A Horse Called El Dorado (2 page)

Did you know that trouble can come as quick as
lightning
? It cracks off like gunshots. And one night trouble came to the commune. I remember Mama shaking me. She had come into the communal hut where I slept with the other children. One of her hands covered my mouth and there was fire in her eyes. In the lantern light they looked like shining jewels.

‘Pepe,’ she whispered, ‘go to your tree house and be careful you are not seen. Do not leave, no matter what you hear.’ I knew from the sound of her voice that every word she said must be obeyed. Mama was shaking. I felt like gasping for air and rubbing my stomach to make it stop heaving.

The moon was at the top of the sky and it lit the path to my hideout, a long run away from the huts. I climbed up to the tree house and pulled the rope ladder up after me. I was safe then, looking down over the commune and the river. The bright moonlight clearly showed our little
village
, with all its familiar huts. I could see the adults busily running about, moving things. The television, the
computer
, boxes of food and other valuables were loaded into the truck. Gonzales got in and drove slowly, without
headlights, until he stopped some distance away and switched the engine off. Others were slashing branches from trees with their machetes and collecting the leaves to camouflage the truck. The horses were led quietly in amongst the trees and tethered in a hidden place.

Then the women and the other children all hurried over the bridge to the secret hut on the other side of the river. All the commotion ended quite suddenly, and the commune grew very quiet.

The moon had seen it all and her face stared down blankly. At least she could tell no-one our secret. I curled up in my hideout, yawning and gripping my knees. Everywhere there was silence, except for the sound of the river. Even the jungle was quiet that night. My gut instinct told me that something would happen.

I do not know which I noticed first, the noise of the jeeps or the headlights. The engines were revving as they bumped their way up the mud path along the river bank. My eyes and mouth were wide open and I sat like a statue as the headlights showed up parts of the trees and then the huts. Loud music blared from the sound system in one of the jeeps, music with drums, bells, trumpets and guitars. The music was so loud, I felt as if my ears would burst. I was dizzy with fear. It was the guerrillas, the dreaded AGRA. I was glad now that Mama and all the other women and children were in hiding across the river, but the men were still in the huts, taking their chances.

The jeeps stopped in the middle of the commune, honking their horns, their headlights shining starkly on our huts. I was frightened of what would happen, but I could not look away. Soon the men of the commune were rounded up at gunpoint and counted. They
huddled
together in a line, shivering, their faces down on their chests. The guerrillas marched around them
shouting
abuse and questions. It felt strange to be sitting there in my tree house, watching everything that was
happening
, but invisible to everybody below. I was as safe as a bird in my tree, except I could not fly away.

‘No tenemos nada aqui,’
Gonzales muttered to one of them that had poked him in the stomach with a weapon. That’s Spanish for, ‘We have nothing here.’ The AGRA guerrillas searched the huts, dragging Paul Rooke with them as their prisoner and beating him occasionally. I heard him telling lies when they asked about the women. He said that they were working for a month at the
trapiche
, the sugar-cane mill. The guerrillas said they did not believe him. Their leader fired shots across the river and went halfway across the bridge. He looked like a horrible ghost in the moonlight carrying a gun. Soon he came back to our side of the river.

I do not know why Gonzales became the butt of their jokes, but he was made to light their cigars, using a stick reddened in the fire. They laughed as he came to each of the guerrillas. I saw the glow on the cigars as they inhaled on them. Then Gonzales was dragged down to the hard,
dry mud along the river bank. Two of the guerrillas pointed rifles at him. Gonzales began to beg for his life, but after a few moments they both shot him. His body twisted a few times and he fell over in a heap. My eyes widened in shock at the sight. I nearly cried out, but clamped a hand tightly over my mouth.

The guerrillas seemed to go crazy after that,
threatening
the others with their jerking guns. I thought they would shoot them all. I began to feel as if I would choke and lose my breath. The men knelt down and begged for their lives. One of the guerrillas started to laugh and said they looked like
sapos
, frogs. Another called them a bunch of young girls, along with other names that I will not repeat. Their wailing made me choke a sob that was rising from my stomach. I wanted to rush down and attack those thugs, but I knew that it would do no good.

Gonzales was then dragged out along the bridge. He was fastened onto the boards with thick ropes and left there. I crouched down on the floor of my tree house and forced myself to peep at him, hanging in the moonlight. I felt sick each time I looked. Finally, I lay down on my side with my arms wrapped around my head.

I must have fallen asleep, because I was woken by voices. It was bright outside. The guerrillas were near the bridge, arguing. Two of them were holding machetes. Gonzales was still hanging from the bridge. I could not see his face, but gashes and bloody bullet holes were
visible
in his head and back. One of the guerrillas walked
out to the middle of the bridge and cut through the ropes that were holding him. Gonzales’ body hit the water with a loud splash and disappeared. Then the body came up again and floated away on the river’s strong current. I covered my eyes with my hands, trying to pretend that it wasn’t really happening.

