The Bridge in the Jungle Read online

  And at that moment something strange happened. I had the feeling that the air was invaded by a mysterious power which hovered over us like a huge winged beast. A kind of lethargy overcame the crowd. People began to yawn. And, as if by command, everyone suddenly stopped talking and laughing. There was a sense of tiredness and depression about us.

  'You'll never make me understand why they should cement at twelve hundred feet.' The pump-master brought up the question once more. To me it seemed that now he was not at all interested in what the oilmen were doing here or anywhere else in the world and that he was talking only to break that strange silence which was spreading around us.

  None in our group accepted the pump-master's invitation to talk. The air was heavy, burdened as it is just before the break of a thunderstorm.

  And then, when everybody was on the verge of opening his mouth to say something to end that horrible silence, there came the sound of a heavy splash from the river, which during the last fifteen minutes had been so quiet that not even the softest gurgle could be heard.

  That plunge was very short, but distinctively characteristic in its peculiar sound. Yet nobody seemed to have noticed it. Nobody paid any attention to it. It was the sort of splash that occurred perhaps a dozen times every day.

  I, however, felt as though the river had cried out: 'Don't forget me, folks. I am still here and I shall survive all of you!'

  I looked Sleigh straight in the face. He looked at me in the same manner. I knew he was thinking something and I wondered whether he might not be thinking the same thing I was. He had heard the plunge, but he tried to give the impression that he was paying as little attention to it as the others.

  Now let me think. What was that sound? Could it be that one of the boys sitting on the bridge had jumped into the river just for fun? No, it was not that. I would have heard somebody swimming or paddling through the water. Yet there was no such sound after the big splash, nor was there any of the laughing or howling with which the other boys would inevitably have greeted such a plunge.

  Perhaps it was a stone or a log thrown into the river by someone.

  Garcia was fiddling again. His fingers must have been tired by now, but he fiddled on.

  Perhaps it was a big fish jumping out of the water to catch a mouthful of mosquitoes. No, it was no fish. The sound was entirely different. If I could only find a simile for it! But I simply could not place it.

  'Why are they going to cement?' Ignacio now said. 'I'll tell you. They have already cemented two holes deeper in the jungle. You see, here's the way they work, those gringos. What they are actually doing is robbing our poor country, leaving us poorer still and making themselves a thousand times richer than they are already. They drill until they reach oil. No sooner do they get in than they right away cement the hole tight to keep the oil inside. Once they have it under control and locked up, then they come out and say that they have not found one drop, not even a noseful of gas. That's what they are doing, these damned foreigners of Americanos.'

  The pump-master shook his head. 'No, that's something the gringos won't do. I know them too well. If they get to the oil, then they take it out, to the last crippled drop; they even dig out the mud and filter it for the oil left in it. What do you think, Don Nacho, how much does it cost them to drill a hole two thousand feet or perhaps deeper? That will cost them at least around thirty thousand dollars, and good American money too. Some holes cost them still more, up to fifty thousand dollars Americanos. Do you think they would throw their good money away? If their money were pesos, maybe they would. But believe me, their money is good money, all dollars. So that's all squash about them drilling a hole and cementing it tight after they find oil.'

  Perhaps it was a dog. No, the dog is out. A dog would make lots of noise in the water. The boys would holler after him from all sides to make it tough for the animal, confuse him as to the shortest way to the bank. Yet there was not even the slightest noise after the plunge. Even a cat would have struggled and made some noise. But there was just the one brief, sharp splash, and nothing followed.

  Ignacio laughed. He knew all the secrets of the American oil companies. 'Only you, Don Agustin, because you are a maestro maquinista and have never had any experience with oil people, only you can talk the way you do. Can't you see, hombre, why they cement the hole at twelve hundred feet instead of going down to three or four thousand? Easy to see for one who is in the know, as I am. It is because they have struck oil already at twelve hundred, so they don't have to go down farther. That's why they cement now.'

