I nodded and climbed into Father Carl’s truck, then followed them down the rocky road for several miles until we came to a fork. Sanchez waved out the back window as he and Father Carl headed East. I watched them for a moment then turned the old truck North toward the Amazon basin.
A surge of impatience rose up within me. After making good time for over three hours, I now sat at a crossroads, unable to decide between two particular routes.
To my left was one possibility. Judging from the map, this road bore north along the edge of the mountains for a hundred miles, then turned sharply east toward Iquitos. The other route lead to the right and maintained an eastern angle through the jungle to the same destination.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax, then quickly checked the rear view mirror. No one was in sight. In fact, I hadn’t seen anyone—no traffic, no locals walking—in over an hour. I tried to shake off a rush of anxiety. I knew I had to relax and stay connected if I expected to make the right decision.
I focused on the scene. The jungle route to my right progressed between a group of large trees. Several huge outcroppings of rock punctuated the ground around them. Most were encircled by large tropical bushes. The other route through the mountains seemed comparatively bare. One tree grew in that direction, but the remainder of the landscape was rocky, with very little plant life.
I looked to the right again and tried to induce a love state. The trees and bushes were a rich green. I looked to the left and tried the same procedure. Immediately I noticed a patch of flowering grass that bordered the road. The blades of grass were pale and spotty, but the white flowers, viewed together, created a unique pattern into the distance. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed the flowers earlier. They now seemed to almost glow. I broadened my focus to include everything in that direction. The small rocks and brown patches of gravel seemed extraordinarily colorful and distinct. Hues of amber and violet and even dark red ran through the entire scene.
I glanced back to the right to the trees and bushes. Although beautiful, they now paled in comparison to the other route. But how could that be, I thought. Initially, the road to the right seemed more attractive. Glancing back to the left, my intuition strengthened. The richness of shape and color amazed me.
I was convinced. I started the truck and headed to the left, sure of the correctness of my decision. The road was bumpy with rocks and ruts. As I bounced along, my body felt lighter. My weight was centered on my buttocks, and my back and neck were straight. My arms were holding the steering wheel but were not resting on it.
For two hours I drove without incident, nibbling from the food basket Father Carl had packed and again seeing no one. The road meandered up and down one small foothill after another. At the top of one hill, I observed two older cars parked to my right. They were pulled far off to the side of the road in a stand of small trees. I could see no occupants and assumed the vehicles were abandoned. Ahead the road turned sharply to the left and circled downward into a wide valley. From the peak I could see for several miles.
I stopped the truck abruptly. Half way across the valley three or four military vehicles sat along both sides of the road. A small group of soldiers stood among the trucks. A chill ran through me. That was a roadblock. I backed off the crest and pulled my vehicle behind two large rocks, then got out and walked back to the overlook to again observe the activity in the valley. One vehicle was driving away in the opposite direction.
Suddenly I heard something behind me. I turned around quickly. It was Phil, the ecologist I had met at Viciente.
He was equally shocked. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he rushed up to me.
“I’m trying to get to Iquitos,” I said.
His face was filled with anxiety. “So are we, but the government’s getting crazy over this Manuscript. We’re trying to decide whether to risk passing through that roadblock. There are four of us.” He nodded to his left. I could see several men through the trees.
“Why are you going to Iquitos?” he asked.
“I’m trying to find Wil. We got separated in Cula. But I heard he might be headed to Iquitos, looking for the rest of the Manuscript.”
He looked horrified. “He shouldn’t be doing that! The military has prohibited anyone having copies. Didn’t you hear what occurred at Viciente?”
“Yeah, some, but what did you hear?”
“I wasn’t there but I understand the authorities rushed in and arrested everyone who had copies. All the guests were detained for questioning. Dale and the other scientists were taken away. No one knows what happened to them.”
“Do you know why the government is so disturbed about this Manuscript?” I asked.
“No, but when I heard how unsafe it was getting, I decided to return to Iquitos for my research data and then to leave the country myself.”
I told him the details of what had happened to Wil and myself after leaving Viciente, especially the shooting on the ridge top.
“Damn,” he said. “And you’re still fooling around with this thing?”
His statement jarred my confidence, but I said, “Look, if we do nothing, the government is going to suppress the Manuscript completely. The world will be denied its knowledge, and I think the insights are important!”
“Important enough to die for?” he asked.
The sound of vehicles attracted our attention. The trucks were driving across the valley toward us.
“Oh shit!” he said. “Here they come.”
Before we could move, we heard the sound of vehicles approaching from the other direction as well.
“They’ve surrounded us!” Phil shouted. He looked panicked.
I ran to the truck and dumped the basket of food into a small pack. I took the folders containing the Manuscript and placed them in the pack as well, then thought better of it and pushed them under the seat instead.