Around noon the AGRA thugs who had brought such evil to our commune left. They seemed to have lost
interest
in terrorising the men any longer. Eventually, as the afternoon grew less hot, the women and children came back across the river. Nobody said anything, but just stared in all directions, unable to believe how our
peaceful
lives had been shattered. When my friends came to call me down I could not move. I thought that if I stayed where I was and kept my eyes shut, maybe I would
discover
that it was all a bad dream. Mama called me but still I did not move. I lay on my back and told her to leave me alone. I stared up at the blue sky and thought of Papa and began to feel even worse. My throat was dry and my stomach ached a bit but I did not care. When it was nearly dark, Mama cooked some rice and beans and the smell of the food finally dragged me down from my tree. Mama said nothing, but folded her arms around me and squeezed me tightly. Her familiar smell made me feel a little safer.

The following morning the adults drew lots, and
different
people took turns keeping watch, high in the trees across the river. Everyone was still very quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Paul Rooke asked me to start a soccer game with the other young ones while the adults talked and prepared a communal meal. Our game of soccer was very tame. There were none of the usual
disputes
about offside goals or handball decisions. Once my side claimed a penalty, and the girls and boys on the other team agreed. When our side scored, instead of making a hullabaloo over the scorer, we just placed the ball in the middle of the two teams and carried on with the game.

The meal was like the banquet that we usually had on
el dia de navidad
(Christmas Day). There was
cuchucoa
soup with corn, potatoes and delicious pork;
fríjoles
and
plátano
– red beans and fried green bananas. The adults talked in hushed voices but there was none of the usual discussion. The atmosphere made me more nervous. Other things were even stranger – there was no alcohol drunk with the meal; there was no music, singing or jokes; there was no dancing afterwards! When Martha
pulled a funny face, instead of getting a laugh from the adults she was scolded.

After the meal we were sent outside and the people on lookout were changed so that they could eat. I went with two others to feed the chickens and the horses while the men unloaded the truck that had been hidden. I went to be with El Dorado. He was the only one who looked normal to me. I stroked his nose and whispered in his ear about what had happened. When I came back to report that I had done my work the adults were having an argument.

‘Pepe is too young for such a task,’ Mama was saying to everyone in the communal hut.

‘We must work together in a time of crisis,’ Paul Rooke replied in his booming American accent.

‘You saw what happened to Gonzales,’ Greta put in with an angry look at Mama.

‘You will help, Pepe,’ said Hank Shepak, pushing a finger into my left shoulder so hard that I nearly fell over.

‘I am sad about Gonzales,’ I mumbled. ‘He showed me how to make a sling and shot.’

‘Gonzales could take down a bird from the sky easily,’ Hank said. The adults smiled in remembrance and then became silent.

I talked to Mama afterwards, but she seemed worried and anxious. What was this task that they had for me? All my questions went unanswered. Instead she weighed the air with her hands and walked away from me, wanting to 
be alone. At sundown, the women began to pack up their bundles and baskets, ready to go across the river again and hide, while the men loaded up the truck with the remaining tools as they had done every night since the attack by AGRA. I didn’t have to help along with the other children because of my special mission. But what was it?

I walked over to the fenced-off pen where the horses were. El Dorado shook mosquitoes off his face. In the last blazing sunshine of the evening he looked like he was made of living gold and his brown eyes seemed to burn. Whenever I looked at those eyes I felt strong.

I mounted his strong back, getting on by holding onto the tuft of hair between his ears and swinging myself up – at the commune we had nothing like stirrups, reins or saddles. Up high on the horse I felt like a king. I went for a short ride along the river bank and imagined myself riding to
Laguna de Guatavita
, the ancient lake full of gold and jewels. Afterwards I gave El Dorado a rub down and went to sit with the group gathering around the campfire.

After we had eaten, we sat watching the flames and us boys flicked pieces of bamboo in to make sparks fly upwards. It was a starry night and out in the vastness of space the Milky Way seemed to glimmer and sparkle like the special necklace that Mama wore on festival days. The lookouts were changed and then the women began to whisper goodnight. They climbed slowly across the bridge over the river, carrying baskets and bundles that
contained blankets, sleep mats and some food. The smaller children stayed close by their mothers.

‘Pepe, I do not want to make you afraid, since you have a long and dangerous ride ahead of you,’ said Mama before she left, ‘but look, there is a full moon to guide you.’ Mama looked nervous as she spoke. I was nervous too, because I still did not know what my mission was. We both tried to give each other courage.

‘If El Dorado is with me, I will be safe,’ I told her.

‘Pepe, I think I believe you.’

We hugged and somehow I felt that I heard Gonzales saying, ‘Don’t be hugging your mama too much. It will make a sissy of you.’

The men called me back to the campfire as I watched Mama walk away. She was the last to cross the bridge.

‘Pepe, this is your moment of truth. We have been your fathers, but now you must do something on your own which is both easy and difficult.’ Paul Rooke spoke down to me with his hands in his pockets while the others stood around with their arms folded. He gave me detailed instructions: I was to take the commune’s savings, the ‘treasure tin’, and ride with it to a secret tree, far away along the river bank. There was a secret rhyme I had to memorise that would lead me to the right tree. Paul and Hank made me say it back to them over and over until they were satisfied that I had it right.

