“Daddy!” they cried. “Daddy! Daddy!”
Their shouts didn’t seem so muffled here.
“Todd! For God’s sake!” she screamed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Above her, a monkey screamed back. It caught her closing pitch exactly, and the boys collapsed in giggles.
“Mon-keeeee!” Evan yelled.
On two sides now, monkeys screeched from the trees. Looking up, Holly could see moving forms in the branches. They’d dropped lower down than she’d seen them come before, and looked much larger. Shockingly large. They were silhouettes, shadows, but as tall as the boys, bulky and strong. Wild animals, she realized. Above all, unpredictable.
“All right,” she told the boys. “We called Daddy. Now it’s time to turn around.”
Evan ignored her, screeching up at the trees.
“Eee-eeee-EEEEE.”
The monkeys screeched back. They seemed excited, restless, jumping from branch to branch. Was it her imagination, or were they circling even lower? Holly had no idea what kind of monkeys these might be, or how you were supposed to handle them. Her broken stick seemed like a laughable defence, and she finally understood why Powell carried guns.
“Let’s go,” she said, herding the boys down the path ahead of her. Was it better to keep them ahead or behind? An awful thrumming started in the treetops. Howler monkeys! Holly shivered, then cursed, stumbling on a tree root. Reaching to steady herself, she dug her fingers into Conor’s shoulder, making him cry out shrilly. A monkey screamed back, and the thrumming noise grew louder, like saws cutting drums. The monkeys seemed to be following them, and Holly had an idea that the boys had veered off the path. Not that it mattered. If they kept going down, they’d reach the river eventually. The most important thing now was to keep ahead of the monkeys and their terrifying noise, which was building, deepening, booming through the air like crazy thunder.
“I don’t like this,” Conor said.
“We’re just getting back to the river,” Holly said.
They were clearly off the path. The undergrowth scratched them, and if they hadn’t got ticks before, they would surely have them now. Holly thought of the cool black river ahead of them. The ground seemed to be levelling out, which meant they would reach the swamp soon. When they did, they would only have to turn to their right and skirt the edge of the swamp to reach the river and their canoe.
The noise was awful, endless. Holly was sweating rivers. Then she realized the ground had started to rise again. What was this? Holly put a hand on each boy’s shoulder and pulled them to a stop. She had to think, though the howlers were far too noisy for her to think. She had to think. They were lost.
Retrace their steps, get back on the path. She rubbed her temples, turning back to see what was behind them. Fortunately, in their rush downhill, they’d broken a new path through the heavy undergrowth. She could see the way they’d come, and turned the boys around to go ahead of her again. Or should she stay in front?
The monkeys thrummed and threatened. She was sure they’d come lower in the trees. Evan was pulling her down so he could speak.
“Where are we going?” he shouted.
“We got off the path. We’re just going back to the path.”
Conor, who hadn’t heard her, said, “We’re lost.”
“We’re not lost, snickers. Just misplaced.” Holly couldn’t believe she’d called him that. What was worse, the boys looked reassured.
“Come on,” she said, and steered them back the way they’d come.
Or did she? After going only a few steps, Holly could no longer make out the path she thought they’d broken, and had to stop again to think. It was impossible. The howlers were far too loud for her to think. Looking up, she found them closing in on her. But she also saw the huge trunk of a brazil nut tree not far to her right. Holly turned the boys around again, and pushed them ahead of her as she kept her eye on the tree. She prayed they’d found the clearing where she’d made her blaze, and could stumble back along the sodden path to the river.
The noise of the monkeys was almost unbearable. Holly didn’t know how much more she could take, or what she might do afterwards. She started shaking, her heart pounding in tune to each rhythmic, wild cry. Then the slope started down again. Perhaps it was the tree she’d blazed. The ground was getting damper. Were they near the swamp? Holly licked her lips; the taste was foul. Then they reached a small swampy hollow, and found it wasn’t the big swamp, just a hollow with no path along the side. Holly put her stick two steps forward and it sunk into ooze. She’d have to circle around, climbing over roots and logs, keeping the tree always in sight, while the demented monkeys above them thrummed their dreadful cry.
