wire. A little bit of paradise. The river cut through the field, and cows grazed contentedly. On the other side of the fence I could see papaya trees. Without a second thought I crawled under the fence, gave one of the trees a good shake, and came back with four ripe pieces. For the past two days we had had barely one square meal a day. The juicy fruit was a pleasure.
Soon we found the gate to the ranch and went in. The settlement consisted of several mud huts and one two-storey stone building. The people we saw completely ignored us. When we drew nearer, however, the women pulled their children into the huts. Curious eyes peeked out at us. One lone man approached us with a smile. He was drooling and held out one hand, gesturing that he wanted a cigarette. He wore a tattered black hat, and his clothes were a mass of patches over patches. His fingers were encrusted with dirt. He was a dwarf, and his features made it clear that he was retarded.
‘ Esclavos [slaves],’ Karl muttered darkly.
A young woman came out of the stone building. She was dressed simply, but not in rags.
‘ ¡Hola! gringos,’ she said in greeting. ‘Looking for gold?’
She listened, shaking her head doubtfully while Karl told her where we were headed. She poured us some chicha and told us that she was married to the ranch’s foreman. Her husband had gone to Apolo for a few days, leaving her here alone.
Karl inquired as to the whereabouts of Don Cuanca’s ranch, and she replied that it wasn’t far. She called out a name, and a young boy materialised.
‘He will show you the way,’ she said, and gave him an order in Quechua.
The boy kept his eyes on the ground and led us out of the ranch. We marched along behind him on a path that ran alongside the river.
‘What’s the story here, Karl?’ Kevin asked.
‘Hard as it is to believe, these people are slaves,’ Karl explained.
‘Slaves?’ I asked sceptically.
‘Well, you might not call them that, but they are virtual slaves. They don’t receive any pay. They are dealt with harshly. They don’t have anywhere else to go.’
‘What about the government? Don’t they help?’ Marcus asked.
‘The government?’ Karl laughed. ‘The government, my eye! Those generals stay in power several years, make a bundle smuggling drugs, and once they’re millionaires, they retire. Some other lousy generals take over from them, and history repeats itself. You think they give a shit what happens to a few lousy Indians?’
We came to level ground and a herd of at least thirty horses. A man stood nearby. The boy walked over to him. Karl shouted to the boy, asking which way we should go, while pointing in what he thought was the right direction. The boy nodded, without looking back at us. We left him and went on.
After walking for another two hours, nudging Flaca along, we came to a ranch. More mud huts and another stone building, just like the earlier ranch. More grassy pastures and grazing cows. It was all so similar and yet different.
We hadn’t even entered the yard when we met a little man dressed in tatters holding out his hand and asking for a cigarette. He was drooling. Hell! It was the same dwarf. Could he have left after we did and still gotten here ahead of us?
The young woman once again came out of the two-storey building. We glared at Karl. We had been huffing along for more than two hours for nothing, walking in a circle and coming back to the same ranch through a different gate.
The señora laughed in amusement. She said we would be welcome to spend the night at the ranch and even invited us to supper. She showed us to a room with two rickety beds. One would be for Karl, we all agreed, since he was the oldest. We drew lots for the other. Marcus won.
We ate chicken, rice, and fried plantains by candlelight in the dark cookhouse. The cursed boy, our guide, kept peeking through the window all the while we were eating. He didn’t crack a smile, just looked.
When we came out of the
Soon we found the gate to the ranch and went in. The settlement consisted of several mud huts and one two-storey stone building. The people we saw completely ignored us. When we drew nearer, however, the women pulled their children into the huts. Curious eyes peeked out at us. One lone man approached us with a smile. He was drooling and held out one hand, gesturing that he wanted a cigarette. He wore a tattered black hat, and his clothes were a mass of patches over patches. His fingers were encrusted with dirt. He was a dwarf, and his features made it clear that he was retarded.
‘ Esclavos [slaves],’ Karl muttered darkly.
A young woman came out of the stone building. She was dressed simply, but not in rags.
‘ ¡Hola! gringos,’ she said in greeting. ‘Looking for gold?’
She listened, shaking her head doubtfully while Karl told her where we were headed. She poured us some chicha and told us that she was married to the ranch’s foreman. Her husband had gone to Apolo for a few days, leaving her here alone.
Karl inquired as to the whereabouts of Don Cuanca’s ranch, and she replied that it wasn’t far. She called out a name, and a young boy materialised.
‘He will show you the way,’ she said, and gave him an order in Quechua.
The boy kept his eyes on the ground and led us out of the ranch. We marched along behind him on a path that ran alongside the river.
‘What’s the story here, Karl?’ Kevin asked.
‘Hard as it is to believe, these people are slaves,’ Karl explained.
‘Slaves?’ I asked sceptically.
‘Well, you might not call them that, but they are virtual slaves. They don’t receive any pay. They are dealt with harshly. They don’t have anywhere else to go.’
‘What about the government? Don’t they help?’ Marcus asked.
‘The government?’ Karl laughed. ‘The government, my eye! Those generals stay in power several years, make a bundle smuggling drugs, and once they’re millionaires, they retire. Some other lousy generals take over from them, and history repeats itself. You think they give a shit what happens to a few lousy Indians?’
We came to level ground and a herd of at least thirty horses. A man stood nearby. The boy walked over to him. Karl shouted to the boy, asking which way we should go, while pointing in what he thought was the right direction. The boy nodded, without looking back at us. We left him and went on.
After walking for another two hours, nudging Flaca along, we came to a ranch. More mud huts and another stone building, just like the earlier ranch. More grassy pastures and grazing cows. It was all so similar and yet different.
We hadn’t even entered the yard when we met a little man dressed in tatters holding out his hand and asking for a cigarette. He was drooling. Hell! It was the same dwarf. Could he have left after we did and still gotten here ahead of us?
The young woman once again came out of the two-storey building. We glared at Karl. We had been huffing along for more than two hours for nothing, walking in a circle and coming back to the same ranch through a different gate.
The señora laughed in amusement. She said we would be welcome to spend the night at the ranch and even invited us to supper. She showed us to a room with two rickety beds. One would be for Karl, we all agreed, since he was the oldest. We drew lots for the other. Marcus won.
We ate chicken, rice, and fried plantains by candlelight in the dark cookhouse. The cursed boy, our guide, kept peeking through the window all the while we were eating. He didn’t crack a smile, just looked.
When we came out of the
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