Part 7 (1/2)

Very well, cried Humboldt, he would admit it. But these dead were so old, they couldn't even be described as corpses any more. In the final a.n.a.lysis, the entire world was made up of dead bodies! Every handful of earth had once been a person and another person before that, and every ounce of air had already been breathed by thousands and thousands now dead. What was the matter with them all, what was the problem?

He had only asked, said the chief shyly.

To ward off mosquitoes, the villagers had built mud huts with entrances that could be closed. They lit fires inside to drive out the insects, then crawled in and blocked the entrance, put out the fire, and were able to spend a few hours in the hot air without being bitten. In one of these huts Bonpland spent so much time cataloguing the plants they had gathered that he fainted from the smoke. Humboldt sat in the next hut coughing and half-blind, with the dog, writing to his brother. When they emerged, with stinking clothes, gasping for air, a man came running up to them, wanting to read their palms. He was naked, with brightly colored body paint and feathers in his hair. Humboldt refused, but Bonpland was interested. The soothsayer took hold of his fingers, raised his eyebrows, and looked in amus.e.m.e.nt at his hand.

Ah, he said, as if to himself. Ah, ah.

Yes?

The soothsayer shook his head. He was sure it was nothing. Things could happen one way or the other. Everyone forged his own luck. Who could know the future!

Nervously, Bonpland asked what he saw.

Long life. The soothsayer shrugged. No doubt about it.

And health?

Generally good.

Dammit, cried Bonpland. Now he demanded to know what that look had meant.

What look? Long life and health. That's what was there, that's what he said. Did the gentleman like this continent?

Why?

He was going to be here for a very long time.

Bonpland laughed. He doubted it. A long life, here of all places? Certainly not. Unless someone forced him.

The soothsayer sighed and held his hand for a moment, as if to give him courage. Then he turned to Humboldt.

Who shook his head.

It hardly cost a thing!

No, said Humboldt.

In one swift movement, the soothsayer grabbed Humboldt's hand. He tried to pull away but the soothsayer was stronger; Humboldt, forced to play along, gave a sour smile. The soothsayer frowned and pulled the hand closer. He bent forward, then straightened up again. Squeezed his eyes together. Puffed out his cheeks.

Just say it, cried Humboldt. He had other things to do. If something bad was there, it didn't matter, he didn't believe a word of it anyway.

Nothing bad there.

But?

Nothing. The soothsayer let go of Humboldt's hand. He was sorry, he didn't want any money, he couldn't do it.

He didn't understand, said Humboldt.

Him neither. It was nothing. No past, no present, no future. There was, so to speak, nothing and n.o.body to see. The soothsayer looked sharply into Humboldt's face. n.o.body!

Humboldt stared at his hand.

Of course it was nonsense. Of course it was the man's fault. Perhaps he was losing his gift. The soothsayer squashed a gnat on his belly. Perhaps he'd never had it.

That evening, Humboldt and Bonpland left the dog tied up next to the oarsmen, so that they could have an insect-free night in the smoke-huts. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Humboldt nodded off to sleep, soaked with sweat, eyes burning, his thoughts a blur in the fug.

He was awakened by a noise. Someone had crawled in and was lying down beside him. Not again, he muttered, lit the candle stub with shaky fingers, and found himself looking at a small boy. What do you want, he asked, what's the matter, what is this all about?

The child examined him with little animal eyes.

So what is it, asked Humboldt, what?

The boy kept staring at him. He was completely naked. In spite of the flame in front of his eyes, he didn't blink.

What, whispered Humboldt, what, child?

The boy laughed.

Humboldt's hand was shaking so badly that he dropped the candle. In the darkness he could hear them both breathing. He reached out his hand to push the boy away, but when he felt his damp skin, he recoiled as if he'd been hit. Go away, he whispered.

The boy didn't move.

Humboldt sprang to his feet, b.u.mping his head on the roof, and kicked at him. The boy screamed-since the business with the sand fleas Humboldt wore boots at night-and rolled himself into a ball. Humboldt kicked again and hit the boy's head, the boy whimpered softly and then went quiet. Humboldt could hear himself panting. He saw the shadowy body in front of him, seized him by the shoulders, and pushed him out.

The night air did him good; after the thick fug in the hut it felt cool and fresh. Walking unsteadily, he went to the next hut, where Bonpland was. But when he heard a woman's voice, he stopped. He listened, and heard it again. He turned back, crawled into his hut, and closed the entrance. The curtain had been open for long enough to let the insects fly in, and a panicked bat fluttered round his head. My G.o.d, he whispered. Then, out of sheer exhaustion, he fell into a restless sleep.

When he woke up, it was broad daylight, the heat was even more intense, and the bat was gone. Impeccably dressed, his uniform dagger at his side, and his hat under his arm, he stepped out into the open air. The area in front of the huts was empty. His face was bleeding from several cuts.

Bonpland asked what had happened to him.

He had tried to shave himself. Just because there were mosquitoes was no reason to turn savage, one was still a civilized human being. Humboldt set his hat on his head and asked if Bonpland had heard anything during the night.

Nothing special, said Bonpland carefully. One heard all sorts of things in the night.

Humboldt nodded. And one dreamed the strangest dreams.

Next day they turned in to the Rio Negro, where the mosquitoes were less plentiful over the dark water. The air too was better here. But the presence of the corpses was weighing on the oarsmen, and even Humboldt was pale and silent. Bonpland kept his eyes closed. He was afraid, he said, that his fever was coming back. The monkeys screamed in their cages, rattled the bars, and pulled faces at one another. One of them even managed to open its door, turned somersaults, plagued the oarsmen, went climbing along the edge of the boat, jumped onto Humboldt's shoulders, and spat at the snarling dog.

Mario asked Humboldt if he would please tell them a story.

He didn't know any stories, said Humboldt, as he straightened his hat, which the monkey had turned around. And he didn't like telling them. But he could recite the most beautiful poem in the German language, freely translated into Spanish. Here it was. Above all the mountaintops it was silent, there was no wind in the trees, even the birds were quiet, and soon death would come.*

Everyone looked at him.

That's it, said Humboldt.

Yes, but, asked Bonpland.

Humboldt reached for the s.e.xtant.