Chapter 18
Jack awoke to the sound of splashing water. Careful not to move he opened his eyes slowly. Twenty feet away and to his left, he saw a wide slow moving stream bordered by tall jungle trees which leaned out over the moving surface as if they were bending down to drink. Out in its center, focusing intently upon the moving water, a boy of about ten years waded knee deep against the current, a six-foot long fishing spear held above his head in his right hand ready to be hurled at his quarry.
The child was small and thin with thick black bowl cut hair sporting a single yellow and orange feather. He was naked except for a small thin leather belt. Bright red paint covered the boy’s face and forearms.
The little Fisherman suddenly became as still as the stones in the stream. Jack felt his skin tingle in a rush of anticipation. A grin spread across his face as he contemplated the exhilaration and excitement the boy must be feeling at this moment.
Jack’s eyes focused on the spear as the young Indian slowly drew back his arm. A flash of dull yellow in the trees just above the spear caught Jack’s eye. In an instant, he was on his feet and running, yelling like a mad man, in the direction of the child. The boy stumbled and fell on his backside into the water, shocked and frightened as Jack rose and came charging at him.
Gathering an ounce of composure and courage, he raised his fishing spear in Jack’s direction, a feeble attempt to defend himself from the white demon descending upon him.
Jack stopped his charge three feet beyond where the boy sat trembling in the water thus placing himself between the boy and the biggest leopard he had ever seen.
The cat had leapt from the tree above and behind the boy just as Jack had moved into position. The sudden onslaught caused the animal to abort its attempt at its intended victim. The animal, confused and surprised, hit Jack broadside sending him stumbling backward. Jack managed to keep his feet but the leopard was fast and spun around sinking its three-inch long canines into Jack’s thigh while wrapping its powerful forepaws around his leg.
Jack reached for his pistol and found it missing. He had removed it from the holster to lay it by his side while he slept. Grabbing for the handle of his hunting knife he drew it forth and brought it down sinking it deep between the big cat’s ribs. This only seemed to result in making the animal mad as it just bit down harder on Jack’s thigh causing him to scream out an obscenity.
“You Son-of -a-Bitch!” Jack was mad now too.
He raised his arm and brought it down again on the cat’s body. The leopard released its grip on Jack’s thigh and went for his abdomen in an attempt to eviscerate him. With his free hand, Jack grabbed the yellow-eyed demon by the snout and plunged his knife into the left side of the cat’s head at the corner of its mouth. The spotted beast let out an ear-shattering scream and pushed away from Jack with its hind legs. Jack watched as the animal disappeared into the jungle leaving a trail of bright red blood behind.
“Ahh! Goddamn it!” He screamed. Jack had felt a sudden, sharp, hot, stinging pain in his left buttock.
The little Fisherman had used his spear.
Jack turned, his face contorted in pain and anger, toward the child who scrambled to the bank and, who also disappeared into the jungle.
Moving out of the water Jack loosened his belt and pulled down his pants to inspect his left cheek. The wound was superficial but hurt like hell. The wounds inflicted by the leopard were deeper and more serious but caused him less ire. Pulling himself together, he made a make shift bandage from a piece of his shirt and stemmed the flow of blood from the bite wound. He gathered his gear and moved off into the jungle muttering to himself about ungrateful children and parents that needed to keep a better eye on their kids.
Jack had been following a narrow dirt game trail that had been transformed into a greasy muddy trench by a midmorning torrent. The sky had cleared now allowing the sun to beat down on the jungle increasing the temperature and humidity so that the air was heavy and still. Clothes stiff with dried mud, except where the dirt and sweat mixed, added to his discomfort.
Removing his hat, he looked up at the canopy and saw sparkling flashes of sunlight sneaking through the treetops. A root or vine caught his boot as his attention was focused above. Pitching forward Jack put his hands out to catch himself only to find nothing but the thick damp air. A half a second later and he hit the ground with a thud followed by a painful groan. Rolling to his back he looked up to see that he had stepped of a short rocky ledge about six feet high.
Jack lay there for a moment doing a mental head to toe check for any new injuries. Getting to his feet, he berated himself for not paying better attention. Picking up his hat he brushed away some of the dirt and placed the filthy thing on his head and looked for some sort of path to follow. As his eyes scanned the jungle, he focused on something ten feet off that looked out of place.
