| |
––––––––
September 23, 1939
Outside New Orleans, Louisiana
United States
Wilkins stirred as a gentle hand grasped his shoulder and shook him awake. “Cap’n. Wake up, cap’n. It’s time to go.” The rough, uneven boards of the cabin floor bit into his shoulder as he turned over and opened his eyes. The dull glow of lantern light flickered in the unfamiliar space; casting shadows that danced among curiosities arranged haphazardly on every surface. Crab shells and fish bones vied for space among small statuettes and family photos. He looked up and saw the smiling face of Louis above him. “It’s mornin’, cap’n. Time to go.”
It took a moment for the fog of sleep to clear from his mind. Despite lying on the floor of a fisherman’s hovel, he felt as if he had gotten his best night of sleep in ages. Shortly after finishing their meal, he and Richard had offered to take their leave of the two men, but Manuel had insisted they stay and rest. They accepted, and both drifted in and out of sleep for the better part of the afternoon. At some point, he remembered Louis offering to take them out to the ruins Manuel spoke of, when there would be ample daylight for the expedition. Richard had again voiced concern, but Wilkins heartily accepted. After that, he must have slept through the entire evening and overnight.
He rolled over and climbed to his feet, groaning as every joint and muscle in his body protested the sudden movement. Richard already sat at a small table in the corner of the kitchen, a steaming cup in his hands.
“Is that coffee?” Wilkins asked.
Richard smiled and nodded.
“Oh, thank God.” The British man was normally fonder of tea, but had spent enough time with Richard to grow to appreciate a cup of coffee in the mornings. On a morning like that one, it seemed truly a godsend.
“I’ll git you a cup,” Louis said. Wilkins smiled and nodded in thanks.
“Well, I be,” Manuel said as he walked into the cabin. “Dem der’s woke. Daught y’all’d nevah git up.” His hands were stained red and brown, presumably from cleaning the crustaceans caught the day before.
Richard held up his cup in a mock toast. “Thank you for letting us spend the night. And for the coffee.”
“Yer welc’m. So long as y’all do right by us an’ see drough what needs be done, me an’ mines happy ta help.”
“We appreciate that very much,” Wilkins said.
Louis returned with another steaming mug of coffee for Wilkins. “We’re ready. Once y’all drink yer coffee, we can be off. Sun’s good an’ high soon. Be nice an’ bright once we git dere.”
The sun was just cresting the trees of the swamp as they left the cabin, and true to Louis’s word, it was high overhead by the time they reached their destination. He guided the boat along narrow channels between small patches of land. The cypress trees there were larger than any they had seen yet, an area of old growth untouched by man for some time. Green algae covered the surface of the still waters locked between the tiny islands until the boat cut through them. They had seen an assortment of wildlife up to that point—birds, turtles, and even an alligator; but as they approached their goal, there was no sign of life other than the flora.
Wilkins’s grip on the edge of the boat tightened as it lurched with a crunching sound. Louis killed the engine and walked to the bow where the two passengers sat. “We walk from ‘ere in,” he said.
Louis climbed out first, followed by Richard and finally the Wilkins. The anthropologist was glad for the wading boots and overalls borrowed from Louis. His own attire was wholly unsuited to traversing the wetlands, and since he lost his bags with the train, he had but the one set to see him through until more were acquired. His feet sank low in the soft mud, and the water came up to his knees. He made for higher ground as the other men dragged the boat firmly onto the beachhead. Wilkins peered about, but could see nothing but more water and cypress trees. The swamp normally had a background noise of frogs, insects, and birdsong; but at that moment, it was deathly quiet.
“Dis way,” Louis said and trudged off through the shallows.
They followed him for some way, keeping to dry land as much as they could, but wading through water up to their thighs more often than not. Wilkins swept a hand in front of himself, trying to sweep the cloying algae away rather than pushing through it bodily. It was unbelievably humid and sweat was already pouring from his face. He cupped a hand over his eyes and gazed skyward to find the sun had not yet reached its zenith. It would only get hotter.
“Are we getting close?” he called out to Louis, nearly ten meters ahead.
“We’re dere,” the fisherman said as he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned and waved them on.
Richard, not far behind, caught up with him first. He panned from one side to the other and back, then turned to Louis. “We’re here? Where? I don’t see anything.”
Wilkins hurried to catch up and tripped on something solid in the otherwise yielding mud below the waters. He gave a brief cry before plunging under the surface. He twisted and scrambled to orient himself and rise above the murk. As his hands reached out in his sudden panic, they struck something unexpected. He stopped flailing and ran his fingers across a stony surface slick with the muck of the swamp. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but his digits traced patterns on the stone. A human figure, and another, and another. They were in a circle. Wavy lines around the perimeter. A central shape, slender and tall, with a bulbous form atop radiating lines outward toward the kneeling figures.
He burst through the surface of the water with a loud splash and gasped for air, held his first breath for a moment, then blew out, sending a spray of fine mist from his drooping mustache. “We’re here!”
Louis shook his head. “I told y’all dat already.”
“What did you find?” Richard asked.
“It is like the doorway in Peru. I can’t see it, but from tracing the carvings, I’d say it’s the same image. Do you know what this means, Richard?”
The American rubbed the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t the scholarly sort, but he was anything but ignorant. “You’re saying the same people who built the ruin in Peru built whatever used to be here?”
