Chapter 39 Turtle with one wooden leg - 1

Ubaldo Rocha turned off the propeller motor of the motorboat, and the surroundings fell into a state of silence.This brown river looks so still that you would think it was a pool of stagnant water if there were no sudden swirling eddies and gurgling sounds.As usual at dawn, the water vapor condensed on the height of the green wall with sparse branches and leaves fell like raindrops.The crystal dewdrops fell from the leaves in big ones, making a pattering sound from time to time.But that was the only sound; not even the jackrows squeaked. Mackenzie and Colcesco had woken up, not to mention Yava and his three Indians.One of the Indians decided to make a move.Naked, he rolled over the rail and slid into waist-deep water.He has the ability to steer the hull into a channel that no one else can see.In some places motorboats passed under green vaults of tangled foliage, so low and dark that occupants had to lie flat.

"Aro Ami," said the Indian. "Beware of snakes." Rosa translated the words for the other two white men on the same boat. They grabbed the low-hanging branches one after another and pushed the boat forward. They walked about sixty meters in this way, and when they reached the end of the green tunnel, they suddenly saw the dawn again.The place they came to looked like a little pond trapped by jungle.Misty mist hung over the water.Rosa's sensitive nose smelled a faint smoke from it, and the four Indians belonging to the Yanomami tribe probably also smelled it.Yava's reaction was merely to blink his eyelids, almost imperceptibly.

They anchored the boat on the low and narrow bank.Jian Yi seemed to conjure magic, and in an instant, a guard team appeared: a total of thirty men, all shaved off the top of their heads, were naked, tied a knot under the foreskin with a thin belt made of rattan, and tied their genitals Lift it up close to your body.They held ebony battle bows.Neither side said a word.The motorboat was towed ashore, the motor unloaded and hidden, and everything was tucked away under the foliage.They even removed the marks left by dragging the bottom of the boat over the soft mud. The woods engulfed the group entirely.They advanced in the usual formation: two files side by side on either side of a path.In fact, how can this be called a road?Even Rosa, who had dealt with the forest for twenty years, couldn't tell where the road was.When they came to a certain place, they heard a snapping sound, very similar to the sound made by a fully drawn bowstring being suddenly released and hitting the back of the bow.

The guides stopped in place alertly.Some went ahead to search, the rest waited.But the searchers came back soon, and smiled silently to show everyone the cobwebs they had torn off as they opened the way, proving that there were no enemies ambushing around.Rosa was no fool, he still thought there was going to be trouble.For more than two years, he has not heard of a single bloodshed.But the Yanomami are forever elusive.A trifle caused by a woman or a hunt can quickly escalate into catastrophe.He has seen this kind of lightning-like strike many times before. At that time, from behind the seemingly silent jungle wall, a cold arrow with a length of 1.5 meters will suddenly fly out, catching you off guard.

They walked on for hours.From time to time groups of monkeys screamed over their heads through green vaults too high to be intercepted with bows and arrows.Still, the march turned into a hunt.At first they found the fresh tracks of a herd of wild boars, and three or four of them, rubbing their chests and shoulders with a foul-smelling brown liquid, left the procession.A wild boar hunter must let himself smell first, be ready at any time, and must not name the target, otherwise the animal will disappear without a trace.If the leader spotted somewhere a little pile of leaves kicked up by a wild boar digging, he had only to say in a peculiar voice, "I saw some birds," and the others understood.Over the next few hours, two more groups left to hunt like the first group, following the burrow marks left by the dogs, or stopping to search where the entire colony of armadillos was hiding.Luckily for Rosa, he bumped into a snake glowing with green phosphorescence in the dark shadow.He immediately smashed the snake to death with the back of a machete and gave it to Yava, who nailed the snake's teeth into a tree trunk, pulled out the fangs in this way, cut off the snake's head, and tied the snake's body to stop the bleeding.The Samatari laughed.

