Authors: John Koloen
83
It was nearly
dark when the two small aluminum boats glided to a stop alongside the cabin. The four men tied the V-hulls to one of the cabin’s stilts and slowly trudged up the uneven wood stairs to the deck where they slumped onto benches. Rocha struggled not to act on his disappointment when the captain broke off the search without finding the Americans or the professor.
Juarez made the best of things with a spicy vegetarian stew from available ingredients. Three of the men ate with gusto, cooling their tongues with warm beer. The fourth, Daniel Rocha, sat by himself on a bench, nursing his gloom. He knew it meant the old man was probably dead. Though he felt guilty for thinking it, it also meant that Rocha would be out of a job. But he was hungry and ate. It was good stew, everyone agreed. Having eaten, they briefly discussed calling authorities using the radiophone. But they fell asleep one by one before any decisions could be made.
84
Once again, Rocha
woke in the predawn darkness. Again, not wanting to disturb the others, he sat on the deck waiting impatiently for the day to get started. He felt strongly about continuing the search, and when Juarez awoke, he approached him as he dressed and made his pitch. Juarez listened as he made coffee, nodding his head and seeming to be in agreement. After a few sips of the strong brew, they walked on the deck and leaned on the railing, looking at the vast sheet of water.
“Did you notice, the water level is going down?” Juarez said, pointing to a ring the water left on a nearby tree. “See, it’s down ten centimeters already.”
Rocha shrugged. He wasn’t interested in the water.
“I think we should notify the authorities,” Juarez said.
“I agree,” Rocha said, “but shouldn’t we also try to find them, the professor, and the Americans? We’re already here. What if they need our help?”
Juarez smiled wanly. He’d come to the conclusion that the reason they found no trace of them was because they were dead and their bodies were either underwater or had drifted away in the current. He knew Rocha wouldn’t accept this, so he didn’t mention it in so many words but dropped hints, none of which were acceptable to Rocha. Juarez finished his coffee and left the deck to make breakfast. Rocha followed him inside and stared at the radiophone, which was mounted on a shelf in front of a small table along a wall. He’d never used one but studied the control panel, which had several knobs, dials and switches. He asked Juarez if he knew how to use it.
“I haven’t used that one, but I’ve used them. They’re like the radio in my boat, I think. This one looks old.”
Following a breakfast of eggs and beans, Juarez pulled up a chair in front of the radio. It was then that he realized he was looking at an old radiotelephone and not the type of device on his boat. He switched it on, and the room filled with static. He manipulated several knobs and then realized he didn’t know what he was doing and shut it off.
Rocha, who was watching, said, “The radio’s not working?”
“I don’t know. It’s more complicated than what I’ve used. Maybe there’s a manual or something.”
In one corner were several shelves filled with books and old magazines. He scanned the titles and pulled out a thin, worn paper booklet. It was the radio’s manual with many dog-eared pages. Raul Barbosa, the cabin’s deceased owner, had written notes in the margins of numerous pages. Unfortunately, Juarez couldn’t read the Portuguese scribbles. He handed the manual to Rocha.
“You’ll have to read it to find out how to use this thing,” he said, returning to his seat in front of the radio.
Rocha looked at the table of contents and turned to the section on operating the radio. At the top of the page was a notice that the law allowed only licensed high-frequency radio operators to use the device. When told of this, Juarez laughed.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“No. That’s what it says right here,” Rocha said, pointing out the paragraph.
“Just tell me how to use this thing,” Juarez said impatiently, and then thought better of it. “You know, there’s no reason why you can’t do this. After all, you can read Portuguese. You should be able to follow the instructions quicker by yourself.”
With that, Juarez poured the last of the coffee and joined Santos and Carvalho on the deck where they talked about the water level and the news that Carvalho had located a small chicken coop with two chickens and eggs waiting to be taken.
Rocha was not a technologist and felt frustrated from the start. He’d never used anything like a radiotelephone but persevered for the sake of the professor. After a half hour, despite doing things exactly as the manual instructed, he didn’t even know whether the signal was getting out or whether he was using the correct frequency.
“I’m used to looking up information on the internet,” he whined to Juarez. “If I could do that, I could probably figure this out. But the manual only tells you what all the switches and dials are for, not how to make a connection with someone.”
Juarez had hoped that they could get in touch with authorities and let them put together a proper rescue operation. He knew that a group of missing Americans would get their attention. But that wasn’t likely now. And Rocha continued to press him to resume the search.
