder and sauntered out of the door at her own pace. She grinned at Alfredo, who was rolling his eyes. This was going to be fun.
***
At about the same time, Segundo was braving the chill air at the train station. He had bought his ticket with ease, the crowd parting at his presence, which could be very intimidating. Being a mestizo, Segundo was not a tall man but he was immensely strong with taut muscles that almost quivered with expectation. His face was decorated with the scars of former battles, including one that dropped the left side of his lips downward, giving him a sinister appearance. Some women made the sign of the cross as he walked past them. The locals were very superstitious and Segundo looked as if he might be evil.
Segundo was well aware of the effect he had on these superstitious people. He used it to good effect when he wished to get information out of someone. Very rarely did he have to resort to torture, as had been necessary in the case of Jose Falconi. Segundo was wary of meeting the man who had frightened Falconi into silence. He had picked up lots of gossip about Wilson in the brothels. Wilson seemed to like punching women and generally avoided confrontations with men. But Segundo would be cautious anyway to
avoid any unpleasantness.
The train pulled into the station. Segundo climbed aboard and sat in a window seat. A small boy clambered up beside him. He was young enough to be without fear. He reached out and gently touched Segundo’s damaged face.
‘Did you fall down?’ asked the boy.
Segundo gazed with twinkling eyes at this little warrior.
‘I did,’ he said. ‘I fell off a horse,’
The boy’s mother, who was wrestling with two other small children, grabbed him roughly when she heard him talk to Segundo.
‘How could you be so rude?’ she asked him. ‘You apologise to the gentleman immediately.’
Segundo, who was not used to being addressed as a gentleman, was momentarily startled. The small boy’s eyes filled will tears. His bottom lip quivered.
‘Don’t you worry, madam. He was only being curious.’
He searched in his pocket for sweets and found willing recipients for several of them, despite them being covered in fluff. He let the little boy sit on his lap and look out of the window as they cut through the trees and headed for the coast.
***
In Riccuarte, Sam picked her way down to a secluded spot to have an emergency bathroom stop. Reciting an incantation against snakes, she squatted in the undergrowth and hoped that no one else had the same idea. Privacy was not something that anyone in Sierramar understood or respected. A piece of grass tickled her bottom, making her jump and pee on her boot. She was pretty sure no one would notice a wet boot in the hubbub surrounding the launching of the canoe.
Much relieved, she emerged from the foliage to find that everyone had assembled on the riverbank. She was fully expecting that the same crew as before would go with them on the adventure. But there was no sign of Carlos, Rijer or Dona Elodea on the river’s shore. The canoe was similar to the previous one but deeper drafted, with wooden seats raised from the floor. The supplies had been packed into the front of the canoe under the bow and expertly wrapped in plastic. Sam realised that the silhouettes she had imagined were teenage children from far away were actually short, stout Indians with minimal loin cloths and blank expressions.