The night of Christmas & the mysteries of the camera obscura
IT OCCURRED TO me that it wasn’t just the Prince’s mind that was wandering but his wife’s as well & I convinced myself that she had merely claimed she had this harpsichord in her stomach in memory of her cousin & as a metaphor, so to speak, of the sufferings she had to bear.
Kircher & the Prince came back to join me with the satisfied expressions of men who have made great plans. Our host having taken his leave, we retired for a siesta.
“Everything is going as planned, Caspar,” Athanasius said when we were safely in our room. “The Prince & I understand each other perfectly; our agreement should have consequences the scope of which you cannot imagine.”
I felt I had the right to tell him what the Princess had revealed to me a few minutes previously. Kircher seemed not in the least surprised & merely calmed me with a smile. Then, placing a hand on my shoulder, he said, “It would be a good idea, I think, if you reread your Ignatius …”
Accepting his advice, I immersed myself in the Exercises for several hours. It made me regard the Prince slightly more indulgently, without freeing me from a certain hostility toward him. Furious with myself, I tied a hair shirt tightly around my torso, chastising my bodily appetites; this persistent pain finally released my mind & I managed to pray & thank Heaven for all its goodness.
On the evening of that December 18, 1637 we met in the same room for dinner. My master, who was always the center of the conversation, was in sparkling form. Abandoning his usual humility, he seemed to take pleasure in parading his knowledge & surprising our hosts with many curious facts and delightful anecdotes that the vagaries of the conversation brought to mind.
He assured us he had himself generated frogs from a little dust taken from the ditches, as he had scorpions by mixing some powder from that insect in a decoction of basil. Similarly, quoting Paracelsus, he said it was possible to resuscitate a plant from its own ashes, although that was much more difficult. From there we came to talk about the strangest animals nature had ever produced, that is, dragons, the progeny of the eagle & the she-wolf. He spoke of the small specimen that could be seen in the Aldrovandi Museum in Rome & of the one he had caught a glimpse of in 1619, flying out of a cave on Mount Pilatus near Lucerne, but also of all sorts of unthinkable animals that proved the infinite capacity of divine creation. Thus Kircher reminded us of the cock with a snake’s tail or with a crest of plumes, one of the curiosities of the Boboli Gardens in Florence, which was the fruit of a chance mixture of sperm; the ostrich or “strontocamelo,” whose name & appearance prove that it comes from the coupling of a camel with a fowl; the rhinobatos, the offspring of the ray & the angelfish mentioned by Aristotle; & numerous other exotic animals of which his correspondents in the Indies or in America sent him detailed descriptions.
Then the Prince, who was very much interested in the sciences, brought the discussion around to astronomy & questioned Kircher so passionately about the conflicting theories that were current at the time that they were soon at it hammer and tongs. Seeing that the Princess was enjoying these difficult subjects less, I decided to make conversation with her. Since I knew, from what she had told me before, that she liked music, I talked about the musicians who were all the rage in Rome, in particular Girolamo Frescobaldi, whom my master and I regularly went to hear in the Lateran church. She had a high opinion of all of them, she said, but she preferred the more spiritual compositions of Monteverdi, William Byrd & above all of Gesualdo, whose name she spoke in a murmur & with a quick glance at her husband. I nodded, to indicate that I had understood her allusion & fully approved of & shared her tastes. She seemed delighted by this accord &, with shining eyes & flushed cheeks, she drank in every word I said, so much so that I had to rub my back against the chair to make the prickles of my hair shirt work more effectively & call my flesh to order. I decided it was time to return to subjects more appropriate to my calling.
“How do you imagine God?” I asked her without further ado.
She gave me an affectionate smile, obviously unsurprised by the point-blank nature of my question, as if she clearly understood its motivation. “I cannot imagine Him,” she replied almost immediately, “that is to say I cannot visualize Him as similar to men or to anything human. I believe there is a God because I cannot think that I or all the things around me are the product of chance or of some creature. Also, since the direction of my affairs is not a result of my own wisdom & since success rarely comes by the means I have chosen, Divine Providence must be involved in the matter …”
I was very pleased with this reply & admired her for not saying, as most women did, that she imagined God as a venerable old man.
