HELL
I remember that I once went into a public library in Ouro Preto and accidentally came across the “Historical and Political Discourse on the Uprising that Occurred in Minas in the Year of 1720”, where the anonymous author, contemporary with the events, has no doubts in linking, in extremely baroque prose, the turbulent nature of the prospectors to a nature animated by infernal powers: “I, however, observing more closely the ancient and continuous succession of disturbances that can be seen there, will add that the earth seems to evaporate tumults; the water exhales mutinies; gold touches insults; the air distills freedom; the clouds vomit insolence; the stars influence disorder; the climate is the tomb of peace and the cradle of rebellion; nature is restless within itself, and mutinous within, it is as if in hell”. Mr. Adamastor had agreed with me that when I was down there at the bottom of the river, one pull on the hose would be equivalent to the marking of one hour on the clock, so I would usually come up after the third pull. He said that when he gave two pulls, it would be equivalent to the marking of half an hour and that from then on I should come up within half an hour. And finally, he said that if I gave three consecutive pulls, I was to come up immediately. . I was diving at a depth of about ten meters, in a completely wild spot on the Guaporé River, in Rondônia, near the border between Brazil and Bolivia. The bottom of the river was not completely dark, but it had a dull, grayish luminosity. Looking up, I could see a light filtered through the brown water and the shapes of the occasional larger fish that passed through the light or on the periphery of my vision and were soon swept away by the powerful current. Two or three meters ahead, there was another diver, a native who Seu Adamastor had hired to speed up the dive, but this time there were only the three of us. I couldn't see the other diver, but I could locate him by the noise of his dredge when Seu Adamastor turned off mine up there, and for some mysterious reason he had been systematically turning off my dredge, at irregular intervals, which was not very common. As soon as she stopped swallowing the material from the bottom of the river, I turned to all sides and located the other caboloco,but the last time mine was turned off, I simply didn't hear his and I soon realized that something was wrong up there. We had been under the river for only an hour and a few minutes and the first pull had already been given by Mr. Adamastor. I walked a few steps in the direction where I had last heard his dredge and managed to locate him. He noticed me there and came close to me. Then I could see him full-length in front of me, he came a little closer and opened his arms, as if wondering what was happening. I opened my arms like him and shook my head from side to side negatively. Just like him, I had no idea what was happening up there, except that the current had increased a little in the last ten minutes and that it might be raining. Suddenly, the shape of something very large passed above our heads. The guy immediately panicked and pulled out the knife stuck in his leg and started to turn around in all directions. His panic attack was absolutely contagious. I pulled out my knife too, and in a few seconds I was as terrified or even more so than he was. I looked at everything that moved around me in search of some sign of that thing of monstrous proportions that had passed straight over us. I thought of an anaconda, but it was too big.I thought of a cayman, one of the largest and most aggressive species of alligator in Brazil, but it would have to be a real alligator, an animal of Jurassic dimensions. There was nothing like that around here, but I kept the fixed idea of the giant cayman in my mind as we looked around in panic. Suddenly, the thing passed by again and the guy leaned against me. Now he seemed out of his mind, pulling the rope and the hose desperately, hoping that Mr. Adamastor would send some signal from up above. I pulled my rope too, thinking it was strange that the same animal would pass in a straight line over us at that speed. The current had increased a lot now and it was already difficult to keep my feet planted on the bottom of the river. Mr. Adamastor's response could not have been more desperate. I felt my rope transmitting a sequence of such strong pulls from up above that it automatically translated the dramatic charge of what was happening in Mr. Adamastor's heart. There were not three, but dozens of desperate tugs, which were not only warning us to climb up immediately, but trying to pull us up as if the world were ending on the surface. We began the ascent immediately, completely terrified by the presence of what I still thought was a giant cayman.
We climbed up about two meters with difficulty without even thinking about doing a safety decompression and the current automatically swallowed us and dragged us along. I could no longer see the other diver and I spun around every five seconds, holding tightly to the rope tied around my waist with one hand and the snorkel mouthpiece with the other. Completely terrified, I was still thinking fixedly about the giant cayman. I could no longer see anything, wondering when it would come and grab me with its huge mouth and rip off a bloody chunk of my side. Then I felt the impact of something very large, hard and crusty. My heart jumped into my mouth and in a hysterical reaction of terror I ended up letting the knife slip from my hand. The thing was dragging me along with it and I kept kicking, trying to kick away the beast's murderous mouth. I twisted my body, writhing beneath the crusty mass, and suddenly I felt at its extremity something like thin legs covered with something like scales or a covering of small flakes of very thin skin. The scaled thicket swept across half of my face and I suddenly realized that it was not a kilometer-long anaconda as thick as a post, nor a giant cayman the size of a truck,
ResponderExcluirbut a tree! I got rid of it by kicking it aside and my first thought right after doing that was that the entire Amazon River basin was passing over me at once and dragging everything in its path and that probably up there Mr. Adamastor and his diesel raft were like a leaf spinning in a watery hurricane. I climbed a few more meters and, almost ready to reach the surface, I concluded more sensibly that he must be desperately trying to drag the raft to the shore. All that time that I was being shaken, wrapped and turned over by large volumes of water, I mentally repeated, with the utmost precision, the words: "MY GOD! MY GOD! MY GOD!'', internally paralyzed by terror and thinking that I didn't want to die in that violent way, but rather very old and in a comfortable armchair in a beach house, drooling green slime over the literary supplement of the Sunday newspaper... But in a flash of consciousness, in a revolt of affliction and despair, I regained control of my body and its movements and made the physical resolution to escape that terrible situation of death by drowning.
