The River of No Return

by Jon Voelkel

  At first the plane swooped through the tropical sky like an eagle riding on the breeze. But as they turned inland, threatening gray clouds loomed in front of them and made it hard for Lola, as navigator, to find her way.

  Max swallowed nervously.

  He was sitting in the backseat with Och. It was noisy in the plane and he’d long ago given up trying to talk; the boy seemed lost in a world of his own. So Max stared gloomily out at the storm clouds and hoped Uncle Ted would find somewhere to land before the thunder came.

  He gave a yelp of terror as they hit a pocket of turbulence.

  “Look down!” Lola called from the front seat. “Skunk pigs!”

  Max looked where she pointed, and saw a herd of grayish black peccaries grazing in a clearing. At the sound of the plane, they stampeded into the undergrowth.

  As the plane soared over the treetops, Max remembered the first time he’d seen the rainforest. He’d stood on the balcony of his room at his uncle’s house in Puerto Muerto, trying to spot some wildlife in all the greenery and thinking how much the tight-packed tree canopy looked like broccoli, his most hated vegetable.

  It was a bad beginning.

  Now he understood better how things worked down there.

  As it turned out, the rainforest was a lot like school. So many different species all crammed together, all competing for a spot in the sunlight. Some bullied, some cheated, some formed alliances. Some were poisonous, some were extroverts, others hid in the trees.

  But they all did whatever it took to survive.

  Only the jaguar stalked the forest without fear.

  So what was he? A jock? A prom king? A—

  “Monkey River!” shouted Uncle Ted from the front seat.

  And there it was, snaking below them, the mighty river that flowed right across San Xavier from the mountains in the west to the Caribbean in the east. Perhaps because the sky was gray and drizzly, the river didn’t look as sparkly green as Max remembered it. In fact, it looked dark and sluggish.

  “If you head upstream,” shouted Lola, “we’ll soon be at Utsal.”

  Max peered down. He knew exactly what he was looking for: a bustling little village of thatched huts around a clearing beside the river. There would be smoke from the cooking fires, men working in the cornfields, women washing clothes, children jumping in the water, dugout canoes pulled up on the banks.

  As they approached a long, wide bend in the river, Och looked animated for the first time and pointed down at a settlement.

  “That’s not Utsal,” said Max.

  The place that had attracted Och’s interest was more like a construction site than a village. It had a few traditional thatched huts, but everywhere new buildings of gray cinder blocks were taking shape. The new houses had patchwork tin roofs that glinted in the sun; many of them had satellite dishes. There were no people, no cooking fires, no dugout canoes; just piles of smoldering garbage and a few skinny dogs poking around on the riverbank.

  “That is Utsal,” yelled Lola over the engine noise. “Looks like things have changed.”

  “Get ready for landing!” warned Uncle Ted.

  They flew over Utsal again, coming in lower and lower.

  Max could see what his uncle was aiming for: a patch of scrubland parallel to the river, where the foliage had been cleared. The drizzle turned into a downpour, and rain lashed the windshield like a volley of rocks.

  Lola looked back at Max and grimaced. She was holding her backpack on her knees and now she clutched it so tight, her knuckles shone bone-white through her skin.

  Max glimpsed water below them, very close below them.

  Then everything turned to chaos.

  Uncle Ted was shouting and Lola was batting things, white things, away from his face, while he tried to land the plane. Max guessed it must be some kind of insect infestation, like stinging larvae or biting maggots. Then one of the white things came flying over the seat and scratched his face, and he realized it was a piece of bone. Zombie bone! He tried to capture it, but it ran down the seat and disappeared.

  Och drew his legs up under him and covered his face.

  “Hold on for your lives! Brace yourselves!” yelled Uncle Ted in all the chaos.

  With Uncle Ted pulling back on the throttle and Lola helping to steer, they hit the ground hard, the impact sending a shock wave through the plane.

  It shuddered and groaned like it was breaking apart.