“Maybe I can reach someone from my boat,” he said. “I know how to use my radio. Let me give that a try.”
Rocha thought the captain was wasting time, but if he could make contact with authorities, especially quickly, they could then continue the search. Once aboard the boat, however, and after multiple attempts to reach anyone, Juarez shouted to Rocha, who’d been watching from the deck.
“I’m gonna head toward the river,” Juarez shouted. “I should get a better reception there. You wait here. It won’t take long.”
Rocha was livid.
“What the fuck? You can’t do that. It’ll take hours. Look how long it took to get from the river to here.”
“That was because I was hauling boats behind me. I won’t have to deal with that. This will be much faster.”
While Rocha argued, Juarez started the engine and, moving deftly on the deck, undid the lines that kept the boat in place.
“What’s he doing?” Santos said to Rocha, who was still shouting at Juarez.
“He’s going back to the river.”
“Without us? What the fuck,” Santos said. “Hey, what about us!” he shouted at Juarez. “Don’t go without us.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be back in an hour,” the captain shouted.
Within moments, Juarez was out of earshot. Rocha explained to the others what was going on. Santos was relieved.
“Jesus, I thought he was going to leave us here,” Santos said.
“Well, we should be looking for the professor, and now we’re just stuck here.”
“You could take a boat if you want and do it yourself,” Santos suggested.
Rocha grimaced.
“I can’t. The captain has the GPS. I’d get lost.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait,” Santos said, popping the top on a beer. “You want one?”
85
Rocha was the
first to spot Captain Juarez’s boat. He wasn’t alone. A second, larger boat motored behind him, tying up alongside Juarez’s boat when they neared the cabin. Juarez was accompanied by three men wearing the uniforms of wildlife police. Two deputies followed a youngish looking corporal onto the cabin deck. With a nod, the corporal’s men entered the cabin to check it out. Juarez, Rocha, Carvalho, and Santos formed a semicircle around the corporal on the deck.
“Who is in charge here?” the corporal asked stiffly. According to the nametag on his shirt, his name was Barros.
The men glanced at each other.
“I guess I am,” Juarez said. “Captain Juarez at your service.”
They’d introduced each other on the river. The others pressed tightly around Juarez, wanting to catch every word.
“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Captain Juarez privately.”
Rocha, Carvalho, and Santos moved out of sight on another part of the deck.
Juarez and the corporal took seats on a bench, facing each other awkwardly as they twisted their torsos. This lasted for seconds before they faced forward and spoke while only glancing at each other.
“You should have told me you were in charge,” Barros said. He took out a notebook and pen. “This is for an official report,” he said slowly. “Briefly, tell me what happened.”
“I already told you that,” Juarez said.
“I know, but I wasn’t taking notes, and now this is for the official report. Just tell me, briefly, what you already told me. I find it helps if I capture your dialogue; you know, the way you speak. Helps give the report veracity. My lieutenant likes that.”
In less than five minutes, the corporal closed his notebook and rose. The two officers were leaning against the railing, talking quietly. Juarez called to his companions to join him.
“Captain Juarez filled me in about the Americans. Bug hunters. They came at the wrong time of year. They should have waited.”
“The end of the rainy season is sometimes the worst part of it,” Santos agreed.
“That’s right,” the corporal said. “Anything else you can tell me about them, what they were doing, where they were going? That sort of thing.”
Juarez explained how he had dropped off the group on a trip from Manaus. The guides then mentioned what they’d seen or heard. The corporal looked up from his notebook when Santos talked about finding skeletons.
“Skeletons?”
“Yes, skeletons. You know, the bones were still mostly connected. Not like you usually see in the forest.”
“What kind of skeletons?”
“Animal skeletons, and I think a human skeleton though I didn’t see it,” Carvalho said.
Corporal Barros stopped taking notes.
“A human skeleton?”
“Yes, yes,” Santos said, “one was with a dog. I think I didn’t actually see it, but I heard them talking.”
Barros looked askance at the captain.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” he asked curtly.
“I didn’t know,” Juarez shrugged. “I only dropped them off.”
Barros sought an explanation from Carvalho and Santos, who inadvertently admitted they had been hired as guards. They had hoped to keep themselves out of the corporal’s notebook.
“The obvious question is, how come you’re here instead of guarding this group?”
