A gem-backed beetle, trapped beneath Stumpfsmosquito net, hummed around in diminishing circles,looking for some way out. It could find none. Eventually,exhausted by the search, it hovered over the sleepingman, then landed on his forehead. There it wandered,drinking at the pores. Beneath its imperceptible tread,Stumpf s skin opened and broke into a trail of tinywounds.

They had come into the Indian hamlet at noon; the suna basilisk's eye. At first they had thought the placedeserted. Locke and Cherrick had advanced into thecompound, leaving the dysentery-ridden Stumpf in thejeep, out of the worst of the heat. It was Cherrick whofirst noticed the child. A pot-bellied boy of perhaps fouror five, his face painted with thick bands of the scarletvegetable dye urucu, had slipped out from his hidingplace and come to peer at the trespassers, fearless in hiscuriosity. Cherrick stood still; Locke did the same. Oneby one, from the huts and from the shelter of the treesaround the compound, the tribe appeared and stared,like the boy, at the newcomers. If there was a flickerof feeling on their broad, flat-nosed faces, Locke couldnot read it. These people - he thought of every Indian aspart of one wretched tribe - were impossible to decipher;deceit was their only skill.

'What are you doing here?' he said. The sun wasbaking the back of his neck. 'This is our land.'

The boy still looked up at him. His almond eyesrefused to fear.

'They don't understand you,' Cherrick said.

'Get the Kraut out here. Let him explain it tothem.'

'He can't move.'

'Get him out here,' Locke said. 'I don't care if he's shathis pants.'

Cherrick backed away down the track, leaving Lockestanding in the ring of huts. He looked from doorwayto doorway, from tree to tree, trying to estimate thenumbers. There were at most three dozen Indians, two-thirds of them women and children; descendants of thegreat peoples that had once roamed the Amazon Basinin their tens of thousands. Now those tribes were all butdecimated. The forest in which they had prospered forgenerations was being levelled and burned; eight-lanehighways were speeding through their hunting grounds.All they held sacred - the wilderness and their place inits system - was being trampled and trespassed: theywere exiles in their own land. But still they declined topay homage to their new masters, despite the rifles theybrought. Only death would convince them of defeat,Locke mused.

Cherrick found Stumpf slumped in the front seat ofthe jeep, his pasty features more wretched than ever.

'Locke wants you,' he said, shaking the German outof his doze. 'The village is still occupied. You'll haveto speak to them.'

Stumpf groaned. 'I can't move,' he said, Tm dying-'

'Locke wants you dead or alive,' Cherrick said. Theirfear of Locke, which went unspoken, was perhaps oneof the two things they had in common; that and greed.

'I feel awful,' Stumpf said.

'If I don't bring you, he'll only come himself,'Cherrick pointed out. This was indisputable. Stumpfthrew the other man a despairing glance, then noddedhis jowly head. 'All right,' he said, 'help me.'

Cherrick had no wish to lay a hand on Stumpf.The man stank of his sickness; he seemed to beoozing the contents of his gut through his pores;his skin had the lustre of rank meat. He took theoutstretched hand nevertheless. Without aid, Stumpfwould never make the hundred yards from jeep tocompound.

Ahead, Locke was shouting.

'Get moving,' said Cherrick, hauling Stumpf downfrom the front seat and towards the bawling voice. 'Let'sget it over and done with.'

When the two men returned into the circle of hutsthe scene had scarcely changed. Locke glanced aroundat Stumpf.

'We got trespassers,' he said.

'So I see,' Stumpf returned wearily.

'Tell them to get the fuck off our land,' Locke said.'Tell them this is our territory: we bought it. Withoutsitting tenants.'

Stumpf nodded, not meeting Locke's rabid eyes.Sometimes he hated the man almost as much as hehated himself.

'Go on ...' Locke said, and gestured for Cherrickto relinquish his support of Stumpf. This he did.The German stumbled forward, head bowed. Hetook several seconds to work out his patter, thenraised his head and spoke a few wilting words inbad Portuguese. The pronouncement was met withthe same blank looks as Locke's performance. Stumpftried again, re-arranging his inadequate vocabulary totry and awake a flicker of understanding amongst thesesavages.

The boy who had been so entertained by Locke'scavortings now stood staring up at this third demon,his face wiped of smiles. This one was nowhere near ascomical as the first. He was sick and haggard; he smeltof death. The boy held his nose to keep from inhalingthe badness off the man.

Stumpf peered through greasy eyes at his audience.If they did understand, and were faking their blankincomprehension, it was a flawless performance. Hislimited skills defeated, he turned giddily to Locke.

They don't understand me,' he said.

Tell them again.'

'I don't think they speak Portuguese.'

Tell them anyway.'

Cherrick cocked his rifle. 'We don't have to talk withthem,' he said under his breath. They're on our land.We're within our rights -'

'No,' said Locke. There's no need for shooting. Notif we can persuade them to go peacefully.'

They don't understand plain common sense,' Cher-rick said. 'Look at them. They're animals. Living infilth.'

Stumpf had begun to try and communicate again,this time accompanying his hesitant words with a pitifulmime.

Tell them we've got work to do here,' Lockeprompted him.

'I'm trying my best,' Stumpf replied testily.

'We've got papers.'

'I don't think they'd be much impressed,' Stumpfreturned, with a cautious sarcasm that was lost on theother man.

'Just tell them to move on. Find some other piece ofland to squat on.'

Watching Stumpf put these sentiments into word andsign-language, Locke was already running through thealternative options available. Either the Indians - theTxukahamei or the Achual or whatever damn family itwas - accepted their demands and moved on, or else theywould have to enforce the edict. As Cherrick had said,they were within their rights. They had papers fromthe development authorities; they had maps markingthe division between one territory and the next; theyhad every sanction from signature to bullet. He had noactive desire to shed blood. The world was still too fullof bleeding heart liberals and doe-eyed sentimentaliststo make genocide the most convenient solution. Butthe gun had been used before, and would be usedagain, until every unwashed Indian had put on a pairof trousers and given up eating monkeys.

Indeed, the din of liberals notwithstanding, the gunhad its appeal. It was swift, and absolute. Once it hadhad its short, sharp say there was no danger of furtherdebate; no chance that in ten years' time some mercenaryIndian who'd found a copy of Marx in the gutter couldcome back claiming his tribal lands - oil, minerals andall. Once gone, they were gone forever.

At the thought of these scarlet-faced savages laid low,Locke felt his trigger-finger itch; physically itch. Stumpfhad finished his encore; it had met with no response.Now he groaned, and turned to Locke.

Tm going to be sick,' he said. His face was brightwhite; the glamour of his skin made his small teeth lookdingy.

'Be my guest,' Locke replied.

'Please. I have to lie down. I don't want themwatching me.'

Locke shook his head. 'You don't move 'til theylisten. If we don't get any joy from them, you're goingto see something to be sick about.' Locke toyed withthe stock of his rifle as he spoke, running a brokenthumb-nail along the nicks in it. There were perhaps adozen; each one a human grave. The jungle concealedmurder so easily; it almost seemed, in its cryptic fashion,to condone the crime.


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