Part 6: Mapinguari

The shallow water ahead seems infested with mosquitoes of outrageous proportions. They hover across the surface, producing an audible buzz.
Rodrygo: This is it. Captain Rodrygo's very own private lake.
Lopera: What's so special about this place, pernilongos and piranhas aside?
Rodrygo: See that boat over there? That's the very one I got after I was fired from the soda factory.
Rodrygo: Something came over me. I wanted to be like that old man on the water, to live on that boat. But, as you can see, I couldn't handle that kind of freedom.
Rodrygo: But, more importantly, I have a cabin nearby, with a few goodies for us both.
Rodrygo: Including some submachine guns and a few bulletproof vests. Not cheap trash either, American-made. They might be a bit damp, but they should still be functional.
Lopera: How'd you get your hands on those?
A bitter ripple spreads across Rodrygo's face.
Rodrygo: Kid, that cabin holds Old Rodrygo's biggest secrets. Some things are best left unknown, little birdie.
Rodrygo: Eh, how many bullets do you have left? Mind sharing a few?
Lopera: Not many. Didn't you pick up any from those rebels?
Rodrygo: Yes, but I've injured my hand, so I'm not too steady with a gun. I'll need a few more to account for my shoddy aim—Just for now, they'll be plenty in the cabin.
Lopera: Tch, fine.
Lopera reluctantly grabs a fistful of bullets and shoves them into Rodrygo's hand, not a small number either, at least two-thirds of what she had left.
Lopera: I'm not that bad a shot.
Rodrygo: This should be enough for me.
Rodrygo: Come on, let's walk around the lake. Stay low—who knows if we might run into more rebels.
Lopera: Hmm. Lead the way.
Rodrygo hunches forward, parting the dense underbrush layer by layer. Lopera follows behind in military fashion, scanning for trouble.
A pair of eyes skilled at distinguishing insect and fruit species carefully scrutinizes each leaf for hidden threats.
Lopera: Here. No, just a bird.
Lopera: Oh. Heh heh, an armadillo. You don't see those every day.
Despite her casual tone, she maintains a firm grip on her weapon.
Bang—
This time, it is Rodrygo who fires first.
Lopera: Where are they?!
Rodrygo: Fire, to the brush!
Lopera raises her gun, aiming at the waving leaves.
A shot rings out, quickly followed by another in quick succession.

Rodrygo: Keep going, kid. Aim right where I fired!
The hammer clicks empty. Lopera steadily draws a captured pistol, continuing her barrage, magazine after magazine, until it too is spent.
Lopera: I'm out of bullets!
Rodrygo keeps firing, the roars of his rifle drowning out Lopera's voice.
At last, Rodrygo stops pulling the trigger.
Rodrygo: Not even a mapinguari could survive that.
Lopera: Let's hope we killed a mapinguari then. I'll check it out.
Rodrygo: No. There's no time. Let's make our way to the cabin first. We need to stock up in case there's more.
Lopera: But—
Rodrygo: We're close, come on!
Rodrygo sprints off, seemingly uncaring of any would-be enemies spotting him.
Lopera: Hey! You ...
Lopera taps her empty cylinder and chases after him impatiently.
The cabin's interior looks as though the owner left in a hurry and never returned. Not at all like the kind of place one would hide valuable weapons and equipment.
Rodrygo combs over the room, producing nothing but clouds of dust.
Rodrygo: cough I should've come back once in a while to tidy up.
Rodrygo: This cabinet ...
Crash! Rodrygo pulls out a long oil-cloth bag from the clutter, then just as quickly crumples it and stuffs it back.
Rodrygo: Haha. This, oh boy, this is no good. Just an old relic from the boat. Haha, I was going to use it to store my Cordell novels.
Lopera: Give it up, Rodrygo. You've been searching for close to half an hour.
Lopera stands by the window, keeping her eyes on the outside, ready for any potential threat.
Rodrygo: Nothing.
Rodrygo's gaze flickers, briefly landing on Lopera before turning back to the clutter.
Rodrygo: Kid. This is bad.
Lopera: Look at what your mapinguari did. Now we're out of ammo.
The girl pauses for a long time. Her words come out like a hard bone rising from her stomach, catching in her throat.
Lopera: We've lost Sandro for certain.
Rodrygo: We've been walking through the rainforest for so long that the mosquitoes eating away at us have changed shifts. It'll be a miracle if we don't catch a fever three days from now.
Rodrygo: If you were to give up, I don't think even the great Admiral Igor would blame you.
Lopera: You're wrong. Who said anything about giving up? I'll find this rat, even if it's just his corpse.
Rodrygo: How could Sandro be dead?