“And since it has so happened that I am talking to you about myself in a way I have never before talked to anyone, I can admit that, were it not for the sacred bonds tying me to my husband, I would joyfully place my life under the yoke of Jesus Christ. Not in a convent, where the cross is too easy a burden, but in a hospital that accepts patients with all kinds of ailments, wherever they come from and whatever their religion, to serve them all without distinction &, following the example of the only husband worthy of the name, to take their infirmities upon myself. I know that my eyes are able to bear the most horrible sights, my ears the oaths and cries of the sick & my sense of smell the stench of all the infections of the human body. I would take Jesus from bed to bed to these wretched people, I would encourage them, not by empty words but by the example of my own patience & charity, & I would do so much that God would have mercy on them …”
The tears were welling up in the Princess’s eyes at the evocation of her secret desire. Of perfect beauty, she seemed great & noble, free and majestic in her bearing, honest in her demeanor, with the soft, pliant voice of a saint. This young woman was admirable in every respect & her husband the most abominable—
“Extraordinary!” the Prince suddenly exclaimed, turning to me. “Caspar, I envy you: your master the most considerable is of scholars! We together realize soon great things …”
I blushed at this, as if I had been caught in the act & the Prince had been able to read my thoughts.
“You exaggerate,” said Kircher, “knowledge alone is magnificent & that alone deserves your compliments. But you must excuse me, my lady, for having monopolized your husband for so long; I seem to have forgotten that our conversation was hardly of a nature to enthrall you.”
“Do not worry, Father. We conversed on religious matters with Father Schott & it is I who have forgotten my duty as hostess. I have to admit that I didn’t hear a single word of your discussion & I am sorry about that, even though I doubtless would not have understood much of it.”
Kircher politely assured her she was mistaken in that & then, as if on a sudden inspiration, offered to divert us: “As we have finished this excellent dinner, it seems a suitable moment to follow it with an amusing experiment. What do you think, are we lighter before or after we’ve eaten?”
“Good, good, good,” said the Prince, rubbing his hands in satisfaction. “I take up challenge! We must have method, always method, as say Monsieur Descartes. After meal I feel me more light, although I swallow at least four pound of food. This idea clear & distinct in my intellectus, therefore true: inside force of body transform chicken, fish and other nourishments in heat; heat produce intimate vapor, & vapor lightness … We eat too much we fly away, no?” he added with a laugh.
The Prince immediately rang & ordered the scales to be brought from the pantry. A few minutes later several servants appeared, struggling under the weight of the instrument.
“How much do you normally weigh?” Kircher asked.
“A hundred and twenty-two pounds,” the Prince replied, “I not change weight since former youth.”
“Good. Then if you have eaten four pounds of food, you ought to weigh a hundred and twenty-six pounds now.”
“We soon see,” said the Prince, climbing onto the pan.
Kircher moved the weights until the scales were in balance & read off the result: “A hundred & twenty-seven pounds, three marks & two ounces! You ate a little more than you estimated this evening.”
“Unheard of!” the Prince exclaimed, highly amused.
AFTER HAVING CHECKED the accuracy of the weights, he wanted all of us to try. Kircher climbed onto the pan; it turned out that he had eaten seven pounds of food, which he explained away by claiming that he must have underestimated his weight because he hadn’t weighed himself since leaving Rome. I was not surprised to find that I had only put on one pound, hardly having given a thought to the food during the meal. As for the Princess, she refused to submit to a trial that would have offended the natural coquetry of her sex, but she was readily pardoned her refusal. She retired soon afterward & I followed suit when the Prince intimated that he would like to discuss certain delicate matters with my master.
Once in my room, I examined my soul & realized how much the Princess was bewitching me. Her virtue & her purity seemed exemplary & I felt great satisfaction in being able to recreate her face in my thoughts. I said lengthy prayers and read the Exercises until late into the night. Obeying Saint Ignatius, who says that it is a sin to take less than the adequate amount of sleep, I took off my hair shirt, which was very uncomfortable, & fell asleep.
When I woke next morning I saw that lintea pollueram1 & the thought of having yielded to the devil during the night, even though I had no memory of it, filled me with horror. I put my hair shirt back on & began the day by examining my conscience thoroughly.
That day & the following days up to Christmas I hardly saw Kircher & the Prince at all. They shut themselves away in the library, where they were engaged in mysterious activities; several times workmen came from outside to work with them, which made me suspect some new machine was being invented. Left to my own devices, I had the pleasure of keeping company with the lady who occupied my thoughts; we discussed all kinds of topics, read the new books that had been sent to her or made music. And the Princess seemed to enjoy these innocent pastimes so much that I felt no guilt at all in doing this to lighten her spirits. Every day she became a little more determined to carry out her decision to take the veil with the Sisters of Mercy as soon as Providence gave her the opportunity & I encouraged her in this resolution with all my heart.
