The Dream of the Celt: A Novel (31 page)

There was a strange atmosphere on the wharf at La Chorrera when the
Liberal
left. None of the station chiefs came to say goodbye. It was said that several of them had decided to leave, heading for Brazil or Colombia. Juan Tizón, who would stay another month in Putumayo, embraced Roger and wished him luck. The commission members, who would also stay another week in Putumayo to do technical and administrative studies, took their leave at the foot of the stairs. They agreed to meet in London to read Roger’s report before he presented it to the Foreign Office.

On the first night of travel on the river, a full, reddish moon lit the sky. It was reflected in the dark water with a spatter of stars that looked like small luminous fish. Everything was warm, beautiful, and serene, except for the smell of rubber that was still there, as if it had entered one’s nostrils forever. For a long time Roger leaned on the rail at the stern, contemplating the spectacle, and suddenly realized his face was wet with tears.
What miraculous peace, my God.

For the first days of the voyage, fatigue and anxiety kept him from reviewing his cards and notebooks and outlining his report. He slept little and had nightmares. He often got up at night and went out to the bridge if it was clear to look at the moon and stars. A Brazilian customs administrator was traveling on the boat. Roger asked him if the Barbadians could disembark at a Brazilian port and then travel to Manaus to wait for him so they could continue on together to Barbados. The official assured him there was absolutely no problem. Even so, Roger was still concerned. He was afraid something would happen that would save the Peruvian Amazon Company from all sanctions. After having seen so directly the fate of the Amazonian indigenous peoples, it was urgent for the entire world to know about it and do something to remedy the situation.

Another reason for his distress was Ireland. Ever since he had become convinced that only resolute action, an uprising, could save his country from “losing its soul” because of colonization, as had happened to the Huitotos, the Boras, and the other unfortunate peoples of Putumayo, he burned with impatience to throw himself body and soul into preparing the insurrection that would put an end to so many centuries of servitude in his country.

The day the
Liberal
crossed the Peruvian border—by now it was sailing on the Yavarí—and entered Brazil, the feeling of distrust and danger that had hounded him disappeared. But then they would return to the Amazon and sail up to Peruvian territory where, he was certain, he would again feel the anxiety that an unforeseen catastrophe would frustrate his mission and render the months spent in Putumayo useless.

On November 21, 1910, in the Brazilian port of La Esperanza on the Yavarí River, Roger had fourteen Barbadians, the wives of four of them, and four children disembark. The night before he had gathered them together to explain the risk they would run if they accompanied him to Iquitos. The company, in collusion with the judges and the police, would arrest them and hold them responsible for all the crimes, making them the object of pressures, insults, and extortion so they would retract the confessions that incriminated Casa Arana.

Fourteen Barbadians accepted his plan to get off in La Esperanza and take the first boat for Manaus, where, protected by the British consulate, they would wait for Roger to pick them up in the
Atahualpa
, of the Booth Line, which sailed the route Iquitos–Manaus–Pará. From this last city another ship would take them home. Roger said goodbye and left them with abundant provisions he had bought for them, certification that their passage to Manaus would be guaranteed by the British government, and a letter of introduction for the British consul in that city.

Continuing with him to Iquitos, in addition to Arédomi and Omarino, were Frederick Bishop, John Brown with his wife and son, Larry Clarke, and Philip Bertie Lawrence, also with two small children. These Barbadians had things to pick up and company checks to cash in the city.

Roger spent the four days it took to reach Iquitos working on his papers and preparing a memorandum for the Peruvian authorities.

On November 25 they landed in Iquitos. The British consul, Stirs, once again insisted that Roger stay in his house. And he accompanied him to a nearby rooming house where they found lodging for the Barbadians, Arédomi, and Omarino. Stirs was uneasy. All of Iquitos was very agitated at the news that Judge Valcárcel would arrive soon to investigate the accusations of Britain and the United States against Arana’s company. Not only the employees of the Peruvian Amazon Company were afraid but Iquitians in general, for everyone knew the life of the city depended on the company. There was great hostility toward Roger, and the consul advised him not to go out alone, since he could not discount the possibility of an attempt on his life.

