The attack we had carried out was the last and
most impactful, but it could still be reversed. Whoever
had installed the pumping mechanism could do it again,
although I doubt they would come out of the shallows
alive. Our next move had to incapacitate the criminal
and, in Keene's words, "make him pay for it," or
whatever other bitter, vindictive thing he said.
Going around the remote area now seemed like
an act of farewell. One more species had been preserved,
and we would return to civilization just to make sure it
stayed that way. When we reached the opposite bank and
found ourselves at the foot of the hill, a fine rain began
to fall on us and I felt an uncontrollable desire to admire
that triumphant scene one last time. I ran to the top, to
the tree where we had stayed overnight, and got a
glimpse of the whole region. For miles ahead, the lagoon
filled the landscape and the Steppesaurus, its burliest
inhabitants, splashed in the shallow water. Away from
them, the Diplocaulus rose to the surface to experience
the same pleasure I did — tiny droplets of water falling
on me and running down my skin. Beside me, Lucy and
Keene appeared, putting their hands on my shoulders
and observing the entire landscape. When they turned to
leave again, I was the only one who hesitated, but Lucy
pulled my arm, reminding me that the project was over.
Before I was dragged into my canoe, I could look up into
the canopy of our old cypress tree and see, hidden
among the branches, the overhanging boughs that had
sheltered us.
426
I then got into my little boat feeling the nostalgia
that place caused me before we even left it. I didn't want
to bother the animals for much longer and maybe even
harm their behavior with our presence, but I also didn't
want to go back. It seems to me that this internal conflict
was already a constant that would accompany me during
the trips ahead, bringing pain and sadness each time a
change occurred. We live in an ever-changing world,
which does not fit with this exaggerated nostalgia.
Thinking about it brought me a dark expectation about
my future.
When I finally abandoned these thoughts, we had
been paddling for some time and the other shore was
visible in the distance. Standing at the edge of the marsh,
Frederick Frost was gesturing eagerly, ordering us to row
faster to reach the ranch.
— I wonder what happened? — Keene thought
aloud. — I bet he broke the armchair.
⬫⬫⬫
— It's a disaster! Simply a calamity! — The
Dean's voice sounded dramatic and exaggerated, as was
to be expected. We sat at the table in the ranch kitchen,
with Frost pacing back and forth before us, repeating the
same litany, using every synonym for "calamity" he
could think of.
— A terrible curse!
— Okay, we get the picture! — Keene
interrupted him. — What so tragic has happened?
— It's Alma... she got sick!
Looking around, I noticed that there was no
chatter in the background and remembered that I hadn't
427
seen the airboat when we arrived at the entrance to the
ranch.
— Now, that's to be expected at her age, isn't it?
— Don't you understand, Jacob? She's been taken
ill and is seriously sick!
— Well, that's not to be expected...
— How did it happen, Mr. Frost? — Lucy asked,
assuming a very professional air, the same one she had
assumed when she suspected Keene in Hluleka.
— The three of us were in the room, — Frost
began to narrate. — She was telling us about the first
time she had left the state, and when she focused her
mind on the details of the trip, she felt dizzy and had to
vomit. Soon the symptoms of weakness worsened and I
told Alexander to take her to the nearest hospital in the
airboat we had rented.
— And what do you think is the cause of this
discomfort?
— How would I know, Lucy? — he said in a
defeated tone. — It must be this horrible diet she's been
on. No one could stand to live a lifetime on alligator
meat, no matter how hard she tried to be creative with
the recipes. Oh, what will be of this lonely preciousness?
Such a charitable soul doesn't deserve this humiliating
end!
Lucy let out an impatient sigh, but without Frost
noticing. Perhaps it was due to the memory of the
coldness with which he had treated Lane's death,
contrasted with the fervor he had shown in the face of
anyone else's simple illness. Controlling her mood, Lucy
went on with her questioning:
— Lonely, you say?
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— Yes, I don't think Boseman will be able to stay
overnight with her in the hospital; he has to come back
to the ranch to feed the animals.
— Well... it looks like we'll have to stay here a
little longer, — said Lucy.
