Smuggler's Fate

“I knew this trip was going to be trouble” Mitch hissed under his breath as the small frame of the Cessna rocked along the flight path, barely able to pick its way through the Perijá Mountains. “Once again, the bitch stuck it to me deep enough that I have to resort to taking jobs like this. I went from a decorated Airborne Ranger to a lowlife smuggler. Bad enough if I get caught with all this gold, let alone if they find the real loot. If I make it through his damn storm and past the authorities in Brazil, my commission for this job better pay off that witch and keep me outta court. Maybe then she’ll let me see my boy. I just have to survive this white-knuckle mission first.”

The skyline suddenly illuminated, and vivid details of trees, water, and rain became as daylight as long bolts of lightning spanned the sky. One after another in immediate procession, spindly lightning reached toward the plane; skeleton arms stretching to punish the aircraft straining against the wind. “Jesus! I am definitely NOT flying this route again! I completely underestimated the Catatumbo lightning field. You’d think I wouldn’t get this nervy after all the missions I’ve been on. I gotta get this bird outta this storm befo…”

A loud crack resonated through the cockpit as Mitch startled and turned in his seat to peer out the window. He saw the illuminated sky, and a thick tendril of smoke billowing from the cargo hold of his plane. “Oh, crap! The uranium!”

Mitch reached behind his seat to locate the parachute he always kept on the plane…just in case.

“For once my airborne training’s gonna pay off.”

He glanced at the instrument panel to check the altitude. “413 feet. Damn! This is gonna hurt! I hate jumping at low altitudes!” He quickly and expertly hooked up the chute as the cockpit filled with smoke. “This plane is gonna blow! Damn it!” He opened the Lexan door and kissed the door jamb of the plane. “Bye, Baby. I really hate to do this.” He dove out of the plane and grabbled the rip cord on his chute simultaneously. The chute’s canopy slowed his fast descent toward the waiting treetops and jungle floor below. He saw a bright light and the sonic boom reverberated through the storm, the sound mimicking a loud clap of thunder. He didn’t even see the shrapnel whizzing towards him. Then that piece of metal that was just a part of his plane a few moments earlier struck him in the back of his head. All went black.

At first, he was aware of the buzzing sound that seemed to come from inside his own head. He couldn’t open his eyes yet, but he could smell something pungent close by. He tried to remember what had happened. He remembered the storm, the violent lightning and his plane catching fire. His last memory before darkness took him was that of jumping from his plane and pulling the rip cord. Then he lost consciousness. He attempted to open his eyes, but his lids had bricks weighing them shut. He found he could, however, move his fingertips, and he flexed his fingers in an attempt to get the blood moving through his body. As he worked his fingers, his eyes gradually began to flutter until he could open them partially for a second or two before they were too heavy to stay open. He was aware of the pain that throbbed in his head, and his body felt heavy and broken. As he struggled to gain full consciousness he became aware of a presence approaching him. He was vaguely cognizant of the fact that he must be laying on the jungle floor and was easy prey for wildlife of the region to pick him off. He gathered all the strength he could muster from his weakened body and opened his eyes.

He glanced around him, confusion filtering his thoughts as he took in what looked to be a kind of room made of grasses, large fronds, and animal hides.

“Where the Hell am I?”

Attempting to sit up on his elbows only served to remind him again of how beat up his body was. His temples were pounding and the crown of his head felt like it was swollen like a basketball. He had a sharp pain in his side that made his vision blur and go white, and he fell back to the laying position he had been in. As he slowly laid his head back on the small pile of animal hides, a woman approached him.

Acknowledging that he was awake, the dark-haired woman sat at Mitch’s head and dipped a cloth into the bowl of water she was carrying. She gently sponged his head and he winced as she dabbed at a wound he wasn’t aware he had on his head. She pulled her hand away and scooted back a bit as if she expected him to lash out at her in anger. Again he attempted to raise himself up on his elbows, this time going slower than before so as to not jar his head. Again the sharp pain kept him from sitting up. He slowly lie back down and held his side where the pain emanated from.

“Must be a broken rib.” He stated and looked at the woman sitting just out of arm’s reach from him. “Thank you for trying to help me. I bet you don’t speak much English, do you?”