  Manuel, the big brother from Texas, was standing by a girl, talking to her almost incessantly while she just giggled. He was different from all other boys she knew. She could see that. That was because he worked in Texas. He sees the wide world, and so he knows a pretty girl if he meets one. Out there in Texas he has learned how to tell the pretty and clever girls from the dumb ones. She let him understand clearly enough that she was willing any time he said so. Next time he came for a visit he would surely bring her a fine dress such as the gringo women in Texas wear all day long. He had become a genuine pocho up there in Texas, he even spoke American, and so she was immensely proud that he had chosen her for the dance tonight.

  'Well, Don Nacho,' the pump-master said, 'you shouldn't really tell me such things about gringos. As for me, all gringos may go to hell straight away. I don't give a peanut for any of them. Only you mustn't tell me that they are stupid. Whatever they are, even godless heathen who don't believe in the Holy Virgin, stupid they are not.'

  'I never said that they are stupid, Don Agustin. You mustn't turn my words round. I mean it just the opposite way, see? They are too smart, that's what they are. And that's exactly what I meant to say. If they would get no oil at twelve hundred, why should they cement? They would go down at least another twelve hundred to make sure. Otherwise they'd lose all that good money the hole has cost them so far. And now I'll tell you why they cement. It's a secret, but it's true just the same. You see, they have found oil and lots of it at twelve hundred. Now they cement it tight, but stake it as their legal property. They then say that they have struck nothing, not even a sneeze of gas. Why do they deny it? Because they haven't yet got leases on all the land around. If they now can make landholders believe that there is no oil on their properties they will get all the leases they want and they'll get them for a few hundred dollars. Otherwise companies with more money would come down and whip the prices for leases so high up to heaven that this company would have to let it go or spend a hundred times more than they spend now. As soon as they have got possession of all the leases they are after, then they return and break open all the cemented holes, and then you'll see the oil flowing like rivers in the rainy season.'

  The pump-master was convinced that he had underestimated the wisdom of his friend and neighbour Ignacio. His eyes widened, he looked admiringly at him and said: 'Well, Don Nacho, I have to hand it to you. You are right after all. What you have told me right now, that must be correct, because it's exactly what I always expected that these gringos would do to us. Stealing not alone all our oil, but also all our land, that's what they do. For if they buy the leases for a hundred dollars instead of paying ten thousand, which is the real price, that's what I call a goddamned robbery. The government should know about that and of such dirty doings. Yet, as I've said before a hundred times over, stupid they're not. I see this clearer every day. They are not stupid, though I frankly admit that they are a damn bunch of bandits, and cabrones too.'

  'There you see, Don Agustin,' Ignacio shouted triumphantly, 'there you see, what did I tell you? You have only to open your eyes and ears when you're near them and you'll learn quickly and easily how they make big money. Yet they can't bedazzle me. Not me. None of them. I know those thieves all over.'

  That these people who were so very courteous by nature should, in the presence of Sleigh and myself, talk in such a way about Americans was proof that they did not count us among the gringos and thieves, s
imply because we were not oilmen, and therefore, in their opinion, we had no relationship with the race from which the oilmen come.

  A man had meanwhile seated himself near Garcia. He had taken the fiddle away from him and put it against his breast, Indian fashion. All the girls looked up with hope in their eyes, because that man grasped the fiddle so resolutely, as though he were going to show Garcia how a fiddle should be played.

  He played the first twenty notes so astonishingly well that the girls pulled at their dresses and stroked their hair, while the boys turned their faces quickly towards the benches and sleepers where the girls were sitting. Just when the boys were about to jump to their feet to dart over towards their partners, the tune got confused, and as abruptly as the music had begun, it finished with a pitiful moan. The new fiddler, trying to make good, started once more on another tune, but there was now no doubt that he was ten times worse than Garcia, who could at least keep time.