The reason for not leaving was morbid and
feeling even a little joy in staying made my conscience
ache, but I simply couldn't help myself. Spending more
time in the Everglades and perhaps even studying more
deeply the animals we had encountered would cease the
pain I felt, even if only momentarily. I believe I smiled
shyly, even though the subject was the probable death of
a human being.
— Do you remember...what she ate while you
were at the table? — Lucy asked the dean.
— Of course, some kind of broth prepared by
cooking alligator meat. The same damned meat she has
been eating for years!
— Anything else?
— No, nothing more than that. Alma barely has
an appetite.
— I see... — The tone in which Lucy ended the
conversation was not one of closure, as was to be
expected. Staring at the table for a few moments, she
mentally turned away from all of us, following the
pattern of cracks that started at the edge and spread to
the middle, forming something like the design of a tree.
Her pupils were the only thing moving as she thought,
moving from what would be the root to the trunk and
then to the branches stretching out to reach the center of
the piece of furniture and tear it apart. When her large
429
brown eyes reached the last branches, a gleam lit them,
with the sparkle of resolution.
— Excuse me, — she asked, rising from the
table. — Dr. Keene, would you come with me? I need
you to clarify one detail of your theory for me.
— Why, certainly, — he replied, his ego
massaged. Leaving the room, they headed outside the
ranch, closing the door on the way.
— What the...? — was all Frost managed to utter,
still dumbfounded. — What a frivolous concern! To
think about science at a critical moment like this! Boy,
things are piling up on my lap; first Nathan disappears
and now, a host falls ill during our visit.
— Does this also fall on you?
— Why, yes! What will the New Haven
community think when they hear about this? They might
assume we have done them some harm.
I wasn't sure how to respond to Frost's odd
reasoning, or maybe I just didn't want to respond to
something I condemned. Thinking for a moment, I
decided it was recommendable to change the subject
slightly.
— Did you contact the university?
— No, I didn't have to. I just tracked the
purchases he has been making with the card provided by
the university. The most recent one was a ticket to Fort
Myers, which means he was coming here. It is a rather
strange thing that he didn't let me know he was coming,
but anyway...I made sure to contact the airline and ask if
the flight had arrived and, it seems, it had. I am
desperate, Kevin...Now I understand why Lane used to
whine so much.
430
— No, you don't, — I thought. Getting up, I also
left the table and, along with it, the dean who now had
his face buried in his hands, about to collapse. I could
advise him to simply give in, as I was told to, and then
fight, but I know he didn't have enough courage for the
second half of the process. I made my way to the door,
past the cold stare of the alligator heads, and when I
touched the knob, it turned by itself. Lucy then entered
the room, alone this time.
— Where is Keene? — I asked.
— He went to town; he said he needed a new suit
or he would succumb to the mold. And he also went
to...fulfill an assignment I gave him, — she finished with
a wink.
— You have developed a good friendship, I see.
Lucy didn't answer, but merely raised her eyes at
me and changed her features to a more serious mode. I
could tell the difference between a bear's roar of hunger
or of pain, but it was impossible for me to understand
what that facial expression meant.
— Do you remember what you heard last night?
— she changed the subject.
— Before falling asleep on the veranda and being
eaten alive by mosquitoes? Not much.
— Before that.
— I remember hearing...a silly discussion about
the needs of wild and domestic animals.
— Right, that's what Jacob and Mr Frost were
talking about at the table.
— And something about the chocolates running
out.
431
— Mrs. Boseman, she's the one who said that.
Any other details?
— No, then I came to the veranda and fell asleep.
When I woke up the next day and went to take a shower,
I remember hearing Alexander's voice, coming in and
calling his wife.
— But you heard something else the night
before, didn't you?
— What do you mean?
— Before I went to the bathroom, I remember
that Jacob and Frost were already arguing in the living
room and that the Bosemans had gone to the kitchen, to
talk about something that seemed pertinent to the news
we were bringing Alexander. In that scenario, you were
left alone and went to the bedroom. I know this because
you came from there later. Between the living room and
the bedroom, you must have passed in front of the
connection to the kitchen. You heard what was said in
there, didn't you?
