Authors: John Koloen
37
They reached the
tributary around noon. It was twenty feet wide, with silty mud banks and a weedy overhang that was slippery to descend. Suarez was the first to go. His left foot sank to his ankle into the silt as soon as he stepped down from the overhang. The mud was heavy, thick, and sucked at his foot. Grasping handfuls of weeds to steady himself, he pulled his foot up.
“This isn’t a good place to cross,” he said aloud, shaking his head.
Duncan looked at Suarez’ boss, Javier Costa. Costa approached Suarez, and they discussed what to do next while looking at their map. It showed a crossing, but this wasn’t it.
“Maybe we’re not reading the map properly,” Costa said in Portuguese.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
From where they were standing, they could not see a likely crossing. Costa wondered whether there really was a crossing. He did not want to disappoint his client, who might withhold all or part of the second payment if they were unable to find what they were looking for. Some sort of insect, he thought. There had to be a place they could cross. The water wasn’t deep. They needed to find a place with less mud.
“I’ll tell you what, you follow the river in that direction for a couple hundred meters, and I’ll do the same in the other direction,” Costa said. “And then we’ll meet back here?”
Suarez raised his eyebrows.
“What happens if we come back here, and we haven’t found a crossing? What do we do then?”
Costa tipped his head back and stared at the nimbus clouds as they passed the sunny blue sky. Then forward to face Suarez.
“Why do you always have to be so negative? All you young guys, you’re either smart asses or cynics. I don’t know which is worse.”
Suarez rolled his eyes.
“What would you do?” Costa asked.
“I’m not the boss.”
“C’mon, ever since I started working as a guide, I wanted my own business, and you must be thinking about that, too. Admit it. It’s nothing to hide. You’re not my slave.”
Suarez didn’t know what to say immediately.
“Okay, if I were boss,” he said, looking at Costa, “I’d do what you said to start and then flip a coin and head one way or the other. And I’d say a prayer.”
“All you young people aren’t atheists?” Costa said, jokingly.
“Stop it,” Suarez said. “I get it. I could say things about old people like you, but I won’t.”
Costa told Duncan what they were going to do. He said it would take no more than ten minutes. Duncan’s troops spent the time combing the area for carcasses, finding several small mammals. Costa and Suarez went their separate ways, each hoping to find an easier crossing. They could do it where they were despite the mud, but it would take time. They’d have to string ropes so that there would be something to hang onto, and then they’d have to wash the mud off. They were looking for a sandy or rocky bottom.
Costa had walked for only ten minutes before he started doubting this strategy. What if they found no crossing? All they would have done was to waste time. He should have just accepted the fact that the crossing would be muddy, that it would take time and been done with it. Why did he let his assistant decide what they would do? It was the boss’ job to make the difficult decisions, and here he just passed the buck as if Duncan would care who was responsible. He would go another hundred meters and then turn back and do what he should have done in the first place.
38
Suarez was energized
and surprised by how he had stood up to his boss after he started his usual insults about the younger generation. He felt as if he had defended not only his own honor but the honor of every young person. They were not all lazy and looking for the easy way out. He, for one, was willing to work hard to save enough money to start his own business. It meant not having the things some of his friends had, especially a car, but a car wouldn’t serve where a boat was needed. He’d never seen a fishing party drive to a hot fishing spot. They either flew if they were wealthy, or they hired a boat and a guide.
His mind now focusing on his future business projects, he made good time hiking along the stream, which had been carved out of the soft soil of the surrounding embankment. Occasionally, thick brush obscured the view, but he was fairly certain that any crossing would be plainly visible because it would have been used by animals and persons familiar with this part of the forest.
When he started, he allowed himself fifteen minutes before he’d turn back. At the pace he was traveling, he figured he’d cover five hundred meters. However, like his boss, he began to doubt the efficacy of the strategy, and as time ran out, he thought about simply turning back, hoping that Costa would find a decent crossing. But before he could finalize his decision, he saw a small clearing alongside the embankment that opened on the stream bed where it became very shallow, the water barely deep enough to cover the midsole of his shoes. Sliding down the embankment, he gingerly slid into the water expecting his shoe to sink into the mud. It sank only a few centimeters as he placed most of his weight onto it and then took a step with his other foot. His foot sank several centimeters and then stopped.