Jack took a step back, bumped into the ledge wall, chuckled, and raised his right hand in what he hoped was, a universal sign of friendship or at the very least the sign for “please don’t kill me”.
Three tall, tan skinned, black haired, well-muscled Indians stepped out from behind dense shrubs and trees. Each man was naked except for a thin leather belt around the waist and a long thin bone, sharpened at both end’s running horizontally through their noses like some weird mustache, their bodies almost completely covered in red and black tattoos. He could see that each man had several nasty looking scars on his face, arms, torso and legs. Jack was a soldier and so recognized these as old battle wounds. Each man held a long thin spear poised and ready to chuck in Jack’s direction.
The three imposing men stood ten to twenty feet in front of Jack who had the feeling he was being “sized up”, as it were. As they came closer he saw that each man was at least six or eight inches taller than he was and all had sharp white teeth filed down like a Piranhas.
These were the legendary Xingu. His next move would determine whether he survived this encounter or not. Without thinking too much about it, Jack started singing. Camp Town Races was the first tune that popped into his head. The three Indians looked … puzzled. The songs tempo picked up a bit and Jack’s heart started beating a little faster as six more armed Indians materialized from out of the thick jungle. Hoping to appear less intimidating, Jack lowered himself to his knees and raised his other hand to signal his surrender.
The Indians bound Jack and motioned him to move into the jungle. Walking single file with Jack in the middle of the group they traversed a game trail for about an hour, all the while the Indians spoke excitedly to one another often gesturing toward Jack and then back in the direction from which they had come. Jack was very worried.
The trail widened, the ground becoming flat and hard packed from years of foot traffic. Soon the jungle canopy opened above them and a large primitive, stone walled city appeared before them. The entrance was blocked by an immense gate made of hewn wood timbers and attached to two large wood pillars. Hanging from these were the decapitated heads of three men. Jack recognized the faces as those belonging to some of Rapu’s men that had escaped the German attack the night before.
As the party approached, excited shouts arose and men woman and children came running toward them. All the people were naked, their bodies adorned with brightly painted patterns, tattoos, and bright colored feathers in their hair. All, even the small children displayed the same sharp, jagged teeth.
Jack was led down a wide avenue, mud huts with thatched roofs lined both sides and intersecting streets ran off perpendicular to unknown ends. The city was of such tremendous size he calculated that it could accommodate tens of thousands of inhabitants.
Jack was taken to a thatched hut with only one entrance and bound to a thick piece of timber protruding from the floor in the center of the hut. Children gathered at the doorway to stare and wonder at the white man. They were shooed away by the men that had tied him but returned a few moments later to resume their observation.
Soon two of th
e men that had captured him returned with three other men. These three were much older and appeared much less apprehensive and nervous. After a long and sometimes heated exchange, one of his original captors exited the hut only to return a moment later accompanied by a boy and woman. Jack recognized the young Fisherman instantly.
The old man spoke a few words to the two younger men that had captured Jack. These nodded their heads vigorously and then, rather awkwardly, attempted to sing Camp Town Races, which caused the children outside to laugh hysterically.
The old man turned toward Jack and spoke, gesturing wildly toward the ceiling. The other men in the hut nodded their heads vigorously and one even pinched Jack’s arm while chomping his jagged teeth.
“Shit.” Jack said aloud.
Hours later as twilight was falling, the wall of children outside the hut parted and the women and the little Fisherman entered the hut carrying a large jug and two bowls, one empty and the other bearing what appeared to be cooked meat.
Pouring water into the empty bowl the woman offered it to the boy who refused to take it. The woman then looked at Jack contemplatively, arose, and held the bowl to his lips. Jack drank deeply. The woman then picked up the meat and held it before Jack’s mouth. He pursed his lips and turned his head away. The woman said a few unintelligible words, shrugged her shoulders and put down the dish.
After this the woman washed Jack’s face and arms, cleaned and dressed his wounds, and applied herbs and a poultice to the animal bites and gunshot wound. As the two exited the hut, Jack said “Thank you.”
