(If you haven’t already, click here to read the previous chapter)
The days passed, but no sign of Dante and Karina or more importantly food and gas. Once or twice a day, a boat sailed past Amaru Mayu. When these were going upstream, you could sometimes hear the roar of the engine before the boat became visible from our cabin. When that happened, we would all run to the terrace and wait with hope and a pinch of disillusion. As soon as the boat made its way around the corner of the mountain, ten to fifteen white/pink tourists would usually become visible, in spite of their full camouflage suits, pointing lenses longer than my arm at us, disappointed members of the same species. But apart from providing these brief moments of excitement, the absence of Dante and Karina meant we had no eggs, bananas nor bread. Which are basically the food staples when you live in the jungle, without a fridge. We weren't worried though, we had some reserves of rice, dry beans and yucca in the kitchen, which we knew could last us for a little while longer.
Occasionally, an odd character made his appearance in the camp. His name was David, quickly nicknamed Rambo, due to his habit of wearing a bandana and proudly sporting a testosterone fuelled perfectly sculpted body, whilst usually holding a chainsaw in one hand and a machete in the other. All this, whilst relentlessly chewing on coca leaves. He was macho, very macho, and he knew it. But he was also very quiet and made me wonder many times whether he was an incredibly wise man or just a very arrogant one. He hardly ever spoke to the others and definitely never spoke to us, but apparently he was a friend of Dante's and for this reason he would share his food with us. This in practice meant that he would appear in the camp every other morning with some freshly killed fish, cook himself some overly salted rice and then disappear with his chainsaw, to go and "maintain" the paths, leaving just the fish heads behind for us to eat. We would then probably not see him again until the following day, but we could hear the angry cry of his saw from most places in the reserve. We eventually nicknamed this "the sound of conservation".
Ruben, who managed to extract some information from him, told us he was a local, a "man of the forest". He worked for Dante, the reserve manager, and had been sent there on this occasion to look after us, the white men and women who can't look after themselves otherwise. We weren't too sure at first how to interpret this weird character and his huge chainsaw, but we didn't give it much importance and carried on with our work.
In those first few days, everything was a new and exciting discovery. Since Dante wasn't there, we decided we would spend all of our time getting the video and sound recordings for ourselves, trying to make the most of the few charged batteries we had left. We made our first encounters with capuchin and squirrel monkeys, got to know a few hairy caterpillars, dozens of butterflies and spent a huge portion of our time filming and recording the sound of the ubiquitous, but still wonderful and fascinating, leaf cutter ants. At night there wasn't much to do, apart from staring at the flame of a candle and discussing at length all the possible reasons, factual and fictional, as to why moths are the most suicidal of all creatures. This, and watching the Moon raise with dignity over the river Madre de Dios, brighter than any other Moon I had ever seen before.
Greta, Oropendola Productions