Alexander Belyaev - The Amphibian

Finally, when it wanted only a few minutes to four in the afterrnoon, he happened upon an old peasant, a farm-labourer by his looks. After listening to Ichthyander he nodded.

“Go straight along that road, between the fields,” he told him. “When you reach a big pond, cross the bridge, top a little hill and there you are-therell be your Dona Dolores la Mostacha for you.”

“Why mostacha? Dolores is a hacienda, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. But the old mistress of the hacienda, is also called Dolores. Ped-ro’s her son. A fat old woman with a big moustache. But don’t you think of hiring yourself out to her. Shell eat you raw, suit and all. A regular virago, she is. Zurita’s brought home a young wife, they say. Her mother-in-law 11 make it hard for her,” the garrulous old man said.

That must be Gutierrez, thought Ichthyander.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“You’ll get there by the fall of evening,” the old man said, having consulted the sun.

Thanking him, Ichthyander hurried on along the road past the fields of wheat and maize, past lush pastures with flocks of grazing sheep. The many hours’ tramp had begun to tell on his strength. The road stretched ahead in an endless white ribbon.

His lips were parched but look as he would he could not see water anywhere round. He heartily wished he were in sight of that pond at last. He strained to go quicker, his face was drawn and his breathing laboured. Then that pain in his sides began. He was hungry, too. But there was nothing near the road he could dine off. The sheep grazing on a pasture nearby, were guarded by a shepherd and his dogs. Branches of peach and orange trees laden with ripe fruit were just visible above a stone wall. This wasn’t the ocean. Here everything was somebody’s property, everything was divided, fenced off and guarded. The birds alone were nobody’s, flitting and trilling overhead. But try and catch them. And then, was he allowed to catch them? Perhaps they too belonged to somebody? Here on land one could die of hunger and thirst in the middle of orchards, ponds and herds.

A fat man in a white cap and a white tunic with bright buttons, a revolver holster at his belt, his hands clasped behind his back, was coming towards Ichthyander.

“Can you tell me how far it is to the Hacienda Dolores?” asked Ichthyander.

The fat man eyed him suspiciously.

“What d’you want there? Where’ve you come from?”

“Buenos Aires.”

The fat man’s eyes became alert.

“I must see someone there,” Ichthyander added.

“Hold out your hands,” said the man.

This request somewhat surprised Ichthyander but, unsuspectingly, he held out Ms hands.

The fat man quickly produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. The next Ichthyander knew they were clicked to round his wrists.

“There,” the fat man muttered, and, giving Ichthyander a push, rapped out. “Come along! I II take you to the Hacienda Dolores.”

“But what’ve you put these things on my hands for?” Ichthyander asked, staring in bewilderment at the handcuffs.

“None of your lip. Move on! “ snapped the man in the tunic.

Ichthyander hung his head and shuffled on. Well, at least he hadn’t been turned back, but he had no idea what was going to befall him. He did not know that the previous night a farm nearby had been burgled and a man murdered and that the police were looking for the criminals. Nor did he realize that in his crumpled suit he looked very suspicious. His vague answers clinched the case against him.

The policeman was taking Ichthyander to the nearest village to have him transported to the town of Parana.

One thing Ichthyander did realize: he was no longer free to go on with his journey. And he resolved to make a bid for freedom at the first chance that presented.

Hugely pleased with his good luck the fat policeman lighted up a long cigar and walking closely behind Ichthyander, started puffing out cloud after cloud of acrid smoke. Ichthyander was suffering torture.

“Would you mind not smoking, please, I find it difficult to breathe,” turning, he said to his escort.

“What? Stop smoking? That’s a good one! “ The policeman guffawed, his whole face gathering up in wrinkles. “Delicate, are you?” and, puffing out a cloud of smoke straight into Ichthyander’s face, he barked, “On with you! “

The amphibian did as he was told.

At last the pond with its narrow bridge came into view and Ichthyander involuntarily quickened pace.

“Not so fast, youll see your Dolores soon enough,” the fat man cried.

They stepped onto the bridge. When they were halfway across Ichthyander suddenly bent over the rail and threw himself into the water.

That was about the last thing the policeman could have expected from a man in manacles.

But what the policeman did next was a complete surprise for Ichthyander too: afraid his prisoner might drown, in his charge, and manacled, with all sorts of possible unpleasant consequences, he jumped in after Mm. Indeed, he was so quick in doing this that he managed to get a grip on Ichthyander’s hair and hold it. Then, risking his scalp, Ichthyander dragged the policeman bottomwards. Presently his hair was released. Ichthyander swam to the side and popped his head above the surface to see whether the policeman had come up. He had and was treading water, looking round.

“Youll get drowned, damn you! Swim over here! “ the policeman yelled, spotting Us prisoner’s head.

Not a bad idea this, Ichthyander thought, and crying out. “Help! Help! “ he sank to the bottom.

From down there he watched the policeman dive for him several times. At last, having lost all hope, the policeman scrambled ashore.

“Hell go away now, thought Ichthyander. But the policeman didn’t. He seemed to have decided to wait by the corpse for the arrival of the investigating authourities. The fact that the corpse was lying somewhere on the bottom of the pond did not alter anything.

A peasant riding a mule laden with sacks appeared on the road. The policeman ordered the peasant to dump his sacks and take a note to the nearest police station. Things were taking a bad turn for Ichthyander. To top it all there were leeches in the pond. They stuck to his body in swarms and soon he was fighting a losing battle, tearing them desperately off as they came in ever-increasing numbers, yet anxious to limit movement lest a stir in the water should attract the policeman’s attention.

In half an hour the peasant was back. He waved his hand in the direction of the road, heaved his sacks and hurried on his way. In still another five minutes a trio of policemen put in an appearance, two of them carrying a light boat on their heads, while the third had the oars and a boat-hook.

The boat was lowered onto the water, two policemen got in and the dragging started. Not that that bothered Ichthyander much at first. It was child’s play for him, just keeping moving from one place to another. The dragging round the bridge was thorough but unsuccessful.

The policeman who had arrested Ichthyander was throwing his arms about in a gesture of surprise. That even provided a spot of fun for Ichthyander-but not for long. The policemen had stirred up clouds of silt with their boat-hook. The water thick with it, Ichthyander could not see anything at arm’s length and that was dangerous. And what was even worse-he could hardly breathe with all the silt raised.

With his breathing more and more laboured, and the irritation in his gills more and more acute, he felt he could not bear it any longer. He groaned; a few bubbles escaped his mouth. What could he do? He had to come up, there was nothing for it. He had to come up, whatever risk was involved. They would seize him, of course, perhaps beat him up. He didn’t care. Ichthyander staggered for the bank and put his head out of the water.