The hollow stank. The mosquitoes were bad, and she could see the ticks on her wrists. Holly had no idea how long they’d been in the forest, or how long they’d been lost. Probably since the moment she’d left the canoe. She was exhausted, sweaty, filthy. Also surprised the boys had not yet panicked. Surprised she hadn’t. Then the snake slid across the fallen log in front of her and she screamed.
It seemed to go on forever, flowing directly across their path like an elevated stream. A foot thick, creamy-browny-beige, it was marked in some way she didn’t want to see more closely. Anaconda or constrictor? Holly didn’t know what it would be called, but she had a good idea what it could do, and held the boys tightly against her. Snakes couldn’t hear well, could they? Or see well? Yet she knew she had to keep the boys almost breathlessly still as the snake passed by, not a yard in front of them.
Somewhere at the edge of her consciousness, Holly heard the howlers scream as well. Scream and scream, almost in panic. Then they retreated. She couldn’t take her eyes off the snake, but she could hear their howls growing fainter, almost as if they too flowed away. Then the snake was finally gone, and there was blessed silence. Holly grabbed the boys and ran for the clearing by the brazil nut tree. It wasn’t the same tree. It had no blaze. But she didn’t care, and settled the boys against the trunk.
“We’ll wait here until Daddy comes and gets us.”
Evan was whimpering. Conor’s eyes had never looked bigger.
“We’re lost,” he whispered.
“But Daddy’s going to find us,” she told him, as the light began to fail.
11
Clovis was the one who found them. He smelled their fire and followed it to the brazil nut tree. He was relieved she’d had enough sense to light a fire.
“I had some matches for the fire at camp,” she said. “Some matches in my backpack. The children were frightened. The animals, the noises were frightening.”
Seeing both boys asleep and safe, Clovis fired three shots in the air. The boys sat up, then froze in place, looking at him wildly.
“There was a sound like that earlier,” their mother said. “Just before dark. Four or five shots. I was scared myself.”
“Birds,” Clovis said.
Holly pictured birds with guns, wings crooked on rifles. Then she understood that Powell had shot some specimens of his new species. Specimens of species. She hoped he hadn’t shot all of them. Discovered and extinct simultaneously.
“So much for mist nets,” she told Clovis, unaware of how long it had been since he had spoken.
Clovis was busy dousing the fire with water from the swamp. He’d brought a powerful torch, although Holly still shivered as the flames went out. Then she seemed to register the boys, and murmured to them reassuringly. Conor scrambled to his feet and stood watching Clovis, his arms dangling at his sides.
“Soon,” Holly said. After the water, Clovis stirred earth onto the dampened fire. Finally he was finished, and straightened up to look at the boys. Conor’s knees were knocking together.
“Ta bom,” Clovis said, with surprising tenderness. Holly remembered that his grandson had just been to visit Clovis took Conor’s ha
nd and led him forward, leaving Holly to carry Evan, who seemed unable to walk by himself. They turned in what she would have said was precisely the wrong direction. Yet before too long, she heard the river, and soon they emerged at a moonlit, sandy bank. Two outboards bobbed in the gently lapping water, tied to the small bird’s log.
Doutor Eduardo was waiting for them, with Seu José and Olga standing behind him. They were silent, but turned at the sound of a terrible crashing from the bush. Soon Todd ran out of the forest with Powell dogging behind him.
“My God, are they all right?” Todd yelled.
The children ran toward him, though Holly stood her ground, refusing to apologize. She was tired of blame, and only wanted to cleanse herself and the boys under a brilliant, freezing rain.
Todd knelt to hold both boys tightly, and she heard him sob.
“You got lost,” Conor told him. “We went to find you. We got worried.”
“God, I’m sorry.” In the harsh, slanting light of the hand-held torches, Todd looked like an old man.