"Even if the hunters come back empty-handed, we won't have to worry about food tonight." But there were signs that everything was going well: they didn't come across any Aurisiers, animals that had died of natural causes, and they didn't hear any Lambari birds.The hunters carefully leave some broken branches on the path where they pass, so as to cut off the escape route of the prey and force them to go back.Also, they didn't defecate near where the armadillos were digging. A few hours later the hunters returned with two wild boars and other small game. At night, the procession stopped to spend the night around a fire.The older ones smoked the meat, and the younger ones hung up the hammocks.After dark, they found a bee in a hollow tree, so they took the honey and drank the water.The big and small game hunted that day was not eaten, because eating it would bring bad luck.They ate boiled maigao and ala, two spear-dead birds of the psittaci family, but the staple food was roasted bananas, nuts, caterpillars and the heads of giant termites.The latter two things Mackenzie dare not learn.The botanist, who specializes in tropical fruit cultivation, has lived in New Guinea and Africa, but he keeps a few rules when it comes to eating.Not so Jean Colcesco, who ate termites with relish.As a geologist, he lived for many years in the Andes and Central America, and he was more open-minded about most things than the Scot Mackenzie.

Early the next morning, they set off again.Before leaving, Yava blows up the embers they left behind, murmuring: "Ghost, ghost, you stay and put out..." If you don't, you risk being attacked by the spirits of the dead.Those ghosts who can't make fire often roam the woods, some harmless, but some grab the hunter from behind and break his ribs; or worse, take his lifeblood . Towards dusk the next day, they reached "Chabonneau" (camp).Reber was there. This is a temporary camp, set up on the top of a hill, with nearly 250 people.The triangular huts are arranged in a circle around a clearing, surrounded by a hedge of thorns to ward off attacks and prevent the infiltration of ghosts or the plague-spreading demon "Shavala".The roof of the hut is covered with a large leaf with thorns on the petiole called Mijoma, which can better block the rain and dew than the "Katiba" leaf that is only used for overnight rest.

Before dawn, Reb was getting dressed under the curious gaze of Colcesco.He was completely naked, his hair fell almost to his shoulders, and he wore a green snakeskin headband on his forehead.He smiled at the geologist. "You should wear a belt too. Just in case." He pointed to the bark belts that mothers wore around the waists of their children to ward off evil spirits. Colcesco hesitated, thinking, "Is he making fun of me?" "You just do it," Ubaldo Rosa said grimly. He said something in Yanomami.A woman approached, giggling, her face in her hands.She wraps the bark around the belt that holds the geologist's trousers.

At the same time, Reb took a bundle wrapped in leaves from the roof of his shack.He took out bark scraps, vine end seeds, and some grass fragments glued together with glue like rubber pulp from the package, and carefully poured the mixture onto a banana leaf.He then spun strands from an old hammock around banana leaves and set them on fire.They burned for only a short while, before the dampness of the night put out the fire.Leiber tore off some more strands, and did the same with great patience, until the mixture was thoroughly roasted and burnt.Now and then he stirred the little pile with his stick, but never touched it with his fingers.

When it was over, he ground the ashes with a stone, wrapped the plant ash on another leaf, squeezed it between his hands and thighs, swayed back and forth, and chanted mantras in Yanomami . He made another funnel out of the leaves, into which he poured ashes which had turned ocher, and as he did so a fire was kindled beside him, with a terracotta gourd on it.The water in the gourd has boiled.Reber put the funnel on another empty gourd, and poured the boiling water over the ashes slowly, almost drop by drop, exactly like pouring coffee.An amber liquid - darker and darker - dripped from the bottom of the funnel into the empty gourd.