The meals did not last as long as on the day of our arrival, the Prince & Kircher ate quickly—when they deigned to leave the library—to return as soon as possible to whatever they were doing. But while the Prince appeared merry as a lark, Kircher seemed to me to be nervous & preoccupied. On the evening of December 23 he came to see me in my room, a little after ten in the evening. His expression was even more serious that usual.
“The die is cast, Caspar, & I fear for the consequences of my actions. The Archenemy can take so many different forms. Accustomed though I am to sniffing out his ruses, I’m not sure I’ll succeed this time. But enough of this faintheartedness! The Prince has invited several people to supper tomorrow night, after midnight mass, which the priest from Bagheria will come to celebrate in the chapel here. You know the Prince’s devious mind & I must repeat the advice to be prudent I gave you when we arrived. Be careful not to pass judgment on the things you will see, nor to offend anyone with overhasty reactions & remember, whatever happens, I take your sins upon myself. It is for the good of the Church that I am doing this, if I am mistaken I alone will take the punishment.”
Alarmed by this, I swore to my master that he could trust me & that I would rather die than disobey his orders.
“You’re a good fellow,” Kircher said, ruffling my hair, “& a better man than I am. But prepare yourself for the worst, my child, & do not forget: it is the salvation of the Church that is at stake.”
Then he knelt down & we prayed for two hours without stopping.
The morning of December 24 was so gray and cold that the fires were lit throughout the house. The kitchen staff had set to work, the servants were going backward & forward between the house & the park gate, from which they returned loaded with provisions, the whole building seemed to vibrate with the bustling preparations for the festival. Kircher was chatting with the Prince in the library; as for me, I was meditating on the Nativity, preparing myself as best I could to celebrate the arrival of Our Lord.
I was at peace with myself when my master came to fetch me in the middle of the afternoon.
The guests started to arrive, some had already gathered in small groups in the various drawing rooms. The great hall had been opened up & I could not but be astounded by it: imagine a vast rotunda with a cupola covered in hundreds of mirrors attached side by side to make a concave surface. Five large crystal chandeliers covered in candles hung down from it. The walls were composed of genuine & perfect imitation marble with niches containing polychrome busts of the most famous philosophers of Antiquity. And the Prince had had no qualms about placing busts of himself & his wife in a slightly more richly decorated recess above the entrance, together with a motto: “Reflected in the remarkable magnificence of these mirrors, contemplate, O mortals, the image of human frailty.” I also saw a number of coats of arms painted in fresco with various devices of the type Kircher had deciphered when we first arrived. The floor, inlaid with mahogany & rosewood, shone splendidly. All this, however was not quite in the best of taste: there was a little too much ostentation & not enough genuine beauty; but the mirrors, multiplying colors, lights and movements ad infinitum, created a truly magical atmosphere. A small orchestra, with the musicians dressed as characters from a Roman tragedy, was playing quietly.
When the Prince saw us, he bustled over &, requesting silence, introduced Kircher to the assembled company; this was a new Archimedes, the glory of the age, & he was honored by his presence & his friendship. There was some discreet applause then the conversations resumed, even livelier than before. We sat down on one of the benches in the hall & the Prince told us about those he had invited for that evening.
There was Sieur La Mothe Le Vayer, known for his dialogues in the style of Latin & Greek authors; Count Manuel Cuendias de Teruel y de Casa-Pavòn; Denys Sanguin de Saint-Pavin, whose reputation for debauchery went ahead of him; Jean-Jacques Bouchard, a notorious libertine; a few poets & scholars & a swarm of ladies & petty marquis whose titles would have choked even the most robust master of ceremonies. All were intimate enough acquaintances of the Prince to be spared the usual humiliating tricks.
When the night was well advanced, the Prince, without a word, finger on his lips, shepherded us all into the hall of mirrors & suddenly had all the candles snuffed & the doors closed. Hardly had we been plunged into total darkness than the Virgin Mary appeared to us, life-sized & radiant with light, as if she were floating on one of the walls. We could clearly see the blue of her shawl & the rosy hue of her face—she seemed alive! Murmurs of amazement could be heard all around me. The Princess, startled, had taken my arm & was gripping it very tightly. I was already wagering that my master was not without involvement in this miracle, when his voice was heard, greatly amplified by some device or other & echoing all around the cupola.