“Maybe we should get them back,” Powell said.
“You and your specimens,” Holly told him. “So much for mist nets.”
Todd shook his head and picked up Evan, then stumbled when he tried to take Conor too. Powell darted toward them.
“Need any help?”
“If you touch my kids, I’ll kill you,” Holly said.
“Holly!”
She waved the bird book.
“He’s written the boys’ full names and passport numbers in his book. Dates, address, everything.”
“An address book?” Holly looked away contemptuously, and caught Doutor Eduardo’s eye. The old man knew what she meant.
“So that’s it,” he said.
They were speaking English. Seu José, Olga and Clovis looked puzzled as Powell shuffled back and forth.
“You’re hysterical,” Powell told Holly. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Todd said.
“You liked to take the boy out fishing.”
Doutor Eduardo had switched from English to Portuguese.
Turning to Olga and Clovis, he repeated, “He took your grandson out fishing.”
The pair exchanged puzzled glances.
“The boy liked to go out at first,” the old man prompted. “He liked fishing. Then later, he said he didn’t. He hid.”
Todd put Evan down. “Let’s take this slowly,” he said.
But Clovis met Holly’s eye. When she nodded, he looked into the forest, then drew himself up sharply. In one quick motion, he raised his gun to his shoulder. Powell tried to leap aside, but the bullet caught him in mid-air and tossed him to the ground.
“Son of a bitch!” Todd yelled. Galvanized now, he pushed the boys at Olga and charged toward Clovis, knocking the gun straight up so Clovis fired a second time into the air.
“Enough,” Doutor Eduardo roared. Then he said quietly, “The children.”
Todd and Clovis stepped apart uneasily. Holly heard Powell moan, and Todd swivelled and strode toward him.
Both boys ran to Holly, burying their heads in her hip and waist. It would all be like a dream to them afterwards. A nightmare they would soon outgrow. Surely to God they would outgrow it. It would fade into vagueness, the way the world around her had faded now.
“In the arm,” Todd called, pulling off his shirt and tearing off a strip of fabric for a tourniquet. “Almost at the shoulder. It’s gone clean through.”
“A winged bird man,” Holly said. “Except he’s not a bird, he’s a snake.”
“That’s not very useful, Holly.”
Todd worked quickly to stop Powell’s bleeding, then got up and washed his hands in the shallow margin of the river. Piranha, Holly thought. Todd pulled his hands out quickly.
“I can’t do anything more,” he told Doutor Eduardo, drying his hands on the remainder of his shirt. Only then did the doutor stroll over, and take a look at the bleeding man.
“Get him into the smaller boat.”
Seu José helped Todd carry the swearing, jerking Powell into the second outboard.
“He needs medical attention,” Todd told Seu José. “Can you make it down to the city at night?”
“They’ll take him,” Doutor Eduardo said.
“I’ll go, too,” Todd replied.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It damn well is.”
Doutor Eduardo shrugged. “In which case, I’ll go myself.”
“I said I’d go.”
“And your family?” The doutor turned to Holly.
“I don’t think he’s planning to talk to me,” Holly said.
Todd blew out his breath and came over to Holly, taking her arm to lead her farther away.
“I’ll be back. I’ll be back quickly. But you understand, don’t you? One push, bleeding like that, he’s in the river and he doesn’t come out. You’re understanding this? And no matter what he’s done, you don’t believe in lynch mobs. You don’t, Holly. We have a responsibility here, considering how this started. My God, they’ll claim it’s an accident, and then he’s gone.”
“At least you’re consistent,” Holly said. “Never seeing what’s in front of you.”
Looking over her shoulder, Todd saw Clovis and the doutor get into the outboard after Seu José. He started to jog toward them, though Holly pulled him back.
“Your children?” she asked. “Needing you? Think of your children for once, why can’t you, Todd?”
The outboard motor sprang to life.
