It had all been very quick. The man was still there letting fly and Rubia and Cabecita had got up on their feet. That was when it happened. They heard the virile roaring of an engine leave the bend and a blinding light erupted in the middle of the river, off the Caporale’s stern. He’d raised himself a little when the man began to shoot. Now he was beginning to stand. He hadn’t made it yet when the light burst in the darkness and he heard the shots and felt that something punched him in the shoulder and the belly and elsewhere, and he fell and hugged the ground. A thunderstorm of bullets made their way above his head, and he felt Rubia fall with a thud against the earth. Cabecita ran off with the dog barking in a frenzy at his feet. They were followed by the bright light and he saw the little fellow leap up in the centre of the beam, with a convulsive shudder. The dog turned round and barked at the light and then a gun-burst lifted it a little off the ground, and dropped it near him. There was a moment when he saw a strange gloss shining in its eyes, dilated by the light, and now he watched its paw as it contracted in spasms. Rubia was groaning in the darkness.
There were several weapons firing and at both banks. One of these at least, the one that fired above their heads, was automatic.
He caught sight of the man, still over on the other bank, standing stiff in the beam of light. He caught sight of his face, which had hardened in his rage, but which still, in spite of this, continued chilly and impassive. The man emptied out his gun in the direction of the light, facing down the brilliance, and when he paused to change the clip Boga saw him spin around as if a thousand wasps had stung him, and fall down with a bounce against a tree.
They switched the spotlight off, and the vessel toured around the boat. Two men jumped up on the other bank and began searching it hurriedly. He saw the torchlight circle nosing nervously about inside the shadows.
The dog had stopped its trembling. He looked out at the vessel in the brightness of the flames. The river here is tight and the boat was just downstream of him, not many metres off. It was a four-seater Chris-Craft launch; the chrome of its fittings shone splendidly. A man was standing at the wheel and looking at the other bank. The burning on the boat gave out an ever-louder crackling. The heat had turned his face red. He thought back to the Aldebarán and what was going to happen when the flames got to the tank. It seemed to him they’d cut the petrol feed.
The pair up on the other bank had stopped beside the man. One nudged him with his foot. There couldn’t be much doubt that when they’d finished checking him, they’d search the bank where he was.
Then Rubia gave a moan and the man still on the launch turned round and looked to where they lay. Boga saw his face there, reddened by the glare. He didn’t know who he was. His face was completely ordinary. He couldn’t have described it at all.
He raised himself a bit more and, not really thinking why, he whispered towards the face.
‘Hey there, Machito!’
The man appeared intrigued; he gave a frown and searched the shadows. Then quickly, without aiming, he fired towards the voice. The bullets whistled by his head, once, twice and then, after a long pause, for a third time. He crushed himself against the earth. Now he couldn’t see a thing. A long silence followed. He heard the crackling flames. When would the tank explode? Then he heard the men jumping back onto the launch. Their talking sounded livelier. He barely raised his head and saw them standing on the Chris-Craft in the swaying of the firelight. The boat burned end to end. It would blow up at any moment. The engine throttled up and the launch sprang into life, and moved ahead a little. He saw that they were going to go ashore a little further up, in fear of the explosion. Now. This was the moment. He held on to his stomach and began to roll towards the ditch, to where the dinghy waited. Now he felt the other wound. In his left thigh. Woken up and furious.
He was rolling on the ground and spitting curses at the pain when the petrol tank exploded. He felt a blast of heat and saw the treetops high above his head ignite, and then go out, with a flash that hurt his eyes.
He fell into the ditch. He landed on his back and tried to lie there without moving, in spite of his repugnance. He felt his body sinking gently in the mud. And that stink of rotting leaves. He saw the light above his head, fainter now, and against this glow, the tangled weave right by his face, of weeds along the ditch edge. He was sticking to the bottom.
Rubia saw the men who ran towards him on the bank. They halted when the tank blew up, covering their faces. They moved in from the bank, and he lost them for a while. But he heard them when they spoke and when they moved among the trees, not far away. Now he saw the disc of light projected by the torch, skipping like a lark mirror.
He knew that he was done in. He couldn’t stir himself at all. Even so, it gladdened him that things had turned out badly for the man. He’d always tried to tell him that it wasn’t the way to do things.
The footsteps came towards him.
He saw the men’s feet stepping in the circle of the torchlight, walking all round Cabecita’s corpse. Then the light began to rake close to him.
It leapt across his feet and stopped a little further on, as if it were alive, and could stop and think things over. Then it made its way back, and beginning at his feet it made a full examination of his body, to his face.
He was leaning against a tree and he squinted straight into the light, without blinking.
Then one man came up quickly. That was when he closed his eyes and let his body slump down to the ground and pressed his face against his arm, and held his breath. The man put the barrel of the gun against his head, and fired. His head bounced just a little.
He heard the shot. And then he heard them go into the scrub. He heard their words and footsteps and the sound of parting undergrowth, moving away towards the centre of the island. They’d jumped across the ditch on their way to check on Rubia. But then they went into the scrub, before they’d seen him. They had to come back anyway, and then, and almost certainly, they’d see him. He’d hug one of the side walls. It was all that he could do. He tried to lift his leg up. It was stuck there in the mud. The sensation was repugnant. He had to try to move, though, to roll himself over and hug the wall. The water dug away along the bottom of the ditch walls, and often left a cavity. He reached his hand along the wall to see.
Now he had the feeling that his other hand was resting on a plank, not on his stomach. One moment the pain would surge terribly, the next it faded just as quickly. The burning in his shoulder was far more constant, but his death was in his stomach. He felt along the cavity.
Just as he was going to move, he sensed a man’s presence, very close. He could feel the proximity of a body, keeping guard, and could feel himself being watched. He looked up to the light. He expected every instant that the quiet face would show itself, bending down over his death.
This was how he waited, with one hand resting on the wall and one against his stomach; he waited without moving.
He lay there for a while, feeling absolutely nothing, watching how the glowing from the flames began to fade. It was only when the time had passed that he understood he was gazing at another light, out between the branches, high up in the sky.