I felt immense shame at being caught practicing
my bad habit, but she spoke with confidence, knowing
that I had done it.
— Not on purpose, — I stammered.
— Why, of course not. You had to pass through
that corridor and the sound would come naturally to your
ears. But then tell me, Kevin, what did you hear? — Still
blushing a bit, but more relieved at her understanding, I
tried to remember as accurately as possible:
— A substantial increase in profits, retirement in
two months, and a voice saying that something was
immoral.
432
— Perfect. And so we know what happened to
our hostess.
— We do?
— Yes, Kevin. We just need to wait for Jacob to
come back and I will explain to you exactly what
happened to Mrs. Boseman and who installed that pump.
⬫⬫⬫
In the curve of a wall, half a face became visible,
spying on what was happening, checking the safety of
the place. The corridor was covered with tiny blocks of
tile, all opaque white, to reflect what little light the bulbs
had to offer. They shimmered timidly, blinking
constantly, as if they would burn out in the next instant.
Cracks extended in several places on the wall where
moisture had seeped in, knocking down the tile that had
covered it before and feeding the white, fuzzy mold that
was taking its place. It had been a few minutes since
someone had last walked past him, not even suspecting
what he was doing there; but after all, there was no
reason to fear him, really. Leaning his back against the
damp wall, he felt his arms burn intensely. The trip to the
place had been exhausting and had demanded the most
from his boat so that he reached only the edge of the city.
The next part had been covered by a cab (the one who
had charged him the least amount, of course). At the
reception desk, all he had to do was to know the first and
last name of the person he was now looking for and no
one would question his good intentions. — What a
terrible unpreparedness, — he thought, remembering the
scene. He might as well have come here to do some
433
mischief, and no one had followed him? Pathetic. That's
what the whole world had become — an undesirable
species at the top of the food chain, without any merit to
it. What merit is there in killing a lion with a gun? Or an
elephant, or a tiger? Use the weapons that nature has
given you, bloody hell! But of course, nature had not
given us any weapons. It had not given us hooves, claws,
tusks, horns or spines. We are completely defenseless
against natural forces and would die of hypothermia in a
single storm, were it not for our intelligence. — The
point, — he mentally recited, walking down the gloomy
corridor to an even worse lighted ward. — The point is
that intelligence needs to be well guided. Interfering with
the course that nature takes is the complete antithesis of
this concept. Meanwhile, he, a man who sought to
preserve the environment, was seen as extremist and
unreasonable! — No problem, — he said, ending his
private speech, — I will stop humanity personally. —
With that, he entered the bedroom. Around him, five
beds were arranged in two groups, one with three beds
and the other one with two, divided in half by the door
leading to the shared bathroom. — Very hygienic... —
he thought, a clear expression of disgust on his face. In
the group of three, two beds had their sheets untidy, one
of them empty and the other one still occupied.
Approaching the latter, he realized that he had planned
numerous details of the plan, except one — how to wake
someone up. Coughing in a low tone, he tried to make it
enough, but without success. Increasing the volume
progressively, he realized that there was no response or
movement. Had he arrived...too late? A little desperate,
he grabbed the arm that hung off the bed and placed it
434
back on the mattress. By God, how was that not enough?
Finally, he noticed that a plastic wrapper glistened in the
opening of a pocket. Cautiously, he brought it to himself,
opening it and revealing the coconut candy.
— How are you, Dr. Keene?
— Mrs. Boseman! — he almost shouted, still
stunned.
— Why, there was still one in my pocket, huh?
Take that one, the doctor said I should avoid them for a
while. That's the price of longevity...we are forced to
keep living and lose along the way the few pleasures we
had before.
— I'm afraid I have to agree with you. Tell me,
was your husband here after bringing you?
— Oh yes, he kept me company until I fell
asleep. Then he said he was going to talk to the doctor,
but neither the doctor nor he has appeared since.
— Did he lie down next to you?
— You mean the bed next to me? No, no, it was
left that way after another lady left the hospital. We had
a nice chat this afternoon, you know? Before nightfall
her body was taken away, — she finished with a sigh.
