A Golden Legend

Chapter 30

Marcelo had briefly gone to Lima, there he had been in contact with McPherson´s agents, who immediately placed him in a plane that was leaving with supplies and equipment for the expedition. Subsequent trips by jeep and on the back of a donkey brought him up to the base camp, where he was received with a concerned air. After welcoming  him, the American put him aware of the division of the expedition into two, and asked him if he wanted to meet with Teresa.

“Yes, obviously. As soon as possible.”

“Well, we are preparing a group that will depart tomorrow and you will be directed to the point where they have established their camp, called Huanuco II. However, Teresa joined an advance team that left the camp two days ago”

“Is there anything that worries you, Professor?”  Marcelo was reading the hesitant air on McPherson´s face.

“In a way, Yes. Since yesterday we have lost radio contact with Jimenez and we have not managed to reset it. We could not connect with their satellite phone. Perhaps some atmospheric phenomenon is blocking them. It is for that reason that we have anticipated a group of replenishment, which will be released tomorrow morning. It is to join this group that I'm inviting you.”

“Without a doubt” said Marcelo, whom McPherson´s concern had communicated.

The next day, the replenishment group left at dawn. It was integrated by Miguel, a native guide in the area named Joseph, other three indigenous and Marcelo. All had heavy backpacks with food, water and some other gear, including radio equipment. They walked steadily all day, and resolved to camp when the shadows stretched already on the first precipices, creating risks for further progress.

As they did not carry with them tents or sleeping bags, they went to sleep around a meager fire, which they succeeded in keeping on with many difficulties due to scarcity of apt fuel material. They covered themselves as they could with their clothing, and placed side by side to minimize heat loss. That night it was very cold, and at dawn, Marcelo awaked numb. Indians had already stoked the languid fire and were preparing a light meal. With the first light coming from the East, they departed to meet their second stage, after which they trusted in reaching Jimenez ´camp.

In order to save time, they had taken a different path to the one followed by the group led by Jimenez, who due to be loaded with equipment and supplies had to choose a course longer but less steep. The new path was narrow, full of loose rocks, with many slippery and dangerous cornices. They were already approaching the destination coordinates, when Marcelo realized that the Indians whispered among themselves. Although he tried to capture something about the talk, he could not understand a single word, so he assumed that they spoke in quechua.

“Miguel, what are the men saying?”asked.

“I do not know with certainty, but there is something about it that definitely I  don't like.”

“Try to find out what happens to them”  insisted Marcelo with a bit of nervousness.

Miguel approached the natives and spoke in whispers to them. After a while he came back with Marcelo.

“They are worried for reasons they fail to explain. I think it has to do with some superstition. They say that we are going to enter the region of the ancient ones and fear to irritate them.”

“Something like a taboo zone. You have never heard this version before?”

“I'm not from here. But these beliefs, sometimes associated with archaic religions are not uncommon.”

“No to be discarded that if the Incas wanted to protect any area of strangers looking around, they cast to run stories of this kind.”

“No, I think that that is not the reason. This kind of belief in general is much older than the Incas, who only arrived about a century and a half earlier than the Spaniards.”

As they continued marching, the landscape changed in a subtle way. As they were climbing it was becoming increasingly barren, without defined contours. The vegetation had disappeared and animals or birds were not seen. A strange silence was only broken by the departure of the contingent and the sound of some stones that were rolling in the march. A not too thick fog darkened the picture even more, and they felt as if they were slipping through sticky fumes. Despite his optimistic temperament and the control that he usually had about his emotions, Marcelo could not avoid decaying in its mood, influenced by that atmosphere loaded with omens. The six men walked without talking, as if none would dare breaking the heavy silence, which seemed inherent with the landscape. Very high in the sky, visible only when patches of sky appeared among the shreds of mist, large birds planned as suspended in the sky.

“Condors” thought Marcelo, and fantasized that as rightful owners of these summits, they would  be watching how intruders entered their domains.

He observed his march colleagues, and their blurry silhouettes curved by the physical and psychological burdens inspired by gloomy thoughts. He decided to focus on the progress as a mode of saving breath and psychic energy. As an old ankle injury hurt he picked up a stick, one of the few remnants of the vegetal kingdom that was to be been seen on the moor which they were crossing.