BLACK CITY (Ulysses Vidal Adventure Series Book 2) Page 4

  He waited for the implications to sink in, then he put his finger on an irregular blue line that ran through the territory from north to south.

  “And this is the Xingu River,” he continued. “It’s one of the largest rivers in the world, and one more tributary of the great Amazon. As you see, the Xingu runs through the indigenous region of the Menkragnoti, something that has been a blessing for them for centuries, but which in the end has become their nemesis, their doom.”

  “Explain that, please.” Cassie leaned over the map.

  Without taking his finger off the river, he went on. “It turns out that several years ago, a powerful Brazilian building company called AZS turned its eye on that immense river basin. With the connivance of the government, they decided to make a profit by building a great hydroelectric dam in the middle of the river. This dam will flood thousands of miles of rainforest, including the whole territory of the Menkragnoti.

  “Shit” I said. “And when are they planning to put the dam in operation?”

  “It’s already in operation. It’s only a question of time before the water level starts rising.”

  Cassandra looked at the professor. “Is that why Valeria’s expedition had to leave so quickly, and without enough preparation?”

  He nodded heavily. “Exactly. And that’s why we have to do the same. Valeria wanted to study the Menkragnoti and save whatever she could of their ancient culture, before they were expelled from their land and their record became lost in exile.” He raised his eyes from the map and tightened his jaw. “And now, we have to find her… before the whole region ends up under miles of water.”

  After the light dinner, which none of us really savored because we were thinking about the many hazards of our quest, we cleared the table of all the dishes and cutlery and spread out the whole map on top of it.

  “Let’s see,” said the professor, “Valeria’s last known position is right here.” He pointed at a big black cross already marked on the map. “It’s a Menkragnoti settlement on the banks of the Xingu River.”

  That spot, a simple pencil mark in the middle of nowhere, was three hundred and ten miles from the nearest road.

  “I see…” I muttered. “But, how on earth will we get there? This doesn’t show any road or path—”

  “That’s because there isn’t one,” the professor said. “No roads, paths, or forest tracks. Nothing.”

  “What about the river?” Cassie asked. “That’s usually the most practical way to travel in those areas.”

  “It’s our only option, although there’s a drawback…”

  “What is that?”

  Professor Castillo bent over the map and pointed at something with his pen.

  “You see these blue dots marked on the Xingu River bed?”

  “Where it says cachoeiras?”

  “It means “waterfalls.” There are seventeen along its course. Some are several miles high and all of them are insurmountable.”

  “But then… how are we going to go down the river if there are waterfalls?”

  “Just like my daughter did,” he replied, feigning confidence. “We’ll go down the Amazon in a river boat to Belo Monte, on the course of the lower Xingu. Then we’ll go upriver in light barges as far as Sao Felix do Xingu, and from there to the Indian village by canoe.”

  Cassie frowned with incomprehension. “Excuse me, Professor. But I think I missed the part where we dodge the waterfalls.”

  He smiled and made as if to load something on his back. “We’ll have to carry them over land at several stages,” he explained, and seeing her expression, he added with a smile, “Don’t worry, we won’t go alone. We’ll hire porters to help us with the canoes and the equipment.”

  I had to admit the idea was exciting, but I was still not totally convinced.

  “And… how long do you estimate it will take us that way?”

  He was looking at the map again. “It’s hard to say… but I think around fifteen or twenty days.”

  I shook my head. “Too long.”

  “Yes, I know. But there’s no faster way… I’ve already told you that it’s one of the most inaccessible places in—”

  “And by air?” I interrupted. “Why don’t we fly?”

  Professor Castillo shook his head, pointing at the empty green vastness.

  “Impossible. As you can see there are no landing places in the area, and it’s too far for any helicopter to reach.”

  “Not a helicopter. But a plane would be more autonomous.”

  “You’re not listening to me, Ulysses. I’ve told you there are no landing strips, I’ve checked. We can’t land.”

  I looked up from the map, grinning. “Who said anything about landing?”

  7

  The following day, after we had bought the necessary equipment and food supplies, we decided to get on the first boat that went downriver instead of waiting any longer. So twenty-four hours after landing in Santarem, we found ourselves at the river dock getting ready to board the Bahía do Guajará.

  That was the typical Amazon vessel for travelers: almost one hundred feet long by twenty feet wide, made of wood, painted blue and white, and with three decks,two of which were roofed to protect passengers from the sun and rain. It looked more like a floating house than a ship. But what really surprised me that afternoon, as we moved among the stream of passengers carrying bundles, animals, and children, was the number of people lying in hammocks which hung close together, in chaos, all over the decks.

  “Be careful with that!” the professor shouted from the deck of the ship already.. He was pointing at the small black case I was carrying in my hand. “It’s got the GPS and satellite phone in it, and they’re our only means of communication with the rest of the world.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” I said as I walked up the narrow gangway from the dock to the ship. “I’ll look after it just like a son.”

  Behind me, Cassie snorted.

