Hurricane Gold (25 page)

‘Hey, kid!’ a fat man with tiny yellow eyes was calling to him.

He went over.

‘Get us a dark rum, kid, two glasses. No, better still, bring us a whole bottle.’

‘I’m not a waiter,’ said James.

The man raised his eyebrows.

‘A little young to be a guest,’ he said.

James shrugged. The man was sitting at a table under a grape vine with another American, a wiry man with a twitch.

‘Tough guy, are you?’ said the other man and again James shrugged.

‘Pull up a chair and join us,’ said the first man.

James sat down. He soon found out that the men called themselves Chunks and Dum-Dum. They were both bank robbers, and they started telling him stories about their exploits in America, each trying to outdo the other. James supposed that everyone else here had already heard these stories. Soon they got on to stories about dead bodies, and the gruesome killings they had witnessed. It was obvious that they were trying to scare James, but he had seen more than most in his short life and didn’t scare easily.

‘But the cruellest death I ever saw,’ said Chunks, ‘was right here on Lagrimas. Guy’s name was Bobby King. Didn’t know him well. Grifter. Full of himself.’

‘Killed his wife,’ said Dum-Dum.

‘Didn’t take to life on the island,’ Chunks went on. ‘Tried to get a message out. Bribed one of the peons. The old lizard found out.’

‘The Hurricane finds out everything,’ said Dum-Dum. ‘You don’t get nothing past him. Eyes and ears everywhere.’

‘He put King in a kinda rat run,’ said Chunks. ‘
La Avenida de la Muerte
, he calls it, the Avenue of Death. Told him if he got to the end he was free to leave.’

‘Leave the island?’ said James, his interest aroused.

‘Sure,’ said Dum-Dum, ‘but the guy didn’t stand a chance.’ He laughed. ‘Sure was something to see. I won a stack of dough betting on how far he was gonna get. Chunks, here, he was way off. But, you see, before King went in there, we none of us knew what he was up against.’

‘The first thing was baby crocs,’ said Chunks. ‘Tank full of the little snappers. Boy, that was funny. You shoulda heard him yell.’

‘Like a baby he was,’ said Dum-Dum. ‘Yelling all the way through the scorpions and the spikes.’

‘Never even made it halfway through the run,’ said Chunks, sadly shaking his head. ‘I made a bad bet there.’

‘Ever seen a man eaten by a jaguar?’ leered Dum-Dum, leaning in close to James with wide, bloodshot eyes, and breathing alcohol fumes over him as he laughed raucously. ‘Neither had I until that day. I seen a lot a things, but I never want to see that again.’

‘But if he’d got to the end?’ said James.

‘What of it?’

‘El Huracán would have let him go? Is that what you’re saying? King would have been free to leave the island?’

‘That’s what the old lizard said. He also said that nobody had ever got to the end, so… .’

‘Burnt the soles right off his feet,’ said Chunks. ‘You could smell him frying.’

‘Tell me all about it,’ said James. ‘I want to hear exactly what he had to go through…’

26

A Willing Sacrifice?

‘This is the ball court,’ said El Huracán. ‘There are ball courts in all Mayan cities, right next to the temples. Do you know about the ancient Mayan ball game?’

James shook his head.

‘They took it very seriously,’ said El Huracán. ‘It was half religious ritual, half sport. I suppose you could say the same of baseball! The ancient American civilisations had a very interesting approach to life and death and warfare. Warfare became something of a game and their games became like war.’

It was Sunday, a day of rest, and the old Mexican was showing James around the ruins. They were fenced off and out of bounds to the ‘guests’, but he seemed proud of them and was happy to show them off to James. Enough of them were still standing to give an idea of what the place had once been like and James pretended to be interested in order to get a better look at the rat run.

‘For the Mayans,’ said El Huracán, settling down on the stepped seating that surrounded the court, ‘the aim of warfare was not to kill men but to capture them. The greatest warrior was the one who could catch the most enemies. The prisoners would then be brought back to the city and taken to the temple, where they would have their living heart torn out of their chests by a priest, as an offering to the ever-hungry gods.

‘The ball game was a religious ceremony played in their honour. There were games at every religious event. Sometimes the players would be captured slaves, but not always. The aim of the game was to keep a ball bouncing against the sides of the court and not let it fall into the middle.

‘The players were not allowed to use their hands or feet to touch the ball, which was heavy and made of solid rubber. Instead, they used their hips, chests, shoulders and knees, and they protected their bodies with padding.

‘They had to keep the ball moving at all times,’ El Huracán went on, ‘as it represented the sun moving across the skies. Do you see those stone rings set high up on the walls?’

James nodded.

