We planned to spend three days in the capital of Guyana. Our first morning in Georgetown was frittered away lounging in the shade in the hotel garden in an effort to adjust to the slower pace of the tropics. There was a gentle breeze off the water and when we weren't exerting ourselves we felt comfortable enough. Considering what we had been through, we were in excellent shape. We pretty much blew the day going over charts of the hinterland and feeding the blasted beetles which now were starting to get antsy, if such a thing is possible.
On the second morning, having fed the last of our breakfast toast to the sugar birds which were so brazen that they would land right on our table, we were finishing our tea when our serving girl came out into the garden and spoke to Clarissa.
"Ma'am, I have something for you."
I remember the moment well, not because of the fact that FedEx are everywhere, even in this forgotten place, but for what the package contained besides a recently published Aztec manual.
Sugar birds continued flitting back and forth, hopping up onto our table, hoping for a crumb or two. Now that the sun had commenced its almost vertical climb, our ancient gnarled fiscus tree provided adequate shade. I was immersed in planning the day's activities while waiting for Clarissa to open the bubble pack. A missionary group, which had arrived just as we were sitting down to breakfast, must have noticed me going over my charts and put two and two together.
The senior of the group began by elaborating on the earnest nature of the work that they were doing. By the time he began to implore us to ferry supplies into their outpost, about ten flying minutes or three days hike from Lethem, a mere twenty five miles inside the western border that Guyana shares with Brazil, I had perceived possibilities to be derived from offering our services. Who was to know? An arrangement could provide unexpected and far from unwelcome dividends.
I contented myself teasing a sugarbird with a handful of toast crumbs. He alighted on my hand, daintily took up the offering and then swooped away only to return moments later with a couple of his friends.
I was thinking about our flight into the interior and what a good opportunity it would be to put myself and the Aztec to the test before we were confronted with the long hop over selva and mountains to Manaus.
"You read it Max. It's really for you anyway."
I took the clipping from her hand and began to read aloud.
Dateline: Phoenix
A hereto unidentified individual has been discovered at the Arizonian Resort. The police investigation was hampered by the fact that the victim was found encased in a block of ice in the air conditioning room. It will be a tedious and tricky job to remove the body according to Chief of Detectives, Juan Estrada. The police will release more information just as soon as the body has been chipped out of the ice. Mr. Throgmorton, who went by the name of Julian Fairfax, was an obscenely wealthy individual, who clearly indulged his fantasies by aping James Bond in a role that he created and financed.
The police investigation, which has been hampered by the absence of a key witness, has been fraught with rumors and innuendo. "There is a possibility that the perpetrator and witness have already suffered their demise," Mr. Estrada was quoted as saying.
Life goes on. By eleven that morning we were airborne with a load of seeds, fabrics, books and you name it. We got to seef the country from the air, at any rate. More importantly, we made contacts we could rely on to help us set up a base for Operation Beetle Mania. Fortunately we did not know what we were getting ourselves in for or we may have given up the idea on the spot.
The missionary service in Guyana has a sister station dedicated to bringing the word of God to the fierce Auca's, who in the Fifties, it is safe to say, had adamantly rejected earlier evangelical efforts by murdering five missionaries who had tried to bring the word of God. Had we learned more about the history of this pocket of Ecuador on the Peruvian border, we may have reconsidered. So keen were we to get our beetles into service that Clarissa and I did not hesitate. The Auca's lay within striking distance of the coca bushes of parts of Peru and of Colombia and within a three-hour flight of the northern slopes of Bolivia.
Upon being met in Quito, we were guided to an even more remote mission smack dab in the midst of the head-shrinking Jívaro tribe. The mission, nestled in a wild area bordering the Rio Pastaza about fifty miles south of the Auca mission, had an airstrip that was serviceable but a bit short for my taste. Best of all it was only a short paddle down a gentle stream to a decent-sized tributary of the Amazon that we could use as a transportation route if need be or even an escape route if push came to shove. However, I am getting ahead of my story.
As soon as we had a hint of daybreak, on the morning of the fourth day, we rose into the sky and set course for Manaus 375 nautical miles to the south. Ninety minutes later we landed in Manaus, a bustling town situated where the major tributaries of the Amazon begin to converge. When there was a second break in the weather, three days later, we made a five-hour hop west to Iquitos taking off a half hour before daybreak. The next day was confined to an easy two and a half hour jaunt to Quito where we were met by representatives of the mission to the Jivaro's that must remain nameless. That afternoon, well before the sun set, we landed on a red dirt strip in the middle of forbidding jungle. At altitude, the selva was a benign green tapestry laced with brown rivers. On final approach, we seemed to be immersed in jungle, which took on a menacing air. Upon being greeted our fears began to subside rather too quickly. Clarissa was soon occupied tending to her little soldiers with the all too eager help of a score of chattering children.