  “I hope not,” she muttered. “If you had a son, you’d leave him any day and would travel to Vietnam to “rethink your life.””

  I pretended not to hear. I could understand her bitterness. I knew that would not be the last punch she would throw at me.

  Once we had brought our bags, equipment and supplies on board we had to carry everything to the cabin we had booked on the ship that would take us from Santarem to Belo Monte, on the course of the lower Xingu.

  “Damn!” I said as I looked around. “This is really crowded.”

  “It’s true,” agreed Cassandra, equally alarmed. “There must be at least twice the number of people allowed. Thank goodness that we booked a cabin.”

  The professor looked at the key they had given him at the office and said, “Well, yes. And fortunately we have the number one suite.”

  Our optimism dropped, however, when we arrived at a worn-out door with a number 1 scribbled on it by ballpoint and we opened it.

  The so-called “suite” was nothing more than a stuffy room with double bunk beds, a tiny hatch, some dirty mattresses piled against the wall, and a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The smell of damp was overwhelming. A couple of bold cockroaches were staring at us from the other side of the room, surprised that anyone should want to come in there.

  I looked over the professor’s shoulder. “This is outrageous! They could at least have left a chocolate bar on the pillow.”

  We finally decided to use the cabin as a store room. After that we followed the example of the other passengers and looked for a place to hang the hammocks we had bought that morning in the city, at the last minute.

  By the time we finished getting them up, evening had come, the sky was overcast, and the crew had begun to set up some old plastic tables which would turn that “walking-deck cum common sleeping quarters” into the ship’s dining room.

  “Ulysses, did you manage to arrange the flight?” Cassandra asked me then.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. By the time we arrive in Belo Monte the day after
tomorrow, they’ll be waiting for us.”

  “Órale! Qué bueno.”

  “Fantastic…” the professor grumbled.

  “Come on, Doc,” I said trying to cheer him up. “Don’t look so grim, it’ll be fun.”

  Cassandra smiled as she punched me gently on the shoulder. “To be honest, I thought you had gone completely nuts when you said we wouldn’t be landing. I figured you wanted us to parachute or something.”

  I shrugged my shoulders innocently. “Touching down on water isn’t exactly the same as landing. And of course doing it on a river may be something else…”

  “What’s the difference? What’s important is that we’re saving ourselves days of canoeing, and the hydroplane will drop us off right beside the Menkragnoti village. By the way, was it hard to convince the building company to lease us the hydroplane?”

  “Well, at first they refused point black, even though I made it very clear that it was mostly their fault, and their dam’s, that the situation was so urgent. But I also said that their pilots probably knew the area better than anyone else. They even threatened me, claiming it’s a protected area and other bullshit like that. They insisted that they’d take legal action against us if we persevered on going there.”

  “Seriously? Then why did they let us have the hydroplane for free?”

  “Well… I told them I didn’t give a damn about their legal threats and that I’d find another pilot who’d be willing to take us. I also stressed that I’d make sure the public opinion heard all about AZS’s despicable attitude, so that if anything should happen to us, cleaning up their public image would cost them a lot more. Even so, they said no. But two hours later, a high-ranking CEO of the company called back to apologize for the “misunderstanding.” He offered us a plane and a pilot who’d drop us off at the coordinates I gave him and return to pick us up as soon as we called him on the satellite phone.” I raised my thumb and added triumphantly, “This is going to be as easy as pie.”

  Just then, like a premonition, lightning burst dramatically over our heads. Then the floodgates of the sky opened and launched a deluge over the Bahía do Guajará.

  8

  At dawn it was absolutely clear. The sun shone brightly on our bow while the rainforest was outlined on the horizon like a thin dark strip beyond an expanse of several miles of quiet murky water. It was like an irregular border set artificially between river and sky so that they would not blur into the same thing. Above us was the sky, below us the river, and traveling between the two without really belonging to any one of these spaces was an insignificant wooden boat that seemed to navigate lazily toward the infinite.

  My friends were still asleep. Without waiting for them I climbed down from my hammock—the three hung one above the other—and went for a stroll on deck to relieve the numbness of my muscles and clear my mind after a very long night. A fraternity of drunken Brazilians had decided to take cover from the hot rain with huge amounts of iced cachaça while they went over the whole repertoire of Top of the Pops Amazon hits, as enthusiastically as they were out of tune, right beside us.

  I looked out to take in the amazing landscape as I enjoyed the momentary silence, only interrupted by the dull rattling of the boat’s engine. The Amazon flowed past us carrying vegetable debris and trees bigger than the boat itself which must have been dislodged by the rain of the night before. Who knew, the river might drag them for hundreds or even thousands of miles to the ocean and beyond, perhaps as far as the coasts of Africa.

  I was lost in my own thoughts, half asleep, when two pink bundles broke the surface of the river just a few feet away from the boat and submerged again, letting forth a spray of water a moment before doing so.

  I leaned overboard in surprise, trying to guess what I had seen.

  “Here we call them bõtos,” said a hoarse voice to my right.

