“I’m sure they know something.” Laura sighed. But she was not convinced by what she said.
This was not the journey’s end we had expected. Danger and even death, yes, but we had also expected some news of Laura’s husband. In fact just the opposite happened. They treated us like honored guests but told us absolutely nothing.
And meanwhile, it rained, endlessly. It rained on the huts, on the trees, and on the fields. The only song to be heard in the jungle was that of the rain.
“That’s why we’re still here,” said the wise man of Iquitos, “because the waters of the Unine are running so high it would be impossible to row down it. As soon as the rain stops, they’ll take us back to La Atalaya.”
Little by little, an idea began to take hold of me, that of searching Pullcapa Ayumpari’s tantootzi. If Dr. Sheldon had come up the Unine, and we knew that such a possibility existed, there must be some evidence of him in the village. To find out what had happened to him, all we had to do was get into that tantootzi, the most likely place to find such evidence.
I mentioned my idea to César Calvo.
“We can’t let Laura go back empty-handed. There’s nothing worse than uncertainty. She has to know if her husband is alive or dead,” I said.
“It’s very risky. An Ashaninka cannot forgive someone who goes into his house to steal. The punishment is death. Always, without exception.”
I remained silent for a long while, watching the rain.
“The rainy season will be over soon and on that day the Ashaninka will hold a celebration. But not here in the village. They’ll go to the shores of the Unine,” whispered the wise man of Iquitos, adding: “That’s our only chance.”
“I’m going to give it a try,” I said.
César Calvo nodded, smiling. He was not unaware of the motives that lay behind my decision.
“I’m afraid otherwise Laura may go mad,” I said in justification of my action. “She seems more and more turned in on herself. She spends hours staring out at the jungle, without saying a word.”
“Yes, we must do something,” said César encouragingly.
Hardly a week had passed before the blue sky returned to the Amazon. The Ashaninka greeted it with laughter and shouts, with an enthusiasm that to us, the inhabitants of another world, seemed childish. Nonetheless, their high spirits were enviable. They were happy, we were not.
The preparations for the celebration began very early. Warriors, old men, and children allowed themselves to be adorned by the women. Seated at the doorway of his tantootzi, Pullcapa Ayumpari was arrayed like a peacock. He would without doubt be the most distinguished figure at the celebrations.
By midday, the village was practically empty. Only three warriors remained on guard at the entrance, but they were too drunk on chuchuwasi to carry out their duties. The moment to take action had arrived.
“I’m going to have a look around the shirimpiare’s hut. I may find something,” I said to Laura before leaving. She was lying down on her bed with her eyes closed, even more downcast than usual.
“You are a brave boy,” she said, opening her eyes and making an attempt at a smile. I took that smile, locked it in my heart, then left, absolutely determined to discover something.
Pullcapa Ayumpari’s tantootzi was much darker inside than one would have expected on such a bright day and it took some time before my eyes could make out what any of the objects scattered around the room were. Finally I managed to identify the clay containers in which the shirimpiare kept his ointments, as well as some masks that I had never seen him wear but that were presumably for use in religious ceremonies. I made my way over to the bed, which was no larger or more luxurious than those we had in our hut, and then I stopped. Something was not quite right here. But what? I realized that my eyes had glimpsed something, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I searched every corner but could find nothing unusual.
“I can’t see it now, but I did see something,” I thought, and then returned to the part of the tantootzi I would have seen on first entering the hut.
Then I spotted it. It was rectangular in shape and lay among the clay containers. It looked like a book. My fingers confirmed that impression. The cover read: Discours sur les sciences et les arts by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. And on the third page, in tiny writing, were the words I had so longed to see: If lost, return to Thomas Sheldon, Medical Captain, Fleury, Normandy.
A shaft of light entered the hut, as if a ray of sun had managed to pierce the roof of the tantootzi. But — as I realized when I looked up — that was not the source of light. The light was coming from the door, which was slightly ajar. A red hand was slowly pushing it open. Before I had time to react, an Ashaninka was standing before me. His face and body were painted in many colors.
“Pullcapa!” I cried, not out of terror or fear of the punishment that awaited me, but out of the shame I felt the moment I recognized him. It was not right to betray the man who had saved my life. “I did it for Laura,” I said, showing him the book.
Pullcapa Ayumpari simply stretched out his hand, the way a father would to a small child, calmly, without a trace of displeasure or anger. I obeyed and took his hand. It was like being five years old again.
“Now I understand what it means to be a shirimpiare,” I thought as we both followed the path that led into the jungle. He was a father to everyone, a great tree, a good river; a man who had suffered only in order to struggle with the Great Enemies who destroyed his brothers, weaker than himself. I remembered what César Calvo had told me, but I did not fear for my life.
Still silent, Pullcapa Ayumpari led me to a clearing in the jungle full of small mounds made out of pebbles from the river. Each mound, surrounded by bows and arrows, was adorned with white flowers. I understood that this was where the Ashaninka warriors were buried.
Pullcapa let go of my hand and indicated that I continue along the path. Again I obeyed.
Twenty paces on was one solitary mound. There were no flowers this time only a gold object with three ribbons.
“So he didn’t throw it in the river,” I thought sadly. For that golden object was none other than the medal the army had bestowed on Thomas Sheldon, Medical Captain. One of the ribbons, the larger one, bore the cross and colors of the Union Jack. The other two represented the Red Cross and the Republic of France.
“You suffered greatly. Now rest in peace.” I prayed as I knelt.
“When I returned to where I had left Pullcapa, I found myself alone. The shirimpiare, the good father of all the Ashaninka, had returned to the celebrations by the Unine.
“I want you to be the one to tell her. I don’t feel able to,” I said to César Calvo. He was much surprised by what I had told him. He just could not understand Pullcapa’s behavior.
“Oh well, it’s better this way. Don’t worry. I’ll go and tell Laura now,” he said.
I spent that afternoon wandering through the jungle that surrounded the village. I envied the Ashaninka, whose voices and laughter I heard each time I approached the river, and I felt sad not to be able to share their happiness and innocence. I wondered how Laura had reacted to the news that her husband was dead. But that was not the only question I asked myself. There were many others, all of them difficult, perplexing ones. What was I going to do? Should I speak to Laura before the journey was over and she returned to Dublin? What if she felt nothing for me? But the only answer to any of these questions was to keep walking, to keep thinking, to keep searching.