“Do not fear, all you who can hear me, there is nothing in this apparition that cannot be explained by the simple laws of nature. Our host, the Prince, has seen fit to prepare us all for the celebration of the Nativity, let us give him our thanks.”
Immediately another image appeared showing Mary & Joseph on the road to Galilee. After the nativity, then the adoration of the Magi, we were given a summary of the life of Jesus. The music accompanying it suddenly took on such poignant tones at the image of Our Lord dying on the cross, that it brought tears to my eyes, as it did to those of most of the company. After the Ascension, we were plunged into darkness again. The musicians broke into a terrifying piece, rising in a crescendo, & at its peak, at the very moment when the brass & the drums were threatening to bring the house down around our ears, the Devil appeared, surrounded by moving flames, horned, grimacing, horrible to look at!
“The Archenemy!” Kircher bellowed, his stentorian voice drowning out the cries of fright from the audience, “The Tempter! The fallen Angel! The foul Fiend! Repent, all ye sinners, to escape his clutches & the torments his army of demons is preparing for you in hell! Here come Beydelus, Anamelech, Furfur & Eurynome! Baalberith, the head of the archives of evil! Abaddon, the exterminating angel! Tobhema, Satan’s cook! Philotanus, whose very name fills us with disgust! And then Lilith, Negal & Valafar! Moloch, Murmur, Scox, Empousa & Focalor! Sidragasum, who incites shameless women to dance! Belial, O lewd seducer, Zapam, Xezbeth, Nysrak & Haborym! Get thee away from here, Asmodeus! And thou, Xaphan, return to thy cauldrons! Shades & Striges, fairies, furoles & undines get ye out of our sight!”
The pictures of these demons appeared then disappeared as my master named them, only increasing the terror around me. I felt the Princess trembling against my arm. After them it was hell, depicted with gripping realism. Myriads of naked bodies were being subjected to the most abominable tortures, suffering through that by which they had sinned. We could see all types of depravity punished appropriately without being spared anything of the torments awaiting the damned in the world beyond. But however deep an impression the images of the demons had made on the audience, the depiction of the vices & their punishment appeared to excite them equally. I found the chuckles and laughs I could hear around me offensive, everywhere I could see smiling faces &, here and there, wandering hands …
But soon, as the music cut off a last image of the torments with the common chord, Athanasius asked everyone to join him in reciting the Anima Christi. Without further ado the text of this beautiful prayer appeared on the wall, translated line by line into seven languages:
Soul of Christ, sanctify me,
Body of Christ, save me,
Blood of Christ, inebriate me,
Water from the side of Christ, wash me,
Passion of Christ, fortify me,
Within Thy wounds hide me,
Never let me be parted from Thee,
From the evil enemy defend me,
In the hour of my death call me,
Command me to come to Thee,
That with Thy saints I may praise Thee,
World without end,
Amen.
And the fervor with which the prayer was said by everyone there, the emotion welling up from the voices resounding under the mirror cupola was certainly the most satisfying of rewards for Athanasius.
Scattered over the saloon table, several books on micropaleontology, five or six specimens of Corumbella, a powerful magnifying glass and drawing materials had easily created a familiar working environment. For the umpteenth time Mauro was reading Dietlev’s report to the Brazilian Academy of Sciences.
Elaine’s voice came from behind him: “Still at work, then?”
Mauro smiled and shook his head. “Not really … I was daydreaming. We’ve been on this boat for a week now and I’m starting to feel I’ve been here forever. A bit as if we’re never going to arrive anywhere, nor ever get back …”
“I must be less of a romantic,” she said with a hint of mockery, “because I can’t wait to get to our destination. God knows what we’ll find up there. The fossil Dietlev got his hands on is so much older than Corumbella; if we find the deposit, it’s more or less certain we’ll discover other species from the same period. It would revolutionize the whole of paleontology.”
“I know that, but it doesn’t have to stop me enjoying the present moment, does it?”
“Carpe diem, you mean? It’s a bit difficult when even the shower water’s moldy and we’ve been eating nothing but piranha … And then”—she glanced over his shoulder—“I don’t like this Petersen. He’s obnoxious, even when he’s making an effort to be nice. I can’t stand any more of him.”
“I agree with you there. I’ve hardly ever met anyone I’ve taken such an instant dislike to. I could do without—”
Mauro was interrupted by a dull rattle followed by a longer burst that made the metal side of the boat ring.