  They bounced high, leaning crazily to one side, before falling back down for another hard impact. Max was thrown against the window and then thrown against Och and then thrown against the window again.

  He looked to the front and saw his uncle pulling wildly at the controls.

  Boom, boom, boom! Then another hard bump.

  They were sliding now, barreling toward the tree line way too fast.

  The plane resounded with the constant thwack of trees and bushes. A stream of chopped leaves and branches sprayed the windows as the propellers diced their way through the brush like runaway wood chippers.

  With a final thud and a nauseating splitting sound, the plane spun wildly and came to a stop. There was an eerie silence as everyone looked around in wonder, hardly believing they were still alive.

  Once he was sure that his passengers were unharmed, Uncle Ted let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry for the rough landing, kids, but something … did you see them?… those things … attacked me. They poked me in the eyes. I couldn’t see. Did anyone get a look at them? What were they? It seemed like they jumped out of your bag, Lola.”

  She nodded ruefully. “It was Skunk Pig. Some of his bones must have sneaked into my backpack after the rockfall. We have to find them all and destroy them, or they’ll keep coming after us.”

  “Skunk Pig?” Uncle Ted sounded dazed.

  “He’s a zombie warrior,” explained Max. “From the Black Pyramid.”

  Uncle Ted groaned. “Please don’t tell me that you kids are up to your old tricks. What have you got yourselves involved in this time?”

  “Hey, we didn’t start it,” protested Max. And he quickly explained about the chase and the cave and the rockfall.

  “It creeps me out to know that Skunk Pig is on this plane somewhere.” Lola shuddered.

  “Check your stuff,” Max advised her. “Make sure there’s no more bits of him lurking in there.”

  “You do it,” she said, passing her backpack over the seat, “while your uncle and I check the cockpit.”

  Realizing that she didn’t want Uncle Ted to see the White Jaguar (a former smuggler would easily recognize a Jaguar Stone, even in its deerskin wrapping), Max carefully placed the stone on his knee, emptied the backpack, and turned it inside out. “All clear. So how do we destroy the bones on the loose?”

  “First of all,” said Uncle Ted, “we need to get ourselves off this plane.” He tried his door. It was jammed shut. “Does anyone’s door still open?”

  “Mine does,” volunteered Lola.

  Uncle Ted’s craggy face was beaded with sweat. A small cut over his eyebrow gave him the air of an action hero. “Okay, so we exit on Lola’s side, watching carefully to make sure that none of our surprise guests escape. Everybody out!”

  One by one they leapt down from the plane, wedged the door shut again, and stood in the drizzle, surveying their surroundings.

  They were on dry land, but only just. The plane had crashed through a grove of bamboo and come to rest at a crazy angle on the bank of the river. Even if it hadn’t lost one of its wings, it was so smashed up, it looked unlikely to ever fly again.

  “Welcome to Utsal,” said Uncle Ted.

  “Just one problem,” observed Lola. “Utsal is miles away, on the other bank.”

  “First things first,” said Uncle Ted. He took a first aid kit out of the cargo hatch, and handed it to her. “You three take this and go shelter under that fan palm.”

  “But none of us are injured,” Max pointed out.

  “It’s got medical tape and tras
h bags inside. I need you to make some rain gear before the storm gets any worse,” Uncle Ted explained. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Max.

  “I’m going to make absolutely sure that the journey ends here for our stowaways.”

  “We’ll help you,” offered Lola.

  Uncle Ted shook his head. “If you want to be helpful, just make the ponchos. And don’t forget hoods. This hat is brand new—I don’t want it getting ruined.”

  As Max and Lola stood arguing about the best way to turn a trash bag into a rain cape and Och peered anxiously across the river, an explosion rocked their bit of rainforest.

  “He’s set fire to the plane!” said Lola.

  A rather singed and smoky Uncle Ted joined them under the palm tree. “I don’t think Skunk Pig will bother us again.”

