excerpt
He’d been stoned every day since his arrival in Puerto Angel. He lost
track of the girls he’d had up to his room above the bar. With only a
few thousand pesos remaining, he settled his account and hailed a
taxi, promptly passing out in the back seat.
It was early evening when he awoke. The birds were silent and
shadows had cooled the pot-holed corridor. He sought out familiar
landmarks, but everywhere looked the same. The driver studied his
passenger in the rearview mirror.
– Dinero! he demanded. He stopped the car in the middle of the
road.
Witherspoon invited the driver to count his crumpled bills.
– No mas? the man shouted.
He ordered Witherspoon out of his taxi and sped off.
The Canadian hiked to the nearest village and began asking for
directions, but no one had heard of the place. An old woman suggested
he try this road; a shopkeeper suggested that one. Children
pelted him with rotten fruit.
He chose a route leading deeper into the jungle. It soon narrowed
to a footpath, then to a trail. Further along it split into two, then
splintered again, the hanging vines like wet strands of rope striking
him hard in the face. Witherspoon grew impatient and began running.
But the sky was starless that night and the steaming tropical air
thick with squealing bats. The Canadian tripped and pitched forward
into a large stone. His skull opened like an egg.
Guava pickers found him a few days later. They used a mule to
transport the remains to the nearest church. He was buried in a section
of the graveyard set aside for unfortunates. The priest there
made inquiries, but he was unable to learn the young man’s identity.
Even the place the traveller had been inquiring about was a mystery.
Do you know it? The village of Absolución?
Libros Libertad 