The Mammoth Book of Frankenstein (Mammoth Books) (93 page)

He reached behind the counter and came up with a bottle; he handed it to me and I drank from the neck. It was brandy, and it felt very good.

“Well, what now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. First thing, I want to crawl into a hot bath. Then I’m going to sleep through until morning. I can’t make any decisions in this state.”

“Good judge,” he said.

I thanked him for his help, told him I would see him the next day after deciding what further supplies or assistance I might need, and limped back to the hotel. The desk clerk raised a polite eyebrow when he saw the condition I was in, and I asked him to have the maid heat a bath. I think he concurred with that judgement, and he asked if I needed any help getting upstairs. I managed on my own, however,
and as soon as I was in my room I stripped my grimy clothing off and put a bathrobe on, then sat down on the bed to wait for the bath to be readied. After a moment or two, I lay back and closed my eyes, just for a second.

I never heard the maid knock, and when I awoke it was morning . . .

I spent the day relaxing and writing two letters, seated at a table in the bar. Jones, despite his reluctance to follow in the paths of his fellow tourists, had succumbed to a chartered flight to Cape Horn, and there were no distractions, other than my own musings as to how he was getting along with the three widows, and an admission that I would rather have liked to see Cape Horn myself.

The first letter was to Smyth. I considered for some time before I began writing, and informed him in detail of my interviews with Gregorio and MacPherson and my visit to Hodson’s, stressing, I fear, the devotion to duty which the latter entailed. I sketched the nature of Hodson’s work briefly, from what the man had actually told me, and asked Smyth for his opinion of the possibilities of that, from general interest rather than in relation to my own investigations, and stressing that it was a theoretical point because Hodson would surely not welcome further concern on my part. I mentioned the Indian and Anna in terms, respectively, of awe and admiration, and was surprised to find how greatly Anna had impressed me. My conclusion was that I considered further probing warranted, despite Hodson’s avowed disinterest and lack of connection.

But I made no mention of that sound in the night.

Somehow, I found myself unable to express the feeling it had driven into me, and certainly there was no way to describe the sound itself, no comparisons whatsoever. And, now that I was back in the quiet hotel, I found myself almost willing to discount Hodson’s connection with the rumours. There seemed to be no connection with his laboratory work, however advanced that might have been in its own right, and his explanation – the wind howling down the fissures – seemed reasonable enough, likely even, although it brought a chill to remember my certainty at the time. But it was far too subjective a feeling to symbolize by the written word, and I did not attempt it.

The second letter was to Susan. Before starting this, I re-read what I had written of Anna, and a sense of infidelity swept through me. I remembered how I had felt, watching her bend naked over the bed, with the candle light dancing over her flesh; how my loins had tightened with desire, and how close I had come to reaching out to her. I had never been unfaithful to Susan, and had never before felt the slightest urge or need, but there in the confines of that narrow
cell, in that remote and forbidding land, I had struggled with an urgency so powerful –

Well. I had resisted, and I was very glad that I had, and I wrote to Susan with love.

My mind came back from that faraway place, through those eternal weeks. The waiter was taking the dishes away, concerned that we’d barely touched the food, but not mentioning it; aware that something was very wrong between us.

“Anything else, sir?” he asked, softly.

“A drink?”

“Yes. A strong drink,” Susan said.

Susan had never drunk very much. I ordered large brandies, and she downed half of hers with the first swallow.

“I kept your letter,” she said, as if she had somehow followed my thoughts. “The letter you wrote from Ushuaia. You still loved me when you wrote that, didn’t you? Or was that a lie, too?”

“It was no lie. There is no lie, Susan. I love you now as much as then.”

“Yes, whatever changed your mind must have happened after you wrote. I know there was love in that letter.”

She drained the brandy.

“But I shan’t ask you again.”

“Another?”

“Yes,” she said. She turned the empty glass in her hands. “No, never mind. I want to leave, Arthur.”

“All right.”

I signalled to the waiter.

“I want to leave alone, Arthur,” Susan said.

“Susan. Darling – ”

“Oh God. I can’t stand this. I can’t bear it. I’m going now.”