"Poison darts," said Mackenzie, leaning forward in full sight. "Only the Yanomami make curare by percolation. The rest of the Indians in Amazonia make curare. The plants and trees used belong to the species of strychnium, and once their mixture chemically reacts with ceric acid, would produce an indolyl ester alkaloid..." "Please don't talk," Rosa said. "The ceremony has begun." The warrior-hunters had come close, silent in the growing light of the morning gar.Each of them held a small terracotta bowl and received their share of curare poison.After dispersing, they began to smear the arrowheads with weeds and curare poison in the same fear, slowness and solemnity, and immediately put them on the flameless fire to dry. Reber was tanned all over.Now he stood motionless, looking at Colcesco with eyes that seemed to be brighter than usual, as if asking Colcesco if he dared to point out whether all this was tolerable to the skeptical. The bystanders just laughed it off? The sun was finally higher than the green tree wall, shining on the boundless forest.Immediately afterwards, a helicopter appeared, and the ages of the sky and the ground were far apart enough to make people think they had hallucinations.It was a large Sikorsky with antennae for direct communication with the outside world. The plane landed right in the middle of this stone age camp. "Sixteen new tree species recorded," Mackenzie said, his voice a little rough, with a heavy Scottish accent. "In total, we know 248 tree species in this area. But none of them meet the established standards. The fiber and lipid content are too far from the requirements, and the quality of the cellulose we can get from it must be poor , and we're still going to have the same old problem of reforestation, which will take forty years at best. Likely fifty or sixty years..." The helicopter's cabin is large enough to be divided into two parts: a comfortable cockpit at one end, and a garage with a Jeep and a light vehicle called a "Land Corsair" at the other end.The cockpit itself was divided into four smaller rooms: two bedrooms, always occupied by the king, and another with berths for six; a bathroom, and a conference room with radio and telephone systems. Leiber is on the phone with New York.He said in English, "Give me the numbers, Tony, please. When you're done, let Nick talk to me." He covered the receiver, looked at Mackenzie, and asked, "How about the access problem?" "We have to build a new road about a hundred miles, or one hundred and sixty kilometers long. We also have to build three bridges. Da Silva will report to us in more detail." Reb nodded."I'm listening, Tony," he said into the phone, and for the next two minutes, distant voices called him numbers. "Tony, Ikeda is back and forth. Gotta get in touch with him to find out why. I'll call you in two hours. Now, put Nick on the phone... Hey, it's me, Nick. I think Know why that cargo ship stopped in Cape Town four days longer than originally scheduled. And why this insurance company is taking so long on our claim? Give Lance Lovett in Chicago a call and let He's in charge of this. One more thing: Find Paul and tell him I'll call him in fifty minutes. Yes, I know he's in Vancouver, and I know it's one o'clock in the morning, but I'm going to He's on the phone. Thank you, Nick." He hangs up. "Why build a new 160-kilometer road? We can use the K17 section." "That would require a road to connect with it, and the project would be bigger, but I can ask Da Silva." "I'll ask myself, Jim. And you, Jean?" "I'm going to talk about kaolin," Colcesco replied immediately. "The results of the last nine months of research have been confirmed. The quality of the deposit is one of the best, and it's just below the surface. Just scratch the surface with your heel and you'll see it." "Have you done an estimate?" "A rough calculation, at least between 30 and 50 million tons. I have a group of people there as planned. I will have an accurate figure in six weeks." "In this way, how can we rank in the world? Second?" "Third. But we still have hope." "Hong Kong is connected," said a voice on the intercom.Reber picked up the receiver. "It's me, Han. Please tell me about the Singapore deal. Then the Wellington deal. I'll listen." About 900 meters below the helicopter, there suddenly appeared an open space with no visible traces of man-made.But a runway more than three kilometers long is carefully paved between the two rows of trees.Looking down from the plane's rectangular porthole, Colcesco saw several green and white buildings.He wanted to relax himself.The two months he had just passed in the depths of the jungle had not affected him very much; in fact, despite all the inconveniences and dangers there, he was quite happy. But he was terrified of helicopters. He needs a woman.Preferably with clothes on.He started dreaming about bras and garter belts. The airstrip deep in