Rodrygo sighs with contempt. He turns again, his shadowed face now dark and indistinct.
Rodrygo: You can't take him to Zeno. I'll take him across the border.
Rodrygo's words are emotionless, as if stating an agreed-upon fact.
Lopera: Wait, you mean you'll leave Brazil??
Lopera: Let's get this straight—after you help me find Sandro, I'm taking him back to Zeno. He has no choice in the matter. Whatever happens after that is none of your business.
Rodrygo: But ... It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was supposed to go down easy. Now, with Carlos dead ...
Rodrygo punches the cabinet, leaving a shallow dent.
Rodrygo: You know that Zeno is tearing itself apart from within? Who will keep their promises? Who can I trust with Sandro's safety?
Lopera: This little mutiny won't last long. Admiral Igor will put things right. We'll handle all of these traitors.
Rodrygo: I can't put my faith in a stranger a thousand miles away.
Lopera: He's my father. I know what kind of man he is.
Lopera: Admiral Igor knows what's best. He will make the right decision. He always does. Sandro will be safest under his protection.
Rodrygo: The "right decision"? You really think there is such a thing?
Rodrygo shrugs, hanging his face.
Rodrygo: I've never trusted anyone with a chest full of medals. Those little things start to blind their eyes.
Lopera suddenly steps up to Rodrygo, hand on her gun, looking up into his shadowed eyes.
Lopera: Idiota! You don't know anything about him! Every medal Admiral Igor wears is a mark of honor. Don't speak about my father that way!
Rodrygo: Kid, it's not whether those honors are real that matters.
Rodrygo: He adopted you, right? How long have you known him?
Rodrygo: Not fifteen years? Is it ten? Less than five?
Lopera: ...
The girl's silence gives Rodrygo his answer.
Rodrygo: Just a few short years—what sort of father is that? Have you ever seen the world through his eyes? That world he built with the power he wields?
Lopera: I—
Rodrygo: You haven't, kid, or you wouldn't know Old Rodrygo, and the reek of fish and sweat.
Rodrygo: If Igor had ever lifted you above his head, people like me would be nothing but ants to you.
Rodrygo: Cling on to his boots all you want, but his shoulders are too high. He won't pull you up there. He never will.
Rodrygo: Kid, maybe you should think about your real father? Then you'll understand what I mean.
Lopera: Understand what? He's a malparido, an evil man! That's the only thing I need to understand.
Rodrygo remains still, like a dark wall, waiting for the speaker to tell her story.
Lopera: He betrayed everyone who trusted him. He sold them all out to a goddamn fruit company. Handed over their plans, their leaders, like a good little lapdog.
Lopera: They could've done it. Just one more push, and those bastards would've been pushed out of Colombia, bananas and all.
Lopera: But, then, it all fell apart. The shooting echoed through the streets from morning until dark.
Lopera: You know? He told me they were "victory fireworks" for the strikers!
Lopera: Sound familiar, Rodrygo?
The man doesn't answer. He faces the wall, unspeaking.
Rodrygo: Then I suppose at least your father never had to work on the plantation again.
Lopera: Never. He dressed like some kind of big boss, sweating through his suit every day but still refusing to take it off.
Lopera: But we could never go home. We were always on the run after that, sleeping with one eye open, always afraid.
Lopera: I never understood why people looked at me like I was some pest, why they threw their muddy chanclas at us.
Lopera: He moved us far from the city, always in isolated places.
Rodrygo: How did you find out about all this?
The girl's gaze drops to her empty revolver.
Lopera: Nydia told me. You don't need to know who she is.
Lopera: I still don't know how she found me after all those years and so far away.
Lopera: Until that night, when she knocked on my window.
Lopera: I opened it for her, but she didn't come in. I thought I was seeing a ghost.
Lopera: Nydia was a mestizo, with skin as dark as cocoa, but that night her face was pale as the moon. Her skinny arms were clinging to my windowsill.
Lopera: She said to me in a hoarse voice.
Nydia: Lopera, I figured it out. It was your father who betrayed us all.
Lopera: My father ... What are you talking about?!
Nydia: They're dead, Lopera. My family, my father, mother, brother and sister—dead.
Lopera: But the strike ... Isn't it successful?
Nydia: No. They knew about it. They shot everyone, chased them through the streets, then buried them like garbage.
Nydia: I saw it. There's yellow-leafed banana trees growing over the pit.
Father: Stop! Thief!
Lopera: —!
Nydia: I'm sick, Lopera. Dying, I think.
Lopera: Don't say that! Come inside!
Nydia: Never. I won't. Not into his house.
Lopera: Just grab my hand! Come on, Nydia!
Father: There! On the windowsill! Get her!