“What was that?” Elaine asked in an automatic reflex.
Mauro didn’t reply but she could tell by his expression that he too had identified it: the sound of an automatic rifle. With two minds but a single thought, they ran up on deck. A flight of frightened birds was still pouring out of the jungle, like a pillow case being torn open.
“Quick! Lie down!” Milton screamed, flat on his front along the rail. “They’re firing at us!”
“Don’t panic, don’t panic, Senhor Professor,” said Petersen calmly as he came out of the wheelhouse. “They didn’t fire at us, they fired in front of us, it’s a signal from my Paraguayan friends. You can get up. I’ll go and have a chat with them and it’ll be OK, you’ll see. It’ll take an hour at most … There’s no need to worry,” he said, seeing Mauro and Elaine, “you’re under my protection. Stay calm and nothing’ll happen to you. I’ll go in the dinghy, it won’t take long.”
Dietlev’s deep voice was suddenly heard. “I’ll go with you?”
Herman turned around, looking furious, as if no one had ever asked him anything so unreasonable. “But of course, come and have a cup of tea, they’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance … Now could we be serious? You help that stupid Indian keep the gunboat in the current. We can’t anchor here, the riverbed’s too unstable.”
Without waiting, Petersen went to the stern. They watched him climb over the rail to get on the dinghy, then heard him start the outboard motor. The inflatable soon appeared and went past them at great speed upriver, toward a little beach concealed among the tangle of mangroves. After having landed, Petersen quickly moored his boat and immediately vanished, as if swallowed up by the undergrowth.
“Where were you?” Elaine asked Dietlev.
“In the wheelhouse with Herman and Yurupig.”
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Milton broke in irritably. He was still pale from the fright.
“I assure you it’s just something very … South American,” said Dietlev, keeping his tone light. There’s some hunters around here, guys from Paraguay who smuggle out crocodile skins. From what I’ve heard, they’re also dealing in cocaine to supplement their income. Our dear captain has gone to see to his business with them and until we hear otherwise, it’s nothing to do with us.”
“Crocodiles!” Mauro exclaimed, suddenly angry. “The bastards! And no one comes to check up on this illegal trade?”
“Not really, no. They’re real professionals. They were parachuted in two or three years ago and cleared a portion of the jungle, enough to make a landing strip for their Piper, then they set about their dirty work. It you must know, they hunt with Kalashnikovs. Since several boats, including one from the customs, came under fire from heavy machine guns, no one comes up here. No honest people, anyway. And as they grease the palms of certain local officials, it’s not going to change in the near future …”
“It’s unbelievable! Unbelievable … I can’t get over it,” said Milton, stunned. “And you brought us here! How did you find out about all this?”
Dietlev hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, just long enough for Mauro to realize he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“From Petersen, of course. He knew we were going to a zone they control; the landscape changes very quickly around here and it’s practically impossible to find a precise spot from one week to the next. As I’m the one who hired him, he warned me he might have to pick up some parcels around here …”
“At least you could have warned us.”
“I didn’t realize they would give us such a noisy welcome. There was no reason to be afraid, and there still isn’t. As soon as Petersen gets back, we’ll be on our way as if nothing had happened. It’s not our job to uphold the law out here, is it? So we’ll just calm down and wait, without pointless recriminations.” Then, with a pleasant smile, he added, “Fix us a drink, I’m going to go and see how Yurupig’s getting on.”
“Just a moment,” said Elaine in a strange voice. “What’s that thing supposed to mean?”
All eyes turned in the direction she was pointing: a hundred yards behind the boat, where the banks made a bottleneck, a tree trunk had been thrown across the river. Pregnant with silent threat, its inexplicable presence meant there was no way back down the river.
YURUPIG HAVING NO need of anyone with him at the helm, they went down to the saloon to establish their position. First of all Dietlev showed them where they were on the satellite maps he had brought: “I’ve been checking our position as we’ve proceeded. That’s where the river narrows and that white patch there, a little to the northeast, is probably their landing strip. We can’t be more than three days away from our destination. OK, let’s summarize the situation: Petersen’s been gone more than an hour and there’s no way of turning back—which is somewhat disturbing, I agree, even if it’s probably no more than a simple protective measure—”
“A simple protective measure?!” Milton broke in, close to hysteria. “Are you joking? We’re trapped and all you can say is: ‘a simple protective measure!’ ”
Dietlev made an effort to remain calm. “Just think about it, Milton. They know it’s Petersen’s boat, but they don’t know who’s on board. They must know what type of person they’re dealing with; just imagine if Herman double-crossed them, if the authorities made it worth his while to bring the police up here, or even the army. What would you do in their place? These guys are well organized, their survival depends on it.”