‘It is a long ride, but you can be there and back before sunrise,’ said Paul. ‘Check that the tin is closed tightly, and use the chain and lock to secure it to a branch at the top of the tree. Smear the treasure tin and the chain with mud to camouflage them. Don’t forget to brush away your footprints and the prints of the horse’s hooves.’

Someone had made the treasure tin into a package with a rope attached that could go over my shoulder and upper body. Mama had left me some
taguas
, or ivory nuts, for El Dorado and a food parcel for myself of bananas, kidney beans and a few corn cobs. All of this
was wrapped in a cloth like a bandana that went over my head and across one shoulder. The men also gave me a water bottle attached to a belt that went around my waist.

When I put on my gear I wasn’t able to mount up. El Dorado seemed to shy away, perhaps because I clanked and thumped as I moved. On my first attempt, I fell back and one of the men caught me. Then Paul steadied El Dorado, making clicking noises with his tongue. He held the horse’s head while Hank made a step of his joined hands and I mounted with ease. I felt great looking down at everybody.

‘You know why it is you who must go?’ Paul narrowed his eyes, drew on his cigarette and exhaled smoke.

‘No,’ I muttered, a blank expression on my face.

‘The guerrillas know how many men there are in the village,’ he explained. ‘If they come and one is missing, they will be suspicious.’

Hank made a fist with his hand. ‘Courage, Pepe!
Someone
will go and get the tin when the situation with the guerrillas has improved. But they mustn’t get their hands on our treasure. We are depending on you.’

‘You won’t forget the secret rhyme?’ said Paul.

‘No, I will remember.’

The two men looked at me seriously, as if weighing me up. Suddenly, Paul shouted, ‘Hold on tight,’ and he slapped the horse on the right flank, making him bolt
forward
. I had no time to say goodbye as El Dorado, with ears forward like two fins, galloped onto the moonlit
river-bank pathway. This path was wide but muddy, and overgrown in places. It had been cut many years before I was born by a lumber company.

I had a long ride ahead of me, but I was glad I had El Dorado for company. I thought of the ancient Muisca Indian warriors, and felt a bit braver. I gripped the horse tightly with my legs and leaned forward, holding onto his hairy tufts with my fists for dear life. ‘Come on, El Dorado, we can do this,’ I whispered. He snorted a reply.

It was late August and the night was warm after the torrid day’s heat. I was glad that the moon was bright in the sky. The river glittered like dull silver to my right, while the jungle to my left looked like a vast black wall, impenetrable and endless. In among the vegetation and trees, I knew that all kinds of creeping animals and insects stalked each other.

The path I rode along, dark grey in the moonlight, seemed to snake its way up to the sky, where the stars glowed on El Dorado and me, and our secret mission. I had to concentrate, to urge El Dorado steadily on, and to watch for obstacles, dark shadows that hid gnarled and twisted roots or sharp rocks that he could trip on. I couldn’t think of Mama and the others, of whether AGRA would return and cause more evil. I recited the secret rhyme to myself, to keep me calm:

El Dorado began twisting his neck to one side as we
galloped
along. He sensed something up ahead, something I couldn’t make out yet. I inhaled deeply and my whole body tingled with nervous excitement. Then, as the path widened to a sandy expanse, I saw them – a score of basking crocodiles, like long tree trunks, lying across the path. They all turned their heads to look in our direction as we approached. Their spiked backs, protruding eyes, long snouts and tails glistened wetly. El Dorado began to slow up. He snorted and shook his head. Was he afraid too? No, this was a signal to me to shout and make noise. We must not stop, El Dorado was telling me.

I gripped the horse even tighter – now was not a good time to fall off! I shouted at the top of my voice, giving voice to all of the tension and grief of the last two days. El Dorado whinnied loudly, sounding like some terrible monster from the depths of the jungle. The moon seemed to stare down on us in surprise. Some birds were startled and they flew off, rustling leaves and foliage and hooting at the disturbance. The noise we made must have scared one of those hoary crocodiles, and the rest followed. Like a herd they began to shuffle on their small, webbed legs down towards the river bank. El Dorado veered behind them and then we were past them. We galloped furiously along for a short while, then slowed to a steady pace.

We rode on until my whole body ached with
exhaustion
. Finally, I spotted what we were looking for – three huge knuckles of rock, like a giant’s fist pushing up out of the earth, stuck out of the mud of the river bank, and just beyond was a small grove of buriti trees.

I dismounted in a giddy state, my feet somewhat wobbly on solid ground after the long ride. My hands shook from having clasped El Dorado’s mane for so long. I checked the treasure tin, and breathed a sigh of relief – it was still secure and the food belt was intact. I unrolled it and ate a handful of seeds, then bit into a piece of corn. El Dorado looked down at me and shook his head. I gave him some of the ivory nuts and brought him to the river’s edge where he had a good, long drink. I opened my bottle of water and tilted my head back. I don’t think I was ever so thirsty, and gulped down great bellyfuls of the cold water.

‘Well, El Dorado, so far so good,’ I whispered.