Of Pisco and Peru: Iquitos Pt. 14
The dwarf’s doll eyes, lifeless yet omnipresent, stare at me, judging like some sort of grand inquisitor from the beyond.
Vicious and guilty thoughts swirl as tropical rains pummel from outside. Liquidating does sound like as good a plan as any. Let nature’s brutality and sweet, savage time wash away all sins. With a splat in the bog.
My body can’t handle the adrenaline. Breathing won’t slow down. Fingers shake in a spastic, palsied fashion struggling to shut his peepers. Keep that gaze away from me. Finally, both eyelids close. “Sweet dreams.”
After a brief, screaming freak out, I get a grip. A desperate search throughout the ship, all the while playfully chanting “Will you help me hide a body?” Frantic rummaging of cluttered cargo holds yields bupkis. Until, a curious present. Deep in the bowels of this doomed boat, a cache of rain ponchos and blue tarps. Finally, something to latch onto.
Fine. In my mind, this is how it should be. A pair of neatly-wrapped blue ghosts, were sucked down in the brackish ether of the Amazon’s bog. Assimilated. Lost forever.
Elated, I hoist my precious cargo up to the room of the dead and pull out a Marcello-sized rain poncho. Time to get to work.
I’m not entirely sure how long I’m transfixed on operation ‘Wrap the dead bodies’, but I suddenly find myself humming “Go to sleep little baby.” Minutes? An hour? This should neat and quick little survival gig, but the damn folds of the tarp won’t match up. Not even a tiny bit. Every time I try the stupid dwarf’s left arm falls out and I have to corral it, push it back in, and try to make as tight a fucking fold as possible. If I’m going to do something this important, I might as well do it right.
Waving away a buzzing fly, my grim reality hits me like a bullet through my spine. I’m out of my depth. What am I going to do? Turn myself into the authorities and beg for mercy? How much do lawyers cost in Peru? Should I tell Auntie M when I get back to the hotel? It seems like a cruel joke to wake her up from a restful sleep and lay this shit on her.
Here goes. I suck in a breath, wrap my arms around the dwarf’s armpits and squat deep to hoist. It’s like trying to fireman carry a gunny sack filled with bowling balls. Surprising. After straining to gain a minuscule couple of feet towards the outside door, his arm falls back out of the tarp again. “Fuck!” Exhausted, I drop him with a thud.
While catching my breath, I look over at Marcello, still locked in his death pose sitting at the table, blue tarp wrapped around him like he’s an undead extra for ‘Singin’ in the Rain’.
I desperately need my mom. She was always good at this sort of stuff. Nice, clean pleats. Somehow, I never got the hang of it, whether it came down to making my bed or getting that cool look in dress pants. Small hands. No dexterity.
What if I’ve completely snapped? What’s next? Bouncing my head off a padded hotel room with no check-out times?
I grab a beer bottle from the table and raise it towards Marcello in a mock toast. “Here’s to a complete clusterfuck.” A frustrated sip, then I flip the bottle upside down. No more beer. “Crap.”
Snatching a Iquitaña reiforcement and the opener, I stomp outside and lean against the steam ship’s guardrail for a wide gander at the Amazon’s ocean of vibrant green. The fresh, drenching rain and oxidized air feel good. Anything to disinfect this case of the willies infesting my mind with wild thoughts. With gut-wrenching Alpine Butterfly Knots twisting a möbius band in my stomach, I pop open the beer.
“Crap.” Warm beer fizzes all over me and the pre-Incan bottle opener falls overboard. Leaning over the rail, I watch helplessly as it sucks down into the bog. “Fuck.” Lowering my head, I slump over, completely drained. “I can’t do it. This is impossible.”
Then, I twist upright. Charly Garcia’s ‘Botas Locas’, plays from my phone inside.
As always, fantastic. Literally...😆
I bought the book, can’t wait to begin reading!