When, after supper and the customary glass of port, Roger summarized for him what he had seen and heard in Putumayo, Stirs, who listened very seriously and silently, had only one question to ask:

“As terrible, then, as the Congo of Leopold the Second?”

“I’m afraid so, and perhaps worse,” Roger replied. “Though it seems obscene to establish hierarchies among crimes of this magnitude.”

In his absence, a new prefect had been appointed in Iquitos, a gentleman from Lima named Esteban Zapata. Unlike the previous one, he was not an employee of Julio C. Arana. From the time of his arrival he had maintained a certain distance from Pablo Zumaeta and the other company directors. He knew Roger was about to arrive and awaited him impatiently.

The interview with the prefect took place the next morning and lasted more than two hours. Esteban Zapata was young, very swarthy, and well mannered. In spite of the heat—he perspired constantly and wiped his face with a large purple handkerchief—he did not remove his woolen frock coat. He listened very attentively to Roger, showing astonishment at times, interrupting occasionally to ask for details, exclaiming frequently with indignation. (“How terrible! How awful!”) From time to time he offered him small glasses of cool water. Roger told him everything, in great detail, names, numbers, places, concentrating on facts and avoiding commentaries except at the end, when he concluded his account with these words:

“In short, Prefect, the accusations of the journalist Saldaña Roca and of Mr. Hardenburg were not exaggerated. On the contrary, everything the journal
Truth
has published in London, though it may seem false, is still not the entire truth.”

Zapata, with a disquiet in his voice that seemed sincere, said he felt ashamed for Peru. This occurred because the state had not reached those regions isolated from the law and lacking institutions. The government was determined to act. That is why he was here. That is why an upright judge like Dr. Valcárcel would arrive soon. President Leguía himself wanted to cleanse the honor of Peru, putting an end to these atrocious abuses. He had said as much, in those very words. His Majesty’s government would be able to confirm that the guilty would be punished and the indigenous people protected starting now. He asked if the report to his government would be public. When Roger replied that at first the report would be for the internal use of the British government, and undoubtedly would be sent to the Peruvian government so they could decide whether to publish it or not, the prefect sighed with relief:

“Thank goodness,” he exclaimed. “If all this is made public, it will do enormous harm to the image of our country in the world.”

Roger was about to tell him that what would harm Peru more would not be the report but the fact that what motivated it took place on Peruvian soil. On the other hand, the prefect wanted to know if the Barbadians who had come to Iquitos—Bishop, Brown, and Lawrence—would agree to confirm to him their testimonies regarding Putumayo. Roger assured him that tomorrow first thing he would send them to the Prefecture.

Stirs, who had served as interpreter in this conversation, left the interview crestfallen. Roger had noted that the consul added many phrases—at times real commentaries—to what Roger said in English, and that these interventions always tended to weaken the harshness of facts relating to the exploitation and suffering of the Indians. All of this increased his distrust of the consul, who, in spite of being here for several years and knowing very well what was going on, never had informed the Foreign Office about it. The reason was simple: Juan Tizón had disclosed that Stirs did business in Iquitos and for that reason also depended on Señor Arana’s company. No doubt his present concern was that the scandal might be prejudicial to him. The consul had a small soul and his values were subordinate to his greed.

In the days that followed, Roger tried to see Father Urrutia, but at the mission they told him the superior of the Augustinians was in Pebas, where the Yagua Indians lived—Roger had seen them on a stop the
Liberal
made there and been impressed by the tunics of spun fibers they used to cover their bodies—because he was going to open a school there.

And so in the days before he boarded the
Atahualpa
, which was still unloading in the port of Iquitos, Roger devoted himself to working on the report. Then, in the afternoons, he walked and, on a few occasions, went to the Cine Alhambra, on the Plaza de Armas in Iquito. It had existed for a few months, and silent films were shown there accompanied by an orchestra of three very out-of-tune musicians. The real spectacle for Roger was not the black-and-white figures on the screen but the fascination of the audience, Indians from the tribes and soldiers from the mountains in the local garrison who watched it all, amazed and disconcerted.