“Actually, I do.” The dark-haired woman responded. “A little. My people had some, what were they called; Miss-ion-aries? They taught some of the children how to speak in Englis.” She said, not pronouncing the full “sh” sound of the word ‘English’.

Not expecting a response at all, let alone in English, Mitch stared at her, mouth gaping. “You speak English? Wow, I think it’s my lucky day. Where exactly am I?”

You were found by me primo and he got some of the mans in our tribe to go and carry you here. You have been asleep for almost cuatro days.”

Mitch ignored her vocabulary blend of English and her native tongue as he let it sink in that he had been out for four days. As he began to focus on the young woman more clearly, he realized how lovely she was. He looked her over, his eyes lingering in places where her curves belied his initial presumption that she was in her late teens. When he finally looked up at her face, he saw that she had cast her eyes down at the ground, quickly glancing at him before looking back at the ground.

“I am la hijita of de leader.” She offered and to Mitch, it was obvious she had said it as a kind of warning, like she thought he was planning to, what, rape her or something? He raised a hand up and tried to shake his head, but it hurt too much.

“No worries darlin, you have nothing to fear from me. I don’t roll that way with women. I have more respect than that. Besides, I’m not really feelin up to a roll in the hay right now.”

Mitch winced again as he forced himself into a sitting position.

“Do you have a name? Mine is Mitch.”

“I am called Ancano.” She said, her eyes squarely on his.

“I am very thankful for your help. I have no idea how I am going to get back to my neck of the woods, uh, my home. I bet there are no car rentals or buses here in the jungle huh?”

Ancano’s brows knit and she looked to her left as if she was trying to figure out how to respond to Mitch’s question.

“Never mind. It was a silly question. Listen, do you have anything to eat at all? I suddenly realized I’m famished.”

“Eat” Ancano repeated. “Yes, I will bring comida. Fater must be told you are open.”

“Awake” Mitch corrected as Ancano turned over her shoulder, a question on her face. “You mean, I am awake now.”

“A-wake.” Ancano repeated and quietly left the hut.

“Well, this is not going to be an easy trip home. I wonder if I can catch a flight home on the nearest Delta flight.” Mitch quipped.

It wasn’t long before Ancano returned with something for Mitch to eat. Although bland, the soup she gave him did much to fortify his energy enough for him to attempt to stand up. He found that once he was on his feet, his rib didn’t hurt as much as he had thought and he moved about slowly. When the chief of the tribe entered the hut, Mitch wasn’t sure how to conduct himself in a polite greeting. He held out his hand and the chief looked at it and back at his face. Mitch dropped his hand and introduced himself. Ancano was there to act as a translator when she could understand herself. The chief made it clear that Mitch’s place as an outsider was to observe in their daily life without attempting to interfere. As he healed, he would be given small tasks to perform daily so as to earn his keep for care until he was healthy enough to be sent away. He had no clue how he was going to get out of the jungle alone on foot, let alone get back to the United States. He was determined to try to find out if the tribesmen knew how he could get to an airport.

Days melted into weeks as Mitch healed from his injuries. He spent more days with Ancano than not, and she taught him about life in the tribe. He accompanied her on her foraging for the tribe’s meals and Mitch helped. Gradually he was pulled away from Ancano’s company and began to be schooled in a man’s role in the tribe. He was taught how to fashion homemade spears from the hardwood trees indigenous to the region, how to mend fishing nets, and, ultimately, how to hunt for meat to feed the tribe. In spite of Mitch’s efforts to communicate that he wanted to go home, it seemed he was not getting any closer to that goal.

One afternoon when Mitch had finished his tasks for the day and was fashioning a homemade fishing pole, Ancano came and sat beside him.

“Me fater will speak with you.”

Mitch nodded and rose to go with her.

Chief Tamanaco beckoned the two to come and sit. He gazed a few moments at Mitch as if to size him up before he spoke. He began to talk and Mitch listened politely, not understanding a single word.

“He says” Ancano said, not making eye contact with Mitch, “He know you want to go back to you home. He has no way to help you. You must go alone and find your way to the jungle if you wish to go.”