“And if Herman doesn’t come back?” Elaine asked calmly.
“He will come back. Or, at the worst, they’ll come. Whatever, there’s nothing we can do, so there’s no point in making ourselves scared stiff while we wait. Tomorrow we’ll all be laughing at the whole business.”
“We’re at their mercy,” Milton said, “and you couldn’t give a damn. Well I do. It’s all your fault and I can assure you, Dietlev, as soon as we get back you’re really in for it. I’ll have you thrown out of the university.”
“Good! Now you’re thinking about what to do when we get back, which proves you’re not entirely stupid. As for changing university, I didn’t wait for you to consider that: I’ve been offered a chair at Tübingen and another at Harvard. I’m spoiled for choice … And I’m ready to do anything not to have to see your ugly mug anymore.”
“Dietlev, please!” said Elaine, worried by the turn the discussion was taking.
“I know, I know,” he said, grinding his teeth, “but he’s really starting to get on my nerves.”
“I can tell you, all this will be reported. The rector is one of my closest friends and I’m sure that—”
At this Dietlev exploded. “That what?” he asked, grabbing Milton by the collar. “You’re sure that what? One more word, just one, and I’ll smash your face in.”
Milton’s glasses misted over with fright and he restricted himself to several “Oh my goodness”es like a shocked old maid. With a contemptuous push, Dietlev sent him tumbling onto a bench.
“I’m going out for some fresh air,” he said to Elaine with a reassuring wink. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve wanted to tell that stupid ass what I think about him for ages.”
“I’m coming with you. You’re right, it is rather stuffy in here.”
“Did you see that?” Milton said, turning to Mauro. “You’re a witness. That foul fellow laid hands on me, he insulted me.”
Mauro slowly adjusted the headphones of his Walkman over his ears. “I saw him calm you down, showing great tact, I have to say, after you had a hysterical fit unworthy of a university professor, but I didn’t hear much, apart from your threats. My Walkman, you know …”
“You as well! You’re on their side. Let me tell you, my young friend, you will never—”
Elaine put her head into the gangway. “I don’t know if you’re interested,” she said to Milton, “but Petersen’s just getting into the Zodiac. So leave the lad in peace and come and make up with Dietlev. It seems you need to apologize to him.”
When Milton came up on deck, Herman was still on the bank together with a group of three men. Dietlev was observing them through his binoculars.
“It looks as if there’s some problem,” he said, not taking his eyes off them, “they all look pretty excited …”
Elaine knew him, he would never have feigned such unconcern if he hadn’t been genuinely worried. For the first time since they’d left Corumba, she suddenly felt afraid.
“A problem, what problem?” Milton asked, whining already. “I knew, I just knew things would go wrong.”
“Oh shut up, for God’s sake,” Dietlev barked, still glued to his binoculars. “Ah, that’s it, he’s getting in the boat. Or rather, they’re getting in the boat. Petersen’s not alone, there’s one of the guys with him.”
He turned to face Milton. “Armed,” he said tonelessly, looking him straight in the eye. “Right, everyone stay calm, it’s not the moment to screw things up.”
“JUST GIVE ME a couple of minutes,” Herman begged as soon as he was on board, “then I’ll explain everything. Don’t worry, it’s OK. Just a little hitch …” He was sweating and seemed concerned despite the alcohol he’d obviously been drinking.
The man with him was a real brute, the kind you sometimes see on American motorcycles: mustache, stubble, greasy hair, a bandanna around his forehead, he seemed perfectly at ease in his ragged fatigues. Dietlev observed the belt with compartments he wore slung over his shoulder. Automatic rifle over his stomach, he sized them up one by one with a satisfied look, as if he’d ascertained Herman hadn’t lied to him. Subjecting Elaine to a longer scrutiny, he gave a knowing smile revealing an impeccable set of carnivore’s teeth. “Puta madre!” he said in a hoarse voice, automatically touching his testicles.
Humiliated, Elaine looked away toward the river.
None of them could have said how long the inspection lasted, so petrified were they by the man’s very physical arrogance. All Elaine could remember afterward was his powerful smell like that of a wild beast.
