by Pauline Fisk
He slunk away. As soon as he’d gone, the American said, ‘You sleep okay, did you? You weren’t disturbed by the noise? These are historic times, y’know. It was election day yesterday. The boys were up celebrating their new government. They been waiting years for it and now they’re hoping everything’s gonna change.’
He chuckled as if he personally new better. His name was Dave, he said, and he’d been living out here – bak-a-bush, as he called it – for years. Anything Kid wanted to know about the jungle, Dave was his man. In fact, anything Kid wanted to know about Belize in general, Dave was his man.
‘What you doin’ round these parts?’ he asked. ‘You’re not Belizean, are you? What’s brought you here?’
Here was Kid’s chance to talk about his father. But something about Dave made him hold back. ‘I’m on holiday,’ he said. ‘I come from England. I’m a tourist.’
It didn’t sound true somehow and Kid guessed from Dave’s expression that he didn’t quite believe it. He started pressing him about what sort of tourist and from where, but a voice called him away. Kid watched him ambling off, and felt relieved. He finished his breakfast and went looking for Marky. He was the man in charge. If anyone had any knowledge about Kid’s father it was most likely to be him.
Kid crossed the lawn to reception, but Marky was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole place seemed deserted. Even the boys had disappeared. Kid looked in the kitchen, which lay behind reception, but no one was there so he headed off round the garden.
Kid explored the entire grounds, but didn’t see a soul, not even another guest. At one point, he ended up by the river. Another time he found himself on the edge of the jungle, with trees closing in around him. Finally, way beyond the far side of the lawn, he came across a swimming pool, deserted like everywhere else but at least full of water.
The day was heating up by now, so Kid decided to take a dip. There were leaves on the surface of the water, but that didn’t bother him. He dived in, to find the water cool and wonderful. After swimming a couple of lengths, he flipped over and floated on his back. Maybe he hadn’t found Marky, but this went some way to making up for it.
Only when Dave appeared did Kid think about getting out. Another man accompanied him, who looked nothing like a tourist. The two of them headed for an open-air bar situated on the far side of the pool and Kid wondered if the man was one of last night’s partygoers.
He swam on, trying to ignore them both. But it was difficult. Voices drifted his way, going on about the sorts of opportunities the new government would bring, and the money that could be made. Then Marky appeared out of nowhere and joined in. The stranger was going on about a patch of land he was thinking of buying down Placencia way, where the tourist boom was really taking off. But Marky said he had land round here to sell, and Dave the American said he did as well.
‘There’s oil here in this ground,’ he said, ‘waiting to be found. It doesn’t take a Texan to smell that one out.’
Marky and Dave the American glanced at each other. It was obvious to Kid that they had plans of their own, regardless of what they might be saying. He shivered, imagining his father being in this stranger’s shoes, a businessman maybe, but no match for a pair like Marky and Dave.
By now Kid had stopped swimming and it was hard to hide the fact that he was listening in. Dave came sauntering over with an opened Belikin beer, which he handed to Kid, saying it was free on the house.
‘How long did you say you were staying?’ he asked.
Kid flushed as if caught out and said he didn’t know. Dave looked at him with cold eyes.
‘If you’re feeling at a loose end,’ he said, ‘we could always fix up a tourist trip. There are deep dark caves nearby, which we could lose you in, or rapids in the river where you could risk life and limb. Hang around long enough and we’ll fix something up.’
It sounded more like a threat than a tourist opportunity. Kid felt himself turn cold all over. The American walked away, as thin and mean as an alleycat, and Kid asked himself what he was doing here, irritating these people by getting under their feet. He swam a couple more lengths to prove – to himself as much as anyone – that he wasn’t scared. Then he went back to his cabana where he pushed the chest of drawers in front of the door and started packing. Something definitely was wrong about this place. Mrs Edie had been right when she’d called its so-called guests unlikely tourists, and Taxi-May had been right when she’d said that his impatience would get him into trouble.
