“I told you that you wouldn’t like it, but you didn’t listen,” mother responded.
I drank some water to get the taste out of my mouth and then left for the plantation, leaving mother in the same place, staring out at the road.
I’d been at the plantation for a few hours, but still felt full of energy. I looked up at the sky and laughed. I could smell the humidity in the air. “It’s going to rain again,” I said, as I helped Lorin fill a large sack with rice. Today was the last day of the collecting season. After this was done, we could all relax a bit, and the men had enough free time to go fishing or hunting, which they enjoyed.
I decided to stay out a little longer than the rest of the family to finish collecting produce. I also wanted to get some papaya for mother, but it was already starting to get dark and the storm was moving in. I wandered into the forest to look for the papaya. As I walked through the foliage, above the buzzing of the insects and the odd distant whooping of the monkeys, I thought I heard something. It wasn’t an animal noise however. I was used to the macaws in the trees above, and the noises the monkeys made. This was more like a human sound, like a muffled cough or sneeze. Was someone hiding and watching me from the bushes?
I suddenly felt very scared, so turned and ran as fast as I could along the forest trail towards home.
As I ran, a dark figure emerged from the bushes off to my right, blocking the path in front of me. The figure was clad in dark clothing from top to toe, complete with a dark hat which covered the person’s face.
The mysterious figure, which I assumed to be a man, then raised a rifle and pointed it directly at me.
I skidded to a halt, dropped to my knees and closed my eyes, literally just waiting to be shot. I waited, the seconds ticked by, but nothing happened. The forest seemed to fall silent. All I could hear was the beating of my heart; and drops of rain as they started to fall through the forest canopy, pelting the leaves and plants around me.
After ten seconds or so I slowly opened my eyes, wiping the rain from my face, but the figure had vanished, the forest trail clear again. Shaking, I got to my knees and ran for my life, not stopping until I reached home.
When I finally made it home, I was soaked. I ran inside, my entire body trembling. I didn’t want to speak to anyone about what had just happened, so just went to my room, pulled my wet clothes off and got into bed, pulling the sheets up over me. After a short while, I heard mother shouting to me to bring her the papaya, but I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t want to say anything, in case the entire thing had been my imagination playing tricks on me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dark figure I’d seen in the forest, but was it all real?
Why didn’t the man kill me? That night I couldn’t sleep. The image of the dark figure haunted my mind and I was petrified.
The following day, father finally came home after being away for two months. He walked into the house and came into the kitchen where we were all having our dinner. He was filthy, unshaven and smelling like a wild animal. His clothes were all ripped and he looked like a homeless person, no doubt from hiding out in the forest for days, if not weeks. I suddenly no longer felt hungry as I stared at the horrible man in front of me.
Father’s eyes were red and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. We could all sense something was wrong, but no one dared ask him where he been or why he looked like he did. The fear that had been absent from our hearts for a short while had suddenly come flooding back. He just looked at us all, grunted at mother and walked out, disappearing into the bedroom.
After dinner I slipped outside to sit alone and to steal some peace and quiet to think about all that was happening. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, and a cool breeze was now blowing away the heat of the afternoon.
As I sat there, I heard a rustling in the thick undergrowth bordering the forest a short distance away. I strained to look in the dusk, afraid a large animal might be about to emerge from the tree line. I didn’t wait to see what, or who it was. Not after the incident in the forest earlier, so I jumped up and ran inside.
I almost bumped into father, who was just coming out of his room. “There’s someone out there, I’m sure of it,” I blurted.
Father stopped and looked at me with his red eyes, and then ran back into the bedroom. He emerged seconds later with his shotgun.
At the rear of the house, once the sun vanished from the sky, it became dark very quickly. It was now almost pitch black and when looking out, it was impossible to see anything. If anyone was out there lurking in the trees and looking at the house however, they would be able to see everything.
“Quick, put the lights out, and find somewhere to hide,” Father said to mother, his voice strained.
Mother blew the candles out, sending the house into darkness.
“I’m going to go out there, but everyone else must stay in here, and don’t move.
As father left the kitchen, I heard him whisper to mother. “I know who is after me,” he said, as he slipped quietly out of the back door.
A few seconds passed, and then…Bang!
The sound of a shotgun pierced the still night, followed by the sound of a horse rearing up and bolting off into the forest.
From under mother’s bed, where we were all huddled together, we heard father shout after the fleeing mystery rider. “Tell him that I will terminate his miserable life soon!” he screamed.
“Who is he talking to?” I whispered to mother.
“I don’t know darling. We both know he is full of secrets.”
Father then came back inside. We could hear him breathing heavily, like a wild animal. He lit a match and relit the candles.
Mother, Lorin and I then crawled back out from under the bed.
“What happened out there?” grandmother, who’d been sitting quietly in the kitchen, asked.
“It’s none of your business old lady. Carry on with your witchcraft and leave me alone,” father scowled, baring his teeth like a crazed forest animal. “Someone is coming for me,” he said, after a brief pause, taking in a deep breath.
“What will happen to us all then?” Maria cried.