Mitch opened his mouth to speak but Tamanaco held up his hand to stop him.

“Do not speak until you are asked to” Ancano told Mitch.

Chief Tamanaco continued, then paused for Ancano to translate.

“He says, you may stay with us and live, but you must do a ritual of manhood for tribe mans to accept you as one of us.”

Mitch looked at the tribal chief, who continued to speak.

“He says, if you do task, you stay and may wed his daughter.” Ancano quietly said, looking at the floor to avoid Mitch’s reaction.

Mitch licked his lips and looked questioningly at Chief Tamanaco, who nodded his consent for Mitch to speak.

Mitch looked from the chief to Ancano, who was still looking at the floor. “First of all, what is this task I must do to be accepted? And second,” looking back at Ancano, “What do you want to do? You want to marry a guy like me?”

Ancano looked at him then briefly and replied “I will do what fader says I do. You good mans. I obey.”

Mitch looked down at the floor a moment. “I don’t like that you would marry me out of obedience rather than because you want to marry me.”

She glanced at him and smiled slightly, a hint of defiance flickering in her dark eyes.

“I don’t always obey.”

Mitch’s gaze lingered on Ancano for a moment before he returned his gaze to the patiently awaiting chief.

“What sort of test or ritual do I have to do to prove my manliness?”

Ancano translated Mitch’s words and the chief spoke. Ancano’s face visibly dropped as she looked Mitch squarely in the eyes.

“You must hunt and kill the big water snake that lives in the wet grass. He will give you two clan mens to go with you for the journey, but you must do this task alone.”

“Tell me this is something that is done all the time.”

Ancano shook her head, and Mitch could see apparent worry. Yes, but with many tribesmen. You bring the meat back for food. We then can make ceremony and wed.”

Mitch wasn’t happy with the outcome of the conversation. The chief wanted a decision before nightfall and he wasn’t wanting to commit to one, but there wasn’t much of a choice. If he chose to try to find his way through the jungle to find some civilization, he would do so alone, and without a weapon, since his handgun disappeared when he fell out of the plane. He wasn’t wild about trying to catch and kill the ‘water snake’ that he ultimately decided must be a green anaconda, with nothing but a hunting knife that would be provided for him. He HATED snakes! But still, the thought of marrying Ancano was not entirely unpleasant. He had indeed grown very fond of the young woman over the months he had been here, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay here in the jungle forever.

“Decisions, decisions.” Mitch mumbled to himself. I guess I don’t have a very good choice, at least for now. I hope that damn serpent has already eaten by the time I find it, because I heard they are big enough to eat a man. Oh geez, why can’t I just arm wrestle one of those skinny tribal men or box with one? Guess I better get some sleep.”

The next morning before daylight, two of the tribesmen awoke Mitch and urged him to get ready. He dressed and strapped on the knife he had been given.

“Let’s get the show on the road then.” He quipped. The tribesmen smiled weakly and nodded, not understanding the language but knowing what was implied.

The trio trudged through the jungle, the two tribesmen taking the lead. At last, they approached the grassy wetlands where the anaconda are.

Mitch had his eyes peeled, his heart pounding as they got closer to the water’s edge. They stopped, but one of the tribesmen motioned for Mitch to enter the water.

“I don’t have to actually go looking for it in the water do I?” He asked, knowing they didn’t understand his words.

The tribesman motioned again, a little more fervently this time.

“Great God in Heaven! Ok, ok, I’ll go into the water!” he shot a disgusted, look at the tribesman, who stood expressionless.

Cautiously, Mitch entered the water, hunting knife held at the ready.

It didn’t take long before he felt something brush against his leg. He yelled out in spite of himself and froze in place. Before he knew what was happening, he was swept off his feet and pulled under the water. He struggled to gain purchase with his feet and break the surface for air, but he was being pulled under by the snake. He lunged his knife deep into the snake’s muscular body, but he found no matter how much he jabbed, the snake wouldn’t let go. Then the snake’s head whipped around and latched onto Mitch’s calf. He screamed as the sharp teeth penetrated his flesh and he plunged the knife into the snake’s head. He continued to jab, but the snake’s squeezing grip had migrated from his legs to his torso, squeezing the breath out of him. He plunged blindly as he thought he was doing to black out from lack of air. Then, he heard voices as the two tribesmen who accompanied him on the journey were in the water with him, both of them spearing the snake. The tight grip around his torso loosed enough for Mitch to find the snake’s head again, and plunge the blade of his knife in one of the anaconda’s eyes. The enormous snake let go of Mitch completely and uncoiled itself.