  Garcia took his fiddle back with a smile. Tuning it, bending down to put his ear to the strings, he looked around at the crowd as if he wanted to say: 'Well, now you can see for yourself who the really good musician is hereabouts.'

  He began playing again, and obviously influenced by the lively notes he had just heard, he fiddled with more energy. Two girls got up and started to dance. Garcia was in heaven when he saw that somebody was going to take his music seriously. After twenty passes or so the girls realized that it was impossible to dance to the mixed-up melodies Garcia was composing. If there were only a guitar at hand to accompany the fiddle, bad as it was, it might have been possible to obtain some sort of dance music.

  Nobody thought of leaving the party. And what is more, no one showed any sign of disappointment. In fact, not a single person considered the party a failure. Real music to dance to would have been a good thing to liven up the party, but since it could not be had, everybody made the best of the gathering.

  Most of the people there had come a long way. They couldn't return in so dark a night through the jungle; and since they were here anyway, everybody was sure that something would happen, because something had to happen to justify the trouble they had taken to get to the place. Where so many people are gathered together, something is bound to happen, and nobody and nothing can prevent it. It is nature's law.

  We two, Sleigh and I, did not break into the discussion that was being held in our group, save occasionally to exclaim: 'Zat so?' or 'Really?' or 'Maybe,' or 'No doubt!'

  Ignacio, the man with the great knowledge of the way in which oil magnates make their millions, left us. He went looking for another group before whom he could show off. That he could win the admiration of the highly respected maestro maquinista would live in his memory for years to come, and the pump-master might now ask him for whatever he wished and he would get it. Men are devoted to those who admire them.

  9

  A young and very pretty woman came towards us. She was dressed in a cheap sea-green gauze frock. Through it one could see her white cotton petticoat, richly trimmed with lace. Two big red flowers adorned her thick black hair, combed and done up neatly, almost meticulously. A little bunch of wild flowers was pinned to her breast, and another was fastened at her girdle. One could see that she had good taste, for the flowers matched the colour of her dress so well that a delicate but natural harmony was achieved. Her lips were painted a shade less than dark red. While many of the other women powdered their faces startlingly white, this woman had used ochre-coloured powder. But like all the others she carried with her the heavy odour of the strongly perfumed soap bought from Syrian peddlers.

  'Have you seen Carlosito?' She asked the question lightly, unconcernedly, as though she were not in the least interested in our answer and was asking it only to say something friendly. 'He hasn't had his supper yet. He is too much excited because of Manuel's being here for the week-end. The kid forgets eating and everything.' She laughed loud when she recalled the boy's fervour and she tried to imitate the way he acted. She waved both her arms through the air, and her feet were tripping and dancing on the ground. 'Buenas noches, mamasita!' and 'Adiosito, mamasita!' and 'Cômo estas, mamasita linda, cielito?' and 'I've got to run after my hermanitito Manuelito!' ... 'So he comes, so he goes, so he runs hither and thither, not for one minute remaining quietly in the same place. Off like the wind. I can't catch him and I can't grasp him. Well, that's the way kids are. Only he ought to have his supper, but he won't die if he skips it, will he?' She laughed not only with her face but with her whole body. 'A happy mother if there is any,' I said to myself.

  The pump-master yawned, openly bored by the woman's fuss about her brat. He said: 'He wasn't around here. I've not seen him since late in the afternoon when he came over to the wife to buy one centavito's worth of green chile.'

  'Yes, that's right. I sent him over to get chile. That was long ago. He has been in the house since then twenty times or more. I'll catch him, never mind.'

  Sleigh looked around as uninterestedly as the pump-master did when he said: 'I reckon he was here chasing other boys. Perhaps he wasn't. Well, the fact is I haven't noticed him, what with so many brats about.'

  'Never mind, caballeros, never mind at all. It isn't very important anyhow. When he's hungry he'll come home all right. He knows where he finds his beans ready waiting for him. It was only to say something. Forget it, caballeros.'