ResponderExcluirI began to struggle with my legs and arms raised high, trying not to think that I was being dragged at an incredible speed by the current and that in a stubborn struggle against nature I was little more than a microbe defying the wrath of God. It seemed that my eardrums were going to burst at any moment. Halfway up, while I was fighting against the water and all the solid things that were now hitting me at every moment, I realized that I had become entwined with a face, a snorkel and the hose of another human being; it was the other guy, he was alive and fighting desperately like me. I grabbed all these things in front of me fiercely, lost them, found them again in the middle of the turbulent brownish liquid of bubbles, lost him once more, finally, he grabbed my arm and pulled me up. We rolled from one side to the other, he was still holding my arm. We reached the surface together. The raft was spinning on itself in the middle of the river about five meters away from us. The sky was frighteningly black, it was raining heavily and it was only with great difficulty that we could see the outline of the raft spinning out of control as it went down the river and Mr. Adamastor standing on the edge absolutely horrified and unable to believe what was happening.
ResponderExcluirThe ropes around our waists were stretched to their maximum and we were being dragged downriver along with the raft. The guy took the snorkel out of his mouth and shouted “Seu Adamastor”, but we couldn’t hear anything in the middle of that storm. I looked back and saw four trees coming down towards us at full speed. With great difficulty, the guy kept shouting until his temples almost exploded. And now we heard a voice in response, like a distant howl. The current swept over our heads like a huge, furious and uninterrupted wave and we received it defenselessly, directly against our faces, with both hands busy holding the rope tightly. The raft’s movement was extravagant, with sudden, defenseless lurches. The engine heaved as if it were plunging the raft headfirst into the void only to encounter a wall of angry water that it would crash into violently. When it listed, it almost really turned upside down and, when it straightened up, it shook in such a devastating way that you could see Seu Adamastor staggering as if he were a man who had just received a blow to the head with a club before collapsing.
ResponderExcluirThe wind from the storm whistled in our ears and caused a gigantic aquatic tumult in the darkness, as if the world around us were being swallowed up in a rush through a dark gorge of water. At times it blew so hard that it seemed as if it would sweep the raft and Seu Adamastor from the surface. I made a tremendous effort in the water to regain my sanity and judge things with a cool head. The caboclo and I were closer to the raft now, but we continued to descend dangerously downstream, glimpsing desolately as the raft grew ever closer to the center of the current. That was all we could see: the raft like a coastal rock sliding uncontrollably through the middle of the current, the water tearing everything around it, flowing, raining, crashing. The caboclo and I were like castaways trying to hang on to an empty liquid, rolling without respite or rest over our masked faces. The ferry was being plundered by the storm with a senseless and destructive fury, half of the roof of dry coconut leaves had already been torn off, canvas and awnings with double lashings carried away by the wind, the front bridge swept away, the gunwales twisted, the bulkheads of the interior lamps shattered.
ResponderExcluirIt was only half an hour after all this, going down the river at an ever-increasing speed, with our hands raw from pulling the rope toward the raft, that the caboclo and I managed to climb aboard. Mr. Adamastor helped us climb aboard and again we could hear his voice, which now had an insecure and intimidated timbre, say, "Now we're heading toward a sandbar next to that little beach where you dived yesterday (...) it's the only chance to stop the raft (!)", his voice finished the last sentence sounding weak and artificially hopeful, but producing a penetrating effect of temporary tranquility in the enormous discord of all that noise of wind and raging water. Again he said something, but the wind was so loud that we couldn't hear him properly and soon after the raft threw itself to the side with such force that the three of us fell to the ground... talking about the raft was like trying to utter a word of repentant faith on the day of judgment. The caboclo balanced himself on his knees on the ground and shouted: 'There's nothing to do, Mr. Adamastor(!!)''
ResponderExcluirSeu Adamastor's voice, still fragilely hopeful, despite being half a meter away from the caboclo, shouted irritably: ''Turn your mouth this way, you son of a bitch (!)'', was the last thing I heard, then the rain and the noise increased so much that it was useless to say anything and the banks of the Guaporé River could barely be seen. ''WHAT - WAIT - MOMENT - STOP - FERRY - THERE'S NOTHING TO DO'', I no longer knew who was saying what, I could barely see the two in front of me, such was the intensity and abandonment with which I clung to the railing of the raft. I could only imagine, more than actually do anything. A deafening wall of water falling from the sky inhibited any thought I could think about. It was unbelievable that we were still floating, and even more unbelievable that we could get out of this situation and into a less worse one. Something was stirring inside the raft, making it feel like it was going to break apart at any moment. "'Total loss,'" I said to myself, already imagining a few nights of nightmares in the middle of the woods so as not to think of something worse, a surprising mental agitation that deep down wanted to make me accept that some things like this are destined to happen to prospectors, that we are a race cursed by God.
