Forest of the Pygmies(11)

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen," he said in Spanish, and immediately repeated the greeting in English and French.

He introduced himself: "I am Brother Fernando, a Catholic missionary," first shaking Mushaha's hand and then the others'.

"How did you get here?" Mushaha asked.

"With the help of some truck drivers, but most of the way walking."

"On foot? From where? There are no villages for miles around."

"The roads are long, but they all lead to God," the man replied.

He explained that he was Spanish, born in Galicia, although it had been many years since he had visited his homeland. Almost as soon as he left the seminary, he had been sent to Africa, and he had been there for more than thirty years, carrying out his ministry in a number of different countries. His most recent assignment had been a village in Rwanda, where he worked with other missionaries and three nuns in a small compound. It was a region that had been devastated by the cruelest war the continent had witnessed. Refugees swarmed from one end of the country to the other, escaping the violence, but it always caught up with them. The ground was covered with ashes and blood; no crops had been planted for years; people who escaped the bullets and knives fell victim to hunger and illness; starving widows and orphans wandered roads straight out of hell, many of them wounded or mutilated.

"Death is having a ball in those parts," the missionary concluded.

"I've seen it, too," Angie added. "More than a million people have died, the slaughter continues, and the rest of the world doesn't seem to care."

"Here in Africa is where human life started. We all descended from Adam and Eve, whom scientists say were African. This is the earthly paradise mentioned in the Bible. God wanted this to be a garden where his creatures would live in peace and abundance, but you see what hatred and human stupidity have made of it," the missionary added with a preacher's zeal.

"And you were escaping from the war?" Kate asked.

"My fellow workers and I received orders to evacuate the mission after the rebels burned our school, but I am not another refugee. No, the truth is that I have a task to fulfill. I must locate two missionaries who have disappeared."

"In Rwanda?" asked Mushaha.

"No, they are in a village called Ngoubé. Here, look."

Brother Fernando unfolded a map and spread it on the ground to show them the point where his companions had disappeared. Everyone grouped around him.

"This is the most inaccessible, the hottest, and least hospitable area of equatorial Africa. Civilization has not as yet reached here. There is no way to get around other than by canoe on the river, and there are no telephones or radios," the missionary explained.

"Then how is it possible to communicate with the missionaries?" Alexander asked.

"Letters take months, but my brothers were able to send us news from time to time. Life there is hard, and very dangerous. The region is controlled by one Maurice Mbembelé. He is a psychopath, a madman, a brute who has been accused of acts as horrific as cannibalism. We have heard nothing of our brothers for several months. We're very worried."





?


Alexander studied Brother Fernandos map, which still lay on the ground. That piece of paper could not give even a vague idea of the immensity of the continent, with its multitude of countries and six hundred million people. During that weeklong safari with Michael Mushaha, Alexander had learned a lot, but he nevertheless felt lost before the complexity of Africa, with its diverse climates, geography, cultures, beliefs, races, and languages. The place the missionary's finger was pointing to meant nothing to him; he understood only that Ngoubé was in another country.

"I have to go there," said Brother Fernando.

"How?" Angie asked.

"You must be Angie Ninderera, the owner of this plane, right? I have heard a lot about you. They told me that you can fly anywhere—"

"Hey! Don't even think of asking me to take you there, man!" exclaimed Angie, holding up both hands in a defensive gesture.

"Why not? This is an emergency."

"Because," Angie replied, "where you mean to go is a swampy region covered with trees; there's no place to land. Because no one with an ounce of sense goes anywhere near there. Because I have been hired by International Geographic magazine to bring these journalists back to the capital safe and sound. Because I have other things to do. And, finally, because I don't, somehow, see you paying me for my trouble."

"God will repay you, I have no doubt," said the missionary.

"Listen, it seems to me that your God already has a lot of unpaid debts."

As they were arguing, Alexander took his grandmother by the arm and led her aside.

"We have to help this man, Kate," he said.

"What are you thinking, Alex… I mean, Jaguar?"

"That we could ask Angie to take us to Ngoubé."

"And who's going to pay for it?" Kate queried.

"The magazine, Kate. Just imagine the cool article you can write if we find the missing missionaries."

"And if we don't?"

"It's still news. Don't you see? You won't get another opportunity like this," her grandson pleaded.

"I'll have to check with Joel," replied Kate, in whose eyes Alex immediately recognized the first glint of awakened curiosity.