“Finding the skeletons, I don’t know, it scared us. You know, lots of bad things can happen in the forest. They didn’t explain things to us. Besides, we saw how the water was rising, and the Americans didn’t want to turn back, but we did,” Santos said.
“And just in time, too,” Carvalho added.
Finishing his interview with the guards, the corporal parlayed with his deputies, who were skeptical about what was said, and then asked if the guards could take them to where the skeletons were found. They agreed to try. Using Juarez’ boats, they motored away from the cabin late in the morning and arrived at their destination a little after one. The guards were in one boat, the corporal’s men in the second boat and the corporal sat with Rocha and Jaurez in the third boat. The water level was receding, sunshine was breaking through the canopy, birds were singing and monkeys screeching from above. After several false alarms, the guards were satisfied that they’d found the area where the skeletons had been found. Although the water level had dropped overnight, only the largest debris piles rose out of the water. Corporal Barros was losing patience, and his deputies were openly criticizing the guards and suggesting that they were making it up.
“Why would we make something like that up?” Santos countered indignantly. “What do we have to gain?”
Finally, the guards unsteadily climbed out of their boat to poke around, handing the bow line to one of the deputies to keep it from drifting away. The water in some places was no higher than their knees, but they felt pressure to find a skeleton, any skeleton. In their frustration, they used their machetes to cut poles from tree branches and started jabbing in the water to try to dislodge evidence that they had spoken truthfully. Even though they lived on the edges of legality, they resented deeply being thought of as liars. When one of the sticks became lodged on something under the murky water, jammed up against a log or stump, Santos pulled up on it as if working a heavy fish, and on the end of the stick was a portion of a ribcage. Santos smiled triumphantly and swung the stick toward the corporal, who pushed it away.
“Don’t throw that thing on me,” he ordered.
“See, see,” Carvolho said joyously. “We weren’t lying. We were telling the truth, and there it is.”
Rocha was stunned by this, as were Barros and his men. The guards were instructed to place the ribcage in their boat, which they rejected.
“I’m not riding in a boat with a skeleton,” Carvalho said defiantly. “Put it in your boat if you want it.”
“I’m in charge here,” the corporal said, authoritatively. “This may be a criminal matter. This is evidence.”
“I’m not going to look at this—this thing,” Santos argued.
“Then cover it up,” Barros said. “You’re either going to take it, or I’m going to file a charge of hindering an investigation.”
The guards looked at each other before bursting into laughter.
“You can’t make that stick,” Carvalho said, “and you know it.”
The corporal instructed his deputies to join the guards in the water. At first, they thought they were to take the guards into custody, but when their boss saw what was about to happen, he told them to stop.
“See if there are more bones,” Barros told them.
Both responded slowly. Neither wanted to handle a body with bare hands. They put on cloth gloves and felt around the water where the guards had pulled up the ribcage. There were more bones, including a skull, which they loaded into the guard’s boat. When they were finished, the pile was nearly eighteen inches high, mounded in the middle of the boat. They draped it with a large dirty towel that one of the guards had used as a seat cushion. While the bones were collected, at the corporal’s instruction, Captain Juarez used his GPS to mark the location.
“Is this one of the Americans?” the corporal asked as everyone returned to their boats.
“No, no,” Santos said. “This they found.”
“There were other skeletons,” Carvalho added, “I think they were animals.”
“We didn’t go much further,” Santos said. “We turned back because we were worried about flooding.”
“We were lucky to survive,” Carvalho said.
Rocha spoke little up to now, but he was worried that they were going to return to the cabin instead of searching for the professor and the others.
“What about the Americans?” Rocha asked the corporal. “Aren’t we going to look for them?”
It was a question that Barros wanted to ignore. It was already mid-afternoon, and he was concerned about returning before dark. Yet, he understood the ramifications of not at least trying to find the Americans. There would certainly be publicity, and if it turned out that he failed to help them, things could go badly for him. The department would close ranks, leaving him to fend for himself. And he felt that Rocha could either be an ally if he went on with the search or an enemy if he did not. He didn’t need more enemies.
Using Juarez’s GPS readouts from the previous day’s search mission, they continued the journey, reaching the clearing within a half hour. The water had receded since yesterday, and in places they could make out the outlines of a submerged road. Corporal Barros made notes about the obviously illegal lumber operation that had been here and wondered if the site had been abandoned or whether it would be back in operation once the forest dried out. Juarez gave him the coordinates.