“Nothing will happen to you or anyone else, but Joseph wants my damn head!”
“Joseph? But he is your boss?!” Mother replied.
Father turned and walked out of the kitchen without answering her, a look of fear spreading over his face.
I looked at mother and shrugged my shoulders. Father was clearly very worried about something. Had the man I’d seen in the forest been sent to kill Moises? Is that why he hadn’t harmed me?
I gave mother a hug. “Everything will be alright, I’m sure,” I said, trying to reassure her.
After helping mother clear the table, I said goodnight to grandmother and Lorin, and went to my room. As I passed mother and father’s room I noticed the door was slightly ajar, and I peered in and saw father hunched over his desk. He was scribbling frantically in his diary, a candle by his side, the flickering flame casting spooky shadows across the bedroom walls.
I headed to my room and closed the door, trying to put the sight out of my mind.
CHAPTER 29
Words of the Devil
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I awoke to the sound of father’s voice. He was talking quietly in the kitchen. I crept out of bed and silently opened my bedroom door and moved silently down the corridor to the kitchen door, which was open just a crack.
Father was standing there, with all my older brothers, who were seated at the kitchen table, listening to him. Father looked a little more presentable, now that he’d shaved, washed and dressed in some clean clothes. He also didn’t look quite so crazy.
“Nobody need worry or stop working because of what happened last night,” he was saying. “It’s just a little problem that I will need to sort out, ok?”
He took in a deep breath before continuing. “I will be going away again soon.” My brothers remained quiet, as father gave them all instructions on how to look after the
farm when he was away.
As it sounded like the instructions were coming to an end, I turned and ran back to my bedroom, quickly closing the door behind me. As the days passed, everything appeared to get back to normal. Nobody heard or saw anything and the incident in the forest almost seemed like a dream to me; something that hadn’t really happened. Father seemed calmer and he even returned to work on the farm with the rest of us.
One hot afternoon, several days later, whist on the plantation, we lost our last working horse. I don’t think he even had a name, but the horse’s death was still sad. The only horse we had left, was Brinquedo, my horse, whom, I had to admit was pretty fat and lazy. Nevertheless, father decided that he could make Brinquedo work on the plantation, helping prepare the earth in order to plant more spices.
I thought it was a stupid idea, as Brinquedo had a very bad temper, and he’d never worked on the plantation in his life before, but father brought a trainer to the farm. In order to make Brinquedo work, the trainer would beat him, and make him pull heavy loads of logs to build fences. It wasn’t long before Brinquedo began to look very thin, his white coat filthy and unhealthy looking.
One morning, I arrived in the field I went to see how Brinquedo was. He looked so tired, his eyes sad. He reminded me of myself, after father had given me a good beating. I patted and kissed his head in an attempt to show him some love.
Suddenly a loud squeaking distracted me. I turned around to see the trainer closing the gate. The horrible-looking man, who had black beady eyes, which were far too close together, was coming to take Brinquedo out again.
“Please don’t take him out today. He is too tired!” I pleaded.
“Don’t worry child. I won’t put him to work. I just want to ride him,” the trainer said, as he led him out of the field, before jumping on his back.
I smiled to myself. I knew Brinquedo and I knew that he’d only let me ride him. I ran over to try and stop the trainer riding off, but it was too late. As I ran through the gate, the trainer kicked Brinquedo in the ribs to make him run.
Brinquedo ran alright. He bolted off, galloping uncontrollably into the forest, jumping logs and bucking up as he fled. As I watched, I suddenly saw the horse’s front legs disappear down a hole and Brinquedo promptly collapsed awkwardly onto the ground in a heap.
I screamed and ran towards the forest and the clearing where Brinquedo and the trainer were lying. The Macaws were crying loudly overhead, the entire forest alive with the sounds of animals, all of them seemingly crying for my poor horse, lying on the forest floor.
My heart was pumping so fast inside my chest, and tears were rolling down my cheeks when I reached them. I saw the red blood first, pumping out of a deep gash on Brinquedo’s knee, his fractured lower limp poking through the skin on his leg. It was a horrible sight, it made me sick to my stomach.
My poor Brinquedo was lying there, helpless and scared, his breath heavy and out of rhythm.
The stupid trainer was walking around the horse, his hands raised to his neck, no doubt from an injury. Good, I thought, wishing the horrible man had actually broken it.
The next thing I heard was my brother’s shouting. They were running over, with father, who sounded furious from the words pouring from his mouth.
“He broke his leg. I could not stop him!” the trainer said, trying to explain what had happened.
I knew the trainer was scared of father, I could see it in his terrified beady eyes.
Father looked at Lorin. “Get over to Carlito’s farm and borrow his tractor,” he said.
Lorin had tears rolling down his cheeks too. He nodded at father, before turning and running off.
“What can we do now?” I asked father, wiping my own warm tears away.
“We pull him from the hole. What else can we do? You stupid girl,” father replied, shaking his head.
I turned, and ran over to Brinquedo, and started crying into his mane, wishing that my father and the horrible trainer were both dead.