She stood up and walked quickly towards the entrance. I pushed my chair back and started to rise, then collapsed back on to the seat. The waiter stood beside the table and Susan was getting her coat at the counter.

“The bill, sir?” the waiter asked.

I shook my head.

“No. Not yet. I’ll have another brandy.”

“Large, sir?”

“Yes,” I said.

* * *

I’d been drinking a large brandy the day that Gregorio came into the bar at the Albatross, too. It was the second day since my return from Hodson’s, and I’d sent the boy from Graham’s store to fetch Gregorio, feeling that it might be to my advantage to put my proposition to him here at the hotel, rather than at his shack – to talk to him on my own ground, removed from the realities of Gregorio’s life.

He stood in the doorway, beside the boy. I nodded and the boy pointed to me and went back out. Gregorio walked down the bar and stood beside me.

“Oh, it is you,” he said. He didn’t seem pleased. “I didn’t remember the name.” I had the impression that, had he remembered, he wouldn’t have come.

“A drink?”

“Pisco,” he said, shrugging. The barman poured the grape alcohol into a large tumbler. Gregorio was in no hurry to drink, and his feet shifted nervously.

“I’ve been looking for your Bestia Hombre,” I said.

He nodded, expecting that. He lifted the glass.

“Pray God it doesn’t look for you,” he said.

“Will you help me, Gregorio?”

“I? How is that possible?”

“I’d like you to take me to the place where you saw it.”

“No. I will not go there again.” It was more a statement of unalterable fact than an assertion of refusal. He took his blackened pipe out and began to fill it with some exotic mixture from a rubber pouch.

“I’ll pay well.”

He looked balefully at me, struck a match and continued to regard me above the flame as he sucked the pipe into a haze of smoke. The contents blackened and curled above the bowl, and he pressed it back with a hardened thumb. A few shards escaped and drifted, smoking, to the floor.

“I need money,” he said. “We all need money. But not to that place.”

“You needn’t do anything else, Just guide me there. What danger could there be?”

“Danger? Who knows? Perhaps none. But that place is . . . it is not a good place. It has very bad memories. I am no longer young and no longer brave. The dog was brave.”

He shrugged once more.

“Well, could you show me on a map?”

“A map?”

I thought he hadn’t understood the word.

“Mapa,” I said.

“Yes, I know this word. But what map? There is no map of that place. Not with detail.”

“Could you make a map?”

“Of no use to you. I have lived all my life here, and I am not young. I know the land. But to make a map – what is there to show on this map? It is rocks and trees and hills. How are they different? To me, perhaps, for I know them. But on the map it is the same.”

This was true, of course. It had been a thoughtless request. And, anyway, I needed a guide with me, a man who knew the land and, preferably, knew where Gregorio had seen the creature. And that was only Gregorio.

“I have already been out there,” I said.

“Yes.”

“I have heard the sound of the thing. Gregorio, I have heard it, and I know you told me the truth.”

His eyes were wide. I wanted to shock him.

“I heard it in the dark of night,” I said.

“And still you wish to find it?”

“Yes.”

“You are very brave, Señor. Braver than I.”

“That is because I know there will be no danger,” I said. “I was frightened when I heard it, yes. But it is a living thing. It is no demon or spirit, whatever it is, it is alive, and we’ll be well armed. It can’t hurt us.” I tried to look confident, almost nonchalant, and Gregorio seemed to weaken slightly. He took the pipe from his mouth and drank, replaced the pipe and drew, cheeks hollowed and a deep line etched between his eyebrows.

“I would have a gun, too?” he asked.

I nodded. I don’t honestly know if I had intended to carry a weapon, against my principles, but I do know I was relieved that Gregorio’s reluctance made it necessary.

“I would like to kill it,” he said.

“Only in self defence – ”

“I would very much like to avenge the dog, yes.” His jaw tightened. “But the dog is dead. It would not help the dog. It is my Spanish blood that has the desire for revenge.” He leaned against the bar with both hands, head down between his shoulders. His shoulderblades were sharp beneath the canvas poncho, and his thoughts were sharp beneath his furrowed brow.