‘The players had to try and pass the ball through them. Not easy if you cannot kick it or throw it. The losing team in a game would often be beheaded. So you see, James, you must take your sport seriously.’

El Huracán laughed and slapped James on the back. Then he got up and led James over towards the pyramid base.

‘Even the gods played the ball game,’ he said. ‘It was central to the Mayan way of life. Have you ever heard about the Hero Twins?’

‘No,’ said James.

‘Perhaps one day I will tell you about them.’

They had arrived at the flattened pyramid in which El Huracán had built the start of his run. James could see it snaking through the stones at their feet and leading away towards the second, smaller pyramid.

‘This building was once much taller,’ said El Huracán. ‘Many layers have been removed. In the past there would have been steps leading right up into the sky.’

‘Were men sacrificed here?’ said James.

‘Let me show you something,’ said El Huracán.

He took James over to a wall that was covered in carvings and inscriptions and the strange pictograms called glyphs that were the Mayans’ way of writing.

‘See, here,’ he said, pointing to a row of carvings. ‘These show a victim being taken to the pyramid. It must have been an especially important sacrifice, because he is wearing a beautiful cape of feathers. They have dressed him to be the living embodiment of a god.’

James looked at the carvings. Further along he could see the victim being given a feast, then he was shown climbing the steps to the altar, and finally, there he was, lying on his back, with a priest cutting out his heart with a stone knife.

‘When there was a ceremony,’ said El Huracán, ‘the steps of this pyramid would have run red with blood, like a waterfall of death. This pyramid was sacred to Hurakan, the god of wind and storms. He was also one of the gods who made the world and mankind. He was destroyer and creator both at the same time.

‘My father Gaspar was a prisoner on this island when it was a penal colony. He fought in the uprising when the prisoners took over, and later he was the only one to escape when the American navy attacked. He hid inside this pyramid where there was a maze of chambers and corridors. The Americans went in after him, and he ran ahead of them, under the ground, like a cornered rat. In the end he found a tunnel that led down to the sea and he got away. There was a big storm and he was able to steal a boat. That was eighty years ago. He named me in honour of Hurakan, who had protected him. When I came here I opened up the passageways and exposed them to the wind. I use this place now for my own little game. Come.’ He put an arm around James’s shoulders and led him away. ‘This is not for you.’

‘These ruins, or the whole island?’

‘Both. I like you, James, you should never have come here.’

‘But not everyone here is a criminal,’ said James. ‘Your servants, for instance, the guards, the men who work here.’

‘No,’ said El Huracán, ‘they are Indians, descendants of the men who built this place. Many of these men I have known all their lives. They are loyal to me. I trust them.’

‘And the musicians who play at night?’ said James.

‘Study them well,’ said El Huracán. ‘They have been handpicked by my men. Every one of them is blind. They are paid well and they are given strict orders not to talk to anyone. They come for an evening and they leave before the morning. They see nothing. They speak to no one. They can tell no tales. But you and Precious know too much.’

‘What if we promised?’ said James. ‘Never to tell anyone anything? What if we promised to forget that we were ever here? Forget all about you, and Mrs Glass, everything. It’s just not fair, keeping us here. We have family, friends…’

‘I wonder how many of the captive Mayans who were brought here said the same thing?’ said El Huracán. ‘As they were dragged up the steps to their deaths?’

‘I thought they accepted their fate,’ said James. ‘I thought it was part of their religion, a fact of life, or death, I suppose. Wasn’t it meant to be an honour to be sacrificed?’

‘Perhaps,’ said El Huracán. ‘But deep down I’m sure they were all crying out for their mothers as they went up the steps.’

‘Weren’t they sometimes given the best food and treated like gods themselves before they were killed?’ said James.

‘Even so, James,’ said El Huracán, ‘would any man willingly allow himself to be sacrificed?’

James studied the long, winding alleyway, which looked so innocent in the bright sun and he remembered Chunks and Dum-Dum’s gruesome story.

If this really was the only way off the island, he wondered if he would have the guts to run it.

‘Are you mad?’ Precious’s eyes were wide and disbelieving. ‘It’s not worth thinking about even for one second.’

‘There is no other way off this island,’ said James. ‘Believe me, I have looked. We can’t swim, we can’t fly. If we try and stowaway on a boat, they’ll shoot us. But anyone who makes it through the rat run is free to go.’

‘Yes, and you said that nobody ever
has
made it through. What’s its proper name?’

‘
La Avenida de la Muerte
,’ said James sheepishly.

‘The Avenue of Death,’ said Precious. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘For one person, maybe,’ said James. ‘But there are two of us. If we work together we might just make it. We could practise. We could plot a way through. It’s worth it, Precious. I’m telling you – it’s the only hope we’ve got.’

