Jean-Marie Blas De Robles - Where Tigers Are at Home

“Well?” Dietlev asked.

“I’m sorry, really sorry. I can’t do it, it’s too dangerous. Next year, perhaps …”

“There’ll be no next year,” Dietlev said furiously. “It’s now or never. My funds can’t be carried over to next year, can you understand that?”

“Take it easy, senhor . Losing you temper won’t change my decision. I’ve seen Seu Ayrton …”

“Ayrton? The fisherman?”

“He left for Campo Grande this morning. He asked me to tell you that he couldn’t go with you. You see, his mother’s ill …”

“That caps it all!” said Dietlev, clenching his fists. “ Scheisse! Did you hear that, Herman?”

“Hear what?”

“This guy!” he said, turning to point to the Brazilian with a grand theatrical gesture. But he had grabbed the opportunity to slip away and Dietlev just had time to see him disappear through the bead curtain over the café entrance. With a look of despair, Dietlev went over to the bar and leaned on it: “I think the time has come to have a beer. The way things are, there’s nothing left to do but get thoroughly plastered.”

“Look at that,” said Herman, putting a huge beer mug under the tap, “it comes from Munich, from the Café Schelling. I got it out specially in your honor. So you’ve got problems, it appears?”

“And how! You can’t imagine what a mess I’ve got myself into.”

Elbow on the bar, chin on his hand, Herman listened as Dietlev outlined the situation. He must have once had a fine Nordic face such as people imagine it in Latin countries, with blue eyes, blond hair and pink cheeks. Over the years the alcohol had remodeled his features: lumpy skin, sagging face, puffy in places, and eyes so pale they looked as if they were veiled by cataracts. His white hair, drawn back, seemed to have been combed with a mixture of fat and nicotine, his cheap false teeth gave him a waxworks smile and, apart from a belly like a child suffering from malnutrition, his body was skinny and disappeared inside his wide shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.

“This fossil you’re talking about,” he asked, “what is it exactly?”

“The one I’m looking for? A kind of sea urchin, if you like, but without spines.”

“And all this bother just for a sea urchin? You’re mad, amigo! ”

“You don’t realize, Herman, it’s something no one’s ever seen. There are institutions and collectors who’d pay a fortune just to have one.”

“A fortune? How much, for example?”

“I couldn’t really say. It’s simply beyond price. A bit like a stone brought back from the moon. A few of these fossils would finance our research for several years …”

“And the one you’ve got?”

“It’s not worth a penny. Without identifying the deposit it comes from we’re left with nothing but assumptions; as with any erratic.”

“Erratic?”

“Yes, that is something that’s not in its original site any longer. For example, if you open a pharaoh’s tomb and find some grains of wheat in the sarcophagus, you can deduce that the wheat is at least as old as the mummy, that it has a value in the cult of the dead because it symbolizes rebirth, et cetera. If you find those same grains of wheat out in the desert, or if someone brings them to you, they give you no information at all, not about the grains themselves or about anything else. They’ll be of no interest whatsoever.”

“I see … And you’re sure this deposit of yours exists?”

“Absolutely sure. That’s the worst thing about it. I questioned Ayrton at great length, I showed him the satellite maps I’d been able to get: everything agrees. It’s a hill between the junction of the Rio Bento Gomes and that of the Jauru, a bit before you get to Descalvado.”

“I know it.”

“What d’you mean, you know it? Have you been there?”

Wrapped in thought, Herman ignored his question. “And you think you could find the place, even without Ayrton?”

“I’m convinced I can. Once there I can guarantee I’d manage, I’m used to it. Ayrton would just have helped me save time.”

Herman looked Dietlev straight in the eye, as if he were weighing the pros and cons one last time. “Good,” he said after his brief reflection, “I think I’m going to give you a second beer.”

“No thanks. I don’t feel my usual self as it is.”

Despite that the old German took the two mugs and leaned over toward the pump.

“No. Please, Herman. I haven’t—”

“I might have a boat,” Herman said without raising his eyes from the beer running into the mug. “What was that you just said?”

“You heard. I said I might have a boat, a pilot and everything you need. But it’s likely to cost you. It’s up to you.”

Dietlev started thinking fast. Just one word and hope was reborn, stronger than ever. Milton wasn’t worried about money, he’d pay anything to make sure the expedition went ahead. As for Herman, it didn’t look as if he was trying to put one over on him.

“Who will I be dealing with?” he asked with a haste he immediately regretted.

“With me,” said Herman, placing a full mug in front of Dietlev. “It’s a good boat. I bought it from the State Property Office ten years ago. Ninety-one feet, steel hull, 300 hp engine. And your captain is here before you.”

“Are you pulling my leg? What would you do with a thing like that?”

Herman seemed annoyed. “I’m no more stupid than the next man, you know. I can’t keep a wife and three children on what I earn from the bar. There’s lots you can do with a boat around here: take tourists out fishing during the season, transport goods from one fazenda to another, or hire it out … to geologists, for example.”

“OK, OK. Sorry. It’s just so unexpected … But out with it now, this story of crocodile hunters, it’s a load of nonsense, isn’t it.”

“Not at all, they weren’t lying.”

“But you’re not afraid?”

“With me it’s different. You see, I do a bit of business with them. I take fresh supplies to them from time to time. They’re not so bad if you leave them in peace. But that’s my business. You know nothing, see nothing, and there’ll be no problem.”

“How much do you want?”

“Ah, now that’s the question,” Herman said, baring all his false teeth in a laugh. Becoming serious again, he went on, “I want 400,000 cruzeiros and … 30 percent commission on the sale of the first fossils.”

Dietlev was struck dumb by the enormity of his demands, less because of the sum of money he wanted, they could always come to an agreement on that, but the crazy idea of a commission.

“It seems to me you haven’t quite understood, Herman,” he said, trying to remain calm. “It’s not gold nuggets I’m looking for. If I do find these bloody fossils, if my hypothesis isn’t mistaken and if foreign scientists are interested in them, then we might perhaps think of selling some. But in that case it will be the department that deals with it and all the money will revert to the university. To the u-ni-ver-si-ty! I won’t get anything at all out of the business.”

“There’s always ways and means, aren’t there? There must be a trick somewhere. You’re not going to get me to believe …”

“But I’m telling you it’s impossible, Herman. Unthinkable even.”

“Then it’s no, amigo . Find yourself another boat.”

“You can’t do that to me, Herman. Just think a little about what I’ve told you. I’m happy with the 400,000 cruzeiros and that’s one hell of a good deal, isn’t it? As for the fossils, we don’t even know if they exist. What you’re basing your demand on is nothing but thin air. If everything goes as planned you’ll be the only person to know where they are and there’ll be nothing to stop you going back and helping yourself. The only thing I could promise is to send collectors to you …”