the jungle is only 400 kilometers away from the original rubber capital of Manaus, on its northwest side. In 1969, there were no more than sixty supporting buildings, of course not including the hangar, where twelve helicopters of various sizes and seven other aircraft were parked, including a Boeing 707, Two DC-3s, a Carrier jet; not including the huge garage hidden under the vegetation, where there are a hundred cars of different types, and construction machinery. The power plant is better concealed, almost completely covered.Even if someone made low-altitude flight observations, they would never have expected the significance of this plant.Of course he would see some buildings, but what he saw was much smaller than it really was, and he might think that it was a slightly larger manor than usual, but that was all. This impeccable disguise satisfied Trajano da Silva to the utmost satisfaction.In the past five years, with the progress of the work, he has to inspect the area by plane himself every once in a while.He took countless pictures from the air and studied them carefully with a magnifying glass like a spy.On several occasions he revised drawings drawn by a team of eight architects and engineers (he himself was both), and even added trees, carefully comparing the colors of their leaves, never letting the piece The green ocean showed a little flaw. Only this runway is a problem, and it has not been resolved for a long time. How can we make this straight opening, which is nearly four kilometers long, invisible in the air?Reber was inflexible here; he demanded that even the largest planes land at any time of day or night. Da Silva made the best effort to break out of the geometric pattern as much as possible, placing "sets" that looked like burnt forest glades on both sides of the runway, and used false targets, such as directly drawing Fake trees in the rotation area and a fake river running through the runway (the pilots were once confused by it), a fake swamp in the sun will look like real.This was the idea of ​​the British commander Herb Tolliver.The fun-loving Tolliver had tricked Rommel's troops in Libya during World War II with countless wood and cardboard tanks. It's all done with shaders on the racetrack, which is fantastic.Thanks to all the forethought, the result was satisfactory, with the exception of the pilots, who had been complaining about where to park the plane.Da Silva had to set up rows of lights that flashed colored lights in broad daylight, and was managed by experts who could direct planes down in zero-visibility and took cover on a nearby cliff (fake, of course). The conning tower in the grove. Anyway, the most important thing is: Unless you go to the site and make a few turns between those buildings, you will never guess that there are more than 1,400 people living and working there. Da Silva opened the map just now through the chute, and then another one appeared, with a scale of one to two million. "This is Mount Kurupira," he said. "The Katrimani is to the south of it, and here is the Mukajai. On the right is the waters of Apio. Jean Colcesco worked in this area." A circle is drawn on the surface of the map made of plastic material. "I considered using the K17 section, which is only 70 kilometers away from here. But the road construction will be very difficult. First of all, the terrain in this area is rough. A mountain peak can reach 1,450 meters." He kept talking, and Reb watched him.As usual, da Silva had the uncomfortable feeling that Reber knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.Trajano da Silva was a Brazilian who had been snared by the Rio de Janeiro lawyer Jorge Socrates sixteen years earlier, in 1953.At the time, da Silva was no more than a land surveyor, and he was very satisfied with his qualifications.Things move fast.He was sent to a polytechnic university in Zurich, Switzerland (where Einstein taught himself), and all expenses were paid for, and he was extremely generous.Afterwards, at the instigation of a certain Soubis, he lived for two years in Marseilles, training for pay at one of the most prestigious public construction companies.He went on to work in Cuba, Hong Kong Airport and the United Kingdom.Until then, he did not enter Wang's work team. Da Silva called Reber by his first name, as did everyone else.His respect for Reber bordered on admiration, almost admiration, and at the same time contained a kind of embarrassed but unshakable friendship. "Very well," Reber said. "Do as you think the road is most suitable. Consult with Jean Koscisco. He has done a lot of research and can supplement your deficiencies. Well, Trajano, now please talk about the port. situation. How are you doing?" Reber spoke Portuguese, with occasional phrases in Spanish, English, or French, depending on who he was speaking to and which language or languages ​​they knew. Da Silva showed several other maps