Алистер Маклин - River of Death

The old man, who was surely the chief, and Hamilton engaged in an animated, if incomprehensible, conversation. The chief, with an expression of incredulity on his face, repeatedly shook his head. Just as firmly Hamilton nodded his. Suddenly, Hamilton extended his right arm and made a semi-circular motion, bringing his arm to a sudden halt. The chief looked long at him, seized him by the arms, smiled and nodded his head. He turned and spoke rapidly to his people.

Tracy said: ‘I’d say those two people have met somewhere before.’

The chief finished addressing his people, all of whom had now gathered in the clearing, and spoke again to Hamilton, who nodded and turned.

Hamilton shouted to his waiting companions: ‘You can come now. Keep your hands well away from any weapon.’

Not quite dazedly, but not understanding what was happening, the other eight members of the party entered the clearing.

Hamilton said: ‘This is Chief Corumba.’ He introduced each of the eight in turn. The chief gravely acknowledged each introduction, shaking each in turn by hand.

Hiller said: ‘But Indians don’t shake hands.’

‘This Indian does.’

Maria touched Hamilton on the arm. ‘But those savage head-hunters–’

‘These are the kindliest, most gentle, most peaceable people on earth. In their language they do not have a word for war because they do not know what war is. They are lost children from a lost age and the people who built the Lost City.’

Serrano said: ‘And I thought I knew more about the tribes of the Mato Grosso than any man alive.’

‘And so you may, Serrano, so you may. If, that is to say, I can take the word of Colonel Diaz.’

‘Colonel Diaz?’ Smith said. He was clearly floundering in deep water. ‘Who’s Colonel Diaz?’

‘A friend of mine.’

Tracy said: ‘But their ferocious reputation–’

‘A fiction invented by Dr Hannibal Huston, the man who found these lost people. He thought that such a reputation might ensure them – what shall we say?—a little privacy.’

‘Huston?’ Hiller said. ‘Huston? You – you found Huston?’

‘Years ago.’

‘But you’ve only been in the Mato Grosso for four months.’

‘I have known it for many years. Remember in the Hotel de Paris in Romono you mentioned my search for the golden people? I forgot to mention that I also met them years ago. Here they are. The Children of the Sun.’

Maria said: ‘And Dr Huston is still in the Lost City?’

‘He’s still there. Come, I believe these good people want to offer us some hospitality. First, however, I owe you a small explanation about them.’

‘High time, too,’ Smith said. ‘Why all the dramatic, stealthy approach to them?’

‘Because if we had approached as a group they would have run away. They have every good reason to fear those from the outside world. We, ironically known as the civilizados – in practically everything that matters they’re a damned sight more civilised than we are – bring them so-called progress, which harms them, so-called change, which harms them, so-called civilisation, which harms them even more, and disease, which kills them. These people have no natural resistance to measles or influenza. Either of those are to them what bubonic plague was to Europeans and Asiatics in the Middle Ages. Half a tribe can be wiped out in a fortnight. The same thing happened to the people of Tierra del Fuego. Well-meaning missionaries gave them simple clothes, primarily so that the women could cover their nakedness. The blankets came from a hospital where there had been a measles epidemic. Most of the people were wiped out.’

Tracy said: ‘But our presence here. Surely that endangers them?’

‘No. Almost half the Muscias were destroyed by measles or influenza or a combination of both. These people here are the survivors, having acquired natural immunity the hard way. As I said, it was Dr Huston who found them. Although mainly famous as an explorer, his real life’s work lay elsewhere. He was one of the original sertanistas – men wise in jungle ways – and a founder member of the FUNAI, the National Foundation for the Indian, people who dedicate their lives to protecting the Indians and rendering them harmless to civilizados. “Pacification” is the term generally used but in truth what they mainly required was protection against the civilizados. Sure, many of the tribes were genuinely savage – well, not so many, there are less than two hundred thousand pure-blood Indians left – but their savagery sprang from fear and very understandably so. Even in modern times, those civilised gentlemen from the outer world, and by no means all Brazilians, either, have machine-gunned them, dynamited them from the air and given them poisoned food.’

‘This is all news to me,’ Smith said, ‘and I’ve lived in this country for many years. Frankly, I find it very hard to believe.’

‘Serrano will confirm it.’

‘I confirm it. I take it that you, too, are a sertanista.’

‘Yes. Not always a very happy job. We have our failures. The Chapate and the Horena, as you’ve seen, are not too keen on the idea of co-operation with the outside world. And, inevitably, we bring disease as we did here. Come along, Chief Corumba is summoning us to eat. It may taste a little odd, but I can assure you that no harm will come to any of you.’

One hour later the visitors were still seated around a rough wooden table outside the communal hut. Before them lay the remains of an excellent if rather exotic meal – game, fish, fruit and other unknown delicacies concerning the nature of which it had been thought more prudent not to ask: all had been washed down with cachassa , a rather potent brew. At the end, Hamilton thanked Chief Corumba on behalf of all of them and turned to the others.

‘I think it’s time we were on our way.’

Tracy said: ‘One thing intrigues me. I’ve never seen so many gold ornaments in my life.’

‘I thought that might intrigue you.’

‘Where do these people come from?’

‘They don’t know themselves. A lost people who have lost everything and that includes their history. It was Dr Huston’s theory that they are the descendants of the Quimbaya, an ancient tribe from the Cauca or Magdalena valleys in the western Andes of Colombia.’

Smith stared at him. ‘So what in God’s name are they doing here?’

‘Nobody knows. Huston thinks they left their homeland all those hundreds of years ago. He thinks they may have fled to the east, found the headwaters of the Amazon, come all the way down until they reached the Rio Tocantis, turned up that until they came to the Araguaia, then up the Rio da Morte. Again, who knows? Stranger migrations have happened. It could have taken them generations: they were weighed down with many possessions. I believe it. Wait till you see the Lost City and you’ll understand why I do believe it.’

Smith said: ‘How far away is this damned city?’

‘Five hours. Six.’

‘Five hours!’

‘And easy going. Uphill, but no swamps, no quicksands.’ He turned to Chief Corumba, who smiled and again warmly embraced Hamilton.

‘Wishing us good luck?’ Smith said.

‘Among quite a few other things. I’ll have a longer chat with him tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Why ever not?’

Smith, Tracy and Hiller exchanged flickering glances. None of the three said anything.

Just before they walked away Hamilton spoke quietly to Maria. ‘Stay behind with these people. They will look after you, I promise. Where we’re going is no place for a lady.’

‘I’m coming.’

‘Suit yourself. There’s an excellent chance you’ll be dead by nightfall.’