The woman flashed a serrated smile that did little to put him at ease.
It was a long uncomfortable night. Jacks legs, back and shoulders ached from the awkward position in which he sat tied to the post.
The morning sun had just begun to illuminate his little world when the woman and the little Fisherman reappeared. After more water and a breakfast of fruit Jack was again left alone but soon the three older men and the two captors reappeared. One of the men cut Jack’s bindings and he crumpled to the ground unable to support his own weight.
Hauled to his feet he was dragged out into the sunlight. Cheering and whooping a crowd of Xingu surrounded them as Jack was led down a street to a large open courtyard filled with dancing Xingu Indians. In the center of this courtyard was a large fire pit with a roasting spit where the torso and legs of a man rotated slowly above the flames.
Jack, recognizing his fate, began to struggle against the two guards. Something solid and heavy struck the back of his head causing a wave of nausea and dizziness. His hands were again bound and he was led to one of many tall posts ringing the courtyard. Hoisted up by his wrists he was hung by an iron hook protruding from the top of the post so that his feet dangled a few inches off the ground. Jack found it very difficult to breath in this position.
As his head cleared he saw the mutilated bodies of Rapu’s men hanging like meat from the other posts, some missing limbs others with large gaping wounds where muscle had been sliced away. Mercifully all the men were dead.
Throughout the day and into the night the Xingu sang, danced and drank a milky red liquid that intoxicated them. Every now and then someone would approach one of the mutilated bodies, slice off a piece of meat and return it to the cooking fire. No one came near Jack or molested him in any way. He decided that they must be saving him for desert.
As the night and celebration continued and the Xingu fell asleep or passed out, Jack began to struggle against his bonds in an attempt to get free but to no avail.
Unexpectedly, the post he was bound to shook imperceptibly. Jack looked up to see the glint of a sharp blade moving across the ropes that tied his hands. As the ropes were severed Jack dropped a few inches to the ground and fell to his knees. Looking to his savior he saw the little Fisherman crouched behind the post and motioning for Jack to follow. Silently the two slipped away behind a row of huts and made their way out of the city.
The boy led Jack along a narrow dirt path that ascended the side of a high, rocky hill. As the darkness began to fade in the coming dawn the two came to a rock-strewn path that led up the side of a gradual cliff. Another ten minutes took them to a flat ledge and deep cleft in the rock face.
As Jack stepped out on the ledge he was confronted by a colossal stone obelisk towering above him. The thing was nearly forty feet tall with a four-foot base. The stone must have weighed a hundred tons, was smooth with no markings and, appeared to be hewn from one piece of solid black granite. Jack could not begin to imagine how such a thing came to be in this place.
Beyond the large stone, Jack could make out a cave entrance almost completely concealed by dense brush and hanging vines. Many of the shrubs and bushes grew directly out of the rock face sending long thin vines and tendrils trailing down to the ledge floor thus shrouding the entrance. A thick white mist gently wafted through the tendrils dangling over the entrance giving it a menacing and foreboding appearance.
The boy passed the great stone walking toward the cave entrance. Jack looked back and could see, in the first light of morning, the Xingu city stretched out across the jungle below. He marveled at how organized the city appeared despite its current state of decay.
The city was a vast crumbling ruin. Narrow foot paths could be seen meandering down wide streets overrun with lush green vegetation. Unkempt courtyards and parks were all but reclaimed by the insatiable Amazon jungle.
He could see a group of small stone pyramidal shaped buildings at the city center overgrown with vines and thick moss. Flowing from the low mountains at the cities Northern end was a small fast moving river. Here he could see no less than thirty stone aqueducts diverting water off into the city below. At various intersections of these were large pools with water lifting devices similar to an Archimedes Screw. All of these were either severely damaged or in such a state of disrepair that Jack doubted they functioned. The houses, streets and ancient stone buildings that made up the city were all derelict and broken-down, the mud and grass huts being the only habitable structures.
Without hesitation the boy entered the cave. Jack deliberated for a moment and then hurried to follow the child. Inside, the path narrowed and the sunlight was left behind. Damp walls dripped with moisture making the path treacherous. Soon the Xingu boy found a torch and fired it. As the two traveled deeper into the cave, Jack could hear water rushing through the cavern, the sound echoing through a large chamber somewhere in the darkness ahead.