  I turned to find out that one of the passengers who had been mercilessly belting out songs the night before had come to stand beside me without my noticing. He was looking out at the river with bleary eyes.

  “You call them river dolphins, right?” he asked without turning, in perfect Spanish with a strong Brazilian accent.

  “That’s right,” I replied with my eyes back on the river. “I’d never seen one. It’s weird that they’re pink.”

  The man looked at me briefly and I caught the strong whiff of sugar cane alcohol.

  “It’s because they’re gringos,” he said.

  “Gringos?”

  “The river legend says,” he explained seriously, “that they turn into tall handsome blond gringos at dusk. Then, they come ashore during village fairs and with their manly looks they seduce the girls and get them pregnant. Some of them turn into female bõtos and are never seen again.”

  “Couldn’t it be,” I said raising an eyebrow, “that when there are fairs in those villages, the girls have fun with other boys and if they become pregnant they blame the poor dolphins?”

  The stranger looked at me annoyed. It seemed he didn’t like my shocking theory.

  “Then how would you explain that some of them disappear?”

  “Isn’t it possible that they just run away with their boyfriends?”

  The man scrutinized me for a second, not happy with my skepticism.

  “Where are you from?” he asked, half closing his eyes, as if my origin could explain my incredulity.

  “Spain.”

  “Hmm… Spanish,” he muttered, and made a face as if this explained a lot of things.

  The truth is I would rather have been alone, but in this case I decided to proceed according to the rule for these situations. Just like when you talk about the weather to a stranger in an elevator.

  “Are you also going to Sao Felix?”

  “No, I leave the boat before, at Porto de Moz. I just went to Santarem for mercury.”

  “For mercury?” I repeated, thinking I had not heard right.

  “I have a mine down south. Without mercury I can’t separate the gold.”

  Now I was interested. “You have a gold mine?” I asked. “Are you a garimpeiro?”

  He frowned and looked insulted.

  “I am not a garimpeiro,” he said angrily. “I am a businessman, a proprietor, nothing to do with filthy garimpeiros.”

  “I apologize. I must have mistaken the term.”

  “It’s all right. Many people get it wrong,” he said, only half accepting my apology.

  “To be honest, I didn’t think there were still gold diggers in this part of the world. I thought there was no gold left.”

  The stranger smiled, incredulous, and shook his head.

  “In the Amazon,” he explained with a proprietor’s pride, “there is more gold than anywhere else on Earth. A fourth of the world’s gold reserve is under our feet, more than in South Africa, Alaska, or Canada.”

  “Seriously?” I was honestly surprised. “I had no idea there was so much.”

  “Thousands and thousands of tons,” he whispered as if it were a secret no one else knew about. “The problem is how to extract in the rainforest, and that the government is giving away the best land to the stupid natives, who don’t make anything of it.”

  I knew I was getting into a quagmire here. “Well, after all, these lands you’re talking about have always belonged to the indigenous people. I’d say the land is theirs.”

  Once again he was annoyed by my answer. “The land belongs to whoever works it.”

  I was dying to make him see the difference between working the land and plundering it. But I decided to remain quiet. It would have been a sterile argument with a man who used mercury to extract gold which he probably knew as well as I did that it would contaminate the rivers and poison the rainforest forever.

  “Are you a tourist in Brazil?” he asked after a long uncomfortable silence, when I was beginning to think he was going to leave.

  “More or less.”

  “Where are you heading to?”

  “To the higher Xingu,�
� I replied. “Menkragnoti territory.”

  Taking a step back, the man opened his eyes wide. His irritation seemed to evaporate. He put his hand on my shoulder, shook his head, and gave me a somber look.

  “Those lands are very dangerous, everybody knows that. The Indians don’t want anybody coming to their territory.” He swept his arm wide in a gesture that took in all the passengers on board. “If you go there…”

  Instead of finishing the sentence he grinned crookedly and drew his thumb across his throat.

  I would be lying if I claimed that the conversation with the stranger had not unsettled me. The professor might be sure of the natives’ hospitality, but I was not convinced myself. There was also the matter of the wildlife.

  I tried not to think about it much, but we were not carrying even a single dose of antivenom serum. Before we left I found out that there are more than a dozen poisonous species of snakes in the region, all of them deadly. Among them the much feared equis, the slippery “rotten leaf,” the giant surucucu, or the aggressive and agile taya, which is said to attack humans on sight. Not to mention alligators, poisonous rays, electric eels capable of killing a man with just one shock, or the ever present piranhas which devour anything that falls into the river in a matter of seconds, all of which also thrive in the waters of the Xingu.

  What worried me the most was that we had not had time to start the treatment to prevent malaria, so that just one sting from an infected mosquito could kill us unless we were evacuated immediately.

  There was a horribly long list of things that could go wrong. But the ones that really worried me were not on that list: the unknown.

  I was wondering about this as I went back to my hammock. Cassandra had woken up with circles under her eyes. She greeted me with indifference.

  “When I didn’t see you I thought you might have decided to leave the boat…”

  I felt tired and sat on her hammock.