Arthur Hailey - Evening News

The guerrillas of Sendero Luminoso believed they would overthrow the existing government and rule all of Peru. But not quickly. The movement claimed to count time in decades, not in years. Yet Sendero was large and strong already, its corps of leaders and its power growing, and Miguel expected to see the overthrow happen in his lifetime. Not, however, from this odiosa jungle.

For the moment, though, Miguel was awaiting instructions about the prisoners, instructions which would probably originate in Ayacucho, a historic town in the Andes foothills where Sendero exercised almost total control. Not that Miguel cared who gave the orders as long as some, involving action, reached him soon.

But now, the Huallaga River was directly ahead—a sudden opening in the constricting jungle scene. He paused to survey it.

Wide and a muddy orange-brown from Andean lateritic silt, the Huallaga flowed steadily toward its confluence with the Marafion River three hundred miles away and, soon after, its merging with the mighty Amazon. Centuries ago, Portuguese explorers named this whole Amazon complex O Rio Mar, The River Sea.

As they drew nearer, Miguel could see two wooden workboats, each about thirty-five feet long and with twin outboard motors, moored close to the riverbank. Gustavo, leader of the small force that had met them at the airstrip, was giving orders about loading stores the arriving group had brought. He also indicated how those traveling in the boats would be divided; the prisoners were to be in the first. Miguel noted approvingly that Gustavo's instructions included posting two armed guards while loading was taking place, a precaution against a sudden appearance by government forces.

Satisfied with what was being done, Miguel saw no reason to interfere. He would resume full command at Nueva Esperanza.

* * *

For Jessica, the river magnified the sense of isolation she felt. It seemed to her a desolate opening to an unknown world, unconnected to the one behind them. Prodded by guns, she, Nicky and Angus waded knee-deep through water to board one of the boats and, after climbing in, were ordered to sit on the damp boat bottom, a flat surface formed by boards running fore and aft above the keel. It was possible to lean back, if they chose, against the edge of a single board athwart the top of the boat, but this merely provided a choice between two discomforting positions, neither one endurable for long.

Jessica noticed then that Nicky had gone pale and was suddenly racked by vomiting. Though nothing came from his mouth except a little mucus, his chest heaved. Jessica moved closer and held him, at the same time looking desperately for help.

She immediately saw Cutface who had waded out from shore and was beside the boat. Before Jessica could speak, the woman she had observed several times before appeared and Cutface ordered, "Give them all more water—the boy first.”

Socorro filled a tin cup with water and passed it to Nicholas who drank greedily; as he did, the shaking of his body subsided. Then he said in a weak voice, "I'm hungry.”

"There is no food here,” Baudelio told him.”You will have to wait.”

Jessica protested, "There must be something he can have.”

Cutface did not answer, but the order he had given about water had made his status clear and Jessica said accusingly, "You're a doctor!”

"That is no concern of yours.”

"And he's American,” Angus added.”Listen to his voice.” The water seemed to have revived Angus who turned toward Baudelio.”That's right isn't it, you disgusting bastard? Don't you ever feel ashamed?”

Baudelio merely turned away and climbed into the other boat.

”Please, I'm hungry,” Nicky repeated. He turned to Jessica.”Mom, I'm scared.”

Jessica, holding him again, admitted, "Darling, so am I"

Socorro, who heard all the exchanges, appeared to hesitate. Then reaching into her shoulder bag, she produced a large bar of Cadbury's chocolate. Without speaking, she tore open the package, broke off a half-dozen squares and offered two to each prisoner. Angus was last and shook his head.”Give mine to the boy."

Socorro clucked her annoyance, then impulsively tossed the entire chocolate bar into the boat. It fell at Jessica's feet. At the same time Socorro moved away, boarding the second boat.

Some of the armed men who had been in the truck and on the wooded trail now climbed into the same boat as the prisoners and both boats started to move. Jessica noticed that other men who had been in charge of the boats were also armed. Even the two helmsmen, each seated forward of the twin outboard motors, had rifles across their knees and looked ready to use them. The chances of getting away, even if there were somewhere to go, seemed nonexistent.

* * *

As both boats headed upriver against the current, Socorro fumed at herself for what she had done. She hoped no one else had seen, because giving the prisoners that good chocolate, unobtainable in Peru, was a sign of weakness, of foolish pity—a contemptible sentiment in a revolutionary.

The problem was, she had moments of vacillation within herself, a psychic tug-of-war.

Less than a week ago, Socorro had reminded herself of the need to guard against banal emotions. That was the evening following the kidnap while the Sloane woman, the boy and the old man were unconscious in the second floor medical room of the Hackensack house. At that time Socorro was doing her best to hate the captives—rico bourgeois scum, she had labeled them mentally, and still did. But the hatred had to be forced on that other occasion and even now, she thought to her discredit, the same seemed true.

Earlier today, in the airstrip hut when the Sloane woman asked a question after Miguel ordered silence, Socorro deliberately hit her hard, sending the woman reeling. At the time, believing Miguel was watching, Socorro had simply tried to be supportive. Yet moments later she felt ashamed at what she had done. Ashamed! She should not feel that way.

Socorro told herself, She must be resolute in putting behind her, once and for all, memories of those things she had likedcorrection: deluded herself into liking—during her three years in the United States. She had to hate, hate hate America. And these prisoners too.

Soon afterward, while the river and its dense green uninhabited shores slipped by, she dozed. Then, some three hours after departure, both boats slowed, their bows turning from the main river into a smaller stream, the banks on either side closing in and rising steeply as the boats progressed. They were nearing Nueva Esperanza, Socorro presumed, and there, she assured herself, she would strengthen and revive her radical fervor.

* * *

Baudelio, watching the boat ahead lead the way along a side valley from the Huallaga River, knew this journey was almost ended and he was glad. His time spent with this project was close to ending too, and very soon he hoped to be in Lima. That had been promised him as soon as the captives were delivered here in a healthy state.

Well, they were healthy, even in this ghastly, humid heat.

As if the thought of humidity had prompted more of the same, the sky overhead suddenly darkened to a somber gray and a torrent of rain arrived in sheets, soaking everything in sight. While a protruding jetty could be seen ahead, with other boats moored or beached, there were still several minutes to go before landing and, for captives and captors both, there was nothing to do but sit and get wet.

Baudelio was indiffierent to the rain as he was indifferent nowadays to most else that came his way—for example, the abuse directed at him by the old man prisoner and the Sloane woman. He was long past caring about that, and any humane feelings he once had concerning those he worked on medically had been extinguished years ago.