Kid went looking for Marky to settle up. He returned to the pool, but Marky had gone. Went back to reception, but he wasn’t there. Tried the kitchen again but he wasn’t there, and the boys didn’t know where he was, and they’d never heard of a man called Marcus Aurelius Cato.
Finally Kid ended up down by the river again, though goodness only knew why. He stopped to watch kingfishers scudding over sunlit waters and spirals of butterflies dancing round each other. It was lovely here, quiet and still. He sat on a small sandy beach wishing he didn’t have to go back to the lodge. Gradually he fell asleep. His sleepless night caught up on him, and so did the heat of the day. He stayed asleep for hours too, lulled by the sound of the river flowing past.
When Kid awoke, the sun was coming down the sky and he knew that if he intended to head back to San Ignacio part of his journey would be walked in the dark. Even so, he was still determined to leave. At least he was until he bumped into Marky halfway up the steps leading back to the lodge.
‘You still here?’ said Marky. ‘Well, supper’s ready. I’ve cooked it myself tonight, so it’s good grub. Come and eat.’
It sounded like a command. Kid wouldn’t have dared do anything other than follow Marky to the veranda at the back of his office, where a table had been laid. Some jangly pop music was playing on the radio and geckos were scuttling up and down the walls like tiny grey ghosts. A girl brought out a tray full of drinks, followed by one of the boys with plates of nameless meat served in a shiny, thick brown gravy.
Kid ate it all, but it wasn’t easy, especially with a thin black snake, coiled on a beam above his head, making occasional lunges at the geckos who shrieked in anguish as they tried to get away. Kid’s father’s photograph sat in his back pocket, but he never got round to showing it because Dave turned up with two new guests, pretending they were tourists, though Kid didn’t believe a word of it.
After supper, the night warmed up. One of the guests produced a bottle of tequila to drink the health of the new government, and the girl who’d brought out the drinks came and danced for them, shaking her body to a punta rock drumbeat, and driving her hips in a way that had even Kid blushing, who’d witnessed Nadine in action. She wore a peppermint-green skirt that hugged her hips and flew out around her as she danced. Seeing Kid watching her, she called for him to come and join her. But he shook his head, and everybody laughed.
One of the guests started to his feet instead. But before he could get anywhere near the girl, a great brown bullfrog – which looked just like Marky, Kid thought – hopped on to the veranda and drove the girl away. Everybody laughed as she ran shrieking into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. The guest looked disappointed, but Marky said he was wasting his time anyway.
‘Belizean women are pretty enough when they’re young,’ he said. ‘But as they start getting older, they get bellies on them.’
He was one to talk, Kid thought. He glanced around the table, where everyone was smirking as if thinking the same thing. Then Dave broke the silence, asking Kid about his plans tomorrow and how long he intended to stay around.
Everybody leant forward, as if they all wanted to know. Kid knew he should tell them what they obviously wanted to hear – that he’d be out first thing and wouldn’t ever be back. But something got hold of him – madness, foolhardiness, maybe even cussedness. Or maybe it was just plain curiosity to see what would happen next.
‘I’ve got no plans,’ Kid said – and never had a truer word been uttered. ‘I thought t
omorrow I’d just chill out.’
Silence greeted this. Then Dave and his guests rose to their feet, saying they thought they’d turn in early, and Marky said he had things to attend to in the office and suddenly the party was over.
Kid returned to his cabana, fully understanding how much trouble he’d landed himself in. He pushed the chest back in front of his door, then every other piece of furniture as well, including the bed. What had got into him? These people were desperate to get rid of him. They were up to something, plainly enough, and his being around was interfering with their plans. Belizean breeze, Mrs Edie had said – well, it didn’t take much imagination to guess what that might be.
‘Why didn’t I just give them what they wanted? After all, it’s what I want as well. No way do I want to chill out here. Why’ve I got to be so hard on myself?’