  The woman leaves us with a happy smile on her face.

  A man walked slowly up to us, greeted us, and started to talk about the new boiler that had been promised the pumpmaster two years ago and which had not come yet and would probably not come for another two years.

  Gazing after that pretty woman, I noticed that she was going to Manuel, whom she spotted standing with his girl a short distance away from us. He listened to her and I saw him shake his head. Paying no further attention to the casual interruption, he talked again to his girl, whose happiness over having him for her companion did not diminish.

  Without asking Sleigh, I now knew that this young pretty woman was the Garcia woman, the mother of the little Carlos and the stepmother of Manuel, who was only three or four years younger than she.

  She walked over to the portico where her man was still sitting on the bench. He was not playing his fiddle at this moment, but was rolling himself a cigarette. He listened to her unimportant question with the mien of a man who has to listen to the same question a hundred times every day. While wetting his cigarette he shook his head, as if to say: 'Don't bother me about that kid now, I've got other things to worry about at present.'

  For a minute the woman stood outside the portico, under one of the lanterns. She was obviously undecided what to do or where to go next. From the stillness of her body I judged that she was brooding over something, no doubt recollecting where and when she had seen the kid last, what he was saying or doing or telling her as to where he meant to go.

  Now she slowly moved on, mixed with the crowd, looked this way and that, fixed her eyes on the boys of the age of Carlosito.

  The farther away from the weak light of the two lanterns the men and women were, the more ghostly they appeared. Their deep bronze-brown faces blended with the surrounding darkness so perfectly that their faces vanished and only their hats and white clothes remained. One often got the impression that only clothes were walking about, over which hats were mysteriously hanging in mid-air.

  Here and there I saw the Garcia woman walking among the groups. It seemed to me that she was now moving about slightly nervously and that she jerked her head this way and that, pushing her face forward.

  Garcia had taken up his fiddle again. Others had also tried to play during the last half-hour, but it was clear that Garcia was the best fiddler in the place.

  Out from somewhere in the deep night the wailing tunes of a mouth-organ could be heard. Again girls aroused enough courage to try to dance, and again they realized, to their chagrin, that it was useless.

  The pump-master woman, who had been sitting on a crude chair near
the portico chatting with two other women, stood up, took down one of the lanterns, and went inside her hut.

  With half the illumination gone, the square became darker and ghostlier than ever.

  The campfire of the mule-drivers was nearly extinguished, and the three men and their boy came to the square to mix with the party. Right away they met several acquaintances and soon they were partaking in the general conversation.

  The Garcia woman, coming from the direction of the bridge, stepped up to us at this moment. She walked fast now, as though she were in a real hurry. She said to us: 'The kid isn't here and he isn't there. He isn't anywhere. I can't find him. Where do you think he might have gone?'

  Her face, which only a quarter of an hour ago was so full of smiles and happiness, and ten minutes ago looked rather businesslike, had by now taken on an expression of worry and uneasiness. Yet it was not fear. She raised her eyebrows, opened her eyes wide, and with those staring eyes she gazed at us, searching the face of every one of us. And for the first time since I saw her, there appeared in her eyes a suspicion that we might know something or imagine something, and that we might be witholding our knowledge from her for some reason or other, perhaps out of sheery pity for her.

  Helplessly, like a wounded animal that is down and can't get on its feet, she looked at us again, almost piercing our faces with her burning eyes. Finding nothing, she shook her head and folded her hands against her breast.

  Another change came over her eyes. The slight foreboding she had felt only a few seconds earlier had now become half a certainty. With all her power she tried to fight off that feeling, but she couldn't.

  Well! The Great Music-Master had arrived. Here at last! He was ready to play. The dancing that all had been waiting for would begin. It would be a wild and whirling dance, to be sure. It would be a dance at which the trumpets and fanfares of Judgement Day would blare.