Nydia: I don't hate you, Lopera. I just wanted you to know—
Father: Where's my gun?
Lopera: No!
Lopera: ...
Lopera steps back three paces from Rodrygo.
She doesn't need to say more. A dryness chokes her through the last words.
Rodrygo: Do you ever want to see your hometown again?
Lopera: It's gone, Rodrygo. What happened there ... you can't go back to that. Maybe you don't understand.
Lopera: Zeno is my home. That's enough for me.
Rodrygo: Zeno? Hasn't all that's happened today shown you Zeno's true colors?
Lopera: ...
The girl remains silent, letting Rodrygo's words fall to the ground.
Rodrygo: You still think you're the heroes, don't you? There are no heroes in this world, kid—you either live on the water or fight on the shore.
Rodrygo: On the water, there's peace. Maddening peace and loneliness, like the old man and his mimosa wood boat.
Rodrygo: But as soon as you step on the shore, you're at war. To survive, we must become something shameful.
Rodrygo is silent for a moment; his thumb rubs over his knife's handle.
Rodrygo: There's no place left for heroes.
Rodrygo: I wish I could live on the water; I do. But there are those on land I still must care for.
Lopera: But, you said your family was all gone.
Rodrygo's smile is like a crack in hard leather.
Rodrygo: Don't you want poor Sandro to escape the chaos of São Paulo?
Lopera: No way! Why would I care about that!
For the first time, Lopera scrutinizes the man before her, wondering if he was bitten by a poisonous snake in the forest.
Lopera: I don't understand.
Lopera: Something's been off from the start of this? Why have you been following me all this way?
Lopera: Who is Sandro to you?
Confusion and rage erupt from her throat.
Lopera: And what's your business here anyway?!
Rodrygo's dark face is like an iron plate, beaten a hundred times.
Lopera: Enough! I'm done with you. I can find him myself.
Rodrygo: Sandro will never go with you!
The man roars back.
Lopera: Why do you care about some nobody?!
Rodrygo: What is he to you? Just another goddamn medal from your father, right?!
Rodrygo: When your Admiral Igor shows up, my poor Sandro will be paraded around like some trophy! And you, you'll just use him as a cover to hide the mess you've made.
Rodrygo: I can't trust your admiral to protect him, and, now I fear, little birdie, that I can't trust you either.
Lopera: You've lost your mind, old man.
Rodrygo walks away from the wall and heads for the door.
Lopera: Don't move. You need to explain yourself before we leave.
Rodrygo: No. You're not going anywhere, Lieutenant.
Rodrygo raises his gun, determined to entrust Lopera's fate to his trembling hand.
Lopera: You!
He fires, but the bullet hits nothing but shadows.
Lopera reflexively raises her gun to return fire, but there is nothing in the chamber to meet the cocked hammer.
Lopera: Damn! You tricked me into wasting my ammo, didn't you?!
Rodrygo: Kid, I hate to kill you. So, let's just play another game. This time we'll really let fate decide.
Lopera is pinned down by the dark muzzle of his rifle as he retreats out the door. He slams it closed and begins locking it from the outside.
The girl rushes to the door—as a blind bullet pierces through, severing a few strands of her orange hair.
Rodrygo: Don't use up all your luck just yet, kid!
Rodrygo's voice rattles through the door, along with the clinking of rusted chains.
Lopera: Hah. You think this cage can stop me?!
Rodrygo: These locks won't hold you long, little birdie. I know you'll escape.
Rodrygo: But I'll have Sandro safely away from here long before you do.
Rodrygo: It wasn't supposed to be like this, kid. Why didn't Carlos send a couple of dumb Zeno grunts?
Rodrygo: Things would've been so much simpler. I wouldn't have shed a tear over Antonio and Lucas.
Lopera: Open the door!
Rodrygo: Lopera, listen to me!
A third bullet pierces the slim wooden door, grazing across Lopera's clothes and stifling her resistance.
Lopera: —!
Rodrygo: I'd have shot Nydia too, if I were in your father's shoes. I wouldn't have cared who she was or what she wanted.
Rodrygo: If there had been even a chance she might harm my daughter, I wouldn't have let her live.
Rodrygo: Oh, God! My Nita! My little bird, I'm sorry. How could I have let them do that to you?
A rough fist hits the door. Rodrygo slings back his rifle and turns away.
Rodrygo: Fate let you dodge three bullets. You win again, Lopera. May we never meet again.
Lopera cups her hands around a bullet hole in the door and shouts.
Lopera: Where are you taking him?
She presses her ear to the door to hear the footsteps pause for a moment, then slowly return.
Rodrygo: You won't see us again, you hear me! I can't lose him now. He's all I have left.