“And the Indian?” he asked in Spanish.
“At the wheel,” Herman replied, clearly concerned to reassure him. “Don’t worry, amigo, there’s no one else.”
“OK, lead the way,” he said, taking hold of his rifle, “you’re going to show me around.” He followed Herman inside with disdainful self-assurance.
Milton was completely demoralized. Eyes wide, he sought a comforting word or look. Dietlev was desperately but vainly making an effort to think. He tried to analyze the situation, to see the data as if it were a problem in science, without managing to get rid of the stupid images that kept getting in the way of his reasoning; the most insistent was an obsessive one of an overfull mug of beer with the foam constantly trickling down onto the bar. Elaine, suddenly struck with the irrepressible desire to go to the lavatory but equally paralyzed by her refusal to confess to the need and her fear of having to pee where she was, concentrated on her bladder, entirely taken up with her dilemma.
Out of bravado more than unconcern, Mauro had switched on his Walkman; leaning against the rail, his eyes fixed on Milton, he was humming away assiduously.
Herman reappeared on deck and hurried across to Dietlev. “I assure you it’s not my fault,” he said right away. Their plane’s broken down, there’s no way they can repair it. They want us to take their mechanic to Cáceres to buy some replacement parts; there’s an airport there.”
“To Cáceres!” Dietlev exclaimed. He immediately saw in his mind’s eye the two branches of the river a few miles upstream. “But that’s not our route, it’s even the opposite way.”
“I know,” Herman said, putting on a dismayed look. “Don’t complicate things. I swear I’ve tried everything. I even proposed to leave you where you want to go first and pick you up on my way back. But they won’t listen. They’re in a hurry, a great hurry, if you see what I mean.”
Dietlev realized they’d have to bring the mechanic back here, which dashed any hope he still had of completing their mission. At best, counting just three days in Cáceres to find the parts—and that was a minimum—they could only get back to this point at the end of their scheduled time in the Mato Grosso. “It’s piracy!” he muttered. “Do you realize what that means? A whole year of preparations down the drain because of these bastards.”
“I couldn’t foresee this, amigo, I swear it.”
“And there’s nothing we can do about it? I don’t know, what if we offer them money if they agree to leave us on the deposit with the fossils?”
“Money?” Petersen said genuinely amazed. “But these guys have a thousand times more than you, they’re literally wallowing in dollars. You don’t realize, Dietlev, you’re lucky still to be alive. They don’t care a fuck about the lot of you, about your mission or your bloody fossils.”
“We just have to do what they say, and that’s that,” said Milton, still terrified. “I’ve had enough of … of all this. I’m canceling the mission, d’you hear. We’ll take the plane from Cáceres. I’m cancelling everything.”
“What plane?” the Paraguayan asked in mocking tones, putting down a large cardboard box full of tins of food and bottles. “And the little lady, is she ready? You haven’t told her the news yet, eh, yellow belly? Come on, get on with it, I’ve got to take the Zod’ to collect the mechanic.”
“Please, Hernando,” said Petersen in a tearful voice. “There’s no point, I’ve given you my word. I’ll bring your guy back, whatever happens. I’ve got to come back by this route anyway.”
“Herman?!” Dietlev growled. His voice had deepened a tone, as if he had a premonition of what the old German’s reply would be.
“They want to keep Professora Von Wogau until we come back. As security.”
“No question!” Dietlev exclaimed without a moment’s pause for reflection. Turning to Hernando, he said, “We’ll take your mechanic to Cáceres, or even to Cuiabá if necessary, we’ll do everything you want, but she stays with us, understood?
“All right, that’s enough,” the man said, pointing his gun at Dietlev. “Herman, you put the supplies in the dinghy and you, guapa, you get on board double quick. We won’t do anything to harm you, believe me.”
There was a lecherous glint in his eye that said everything about what he had in mind for her.
Elaine was sitting on the deck, her legs tight together, shaking her head from side to side, unable in her panic to express her refusal to go with him in any other way.
Mauro faced up to the Paraguayan. “She’s not going,” he said in a tremulous voice. “No venga, non viene! What language do we have to say it in? I’ll stay here, if that’s what you want.”
“Well he’s got balls, the little cockerel,” Hernando said with a smile, “I like that …” And with a swift blow with the rifle butt he hit him in the face. Mauro collapsed like a rag doll.
Dietlev was already coming forward, fists clenched.