The stream was no more than seven or eight meters wide, and the opposite bank was sloped only a half meter high and the brush had been trampled. Smiling broadly, he crossed the stream and moved a short distance into the forest, following a narrow path of trampled grass and weeds that continued for as far as he could see which, because of the increasing density of trees, was not very far.
Curious, he followed the trail until he came across something he’d never seen before yesterday. And now he was seeing it again. An animal carcass near the trail hollowed out. He poked it with a stick. It was a Labrador, its black hide still silky. He wondered what a Labrador would be doing in the forest without its owner. Suarez stooped to get a closer look. The dog’s collar was fastened around its empty neck. A thought jetted across his mind as he reached for the collar. Should he tell the others about the carcass? But he scoffed at his own idea. Who would pay money for a dog hide and skeleton? A metal tag hung from the collar. It was imprinted with a phone number and the name CARLOS.
“What kind of name for a dog is Carlos?” he whispered.
Not wanting to waste time, he crossed the river and walked quickly back to the camp.
39
Duncan assembled his
group within moments of Suarez’ return. Javier Costa had already reported finding no easy crossing. While leading the way, Suarez told Duncan about the dog.
“A Labrador?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it. It was just like the others, just a skeleton inside.”
“What’s a Labrador doing out here?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Suarez said. “I thought it odd, too. I’ve always thought of Labradors as pets. But there it is.”
Overhearing the conversation, Costa asked Suarez in Portuguese whether the dog had tags or a collar. Suarez nodded.
“The tag said ‘Carlos’ and a phone number. Of course, no service out here, so I didn’t call the number.”
Duncan asked Suarez what he had said to Costa.
“That’s a ridiculous name for a dog if you ask me,” Suarez said. “One of my cousins is a Carlos.”
“Do you have the number?” Duncan asked. “I have a satellite phone. I could try to call. It could be important. Maybe the owner saw the insects we’re looking for. It could save a lot of time.”
“Sorry, no,” Suarez said, sheepishly, as if he’d forgotten something important. “But the crossing isn’t far. We should be there in no time.”
Duncan picked up the pace, adjusting his backpack so it rested higher on his hips, leaving the group behind, which was burdened with their own overloaded packs and scientific equipment. Suarez followed Duncan closely while Costa and the others fell behind with each step. Suarez smiled. The old man can’t keep up, he beamed.
Duncan, walking with long, purposeful strides, marched past Suarez’ crossing. The young man put his hand on the taller man’s shoulder and said, “It’s this way.”
Standing above the stream, Duncan could see only a mud bottom and Suarez’ shoe prints. He gave the assistant guide a skeptical look. Suarez responded as if Duncan had spoken.
“No, this is it. The mud isn’t deep. There’s flat rock under it. You just have to take it slowly and slide your feet instead of lifting them. You lift your foot, and you’ll fall. Very slippery under the mud.”
“It looks slippery.” Duncan nodded.
“It’s not bad, just don’t pick up your feet. You see how low the water is. You won’t get wet unless you fall.”
Duncan looked around for a stick in case he needed something to lean on. He saw that the group had come into view and that Costa was leading them. Suarez understood what Duncan was looking for and, using his machete, cut a branch from a nearby tree, expertly stripped it of leaves and handed it to Duncan.
“I wouldn’t put all your weight on it, but it’ll help keep your balance if you slip.”
Duncan took the branch, saw that it bent easily but used it anyway as he descended the slippery grass slope, stepping gingerly into the riverbed. He realized immediately that his shoes sank only slightly into the mud and skated to the other side, grabbing handfuls of the long grass to pull himself up the opposite slope. With no thought of waiting for the others, Duncan stepped away from the stream and into the forest.
“Where is it?” he asked emphatically. “The dog?”
“It’s just down that trail, on the right,” Suarez said, catching up to Duncan.
Duncan jogged to the carcass in less than a minute.
“You didn’t move it, did you?”
“No, no; I just looked at it and read the tag. You can see it there on the collar. Are you going to call the number?”