“Son of a bitch!” Todd cried, jerking free of Holly and running toward the boat. He was running down the riverbank as Seu José opened the throttle and sped away. Holly felt no sympathy as he ran uselessly into the water, though she drifted over to the margin of the river to watch the outboard recede.
Todd came back slowly, shaking his head. The children were both whimpering.
“My God, Holly,” he asked. “What have you done?”
Later, Holly realized this was not the moment things finally fell apart. That came the next day, on board a small plane. They were sitting on the tarmac at an airport three stops into their hopscotch route leading back to Rio de Janeiro. It was a new plane, the inaugural flight of a Canadian-built Dash 8. It smelled like new carpet. She remembered the time she had carpet installed in the Vancouver house. She’d told the carpetlayer how much she liked the smell of new carpet, and he’d replied, “Women always say that.”
There was carpet halfway up the walls of the plane, as thick and sleek as an animal’s coat. The cabin attendant brought the boys some colouring books that were just as new and glossy. Conor told the attendant they were Canadian, like the plane, and he was so pleased he went to get the pilot.
“We’re lucky to have you on board,” the pilot said, taking the seat next to Holly.
She wondered if the carpetlayer sometimes got lucky with bored housewives who wanted a roll on their new-smelling carpet. If pilots got lucky with passengers. Powell? And unaccompanied minors! It occurred to Holly that Powell’s leave of absence might be involuntary. Perhaps now indefinite. She wondered if he’d survived the night.
Todd had stayed to find out. He’d got off at the first stop along their route, having persuaded Holly it was the right thing to do. The pilot lounged in Todd’s empty seat, but Holly was too tired to listen to what he was saying. It had not been easy to get the boys to settle down when they’d finally returned to the camp. They hadn’t been able to eat the hamburgers an unhappy-looking Olga had cooked, although they must have been hungry.
They were tired, but unable to keep still, and Conor broke a glass in the dining hall, making Evan scream. Holly had satisfied herself that they hadn’t seen Clovis take aim at Powell. Both thought the shooting was accidental. Yet they were st
ill so nervous and confused that it took hours of singing and soothing in their hammocks before first Evan, then Conor, fell into an exhausted sleep.
They’d been quiet and frighteningly polite on the plane. Nice, well-behaved, innocent children, attracting adult smiles. When the pilot realized Holly wasn’t listening, he offered the boys a look at the cockpit. Both declined, and the pilot was left to retreat, puzzled by the three chilly Canadians. Holly knew the boys’ disengagement was unhealthy
and that it would have to be dealt with. But for the moment, she leaned back in her seat as they opened new packs of crayons, colouring with unprecedented neatness within the thick black lines.
“I thought they’d be awake all night,” Todd had said, throwing himself in the white wicker chair. The boys’ hammocks were at the other end of the long, shadowed room. Holly stood looking at them, refusing to let them out of her sight.
“You’re absolutely sure he didn’t touch them?” Todd said.
“I told you that days ago. But something else seems to have happened since then, hasn’t it?”
“They’ll be all right. It’s confusing, they’re frightened. But they’ll be all right.”
“I don’t know why you say so. I hope you’re right. But there are some of us who aren’t all that used to guns and forests.”
“Why did you go in there, Holly?”
“Why did you?”
She sat down. She could still see the boys from here. “Arguing won’t get us anywhere,” she said.
“You’re right,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”
“Just please stop making all these assumptions. We’ll watch the boys, day by day. Maybe they’ll need therapy, I don’t know. We can’t assume. Any more than you really know what happened to Powell, do you?”
When Todd didn’t answer, Holly insisted, “The doutor couldn’t just get rid of him, could he? Someone would eventually go looking for him. He’s an American citizen. And wouldn’t that make it much more likely that Doutor Eduardo would just chase him away?”
Powell was a terrible man, but Todd was right. Holly didn’t believe in lynch mobs. The more she thought of it, the more worried she’d grown. Guilt and fear and an oppressive sense of responsibility rode her like a hag.
Drink the Sky Page 12