The Source - Michael Cordy [69]
39
'That's incredible. Do it again,' said Hackett, lifting another bottle of beer from the cool river. Ross marvelled at how clean and uncreased Hackett's khaki safari suit was, despite all they had been through. Juarez did another of his long grunting crocodile noises and Ross copied it.
'How do you do it, Ross?' asked Mendoza. 'I can't make the same sound as Juarez and I've been trying for ages now. You did it first time.'
'I have perfect pitch, which means I can identify and reproduce any note I hear. I discovered it when I was in a church choir. It's not very useful, really, just a party trick.'
They had pulled the boats on to the bank and had had supper – tinned beans, rice and fish. They were now sitting round the fire drinking coffee and beer, letting off steam after the excitement of the day. Only Sister Chantal was asleep, curled up a few feet away.
'You used to sing in a church choir?' asked Zeb, astonishment written on her face.
'Only as a kid.'
'I used to go to church,' said Mendoza, popping a painkiller into his mouth. He sounded wistful and Ross remembered him crossing himself when the Discovery was in the Mouth of Hell. 'I still believe in God as my saviour.' His companions gawped – this was the man they had witnessed shoot three dead – but Mendoza ignored them. 'You believe in God, Ross?' he asked.
'I believe in good, not God.'
'How will you find absolution for your sins?'
Ross thought about this. 'By trying to take responsibility for my actions, I guess. I don't believe you can be absolved of your sins, as you put it. You can only try to make amends with good deeds. Overwrite the bad with the good.'
'Only the Church can wipe away your sins,' said Juarez, with an emphatic nod.
Ross laughed. 'You can't just go to church and ask some priest to wipe the slate clean. When you wrong a man you ask him for forgiveness, not God. You prove your remorse by your deeds, not prayers. We are what we do. One good deed can make a lot of difference to the world.'
'A good deed in the eyes of God or man?'
'Man, of course.'
'But how does man know good without the guidance of God?' asked Juarez.
'And how does man know God's guidance without the Church?' said Mendoza.
'Enough!' said Hackett, taking a swig of beer. 'Where were you brought up? Don't you know it's simply not done to discuss religion, politics or sex over the dinner table?' He turned to Mendoza. 'Let me ask you a much more interesting question. I don't mean to offend you, señor, but you were a soldier and we all saw what happened on the river near Iquitos. What's it like to kill a man?'
'What sort of question is that?' said Zeb, shocked.
Hackett raised his hands defensively. 'I qualified as a doctor, made a vow to do no harm, but I also served in the British Army and had military training. I've often wondered what it's like to take a life.' He flashed a crooked smile. 'Christ, during my divorce I fantasized about it. So tell me, señor, what's it feel like?'
For a long moment Ross thought he wasn't going to answer. Then Mendoza said, 'Killing one man is difficult. Killing the second is easier, the third easier still. Soon it's so easy life has no value any more. And when life has no value, nothing else does. Only what you believe. Your faith.' He smiled, almost sweetly, at Hackett. 'Stick to your Hippocratic oath, Dr Hackett. You'll sleep better for it.'
Hackett digested this. Then he turned to Ross. 'Since we're getting to know each other, tell us how you came by the priest's notebook.' He pointed at Ross, Zeb and the sleeping shape of Sister Chantal. 'And what brought you three together.'
'It just happened,' said Ross, evasively.
Juarez rescued him. 'Why you gringos always want to find old ruins?'
'Because of their history,' said Hackett. 'And their gold.'
'You don't care about the curse of el abuelo?' 'The what?' said Ross.
Hackett raised an eyebrow, sneezed, then took a hit on his inhaler. 'The curse of el abuelo – the grandfather. Juarez's people