Surrounded by the forest and its thick canopy, Duncan shook his head.
“The signal won’t get through the trees. Anyway, let’s get the others across first.”
40
After speaking to
Suarez, Duncan lost interest in choreographing the crossing, leaving Cody Boyd in charge while he returned with the young guide to the dog. He took photos with his smartphone and inspected the collar closely.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why do you think someone would leave a pet Labrador in the forest, Professor?” Suarez asked, at length.
“I’m wondering that myself,” Duncan mused, scanning the jungle as if for an answer.
Within fifteen minutes, the others joined Duncan and Suarez, each examining the dog and noting the collar. Several asked whether they should call the number, and Duncan patiently explained that the satellite phone wouldn’t work under the forest canopy. As they filtered up from the river to meet Duncan, they wandered through the heavily shaded forest, their eyes scanning the ground for dead animals like beachcombers looking for shells. They did this without instruction from Duncan, who watched as Professor Azevedo inspected the Labrador, using a pocket magnifier to study the animal’s left front paw.
“The bones bear the characteristic marks left by
blaberus
. It doesn’t make sense,” Azevedo said to no one in particular.
“What doesn’t make sense, or was it rhetorical?” Duncan asked.
As if awakened from a light nap, Azevedo looked up at Duncan.
“That this dog, which was clearly someone’s pet, would somehow have died of natural causes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have steadfastly held to my conjecture that
blaberus
is primarily a scavenger. I don’t think I believe that anymore.”
“Well, you suspected, right? I mean, none of us really knows.”
“That may be, but I think now
blaberus
is a predator. I can no longer deny it; I’m afraid I’ve been wrong about this from the beginning. Sometimes, I think it’s better that I haven’t published. If I can get something like that wrong after years of study, how can I trust any of my conclusions?”
Although he believed he had never been wrong about important things, Duncan had fantasized about it for years. The prospect of failure kept him sharp. He was not a complacent man. He was the kind of person who wrote the script for his life, and to do what he enjoyed, he had to bring in funding, and lots of it. He was good at it. He knew how to fill out forms, and for more than a few years wrote his own grant proposals. Eventually, he was successful enough to budget a part-time grant writer into his funding stream.
“You’re too hard on yourself, Dr. Azevedo,” Duncan said sympathetically. “You couldn’t have known. You’re just second guessing yourself.”
Azevedo approached Duncan.
“Now it seems I know so little.”
“And just think, you’re the world’s expert on
blaberus
. You named it for chrissakes.”
Azevedo gave him a critical look. He wasn’t devout, but he was a Catholic.
“Okay, so, what do we actually know about
blaberus
, now that it may have become a predator? What can we say about it with certainty?” Azevedo wondered.
Duncan looked to where people were standing over the carcass.
“We know that recently something has changed in their behavior. We wouldn’t have known that if you hadn’t studied them.”
“And that gets us where?” Azevedo asked.
“You’re playing devil’s advocate against your own position. That’s not fair,” Duncan said. “If you can’t defend your position, then maybe you’re right to get into a funk. But I don’t think so.”
Azevedo shrugged and started to walk away.
“Don’t you see?” Duncan said. “We’ve discovered something new. This isn’t a failure. It’s a freaking success. Now we’ve got something to publish. We’re documenting all of this. Hell, Cody might have enough video for a documentary. Isn’t that what you want? Have you ever seen so many finds in one day? You’ll know more about
blaberus
…”
“But it’s not the blaberus I thought I knew,” Azevedo said winsomely. “It’s different. It’s like a completely different species. The numbers of them, there must be tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands to strip the flesh from the inside out. The
blaberus
I studied, I felt sorry for them. I guess I haven’t adjusted quickly enough to the new paradigm. But I see your point.”
The two joined the group, circling the Labrador. They bubbled with questions and laughter, poking fun at Johnson for sharing the first name of the dead dog.
“You dog, you,” Boyd joked, evoking a grimace from Johnson.
“It might be funny if it weren’t so obvious,” Johnson retorted, stepping away.
Raising her hand, Alison Peeples asked, having overheard much of what Azevedo and Duncan had said, “Are they officially predators now?”