The two eventually came to a narrow, low opening. The boy stepped through closely followed by Jack. Lowering the torch toward the floor the little Fisherman ignited a dark, thick liquid. Jack shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the luminous flames that raced through a trough that encircled a great room illuminating the entire chamber.
The two were standing in the entryway of a great amphitheater. Giant stalactites thirty feet long hung from the ceiling, their counterparts reaching up from the floor to meet them. Near the back of the chamber, a churning narrow swift moving river wound its way through the chamber filling the air with the sounds of cascading water. The chamber housed several weird and wonderful formations of various shapes and colors that would have captivated and enthralled Jack had it not been for the object in the middle of the room.
In the center of the amphitheater was an Airplane unlike any Jack had ever seen before.
It was at least sixty feet long. The wings, short and triangular, were set not at the center of the craft but at the rear of the fuselage with two small secondary wings near the sharp cone shaped nose. The plane was entirely covered with gold foil except for a narrow window at what appeared to be the cockpit. Jack could see no engine, and no propellers.
The airplane rested on a smooth flat portion of the cave floor. Looking closely he could see that the floor was made up of large, smooth, hand hewn, black granite stones.
Near the plane, resting on a raised platform was a hand carved and intricately decorated stone altar. Resting sup
ine on the altar was what looked to Jack like the figure of a man cast in gold.
Stepping up to the altar, he could see that it was no sculpture. Jack was looking at some kind of gold metallic flight suit. The gloves and boots had intricate clasps that sealed them to the main body of the suit. Jack could see the helmet had similar clasps and that these had been opened to facilitate its removal. Two small diameter flexible gold braided metallic tubes exited the helmet near the chin. Above this was a tinted glass visor. A thin rectangular box on the chest plate, about ten inches wide, and twelve inches tall, had two matching gold braided tubes exiting its sides snaking up to meet, and obviously connect to the helmet.
Four other pencil thin gold clad cables exited the left side of the box and connected to one larger cable that disappeared inside the suit. At the top of the chest piece was a flat black polished piece of glass tilted out at a forty-five degree angle so that the wearer of the suit could peer down at it.
The suit was beautiful with intricate designs and patterns stitched into the metallic fabric. Hieroglyphics similar to those on the airplanes fuselage could be seen on the right side of the pilot’s helmet. The left side had suffered considerable damage. If the pilot had been wearing it at the time it was damaged, he would have been killed instantly. Jack grasped the helmet in both hands and lifted it off the pilots head. Staring up at him were the empty eye sockets of a human skull.
The little Fisherman, seeing the wonder in Jack’s eyes, pointed to the body and spoke one word.
“Katch’.”
Shouts and the sound of approaching feet drew their attention toward the entrance. The little Fisherman grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him toward the narrow river near the back of the chamber. Pointing toward the water the boy said “Katch’ultan”.
Giving back Jack’s hunting knife that he had used to cut him free the boy turned to leave. Jack reached out and grabbed the boys arm.
“Thank you”. He said, touching his hand to his chest.
The boy looked confused but then, with a flash of understanding, mimicked Jack’s gesture turned away and ran toward the low archway. Jack watched him pass through and then heard many excited voices beyond. Turning he let his eyes follow the deep rushing torrent as it flowed through the cavern, picked up speed and then disappeared into a low, black, horizontal crevice a hundred feet away. Out of that blackness bellowed the unmistakable sound of a cascading waterfall.
He had no clue what “Katch’ultan” meant but, whatever it was, it had to be more agreeable than being recaptured by the cannibalistic Xingu. Pushing his knife into its leather sheath at his belt, Jack jumped into the water and was swept away by the tempestuous current. He was immediately sucked under, resurfacing just in time to see the black void racing toward him. Passing through the crevice he lost all sense of perspective as all light was instantly extinguished and he was rotated and spun under the surface. Abruptly he had the sensation of falling as he plunged over the expected waterfall. The last thing he thought of before hitting the water below was the pointed teeth of the little Fisherman smiling back at him.
Chasing El Dorado Page 18