“But he says they won’t harm her,” Milton yelped, pulling him back. “There’s nothing for it but to leave her with them. Is there, Elaine? Tell him you’ll stay. As you can see, he’s not joking.”
“Pansy!” Dietlev said, spitting on his mouth.
Hernando stuck the barrel of the Kalashnikov in Dietlev’s throat. “You’re getting to be a pain in the ass, you idiot. Come on, little lady, in the dinghy or I blow his head off.”
Despite all her efforts, Elaine just could not stand up. She’d started crawling toward them, when the engine, suddenly put on full speed, made the gunboat leap forward.
Off-balance for a moment, Hernando realized what Yurupig was doing. “He’s going to kill the lot of us, the stupid cunt,” he screamed, rushing toward the wheelhouse.
At the same moment Dietlev saw the boat set off on a slanting course toward the bank. Without bothering about the others, he ran for the upper deck as well. He was just climbing the accommodation ladder when the gunboat changed course and boldly made its way back into the middle of the river. Then there was a sort of orange flash, on the extreme edge of his field of vision and, above the din of the engine, a kind of simultaneous discharge in which the white noise of war mingled with the screaming of the monkeys. Dietlev threw himself to the floor, covering his head with his hands. He felt his leg slap against the metal by itself, becoming one with it. Instinctively he tried to pull it back into a more natural position and, astonished at its lack of reaction, lost consciousness.
Staggered at Yurupig’s reaction, Petersen had dropped onto the deck as soon as he saw that the boat was continuing its course and, despite Hernando’s efforts, would pass the invisible limit set by the crocodile hunters. Dumbfounded, sucked into his deepest fears, he observed the ensuing events with a hypnotic sense of déjà vu: Milton, waving his arms and shouting demands for a cease-fire, the jig that the repeated impact of the bullets made him dance on the spot, the red gashes in his linen suit; Elaine on all fours relieving herself on the deck, eyes closed, with the expression of a saint undergoing a visitation.
Imperturbable under the hail of bullets, the Messenger of the Faith continued to glide up the river, forcing its way, with a kind of dogged voluptuousness, between the Nile-green palisades of the jungle.
METAPHYSICIANS OF TLÖN: Kircher is like them, he is not looking for the truth, nor even the probable, he’s looking for the amazing. It never occurred to him that metaphysics is a branch of literature of the fantastic, but his work belongs entirely to fiction and therefore also to Jorge Luis Borges.
THE ESSENTIAL CLOSENESS to death, a fleeting insight from this homemade hell where my struggles take place.
DRAGONS: If God is perfect, Kircher asks himself, why has He created these hybrid creatures that appear to cast doubt on the natural order of things? What is the meaning of these breaks, these departures from the norm? In that way God manifests His omnipotence: He can unmake what He has made, he can dismantle what He has set up. For however long it has been our experience that a stone thrown up to the sky falls back down, nothing can assure us that one day it will not disappear into the clouds, on a divine whim and to remind us that it is He who makes the laws.
This simple deduction forbids Kircher any pretension to knowledge: he chooses to believe the unbelievable, systematically, because it is absurd and that is what should make a true believer believe.
FAITH IN A WORLD created for the human theater and at times not merely theatrical. Kircher has an innate sense of the theatrical, a quasi-Borrominian art of vertiginous asymmetries (thanks, Umberto!). Reason’s elastic vision, a tendency toward the picturesque, toward reminiscence, flights of the imagination, a taste for the raw forms of life, for theatrical machinery, for illusion: Kircher is baroque, quite simply baroque (Barocchus tridentinus, sive romanus, sive jesuiticus …).
SERTÃO is a deformation of deserto: the desert. They also say the Interior. Sertanejo: someone who lives in the desert, who is himself deserted …
ADD A NOTE on the “anemic machine” invented by Kircher. Ineffective but charitable. Ineffective to the point of charity? At least it makes him more human.
INDISPENSIBLE MACHINES:
for brushing monkeys
for licking the soap clean
for recovering the energy of copulation
for growing old more quickly
for delaying the millennium
for blackening albinos
for cooling down tea
for demoting soldiers
NOTE. If you’re going to get it wrong, do it with precision! Kircher and his contemporaries allowed our world a princely 4,000 years of existence; but at the same time the survivors of the Mayas were counting in millions of years and the Hindus calculating the cycles of successive creations of the universe in periods of 8.4 billion years …
1 I had soiled my sheets.