  “What about the plane?” asked Max.

  “I’ll tell my friend that it developed a dangerous malfunction and promise not to sue him. It was ready for the scrap heap anyway.” He clapped his hands together. “So, how are those ponchos coming along?”

  “I don’t see why we need them,” said Lola. “It rains in the rainforest every day.”

  “Not like this it doesn’t.”

  There was a crack of thunder and the downpour began in earnest: sheets and sheets of water, so loud that they could hardly hear each other speak.

  Lola hastily donned her hooded trash bag. “Let’s walk downriver until we’re opposite Utsal,” she shouted. “Someone is sure to see us and come to help.”

  Och was delighted with this plan and led the way for a mile or so along the bank until the tin roofs of Utsal came in sight. The village looked deserted.

  Och stood on tiptoe to whisper in Lola’s ear.

  “He wants us to swim for it,” she explained. “He’s in a hurry to get home.” She regarded the fast-flowing water dubiously. “I guess it’s not that far. And we couldn’t get any wetter than we already are.”

  “What about the crocodiles?” asked Max.

  “And the water snakes?” added Uncle Ted.

  Lola bent down and conferred with Och. There was a lot of head shaking on Lola’s part until they seemed to come up with a new plan. Standing side by side, they put their fingers between their lips and whistled as loudly as they could. Against the noise of the rain, they sounded like drowned birds.

  An old woman emerged from one of the huts.

  She put up an umbrella, and stared across at them.

  Lola shouted to her in Mayan.

  The old woman shouted a hoarse reply and went back into her hut.

  “Do you know her? What did she say? Is she sending someone?” asked Max.

  “I’ve never seen her before. She said to wait for the worker boat.”

  “What’s a worker boat?”

  “How do I know? I can’t believe that she didn’t offer to help.”

  They stood there for a good while longer, whistling and shouting and hoping to attract the attention of someone a little more neighborly.

  But no one came.

  Eventually, the worker-boat mystery was solved by the appearance of a wooden motorboat that cruised around the bend of the river, belching smoke. It was packed with passengers, Maya villagers, who looked at the trash bag–clad castaways without interest.

  Max, Lola, and Uncle Ted waved their arms and yelled for help.

  The boatman, who was shrouded in a yellow rain slicker, glanced across at them. He made a money sign with his fingers.

  “He’s saying it will cost us,” said Max.

  “What?” Lola was outraged. “No one around here would ask for money to help a stranger.”

  “Why not? He’s entitled to make a living.” Uncle Ted waved back to accept the deal. “It will only be pennies. No big deal. I just want to get out of the rain.”

  Ignoring the protests of his passengers—his very wet passengers—who evidently did not approve of this extra stop, the boatman set a course toward them.

  When he was level, he cut the engine.

  “Hello!” Uncle Ted called over. “Can you take us to Utsal?”

  “One hundred dollars, mister.”

  “A hundred dollars? Just for taking us across the river?”

  “One hundred dollars. Each person.”

  “Four hundred dollars? Are you mad? It’s a hundred yards.”

  “Take it or leave it,” snarled the boatman. He started up the engine.

  “Surely you’re not going to leave us stranded?” protested Uncle Ted. “We’ve been in a plane crash. There are children here.”

  Och pushed his way to the front and put down his hood so the boatman could see him properly.

  “Eusebio!” called Och.

  Lola looked from the little boy to the boatman. “Eusebio? It can’t be!”

  The boatman took some sunglasses from his pocket and quickly put them on, as if trying to disguise himself.

  “It is Eusebio!” cried Max. “I gave him those shades!”

  Max and Lola gaped at the boatman in disbelief. Could it really be their old friend Eusebio, the kindly chili farmer who’d once given them a lift from Utsal to Itzamna, and stopped along the way to teach Max a lesson about the importance of working together and helping other people?

  What could have happened to turn this gentle, jolly man into a grasping profiteer?

  Embarrassed by their accusing stares, Eusebio relented.

