The nose of the single-engine plane was underwater in the narrowest and most irregular part of the Paraguay, an unnavigable shallow stretch where one of the wings had buried itself. Dark smoke was coming from the engine.
I removed my pants and sneakers and swam to the aircraft. The water level was a little above my waist. As soon as I climbed onto the fuselage I spotted the pilot, a large guy, young, with a bony face. Blood was gushing from the wound to his forehead.
I forced open the right-hand door, partially out of the water, and went inside. I told the pilot not to worry, I’d take him to my van and we’d find help using my cell phone. You’re very lucky, I said while I undid his safety belt, very, very lucky, dropping out of the sky and still being alive.
That was the moment when he bought it, just as I was saying he was a fortunate guy. First he emitted a muffled sigh, almost a moan. I checked his pulse. Nothing.
A feeling of terror swept over me.
Water was starting to rise into the plane. I opened the right-hand door to keep us from being dragged away, uncertain if my reasoning was correct.
Panting, swallowing water, I swam back to the riverbank, now fearing the piranhas. I tried to turn on the cell phone in my pants pocket, but couldn’t get a signal.
I returned to the plane, went into the cabin and sat down in the copilot’s seat. I stayed there for some minutes hearing the water beat against the fuselage, pondering what to do. Maybe the best thing would be to take the youth away from the river. Still, there wasn’t the slightest chance that I could carry him to the van. He was heavier than me and probably weighed eighty kilos. I could have dragged him, but the idea of dragging a corpse bothered me.
It also occurred to me that it would make no difference if I left him there for the rescue team.
From the road I could call the police. They’d arrive in less than three hours.
I checked the young man’s pulse. That was when I noticed the leather backpack hanging by a strap behind the seat.
Inside I found an unmistakable package, one of those you see on television in stories about drug busts. A compact mass, white and crumbly, wrapped in heavy plastic and sealed with adhesive tape. I made a small hole in the wrapping and tested the powder by rubbing it on my gums. I was no expert in the subject, but I wasn’t a novice either. Even my tongue went numb. My throat too.
I sat there, thinking about the police station I’d have to pass on the way to Corumbá. The thought of a pile of money made me take less than a minute to decide.
I don’t know who said that a man by himself isn’t honest for long, but it’s the gospel truth.
Driven by the same impulse, I also took the pilot’s wristwatch, and got the hell out of there.