They proceeded toward the old truck, which was not far away. He instructed his deputies to search the area on the opposite side of the road while he led the way, with Juarez and Rocha following, to investigate the area surrounding the truck.
“The water’s really come down,” Rocha said. Juarez steered cautiously around debris. In places, the boats’ hulls scraped against the forest floor.
“No telling what’s in the water,” Santos said to Carvalho.
“Lots of shit, I bet,” Carvalho snickered.
Gonzalo Juarez asked Daniel Rocha why the Americans had gone into the forest near the end of the rainy season.
“What were they looking for?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of bug. Professor Azevedo doesn’t confide in me. He’s probably had dozens of work-study assistants like me.”
“I don’t know what that is, but go on,” Juarez said.
“We get a scholarship, but we have to work for a faculty member to pay for it. Anyway, I don’t know much. Just the call with the coordinates and that they were in trouble. At least that’s how I remember it.”
The conversation was interrupted by a shout.
“We’ve found a body.”
Everyone looked toward the deputies on the other side of the road. They motored over quickly. Using a paddle, one of the deputies lifted up human remains. The torso was chewed up, and the eyes were missing, and there was a large, painful-looking hole in the abdomen. Juarez positioned his boat so Daniel Rocha at the bow could get a better look.
“I don’t know if it’s him. This person’s face is so chopped up. What could cause that?”
“Did you find clothing?” The corporal asked.
“The body still has pants.”
“Did you check the pockets?”
“No. Is that what you want us to do?”
“Well, yes. Of course. I’m assuming it’s a male, and he might be carrying a wallet or cell phone or something we could use to establish an identity.”
The deputies looked at his each sympathetically and shook their heads. Neither wanted to touch the body, even with gloves.
“Nestor, just reach down and pat around. This may be a person of some importance,” the corporal said, more as a suggestion than an order.
“Like I care,” Nestor responded sarcastically.
“You do this, and I’ll include it in my report,” Corporal Barros coaxed.
“And you’ll tell the lieutenant, too. Right?”
“I’ll tell the lieutenant,” Barros said, reluctantly.
Nestor shot a triumphant look at his partner and reached into the murkiness, feeling for pockets or lumps in pockets. Anything but organs. Or muscle. But as he moved his hand, he knew he was feeling things he didn’t want to see. But, he had aspirations.
Without everyone watching, Nestor’s arm shot into the air, his dripping hand clutching a mobile phone. He passed it to his partner, who gave it to the corporal, who handed it to Rocha.
“Professor Azevedo had an iPhone. I’m not sure if this is his. It’s the same color and model, as far as I can tell,” Rocha said, returning it to the corporal who put it into the small backpack he and his men carried.
Corporal Barros looked at Nestor, his eyes issuing a command to look again.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Nestor whispered.
“Barros?”
“No. This guy,” he said, pointing at the water.
“Some professor. I think. That kid, he knows him.”
Nestor was glad he had gloves. He knew he felt bone in places and loose flesh. The pants were large, and he could feel a bulge. He pulled on the pants until his arm was out of the water. The body was suspended just below the surface. What was left of it. Below the abdomen, the damage had been done by piranha or other aquatic denizens. The bites on the legs were jagged. The bulge was in a pocket that had a button closure. Nestor fumbled with the button momentarily, pulled out a wallet and let go of the pants. The body disappeared into the muck. The wallet was delivered to the corporal. He examined it and passed it to Rocha.
“Sorry, son,” Captain Juarez said. “The flood got him.”
Resuming the search near the truck, they found Johnson’s body. Its condition was similar to Azevedo’s. Chewed up below the waist and devoured in the torso. After returning to the cabin before nightfall, the corporal called in his report using his boat’s radiotelephone. Nestor listened closely. Not once did the corporal mention his name. He fumed.
Everyone could hear as the lieutenant said over the speaker that they’d found a group of Americans in the forest.
“Our guys asked them what happened, you know, they were in bad shape, and one of them says they were attacked by insects that killed two of their companions. Insects. One of our guys says, ‘Did the insects carry them away?’ you know, sarcastically. And the guy, the American, says, ‘No, they ate them.’ With a straight face no less.”
A low hum filled the room punctuated with crackling static.
“Can you imagine that? They’re in shock, obviously.”
“We found two bodies,” Barros said into the microphone. “They were in bad shape.”
“Well, let’s leave that to the civil police, shall we?”