Part 8 (1/2)

He meant it, said Humboldt.

No he didn't, said Bonpland.

Yes he did.

Everyone seemed uneasy and fell silent. Bonpland drew breath, but said nothing. One after the other they turned toward the fire and pretended to be asleep.

From now on Bonpland's fever began to get worse. More and more often he got up during the night, took a few steps, then collapsed, giggling to himself. Once Humboldt got the feeling that someone was bending over him. As if in a dream he saw Bonpland's face, teeth bared, a machete in his hand. He thought as fast as he could. One had strange dreams here, as he knew only too well. He needed Bonpland. So he had to trust him. This must therefore be a dream. He closed his eyes and forced himself to lie there motionless, until he heard the sound of footsteps. When he blinked the next time, Bonpland was lying beside him, eyes closed.

Day after day the hours blended into one another; the sun hung low and fiery over the river, it hurt to look at it, the mosquitoes attacked from every side, even the oarsmen were too exhausted to talk. For a time they were followed by a metal disc that flew ahead of them and then behind them again, glided silently through the sky, disappeared, reappeared, came so close for minutes at a time that Humboldt with his telescope could see the curved reflection of the river, their boat, and even himself in its glistening surface. Then it raced away and never came back.

The weather was clear when they reached the end of the channel. To the north, granite-white mountains reared over their heads, and on the other side gra.s.sy plains stretched away into the distance. Humboldt fixed the setting sun with his s.e.xtant and measured the angle between the path of Jupiter and that of the moon as it wandered on its way.

Now finally, he said, the channel really existed.

On the way back downstream, said Mario, things would go faster. No need to fear the rapids any more and they could stick to the middle of the river. And that way they'd escape the mosquitoes.

He doubted it, said Bonpland. He didn't believe there was a place anywhere that was free of them. They had even worked their way into his memory. If he thought of La Roch.e.l.le, he found the town full of insects.

The appearance of the channel on maps, said Humboldt, would benefit this entire part of the world. It would be possible to transport goods across the continent, new centers of trade would spring up, enterprises no one could ever dream of before would become possible.

Bonpland had a fit of coughing. Tears came pouring down his face and he spat up blood. There was nothing here, he panted. It was hotter than h.e.l.l, there were nothing but stinks, mosquitoes, and snakes. There would never be anything here, and this filthy channel wouldn't make a bit of difference. Now could they please start back?

Humboldt stared at him for several moments. He hadn't decided that yet. The Esmeralda mission was the last Christian settlement before the wilderness. From there it would be a few weeks' journey through uncharted land to the Amazon. And n.o.body had yet discovered the Amazon's source.

Mario crossed himself.

On the other hand, said Humboldt reflectively perhaps it would be imprudent. The thing might be dangerous. If he died now, all the findings and scientific results would die with him. No one would ever know about them.

They shouldn't be put at risk, said Bonpland.

It would be insanity, said Julio.

Not to mention those! Mario pointed to the corpses. No one would ever get to see them!

Humboldt nodded. Sometimes one had to be able to hold back.

The Esmeralda mission consisted of six houses set between huge stands of bananas. There wasn't even so much as a missionary, just an old Spanish soldier to oversee fifteen families of Indians. Humboldt engaged some of the men to scratch the termites out of the planks of the boat.

The decision not to go further was the right one, said the soldier. In the wilderness behind the mission the people were uninhibited murderers. They had several heads, they were immortal, and the language they spoke was Cat.

Humboldt sighed. He was troubled. It angered him that now some other person would find the source of the Amazon. To distract himself, he studied the paintings of suns, moons, and intricately coiled snakes that were scratched into the cliff almost three hundred feet above the river.

The water level must have been higher long ago, said the soldier.

Not that high, said Humboldt. Evidently the cliffs were once lower. He had a teacher in Germany whom he was hardly going to dare tell about this.

Or there were flying people, said the soldier.

Humboldt smiled.

Lots of creatures flew, said the soldier, and n.o.body thought that was odd. While on the other hand n.o.body had ever seen a mountain rising.

People didn't fly said Humboldt. Even if he saw it, he wouldn't believe it.

And that was science?

Yes, said Humboldt, that was exactly what science was.

When the boat was repaired and Bonpland's fever had subsided, they started the return journey. As they said goodbye, the soldier asked Humboldt to put in a good word for him in the capital, so that he would be transferred elsewhere. It was unendurable. Just recently he'd found a spider in his food, and here he held both palms next to each other, that big! Twelve years, you couldn't expect that of anybody. Full of hope, he gave Humboldt two parrots as a gift and kept waving for a long time as they left.

Mario was right: going downstream was faster and out in midstream the insects weren't so aggressive. A short time later they reached the Jesuit mission, where Pater Zea greeted them with amazement.

He hadn't expected to see them again so soon. Remarkable robustness! And how had they got on with the cannibals?

He hadn't encountered any, said Humboldt.

Odd, said Pater Zea. Almost all the tribes up there were cannibals.

He couldn't confirm that, said Humboldt with a frown.

His people in the mission had been absolutely restless since their departure, said Pater Zea. They had been very stirred up by their ancestors being taken from their graves. Perhaps it would be better if they switched back into their old boat at once and continued their journey.

It looked as if a storm was coming, objected Humboldt.

This couldn't wait, said Pater Zea. Things were serious and he couldn't guarantee anything.

Humboldt thought for a moment. Then he said that they must obey authority.

The next afternoon clouds gathered. Thunder rumbled distantly over the plain, and suddenly they were plunged into the most cataclysmic storm they had ever encountered. Humboldt ordered the sail to be hauled down, and the chests, corpses, and animal cages unloaded onto a rocky island.

They'd had it coming, said Julio.

Rain had never yet hurt anybody, said Mario.

Rain hurt everyone, said Carlos. It could kill a person. It had already killed a lot of them.

They would never get home, said Julio.

And what if they did, said Mario. He'd never liked home.

Home, said Carlos, was death.

Humboldt instructed them to moor the boat over there against the other bank. They cast off and at that moment there was a surge in the river which carried the boat with it. For a moment, Bonpland and Humboldt saw one of the oars fly overboard, then the foaming water blocked their sight. Seconds later the boat flashed again a long way in the distance, then it and all four oarsmen were gone.

And now, asked Humboldt.

Since they were already here, said Bonpland, they could inspect the rocks.