drawn by leading experts drawn from everywhere, from Rand and McNally in Chicago to Imperial Shoin Press in Tokyo to Erin in Stockholm. Selt Maps, Mondadori-McNally in Stuttgart, and the Department of Geography at the University of Sao Paulo. The port that has begun to take shape is located on the Negro River, about 30 kilometers northwest of the mouth of the Arrasa River.This is the third project in the master plan, and two other port facilities, if not yet fully designed, are at least roughly outlined: one, also on the Negro River, at the birthplace of Ubaldo Rocha One hundred kilometers south of Temora; the other on the main bank of the Amazon, below Manaus near Itapiranga.Da Silva reported as precisely, briefly and quickly as possible. He's going to add some details about the Karakarai base (which is the northernmost one, on the Blanco River)..." Reber shook his head and smiled. "Thank you, Trajano. I was there recently. When are you going to Rio de Janeiro?" "Not busy," da Silva also replied with a smile. His wife arrived here six months ago from Niterói, near Rio de Janeiro, with their two children who are now attending a school that was completed last year.So Da Silva doesn't miss Rio de Janeiro, not to mention the busy work here. It was about eight o'clock in the morning.In the next two hours, Leiber listened to reports from two agronomists, Enrique Escalante and Huang Sen.The division of labor between the two is like this. Enrique, a Venezuelan, is in charge of the cultivation of fruits, cocoa, rubber clover and para fruit, while Huang Sen, a French-Cambodian, is in charge of rice planting and livestock breeding. Hoang Sen, a Khmer born in Kampong Cham province, was, like Trajano da Silva, an engineer trained on a scholarship from a foundation chaired by George Taalas.Together with Escalante, he worked for three companies started by Han in Malaysia and the Philippines.He brought back from the Philippines a long-grain rice variety IR22, which, in his opinion, was easily adapted to the Amazonian soil. He said in his high-pitched voice, "I expect two crops a year, one in August and one in January, so that's about five tons per hectare." "What is the average production in Brazil?" "One and a half tons per hectare. In addition to the Philippine rice species, we will also use the Apani variety imported from Suriname. The experiments we have done have worked well." "Talk to Uwe about the granary." "It's settled and he'll talk to you about it on the plane." Uwe Sobieski's passport is West German, but he is actually East German.He drove the whole family across the "Iron Curtain" in a truck he modified.In the cadre of Amazonia, he was in charge of technical installations, factories, dams, and power plants.He has fifty engineers with different specialties and nationalities. Escalante, da Silva, and Huang Sen stayed in the jungle that day, while Sobieski boarded the Boeing 707 with Del Hathaway and Maurice Everett.Del Hathaway is a North American who is responsible for the development of underground resources and works with Colcesco, but Colcesco is more mainly engaged in exploration.Maurice Everett, a geographer and North American, had been coordinating the entire mapping effort for the past nine years, keeping the various teams isolated from each other so that no one had the slightest idea of ​​the overall plan. understanding. Also on board was a poised, not pretty, but very capable, blond woman of forty-five who handled logistics and transportation for anyone (including Reb) to go anywhere (at least in Amazonia), all arrangements must be made through her.Her group also handles communications.It was she who sent a Sikorsky to an unknown clearing deep in the jungle at the appointed time.Her name was Marnie Oakes. The 707 took off in the early morning and landed at Santos Dumont Airport in Rio de Janeiro at 3:00 pm.The plane was registered in Panama and was nominally chartered by a travel company run by London businesswoman Ethel Court. Diego Haas greeted in Rio de Janeiro. There are others besides him. Jorge Socrates was there too.But welcome to Reb.The outside world doesn't know about Klimrod at all.He has always made it clear that welcome ceremonies or other forms of gatherings will never be allowed at airports or other public places.After getting off the plane, his entourage did not walk with him, but dispersed separately, inconspicuously. "It's like they don't know you at all," Diego quipped. He led Reber to the car, where Socrates was waiting, his handbag full of papers on his lap.Jorge is a native of Rio de Janeiro, born at the foot of Corcovado Mountain.He is a little taller than Leiber, and his style of handling affairs loose on the outside and tight on the inside is very similar to Santana.He has worked for Reber since 1952.Before meeting the king, his family's property was already considerable, and it has increased tenfold since then.In