“Just where do you think you’re going, beast?” He yelled to the snake.

The snake began to swim away, much slower than it would have had it not been injured, blood plumes emanating from its body, allowing Mitch to dive down to finish it off. The two tribesmen stood by and waited for Mitch to resurface.

Mitch struggled to catch the huge serpent. He grabbed the tail of the beast and plunged the knife into it in an attempt to pin it to the floor of the stream. The snake wheeled around in defense as the knife gave in the soft sand and the snake was freed. Mitch scrambled to find the knife as the snake, feeling its tail was free, again attempted to retreat. After locating the knife, Mitch had to come up for air. By that time the snake had been able to make its way upriver enough that Mitch lost sight of it, but the two tribesmen were in pursuit. They beckoned Mitch to hurry to join them. Mitch struggled to catch up with the men, who had caught the snake and pinned it with their spears, both putting weight on the spear to keep the snake from dislodging them in the soft sand as the knife had been. As Mitch approached, he saw that the snake was moving very slowly, and fighting back less aggressively. It was dying. Mitch’s arms circled the serpent’s head, which was writhing and trying to escape, in spite of its grave injuries. Mitch held the head best he could in the crook of his elbow, and again plunged his knife into the snake’s head, piercing the remaining eye. The snake writhed so violently that it broke free from Mitch’s hold on its head, but it didn’t swim off. The writing continued for several minutes as the snake’s fight to live slowed and finally, it lay motionless in the shallow river water.

Mitch allowed himself to plop down in the water next to the dead anaconda and, breathing heavily, he glanced at the tribesmen, who had retrieved their spears, walked to the shore, and began cutting large palm fronds, presumably to drag the anaconda carcass back to camp.

When the two men returned to Mitch and the snake, they went to work lifting the snake carcass onto the palm fronds one section at a time. Mitch was trying to gauge the length of the snake without the benefit of a tape measure. He tried to pick up the snake in sections so he could straighten it and lay in the water next to it for measurement. He could barely budge the top section of the head let alone the thickest part of the snake. Finally, he was able to straighten it enough to get a relative measurement. He lay down next to it and keeping his head in place spun around to lay alongside it in the other direction. He spun back around again, this time keeping his feet planted, and was shocked to find that the snake still had some length left. He spun around one more time to find the snake was about two feet shy of his entire height.

“Holy Jiminy!! This snake has got to be 22 feet long!” Mitch exclaimed. “Actually, a little longer because it’s not laying straight!”

The two men returned and the three of them hoisted the snake onto the fronds, but it took all three to lift each section of the snake. When they finished, they found they couldn’t budge the carcass. The fronds tore apart and they couldn’t find anything else substantial enough to tote the body on. The two tribesmen talked to each other and finally motioned to Mitch to cut the snake in half and they could carry it that way.

Mitch worked at it for quite a while, but the knife wasn’t made for sawing. He finally stood up and shook his head. One of the other two took the knife and took over for Mitch. After a bit, he stood and handed the knife to the other tribesman. The third tribesman made quick work of what was left of the task while Mitch and the other man went to find more palm fronds.

Half of the snake was more manageable and soon the three were on the journey home again, swapping out with each other toting the half of snake body. They stopped at a pool of water to get a drink and rest a bit. While Mitch was kneeling to cup his hands in the water, he spotted a very bright object on a bank a couple of yards up from them. He motioned to one of the tribesmen he was going to go to the other side of the pool for a minute. He circled around the pool, keeping his eyes on the shining object and when he got close enough to really see what the object was, he stopped in his tracks, flabbergasted.

“Holy Mother of God! That’s a solid gold armband!”