Our life on the farm was very simple. There was no electricity, no running water and light was provided by oil candles which were usually blown out around 7 p.m. This meant that all of us were usually in bed by this time. The night was so dark. I could hear all the nocturnal animals and early morning birds from my bed. Two nights after the accident with Brinquedo, I noticed that father was writing again. It was the second time in a month I'd seen him doing it. I became more curious to see what he was writing, but I couldn’t find the energy to steal the notebook. I’d noticed my skin getting paler and paler, despite the heat, and I was looking ill. I just didn’t seem to have the energy that I used to have. Even Lorin was commenting on my laziness.
The following morning, I was seated at the breakfast table, but not feeling very hungry.
“Moises, your daughter is sick. She’s not eating anything and she looks so skinny,” mother said, removing my plate because I couldn’t eat what was on it.
“She’s probably not eating in sympathy for that useless horse of hers,” he said, not looking up from his plate, and writing in his notebook at the same time.
I wasn’t surprised at father’s reaction. He never cared about me. It was obvious he didn’t care whether I was dead or alive.
Thankfully mother knew something was wrong and she started giving me vitamins and caring for me, trying me with different types of food, until slowly I started feeling a little better.
About a week later, I was lying in bed, thinking about getting up, when I heard father’s voice from the kitchen.
“I’m going on a short trip. I need more munitions for the guns,” I heard him say, to mother. “I’ll be about three days.”
As soon as I heard the front door closed, I jumped out of bed. My energy levels were back, and my heart suddenly felt much happier. The only thing I wanted to do, was read father’s diary, see what he’d been writing so eagerly late into the night.
That night, after mother had gone to bed, I ran to Lorin’s bedroom and knocked on his door. “Lorin, Lorin,” I whispered.
“What’s going on? It’s late and I’m tired,” he said, from his bed.
I had a candle in my hand. Lorin looked at me from his bed, and in the flickering light, saw the diary gripped in my other hand.
“You are mad, he said. “Why can’t you wait until tomorrow?” he said, diving back under the bedsheets.
I stood there, refusing to go. “Let’s read it tonight. He’s been writing in it again and I need to read it before he returns,” I begged.
“Ok. I’ll read it, “he said, sighing. “Only because if you read it, we’ll be up all night!” he said, snatching the book from me.
I jumped up on Lorin’s bed, made myself comfortable and listened carefully, as Lorin continued reading from the last place father had written.
Lorin shuffled over on the bed, placed the candle on the bedside table and made himself comfortable. I moved up the bed and cuddled in next to him. The flickering light made it easy to see the diary, but father’s handwriting was so awful, I don’t know how Lorin was managing to read it.
“This is going to take a while,” he said, checking the notes to make sure he was reading from the correct position.
“We need to finish it tonight,” I said, now eager to hear the rest of the diary’s bloody tales.
Lorin started to read again, from where we last left off.
I was looking forward to getting home for Maria and the kids, I was exhausted, the money was more this time but I didn't enjoy it, I had not shaved for days and or bathed, so I was stinking like a pig. When I walked through the door, Maria noticed it. She didn't ask any questions, as she knew how I reacted to such interrogations. She put some hot water in a big wood tube that I’d carved by my own hand, so that I could take a relaxing bath after my long and stressing journey. Maria was helping me with my bath, brushing my back and taking off a bloody sucker that had stuck to my shoulder. She asked where I got them, I just said I was hunting with my boss and had to
stay over in the forest during the night where I slept on the ground. She sounded a bit concerned about my health but she would be more concerned if she knew the real story behind all the ticks all over my body.
Maria then developed malaria, she was so ill that I didn't believe she would make it. Firmina used all the herbs she could find to medicate her, but she was only able to control the fever. I had to get on my horse and I rode to the village to get some quinine, the blue tablet that kills the malaria.
Maria started taking the tablets, but she was still too weak and not getting better, so we then decided to take her to Manaus to the hospital there. It’s a long way away, and we were all afraid she might die on route, but she didn’t and we made it to the hospital in time. Maria has always been a very strong woman.
The doctor said she had to stay in the hospital for two days until she felt well enough to travel back to the farm. The doctor gave Maria an extensive examination and found that she was pregnant again, but she didn’t tell me. I would not have been mad at her. She knew I needed more good hands for the farm's work.
The doctor said to me, that because of her condition, and that the Malaria virus was still in her body the baby might not survive, but that did not worry me, we were always making new babies anyway.
When we got back in the farm I let Maria stay in bed until she recovered.
Marina my oldest daughter was a good and responsible young lady. She used to work in the house and on the plantation. She was great with the animals, and used to milk the cows every morning and keep the stables in order, but Julia, my other daughter, was a little chubby girl who just wanted to eat and sleep. She was of no use to me.
The months passed by. Maria didn't lose our baby. Instead she was getting bigger and bigger, until Joseph was born. I decided to call him Joseph, after my boss. I had some affection towards him, but I knew if I stopped working for him, myself and my family would be in danger.
Daughter of the Forest: Diary of an Assassin Page 15