“Exactly!” Wilkins gasped as he climbed up to a narrow bank and sat down. His hand squished into the mud as he lowered himself, and he felt something there as well. “Richard, help me.”
The two men scraped away at the mud. As they dug, more of the dark green stonework was revealed. Writhing tentacles and gazing eyes looked up at them from beneath the murk. Richard wrapped his hands around the object and pulled with all his might. It moved slightly, but would not come free.
“Louis, give us a hand,” Richard said as they dug more of the mud away. The fisherman joined them, and soon they had the object almost completely uncovered. Wilkins stood back as the others grasped it and pulled. There was a loud sucking noise as the stonework drew free of the mud, and suddenly it popped loose, sending both men tumbling onto their backsides in the shallow water.
Wilkins stepped over to the object and kneeled in the mud beside it. He wiped the grime away, revealing the carvings beneath. It was a narrow cylinder, a meter long, covered in writing serpentine tentacles wrapped around at least a thousand tiny eyes. “It’s a pedestal,” he whispered.
Richard climbed to his feet and wiped his muddy hands on the overalls. “You can’t be serious. Just like Peru? So... there’s another idol here somewhere?”
Wilkins nodded.
“Bad magic ‘round dis place,” Louis said. “Nobody come here. If dis little man should be here, den he should still be here. Nobody ‘round here dumb enough ta take him.”
Richard rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead with an exasperated huff.
Wilkins caught the implications of the statement, but ignored it. “It should be right here, with the pedestal.” He rolled the stone away from the excavation and reached into the hole with both hands. He scooped away mud with the vigor of one possessed by a singular purpose.
Richard kneeled on the other side to dig, soon joined by Louis. Together, the three men dug so deep that water seeped into the hole from the surrounding soil. The fisherman ran back to the boat to fetch a bucket. Then, as Wilkins and Richard continued to dig, he scooped water from the expanding void.
An hour passed, and then two. The sun had crested its path across the sky and was settling toward the treetops once more. The hole grew so wide that the three men kneeled inside it, water rising to their chests.
Richard rocked back on his heels in surrender. “It’s not here.”
“It has to be!” Wilkins argued.
Louis remained silent, but the defeated look on his face spoke volumes.
“If it was here,” Richard said as he rose to his feet, “you’d never find it digging in the mud like this. You’d have to build a quay around this whole site and drain the water first. We won’t get anywhere like this.”
“But the pedestal...” Wilkins moaned.
Richard climbed out of the hole and looked back down at Wilkins. “We got lucky, or else somebody got to the idol first. This place is a mess. It could have been wrecked a thousand years ago and left sitting exposed like this for just as long. Hell, some conquistador might have found it and brought it back to Spain with him for all we know.”
A distant light flashed in the back of Wilkins’s mind. A long-lost fragment of text from a book read half a dozen years prior drifted before his eyes, the memory triggered by his friend’s off-hand statement. “That’s it!” Wilkins scrambled to his feet, shouting as he pulled himself from the hole. “Francisco Berdénes. That’s what he found!”
Richard and Louis exchanged puzzled glances, shrugged, and asked in unison, “Who?”
* * *
Twilight settled over the bayou as Louis tied the boat off to the small dock in front of his father’s cabin. Wilkins and Richard climbed out, their waterlogged clothes still dripping as they strode across the uneven boards. Louis headed straight inside and stoked a fire in the iron wood-burning stove while the others stripped out of the muddy garments. By the time they joined him, there was an argument brewing between the father and son.
“No. It be too dangerous. You can’t go,” the older man said firmly as they entered the cabin.
“Dis be my chance,” Louis argued. “I don’t wanna be stuck by here, cleanin’ cray-fish till I’m old an’ gray.”
“An’ what be wrong wit dat?” Manuel bristled.
“Nuthin,” Louis said as he glanced down at his father’s gnarled hands. They sat on either side of the small kitchen table, the younger man’s clothes dripping swamp water on the floorboards. “But what if I want more? Dey need help, an’ I want ta see de world.”
Wilkins and Richard exchanged a glance. He wants to come with us? Wilkins thought. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. Likely, his presence would be an advantage in the city. But once they moved on, what would he do?
“Sir,” Richard spoke up. “I can’t speak for Louis, but I think I understand what he’s feeling. There’s nothing wrong with living a quiet life here,” he gestured around the room, “but there is a lot more out there. Louis is smart and able. He could do well in our line of work.”
“See!” Louis said. “Dey want me to go.”
“Now, hold on,” Richard said. “I didn’t say that much. I just think you’re up for it. It’s for you and your father to decide. Wilkins and I will get along fine either way.”
Manuel shook his head, a myriad of thoughts and emotions battling in his expression. “I dunno...”
Louis leaned forward and grasped his father’s hand. “Dis be big. You said yerself, dis needs ta be stopped. If not, we all come by de gree.”
“Yer mind’s made up, f’true?” Manuel asked.
Louis nodded. “F’true.”
“Den it’s done.” Manuel looked up at the two explorers who were about to take his only son away to unknown dangers and far-off lands. “Y’all stay by my home one more night, so I’s an mah boy can do a propah g’bye?”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkins said. “We would appreciate your hospitality, once again.”
“We could use another good night’s sleep,” Richard added. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
Manuel nodded in agreement, rubbing away salty tears threatening to roll down his cheeks.