  “You can owe me,” he said, throwing a mooring rope to Uncle Ted.

  As they made the short journey across the river, Lola surveyed the other passengers mournfully. “What’s the matter with everyone? They all look so miserable. Not a single person has smiled at me.”

  “It’s raining,” Max pointed out.

  “We’re in the rainforest, Hoop. It always rains here. But Utsal used to be the happiest place in the world.”

  “You make it sound like Disneyland.”

  “In a way, it was. We were like one big family. Now everyone feels separate. Even Och has hardly said a word to me.”

  “Chill. Everyone’s wet and tired and they want to go home.”

  “What about Eusebio? You can’t tell me he hasn’t changed.”

  Max thought about it. He remembered Eusebio’s booming laugh and his generous nature. Now the boatman was only interested in lining his own pockets. Max shrugged. “Maybe he’s gone to the dark side.”

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  When the boat docked, the passengers tramped sullenly off. Some of them even sneered at the castaways as they passed.

  “Did you see that?” asked Lola, indignantly.

  Och pushed his way through and jumped off the boat.

  “Aren’t you going to say good-bye?” Lola called after him. He gave a halfhearted wave, without turning round, and ran off through the village. She watched sadly as the boy made his way home. “I wonder what’s wrong with him?”

  “At least it’s not my fault this time,” said Max.

  “Excuse me, Lola.” Uncle Ted was extracting banknotes from his wallet. “Please give this to our miserly mariner, while I try to get a signal on my cell phone.”

  The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started.

  Eusebio was unloading cargo on the dock.

  “Let’s go help him, Hoop,” suggested Lola.

  “Help him? He tried to fleece us.”

  But Max followed her over.

  “It’s good to see you, Eusebio,” she said, passing him the money. “How are you?”

  The boatman counted the banknotes, with a sour look on his face. “Out of pocket, that’s how I am.”

  “Why are you talking like this? It was only a few weeks ago that you gave us a lecture on the evils of the consumer society. You said that helping each other was the most important thing—like the ants and the trumpet tree, remember?”

  “I was wrong.”

  “So what’s changed?”

  “Helping people does
not put tortillas on the table.”

  “Neither does neglecting the cornfields. I saw them from the plane; they’re overgrown.”

  Eusebio waved a hand dismissively. “Who has time to grow corn and grind it and pound it into dough for tortillas? Anyway, the young people prefer french fries. It’s called progress.”

  Max nodded in agreement.

  Lola pursed her lips. “What does Chan Kan think about all this?”

  “Have you seen him lately?” asked Eusebio warily.

  “That’s why we’ve come.”

  “You will find him changed.”

  “It seems like everyone’s changed. Everyone and everything.”

  “We are moving with the times, Ix Sak Lol.”

  “I liked it better before.”

  “Before the tourists? Me, too.” For a moment, Eusebio’s face softened and he looked like his old self. “But there is no going back. Tourism is our future.”

  “Where did all these tourists come from, all of a sudden?” asked Max.

  “You haven’t heard? A big hotel has opened upstream in Limón. We all work for them now. They pay good money, so we can afford tin roofs, electricity, satellite TV.… They gave me this boat. It is better than my old dugout, no?”

  Lola stroked the boat admiringly. “It carries more people, that’s for sure. But those passengers today, who were they? Why didn’t I recognize any of them?”

  “A lot of new people have moved into the village, to be near their work at the hotel.”

  “Why do they all look so miserable?”

  “We have to smile all day for the tourists. So when we finish work, it’s a relief to rest our face muscles. Most of us prefer not to talk at night. We just want time to ourselves. We like to put our feet up, and watch TV or surf the Internet.” He nudged Max. “It’s like your New York City around here these days.”

  Max smiled inwardly at the comparison. Then he considered the trash and the blaring TVs and the blank faces of the commuters, and he realized that Eusebio had a point.

  Lola put on a bright voice. “So how’s the chili business?”