Azevedo glanced at Duncan, encouraging him to respond.
“Our new working hypothesis is that they are predators. And we infer that their colony is large, perhaps ten thousand or more.”
“It’s clear to me they’ve overcome the fungus problem,” Azevedo said.
“Or, it could be that they’re a new species,” Stephanie Rankin interjected.
“My question is, do they pose a threat to us? I mean, we are in the middle of nowhere. What would we do if, say, they attacked us?” George Hamel asked.
Azevedo and Duncan exchanged glances.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Duncan said. Scanning the group, he asked loudly, “Where’s our security guys?”
Everyone looked around. There were ten of them. The two security guards were nowhere to be seen. Duncan approached guide Javier Costa, signaling Suarez to join them. They moved out of earshot of the others.
“You’re the guide; you’re in charge,” Duncan said in a loud whisper.
Costa looked at his assistant. Suarez gestured for his boss to reply.
“
É
verdade, I hired the men, but they are probably nearby. Why would they leave? I pay them only twenty-five percent up front for them to buy what they need for the job. You know.”
“Well, then, shouldn’t you go find them? What good are they if they’re not with us?” Duncan said brusquely.
Costa smiled nervously and, after conferring with Suarez, they walked down the trail together. Duncan returned to the group and moved it away from the carcass and continued to respond to questions. Duncan was not one to stand in the way of a gift horse and saw his reputation soaring with the first published paper on the redefined
blaberus
.
As the guides left, Rankin volunteered that she thought the guards had been watching her in the woods. This set everyone buzzing, except for Peeples, who smiled knowingly at Rankin.
“Are you kidding?” Boyd bellowed. “They stalked you?”
“I don’t know if they were stalking me. I was, you know, trying to go to the bathroom,” Rankin said softly.
“Why do we even have those guys?” Boyd asked. “They haven’t done anything that I can see.”
“Calm down,” Duncan urged. “We’ll figure this out when they come back. Meanwhile, let’s spread out and search the area for other carcasses.”
Duncan invited Rankin to join him and Azevedo on a fallen tree trunk and discussed the situation with the guards.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?”
Rankin shook her head.
“I don’t know, I was going to, but other things came up, and I forgot. Sounds lame, I know.”
“Not at all,” Duncan said, trying to be reassuring. “You’re the victim here. But I’m not sure what we can do about it just now.”
Rankin nodded.
“Yeah, let’s just drop it. Once is an anomaly,” she said. “Besides, I can’t prove anything. They didn’t do anything to me.”
Duncan thanked her and suggested she join the search. Azevedo sipped from his water bottle. He stroked the front of his neck.
“Have you ever worked with these guys before, the guards?”
“No. They were arranged by the guide. I must say I am disappointed in them, now that they’ve apparently fled. I didn’t pay much attention to them before,” Azevedo said.
Duncan smiled.
“Do you think we need them? I didn’t before we started.”
“You never know what you’ll run into in the forest.”
“You think we should be worried about drug gangs?”
“Worried, no.”
A moment passed.
“Okay, I’m not worried. Truth is, I only recommended security to keep one of my tourists happy. The one who helped fund the expedition.”
“You’re fortunate to have a benefactor.”
“I am; I’m glad she’s interested in entomology rather than, say, archeology. And if it weren’t for her, we’d still be in Manaus trying to raise funds. We couldn’t have gotten here so quickly without her, that’s for sure.”
The men looked away from each other and stared at the ground. Azevedo started thinking about
blaberus
’ new identity as a predator. Though he had considered the possibility in passing because they had the weapons, years ago he had concluded the species could never grow numerous enough to become a threat.
He wondered about how they communicated, given what must be a colony of thousands. He wondered whether anything he thought he knew about the species remained relevant. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. He knew Duncan was right. He wondered whether he had invested too much of himself into the
blaberus
he had discovered to the extent that he could not adjust to new facts. Why, he wondered, was it so hard to start over with this thing? He needed to be more of a scientist, he thought, and less of an old man. Follow the data wherever it led. Even at seventy-six, he should be able to do that, he told himself.
And then someone screamed.