Kid was still trying to work it all out when someone knocked on the door.
‘Mistah Cato,’ a voice whispered, ‘Mistah Marcus Cato, are you there? I want to talk to you …’
It was the girl. The one with the peppermint-green skirt. Kid was so shocked to hear her call him by his father’s name that he pulled back the furniture and let her in. She sat on the bed with her back against his rucksack. She was his friend, she said. He could tell her anything. She wasn’t like them, not like Marky or Dave.
‘What are you really doing here?’ she asked. ‘Everybody wants to know, but I won’t let on. I hate them all. I never tell them anything. I’m good at secrets. You can tell me anything.’
This last was almost whispered. The girl leant forward. She smelt of flowers. Kid leant forward too. Maybe it was her closeness, or his own sense of relief to have a friend in this place, but he suddenly felt the longing to talk. He was looking for his father, he said and the whole story came out, starting with one Marcus Aurelius Cato and ending with the other. Had the girl ever heard of him? Kid wanted to know. The word in San Ignacio was that he might have been up here. Had the girl seen him? Did she know him? Could she remember anybody like this man ever passing through?
Kid showed her the photograph. The girl looked at it, but said nothing. Kid could see her thinking hard. She was hiding something. He was sure of it.
‘If I told you that this man came through here once, ages ago, but I don’t know who he is and he never came back, would that do?’ she said at last.
Kid felt a chill run up his spine. The girl was hiding something. He knew she was. But then that’s what everybody had been doing – not just her or Marky or Mistah Dave, but the person who’d written that note back in Belize City, and even his mother, who had hidden his father from him for years.
‘The only way I’m leaving,’ he said, ‘is if you tell me where he went. And, if you won’t, I’ll call in the police.’
The girl shivered. Kid feared that his words had been a big mistake but, much to his surprise, they seemed to do the trick. ‘Well, in that case,’ she said with a sigh, ‘I’ve got no choice, have I? Seeing as you’re determined to know, your father’s alive and well, at least he was last time I saw him. He lives on a piece of land up-river, which he bought off Marky because it’s full of gold. He and Marky fell out over it. Marky said your father cheated him, and he’s so angry about it that he won’t allow his name to be mentioned, which means I’d be in big trouble if he could hear me now.’
All of this was delivered in one single breath. The girl looked at Kid with huge, worried eyes.
‘Gold,’ Kid said.
‘Gold,’ she replied. ‘Belize is full of it. The Macal River in particular. You only have to scoop up the riverbed and you’ve got handfuls of the stuff.’
The two of them sat in the darkness, their faces almost touching. Kid tried to imagine not only finding his father, but finding him rich. A picture came into his head of the big white house he’d imagined back in England, with servants, lawns and a pool. Where exactly was this place? he demanded to know.
The girl said it could be found out on the Cristo del Rey road, but the easiest way to get to it from Night Falls Lodge was straight up-river. It would only take an hour or so, a couple at the most.
‘What, through the jungle?’ Kid said.
‘If you’re man enough,’ the girl said, ‘there’s nothing to it. All you have to do is stick to the riverbank. Anyone with half a sense could do that.’
Kid felt himself flush at this insult to his pride. What was his father like? he wanted to know. His heart pounded at the thought of meeting him. Until this moment, he realised he’d never really believed that this would happen.
The girl looked completely at a loss for words. ‘He’s just a man,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’
But Kid persisted. What sort of man, he insisted.
The girl shrugged. ‘People come and go at Night Falls Lodge,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you learn their names, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you get to know them but, even though your father wasn’t one of those, I saw enough to know that, if he was my father, I’d be up that river after him before Marky could stop me. Because he will, you know. So I’d get out of here while you still can.’