Another day he walked to Punchana along a trail that on his return had become a quagmire because of the rain. But the countryside was very beautiful. One afternoon he attempted to go to Quistococha by foot—he took Omarino and Arédomi with him—but an interminable downpour surprised them and they had to take shelter in the undergrowth. When the storm ended, the trail was so full of puddles and mud they had to hurry back to Iquitos.

The
Atahualpa
sailed for Manaus and Pará on December 6, 1910. Roger was in first class and Omarino, Arédomi, and the Barbadians in second class. When the ship, in the clear, hot morning, moved away from Iquitos and the people and houses on the banks grew smaller and smaller, Roger again felt in his bosom that feeling of freedom that comes with the disappearance of great danger. Not a physical danger, but a moral one. He had the feeling that if he had stayed longer in that terrible place, where so many people suffered so unjustly and cruelly, he too, for the simple fact of being white and European, would be contaminated and debased. He told himself that fortunately he would never set foot in these places again. The thought encouraged him and in part took him out of the despondency and lethargy that kept him from working with his old concentration and drive.

When, on December 10, the
Atahualpa
docked in the port of Manaus at dusk, Roger had already left behind his dejection and recovered his energy and capacity for work. The fourteen Barbadians were in the city. Most had decided not to return to Barbados but to accept contracts for work on the Madeira–Mamoré railroad, which offered good terms. The rest continued with him to Pará, where the boat docked on December 14. Here Roger found a ship going to Barbados and put the Barbadians and Omarino and Arédomi on board. He put the boys in Frederick Bishop’s care, asking him to take them to the Reverend Frederick Smith in Bridgetown with instructions to matriculate them in the Jesuit school where, before they continued on to London, they would receive a basic education that would prepare them to face life in the capital of the British Empire.

Then he looked for a ship to take him to Europe. He found the S.S.
Ambrose
of the Booth Line. Since it would not leave until December 17, he used the free days to visit the places he frequented when he was British consul in Pará: bars, restaurants, the botanical garden, the immense, chaotic, variegated market in the port. He did not feel nostalgia for Pará, for his stay here had not been happy, but he acknowledged the joy that emanated from the people, the grace of the women and idle boys who strolled and displayed themselves on the embankments along the river. Once again he told himself the Brazilians had a healthy, happy relationship with their bodies, very different from the Peruvians, for example, who, like the British, always seemed uncomfortable with their physical being. But here they showed it off boldly, especially if they felt young and attractive.

On the seventeenth he set sail on the S.S.
Ambrose
, and as he traveled he decided that since this ship would reach the French port of Cherbourg at the end of December, he would disembark there and take the train to Paris to spend the New Year with Herbert Ward and Sarita, his wife. He would return to London on the first working day next year. It would be purifying to spend a few days with these friends, a cultured couple, in their beautiful studio filled with sculptures and African mementos, talking of beautiful, elevated things, art, books, theater, music, the best produced by those contradictory human beings also capable of the extreme wickedness that reigned on Julio C. Arana’s rubber plantations in Putumayo.

XI

When the fat sheriff opened the door of his cell, came in, and without saying a word sat on a corner of the cot where he was lying, Roger was not surprised. Ever since the sheriff violated the rules and permitted him to take a shower, he had felt, without a word passing between them, a rapprochement with the jailer who, without realizing it, perhaps in spite of himself, had stopped hating him and holding him responsible for the death of his son in the trenches in France.

It was dusk, and the small cell was almost dark. Roger, from the cot, saw the very still shadow of the sheriff’s wide, cylindrical silhouette. He heard him panting deeply, as if exhausted.

“He had flat feet and could have avoided active duty,” he heard him say in a monotone, pierced by emotion. “At the first recruitment center, in Hastings, they rejected him when they examined his feet. But he didn’t accept that and went to another center. He wanted to go to war. Whoever heard of anything so crazy?”