addition to Portuguese, he can speak English, French, Spanish and Italian four languages.Diego considered him to be as intelligent as Mepaul Subis, or even Georges Taras, who in Diego's eyes represented the quintessence of human intelligence (Reber, of course, was not here. List). "There's a lot of trouble on the Andrade end," Socrates said as soon as the car moved. "He's reinstated, as you assert. He wants half a million dollars, and he's going to pay it in Switzerland." Turn right after leaving the airport Diego.The old Chevrolet passed by the Museum of Modern Art where Miró's exhibition was being held, and headed for the beach next to Flamingo Bay.Behind Haas, Leiber was flipping through some materials that Socrates had given him. "Your opinion?" Reber asked. "Of course I don't want to pay," Socrates said. "He's not worth the money and the practice itself is unacceptable. Can I ask a question?" "Can." "Can you cure him?" Reber continued to read, a smile on his face. "Yes. What did he threaten to do?" "He had an uncle who was a big SPI (Indian Protection Service) officer. Andrade thought he could mobilize the entire SPI against you, or rather, against the titular owners he knew, because he didn't know your Existence. He threatened to start an uproar, and the excuse he was going to use was that someone was crazy about planned genocide." The eyes of those gray eyes slowly left the file and fell on Socrates.Socrates immediately raised his hand, signaling the other party to calm down. "Don't get mad, Reb. I know how much it irritates you. I'm just telling you the truth. Don't take it out on me." With the hill called "Sugar Cone" visible ahead, Diego drove away from the sea and began to climb up to Laranjeiras and Cosmevillo.From time to time, Corcovado Mountain appears among the buildings, and the solemn and white Christ statue on the top of the mountain is inserted straight into the blue sky. Reber asked, "What's the name of his uncle?" "João Gómez Dolivera." Leiber put down the papers and seemed to be interested in the streetscape of Laranjeiras, where the car passed; the coffee giants built luxurious houses in this area.At this time, Diego saw Reb's eyes in the rearview mirror and fully understood the expression in those eyes: Reb was burning with anger. "It just so happens that this uncle owns a lot of real estate, one of which is near here, and it is his small 'palace'. Look, it is the one over there, with hibiscus planted and a big platform. I believe that he There are some estates near St. Paul too. I can find out more if you want." "No, thank you, Jorge," said Reber, very calmly. "That's not necessary. I'll take care of that. Anything else?" "A lot of them." Diego is driving up the slopes of Corcovado Mountain, not far from the cog rails of the mountain-climbing train.He turned the car into a beautiful mansion - the ancestral property of the Sokratus family (the family's last name was actually much longer than that).There was a tropical garden with monkeys and many large blue and black South American butterflies.Diego parked the car in front of the white porch and let them out.After handing over the car to a servant, he went to the screening room.He watched "The Great River" and "Somebody Likes It Hot" (he was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe during this period). In the middle of "Niagara Falls," Reber appeared at the door. "Going home?" Diego asked. "go home." Drive downhill to Botafogo.As night fell, Rio de Janeiro was ablaze with lights.This is a city that Diego loves. "are you tired?" "Yes," Reber said. But his anger persisted.On the contrary, the anger is getting stronger and stronger.Diego is thinking: The volcano is about to erupt.He hoped (but not under great illusions) to see for himself the imminent execution of Andrade and his uncle. He said, "I can't make up my mind who I want tonight, Zina, Sandra, or Melissa?" "You've chosen Melissa." "Can't you look a little surprised? Damn." Auto East passes through the new tunnel and drives onto Copacabana Beach.Diego's home is in Ipanema, the next section of the beach. The houses in that area are not too big, but there is a tendency to replace Copacabana's location.Diego's home is on a quiet street. It is a residence with more than a dozen rooms. Corcovado Mountain reflects its green color on the bay window. The view of the Defritas Lagoon is unobstructed. The house is run by three lively, beautiful mixed-race girls whose movements and gait seem to dance to the rhythm of samba.This is Diego's normal way of life, of course, does not exclude additional stimulation. He and Reber passed the night in peace.Melissa, one of the three biracial girls, was a singer.She waited in bed for a long time, but this was a routine for her, while Reber was downstairs in the soundproof study and made a series of phone calls. The next morning, the two left there for the airport together.