He rushed to the object and picked it up, brushing sand and rotting leave debris from it. He stared at it before looking around him. He spotted a crevice in a rock bed that seemed to be glowing. He turned to his two companions and yelled to them to come with him. He didn’t wait for them but started walking around the rocks to see if there was a hidden treasure hidden in the crevice.

He circled the formation and what he saw stunned him into stupidity. He was motionless as he took in the sight of what lie in a deep ravine just below the rocks. He dropped the gold armband and stared open-mouthed at the vast collection of gold trinkets before his eyes. He saw more armbands, like the one he found on the rocks, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, headdresses, and more, all made from gold.

As he stood gaping, his two excited companions caught up and began pulling at him, speaking in hushed, but very animated words, urging him to leave with them. He motioned for them to wait, but they insisted he leave. When he didn’t budge, they tried to jump in front of him to block his view of the gold. Mitch got angry and hissed at them to leave him alone with his treasure. The two men kept nervously looking at the vast jungle beyond the golden spectacle while uttering their fearful pleas for Mitch to leave with them.

Mitch was vaguely aware of the two men leaving as we ran to the midst of the treasure. He knelt down in the midst of it all and mumbled to himself.

“By God, it exists! I found El Dorado, the lost City of Gold! It’s mine!”

He picked up an earring and examined it. He didn’t hear the reverberating hiss from behind him at first. When he finally turned around, he was frozen to his spot. He sat face-to-face with an impossibly larger-than-life head of an anaconda that made the one they killed look like a small worm. The snake was a creature that could not possibly exist, something he might have seen out of a B Creature Feature matinee movie. The snake inched closer to Mitch and he was vaguely aware of warm liquid soiling his pant leg. He had the sudden realization he was going to die, and then, everything went black.

Mitch came to in a daze and couldn’t remember where he was. He thought for a minute he was at home in Jersey, in his own bed, but then, he could hear insects and birds, denizens of the jungle, and he remembered where he was. He sat up and looked around to get some bearing, but he couldn’t quite remember how he came to be laying on the grass, and why. As he was surveying the area, he saw where they dragged the palm fronds that carried the half carcass of the anaconda that he and his two companions had killed, but the carcass was gone. Then he remembered everything.

“What the Hell? Where is that gigantean behemoth of a snake that I thought for sure was going to have me for a midday snack?”

And then he remembered the gold.

“El Dorado!” He sprang to his feet and spun around looking for the rock formation he had first seen after he found the gold armband. There was nothing there. He sat down and scratched his chin.

“I know I had two native men with me, and we all killed that snake”, he said looking at his wounds from where the snake had bitten him. “Maybe, I was just hallucinating the rest? Got some fever from that water or from this bite? Yeah, that’s it, I’m delirious, and my compadres ditched me. Not nice fellas! Now what?”

He sat down again and looked around. He decided he had to get some water, so he went to the pond and drank some more water.

“Better try to find my way back to the camp, if I can, before dark. I guess I won’t get to marry Ancano after all. Even if I find my way back they are going to kick me to the curb because I didn’t bring them that damn snake.”

As Mitch was weighing his options, he heard leaves rustling in the brush close by.

“Oh great. Probably a jaguar or, if that monster snake was real, it’s back for dinner.” He started to bolt towards the far pond where the three had come from, towards the river, but then he heard whistles. He turned around to find not only his two traveling companions but three others as well. He breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Aren’t you guys a sight for sore eyes? I’m happy to see you! And you brought reinforcements.”

One of the men who accompanied him previously tried to ask about the snake. The gigantic one. Mitch shrugged his shoulders and said “Can we just get out of here?”

The company of tribesmen took Mitch back to their camp, where they celebrated his initiation as a tribesman. They dined on anaconda steaks and ipomoea aquatica. The next day Chief Tamanaco, Mitch, and Ancano spoke at length about the upcoming wedding. Later that evening, while Mitch was sitting alone outside, he reflected on his fate. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be going home anytime soon. It’s not like I have anything there anyway. I could have died several times over here but I didn’t. Guess I better count my lucky stars. Besides, Ancano is a jewel of a gal. Couldn’t do any better anywhere else, and, I know El Dorado exists! Maybe, that will be another story.”