“I would be very much afraid,” he said, without looking at me. The pipe bobbled in his teeth as he spoke.

“But you will show me?”

After a while he looked up.

“How much money will you pay me?” he asked.

But I knew that the money had very little to do with it.

We decided to leave in two days, which gave ample time to make preparations, and for me to recover from the physical effects of the last trek. Actually, I felt very well. I’d been exercising lightly since my return, so that my muscles hadn’t stiffened much, and I felt that the exertion had hardened me sufficiently so that I didn’t dread repeating the journey. Then too, this time I would be able to dictate the pace at which we travelled. Although I was eager to get to the area where Gregorio had seen the creature, I felt no need for haste now that definite arrangements were being made for departure, unlike the impatience I’d felt while waiting for Hodson’s man to arrive without knowing when to expect him, when time and distance were unknown quantities. This time, we were able to plan accurately and take all the equipment and supplies necessary for a prolonged camp in the mountains.

Graham and Gregorio conferred on what we would need, and I left the decisions to them, with complete confidence in their judgements, hiring what I could and purchasing the rest according to their recommendations. For my own part, I bought only a change of clothing similar to what I’d worn on the first trek, and a pair of light sandals to alternate with the heavy boots. I’d paid so little attention to the rest that, on the night before our departure, I was surprised at the size of the pile that had accumulated.

We were taking two small Everest tents as well as sleeping bags, groundsheets and blankets for warmth and shelter; a large amount of food both for ourselves and the horses, along with cooking utensils which fitted neatly together when not in use, and a double burner Butane stove which Gregorio considered an unbelievable luxury, without disdaining it; a complete first aid kit and a spade and axe, both of which were hinged and could be folded to simplify transport and packing, and an ample supply of pisco which did treble duty as sustenance, warmth and medicine, and which I found myself growing rather fond of at a few shillings a bottle. Stacked together, these supplies made a considerable mass in one corner of Graham’s storeroom, but he assured me that everything could quite easily be distributed between two pack horses and our own mounts.

He had already arranged for the hire of the pack animals and the same horse I’d ridden before, which I’d suggested, feeling confident in its reliability, and in my own ability to control it. Gregorio intended to use his own horse, the grey gelding, and I added the hire fee for one horse to what I was paying him as a guide.

Graham was dealing with a customer while I made the gesture of checking the supplies. Gregorio stood behind me.

“Well, we certainly seem to have everything we could possibly need,” I said. “You’ve been very thorough.”

Gregorio nodded, then frowned.

“What is it?”

“The guns?” he said.

I’d forgotten them, actually. I hesitated. I was afraid that Gregorio might do something rash out of hatred or fear or vengeance. But he was watching me expectantly, and I knew he couldn’t be persuaded to go without a weapon. I didn’t really blame him, either, and knew the idea of being able to defend ourselves would make us both feel better.

“Yes, I’ll see about that now,” I said.

Graham had finished with the customer, and I went over to the counter and inquired about hiring guns. Gregorio followed, as if he wanted to make sure.

“I never thought of that,” Graham said. “I didn’t know you’d be needing guns.”

“I certainly trust we shan’t.”

“Well, I don’t hire guns myself. All my regular customers have their own guns, and the tourists who want to do any shooting usually make arrangements through their travel companies.”

Gregorio moved closer.

“There must be somewhere to hire them.”

“Oh yes. But why don’t you borrow a couple from Gardiner?” Possibly he resented the idea of sending me to a competitor. “Gardiner does some shooting and I know he has several spare guns. Want me to ask him?”

“I’ll ask him,” I said. It seemed a good idea, and I was certain he wouldn’t object. “I’ll go out to his place now.”

Gregorio moved back towards the supplies, satisfied I was making an effort, and I went out to the street and found a taxi to take me to Gardiner’s.

He seemed pleased, as usual, to have company, and gave me a drink while we discussed my trip to Hodson’s and I told him a little about my plans for the second journey. When I’d finished, he asked if there was anything he could do to assist me. It was just the opening I needed, but somehow I felt rather ridiculous about the guns.