10
A WHOLE WORLD OF DIFFERENCE
Kid did just that. He slipped away first thing, before Marky was about, leaving his rucksack behind in the interests of travelling light. He also left a note saying he’d be back for it, then packed his valuables, including his passport, parents’ photograph and mother’s hat, into his day-bag, along with a bottle of water and some fruit sneaked from the kitchen.
Then Kid set off, feeling like a proper explorer. Nadine should see me now, he thought, as he headed down to the Macal River. Jet should see his burger-boy. Kyle should see his boots in action. The day was fresh and the air still, not a hint of a movement except for the occasional bird startled out of the trees as Kid walked past. A short way up-river, he came to a series of falls which he guessed gave the lodge its name. Here he came across a little man standing on a stony beach watering his horse. He was the smallest man Kid had ever seen and his presence, at such an early hour, was totally unexpected.
The man watched Kid approach. Where was he going, he wanted to know. Up-river? Then where was his guide? Where was his equipment and where his map? Had he brought a compass? And what about provisions? A bottle of water and a bit of fruit? Did he really think that was good enough? Didn’t Kid know that there were untold dangers out here bak-a-bush? Running out of food and water would be the least of his problems if he carried on as he was. There were wild peccary out here, who’d charge as soon as look at you, and jaguars who’d tear you limb from limb. There were snakes too – including deadly coral snakes and fer-de-lances that you wouldn’t see until they leapt – and poisonous trees that could kill you at a single scratch.
Not only that, but there were brujos in the forest, the old man said – the spirits of evil people who took on the form of wild beasts and haunted the jungle looking for prey.
‘If you show them that you’re scared, you’ll end up dead,’ the old man said. ‘And you will be scared, believe me.’
Kid thanked the man for his advice, but explained that he wasn’t mounting a major expedition, just taking a short walk up-river to his father’s place. His father, the gold miner Marcus Aurelius Cato. Had the man heard of him?
The man said he hadn’t, but that that meant nothing because he’d never been any good at names. It was what people did that counted, he said, not what they called themselves. He mounted his horse and turned to set off. By the way, this wasn’t a jungle, he said. It was a forest. There was a whole world of difference. Most people didn’t seem to realise that.
The man rode away, pulling a hat down over his head and whistling a song to himself, which quickly faded amid the other whirrs and whistles of the forest. Kid resumed his journey too. The way seemed harder after that. In order to remain close to the river, he had to dodge vines, step over fallen logs and push his way between branches. This was no nature trail with well-cut paths and way marks. Jungl
e, forest or simply bak-a-bush, this was a place where nature ran wild.
It was also a place where silence reigned, for all the forest’s surface chatter. Strange-sounding birds called to each other from tree to tree, but they never disturbed that silence; it was always there. Branches hung over the river, creating pools of shadow amid the growing brightness of the day. Kid saw clouds of brightly coloured butterflies and bright green parrots. Exquisite perfume wafted his way and he looked up to see exotic blossoms growing overhead.
Slowly Kid began to see why the little man had called this place a forest, not a jungle. This wasn’t just a wild, dense scrub. It was a place of sunlight, shade and incredible trees. A patchwork of light and darkness. A place of growth and extraordinary life.
Every time Kid found a stretch of river with a beach, he plunged in to cool off. The water was crystal-clear and shone like gold. Kid wished that he could bottle it and take it away. He wished that he could bottle the whole forest, every last tree.
The sun rose higher all the time and the day grew hotter. Kid’s pace began to drag. His day-bag started digging into his shoulders. It mightn’t have much in it, but it began to feel as if it weighed a tonne. Round every bend in the river, Kid looked with anticipation as if he expected to find his father in the river panning for gold. An hour went by, then a second one and then a third. But there was never any sign of him, or of his house.
There were plenty of other signs of life, though. Signs of ant life, termite life, bird life, bee life, spider life, frog life, even great spiky iguana life. Once Kid almost fell into a termites’ nest. Another time he stopped to rest right in the middle of a column of tree-cutter ants. Then he disturbed some bees and had to shelter in the river.