It was sunset, and they were walking along the beach. They had both been moved out of their luxurious rooms and into worker dormitories. One for the women, and one for the men, but they still met up in the evenings after work.

Precious had been assigned to the laundry. She had never worked before in her life and found it boring and exhausting. The only thing she had to look forward to was seeing James at the end of the day.

They had taken their shoes off and could feel the sand soft and warm between their toes. The palm trees rustled in a breeze. Tiny crabs darted about, popping in and out of their holes on the beach.

‘It’s no hope at all,’ said Precious bitterly. ‘There are snakes and scorpions and a jaguar and God knows what else in there. I won’t do it. I can’t.’

‘You’ve done a lot of things lately that you never would have dreamt of doing before,’ said James. ‘You
can
do this.’

‘I can’t,’ said Precious. ‘Maybe you can, but not me.’

James grabbed her and looked into her face. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘You’re strong and you’re brave. I’ve seen it. You want to stay here and rot forever? I don’t think so.’ He pointed out to sea, towards where the mainland lay over the horizon. ‘Somewhere over there is your home, and your father, and your brother. Think of JJ. Will he be happy never seeing his big sister again? Will you be happy never seeing him again? He loves you, Precious. Your father loves you. And I never met her, but I’m sure your mother loves you too.’

‘No, she doesn’t’ said Precious flatly.

‘Don’t say that’ said James, taken aback.

‘I told you,’ said Precious. ‘She’s gone. I remember the first time she went away. She said she was going back to the States to visit her friends, then it was to see her sister or her mother, or to go shopping, and each time she stayed away longer. The last time, I knew she was never coming back. She hates it in Mexico, but if she loved me she would have stayed.’

James didn’t know what to say. He could run and fight and climb trees. He could get Precious safely out of the jungle and follow Mrs Glass all the way to hell and back, but when it came to people’s complicated feelings, and their deepest thoughts, he felt useless.

‘Why do you think I was such a little bitch?’ said Precious, and she turned away and stalked off up the beach.

James left her alone. He could think of nothing intelligent to say.

The next morning, the foreman, Morales, announced that he needed a repair team to go into the ‘
túneles’
. James asked his friend, Moises, to translate for him.

‘The
túneles
beneath the
pirámide
,’ he explained.

‘Tunnels?’ said James, thinking that they might be going in to maintain the rat run.

‘Sí.
Los
Indios
no like to go in there. Is a bad place.’

As the other men were reluctant to come forward, James easily got himself on the gang. He soon found out, though, that these were maintenance tunnels beneath the rat run. He also found out why the men didn’t like this job. The tunnels were low and cramped and dark and airless. The works crew could only travel in single file, carrying oil lamps and dragging their tools and heavy materials behind them. Occasionally they had to squeeze through tiny gaps on all fours.

Part of the tunnels had been built by the Mayans. There were glyphs on the walls and carvings of skulls and mythical creatures. Other parts seemed more recent and had probably been built when El Huracán was creating the rat run. James was impressed by the Mayans, who had constructed this huge building without the use of either wheels or metal tools. It was quite a feat.

They presently came to a series of grilles and shutters built into the roof, and there was a complicated tangle of rusting pipework. After this, the tunnel followed the course of a long stone channel that was fed by more pipes along the way. James assumed it must be for drainage. In the rainy season the open-topped rat run above would be liable to fill up with water if there was no run-off. He also knew that there was at least one water tank built into it, which would explain the elaborate plumbing.

Further on they passed an underground chamber filled with machinery; giant wooden cogs and gears, and spindles linked by long leather drive belts. James peered in; the machinery seemed designed to turn three huge stone wheels set high up in the roof. It reminded James of the workings of a mill. He only got a brief glimpse of it, though, as this was not their destination and the men pressed on, eager to get their work done quickly so they could get out of the tunnels.

It was hot down here and heavy going. They had all stripped down to their shorts and were sweating and panting. By the time they reached their destination they were exhausted and had to sit down to recover.

They were in a small chamber. To one side a sluice had been carved into the bare rock. It had been worn smooth by water and was covered with thick green algae. James could see it twisting and turning down into darkness. He wondered if this could be the way El Huracán’s father, Gaspar, had escaped from the Americans all those years ago.

The stone channel drained into it, as did some more gutters from the surface and it was directly opposite a metal door set into the wall. This was much larger than the shutters they had passed earlier. It was a deep, rusty orange colour and stained with mould and algae. It was held shut with a screw wheel but was leaking in several places. Water seeped out from behind it and trickled into the sluice. There was a lot of building work in evidence here. The walls had been shored up with concrete and stone that was crumbling in these damp conditions.

Moving about was difficult, and James nearly slipped into the sluice. Moises grabbed him.