— I see. Have they informed you of the cause of
your discomfort?
— I'm afraid not, the doctor who was coming
was to bring the result of the blood test.
— Perhaps you have already thought about your
diet, but I would like to reinforce this concept. You see, a
balanced diet includes a much wider variety of fiber
and...
— And she has survived all these years, — a
nearby voice said snidely. Standing in the doorway to the
435
ward, Alexander Boseman had the same expression that
Jacob had for the filthy toilet in the next room.
— Alexander, were you able to find the doctor?
— No, my dear, I'm afraid they are understaffed
for too many patients.
— That's odd, — Keene cut in. — I remember
seeing a doctor walking past me toward the laboratory.
— Is that so? And why don't you go and get him?
— And leave you alone with Alma? I don't think
so, mate.
— What do you mean, playboy? It was me who
brought her to the hospital in the first place, wasn't it?
— You dare raise your voice to me, you muddy
bumpkin, and I'll sue you until you have to sell that tar
pit!
— Gentlemen? — A fourth voice joined the
conversation, coming through the portal. Wearing a silk
uniform, clean as no surface in the place could ever be, a
man of reasonable size and height approached the
bedside, passing his eyes from Keene to Boseman and
back again to the biomedical doctor. With a dark
complexion and serious eyes, the man's attitude was a
silent reproach to the behavior of the other two.
— Hakeem Geffery, — the doctor introduced
himself, greeting Alma Boseman with a slow handshake
while looking into her deep, charitable eyes. — I was
notified of a delay in the delivery of your examination,
— the doctor continued. — Apparently, my colleague
had been assigned to do it, but the receptionist said she
hadn't seen him heading towards your room. Anyway,
here it is. — The sentence was accompanied by a calmly
executed gesture, in which he leafed through the pages
436
of a folder of documents and took out precisely what he
wanted, knowing in advance the location of each
printout. Holding out a copy to the patient, he went on to
explain:
— The result revealed a spike in cadmium levels,
an insoluble and toxic metal that causes damage to the
kidneys.
— Do you have any idea of the source of this
metal, doctor? — Keene asked in alarm.
— From the meat, — Boseman replied before
Geffery could speak. — I heard that someone had found
cadmium in alligator meat. Couldn't that be it, Doctor?
— I'm not sure, Mr...Boseman, — he finally
finished after a quick look at the chart. — Intoxication
would require a somewhat more potent source. Anyway,
I'll let you rest now, Mrs. Boseman, and I suggest you
gentlemen do the same. — Turning toward the dark
corridor, Geffery left the two men looking at each other
with the same expression as before.
— You heard the doctor, Alexander, — Keene
teased.
— And you didn't?
— Let's just say that Lucy will be delighted to
know what happened here. — Boseman's upper lip
twitched at this. — Go ahead, Alexander. It's the only
way out of this place.
Still cursing the other between his teeth,
Boseman also made his way to the outer passage; Keene
walking at a slower pace to stay behind. With a farewell
from Alma, they both continued on through the
mausoleum that was the hospital.
437
— You know, the animals will never be yours, —
Keene teased. — They may be slow in the morning, but
try to go there when the sun is high...and you will learn
to respect nature, — he finished, almost whispering.
Stalling, Boseman clenched his fists so hard that his
bones cracked, but he didn't turn around.
The tension continued until the exit door parted
them, Keene returning to the edge of town to catch the
boat and Boseman leaving for downtown.
⬫⬫⬫
— Cadmium? — the question sounded rhetorical,
as if the information didn't surprise her in the slightest.
The informant, a spy sent to the scene, maintained a look
of expectation, awaiting the resolution of the case.
Sitting parallelly, Frost and I were spectators of the
unfolding scene; in my mind, I described every detail of
what was happening there. At the head of the table, Lucy
still had a static gaze. On the table, the same fractal
pattern fascinated her and held her attention.
— Well? — asked the spy, impatiently.
— Well, — she repeated, — we are going to do
what we have become accustomed to doing these past
few months — set up a predator trap.