ResponderExcluirThe raft would not hold out for much longer, and no one on board could really do anything, as the caboclo observed desolately. I could barely hear Seu Adamastor's voice, which was now a little louder than before, under the violent attack of the wall of rainwater that was falling on us. "Do you know where the oars went?" he asked me vigorously, overcoming the force of the water and the wind, and separating himself spiritually from the caboclo's defeatist desolation. I didn't know, for me it was unbelievable that anything remained inside the raft besides the three of us. None of us had the slightest idea where we had been dragged. "I'm going to need two men(!)", Seu Adamastor said suddenly. "Is it possible(?!)", he asked in an apprehensive cry. The caboclo now stood up and made himself available, and just like me, he prepared himself for that last effort of mercy to save Seu Adamastor's raft. The idea was to pull out one of the long planks that formed the railing and try to use it as an oar to throw the raft against the small beach (a sandbank and rocks) that we would pass in a while. We all held on tightly to the side of the railing and began to exert force, in an uncontrollable explosion of muscular fury. A treacherous attack of the current made the raft dance and we all fell to the ground again.
ResponderExcluirThe raft spun around and swayed from side to side right in the middle of the current, while the water rushed furiously beneath it in a wide curve of the Guaporé River. But the plank of the railing had given way, without causing any major disruption. As soon as the plank fell to the ground, Mr. Adamastor rose from the ground and began shouting maddened orders in our ears, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of a mental breakdown. Each order the old man shouted in our ears was like a tiny fragment of that breakdown, plunging our minds into a violent whirlpool of sudden hope. The caboclo and I dragged the plank over the rest of the raft's railing and plunged it into the water, making a huge effort not to let it slip from our hands. Mountains of muddy foam were thrown at our faces, meeting the current head on. The raft took a different direction as soon as we plunged the plank into the water. My panting heart screamed in anticipation as His Adamastor continued to yell behind us, as if to not make us relax for even a second.
ResponderExcluirThe plank struggled, submerged in the current, to keep from breaking under that merciless jet force. There was a kind of burning hatred in the force with which the current tried to rip the plank from our hands or tear it to pieces. The raft advanced in the direction we were pushing, but cornered on all sides, suffering terrible pushes, blows, thrown up and down. Its Adamastor would occasionally hold us so we wouldn't fall with the absurd jolts that at every moment tried to throw us into the river, plank and all. "'IT'S GOING IT'S GOING IT'S GOING(!!)'', the old man shouted, yelling under the incessant noise of the rain like a scream that comes down from the center of a hurricane. The contours of the little beach appeared in front of us like a dramatic thought that arose within a desperate mind, and Mr. Adamastor's last scream was like an inaudible physical vibration added to the stormy waves of the air. I expected nothing in response other than the unconquerable jolt on the sandbar in the midst of the gigantic tumult of the current. 'NO STOPPING(!) NO STOPPING(!) NO STOPPING(!)'', he continued shouting, as if the only objective of that was to madly resist the power of the storm.
ResponderExcluirThe old man had already tied the ropes around our waists to what was left of the raft’s railing. All of our muscles were so tense that I no longer had the strength to keep my eyes open to see what was happening ahead. An agonizing sensation of unbearable pain in my hands and arms coexisted side by side with an incredible willingness to let go of the board and accept death immediately. My body was shaking so much that when the raft hit the sandbank of the small beach, I collapsed to the ground, semi-conscious. I thought I had died; my mind had suddenly plunged into a black hole, scattered and disoriented at the same time. Suddenly, something pushed me behind my knees and I felt myself standing up. The caboclo and Seu Adamastor had lifted me by the shoulders. The old man’s hand grabbed my arm and then shook my face in all directions. I came to, but completely useless, I remained inside the raft, leaning on the railing, while he and the guy tied the ropes around our waists to the rocks on the sandbank where we had miraculously moored.
ResponderExcluirAs soon as they finished their work outside, I stood up like Lazarus and walked out of the raft to join them on the sandbank. The hoarse shouts of command from Mr. Adamastor, although still a little unintelligible, since we had managed to dock and tie the raft to the rocks, suggested in my spirit a feeling of lively satisfaction. There was no way to hide it, that crazy old man was truly pleased with our performance. "Does anyone have a cigarette there(...)", I asked, completely soaked in the rain, feeling that as soon as I lay down on the sand I would pass out and sleep for five days straight. "The cigarettes and the potatoes were saved, my son(..) God is great(!)", he said and I immediately fell to my knees on the ground and soon after lay sprawled with open arms on the sand.
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