The sounds were growing louder so I ran across the road to my right in the direction Phil had headed. Down the slope I could see him and the other men huddled behind a group of rocks. I hid with them. My hope was that the military trucks would pass and keep going. My truck was out of sight. Hopefully they would think, as I did, that the other cars were abandoned.
The trucks approaching from the south arrived first and to our horror stopped even with the vehicles.
“Don’t move. Police!” a voice shouted. We froze as several soldiers walked up from behind us. All were heavily armed and very cautious. The soldiers searched us thoroughly and took everything, then forced us to walk back to the road. There, dozens of soldiers were searching the vehicles. Phil and his companions were taken and placed in one of the military trucks, which quickly drove away. As he rode past me, I caught sight of him. He looked pale and ghostly.
I was led on foot in the opposite direction and asked to sit near the crest of the hill. Several soldiers stood near me, each carrying an automatic weapon on his shoulder. Finally an officer walked over and tossed the folders containing my copies of the insights on the ground at my feet. On top of them he threw the keys to Father Carl’s truck.
“Are these copies yours?” he asked.
I looked at him without answering.
“These keys were found on you,” he said. “Inside the vehicle we found these copies. I ask you again, are they yours?”
“I don’t think I’ll answer until I see a lawyer,” I stammered. The remark brought a sarcastic smile to the officer’s face. He said something to the other soldiers and walked away. The soldiers directed me to one of the jeeps and into the front seat by the driver. Two other soldiers sat in the back seat, their weapons ready. Behind us, more soldiers climbed aboard a second truck. After a short wait, both vehicles headed north into the valley.
Anxious thoughts filled my mind. Where were they taking me? Why did I put myself into this position? So much for the preparation the priests had given me; I hadn’t lasted a day. Back at the crossroads, I had been so certain I had chosen the correct road. This route was the one m
ost attractive; I was sure of it. Where did I make my mistake?
I took a deep breath and attempted to relax, wondering what would happen now. I would plead ignorance, I thought, and present myself as a misguided tourist meaning no harm. I just got mixed up with the wrong people, I would say. Let me go home.
My hands were resting in my lap; they were shaking slightly. One of the soldiers sitting behind me offered a canteen of water and I took it, though I could not drink. The soldier was young and when I handed the canteen back to him, he smiled without a trace of malice on his face. The image of Phil’s panicked look flashed across my mind. What would they do with him?
The thought occurred to me that meeting Phil on that hilltop had been a coincidence. What was its meaning? What would we have talked about had we not been interrupted? As it was, all I did was stress the Manuscript’s importance, and all he did was warn me about the danger here and counsel me to get out before being captured. Unfortunately, his advice had come too late.
For several hours we rode without anyone speaking. The terrain outside grew progressively more flat. The air warmed. At one point, the young soldier handed me an open can of C rations, something like beef hash, but again I couldn’t force anything down. After sunset the light faded quickly.
I rode along without thought, staring straight ahead with the truck’s headlights, then I slipped into a restless sleep during which I dreamed of being in flight. I was running desperately from an unknown foe amid hundreds of huge bonfires, certain that somewhere was a secret key that would open the way to knowledge and safety. In the middle of one of the giant fires I saw the key. I darted in to retrieve it!
I jerked awake, sweating profusely. The soldiers glanced at me nervously. I shook my head and leaned against the truck’s door. For a long time, I looked out the side window at the dark shapes of the landscape, fighting the urge to panic. I was alone and under guard, heading into blackness, and no one cared about my nightmares.
About midnight we pulled up to a large, dimly lit building constructed of cut stone and two stories high. We walked along a walkway past the front entrance and entered a side door. Steps led down to a narrow hall. The inner walls were also of stone and the ceiling was constructed of large timbers and rough cut planks. Bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling lit our way. We walked through another door and then into an area of cells. One of the soldiers who had disappeared caught up with us and opened one of the cell doors and motioned for me to enter.
Inside were three cots, a wooden table and a vase of flowers. To my surprise, the cell was very clean. As I walked in, a young Peruvian, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, looked at me meekly from behind the door. The soldier locked the door behind me and walked away. I sat down on one of the cots as the young man reached over and turned up an oil lamp. When the light hit his face I noticed that he was an Indian.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“Yes, some,” he said.
“Where are we?”
“Near Pullcupa.”
“Is this a prison?”
“No, everyone is here for questioning about the Manuscript.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
He looked up at me with shy, brown eyes. “Two months.”
“What have they done to you?”
“They try to make me disbelieve the Manuscript and tell about others who have copies.”
“How?”
“By talking to me.”
“Just talking, no threats?”
“Just talking,” he repeated.
“Have they said when they will let you go?”
“No.”
I paused for a moment and he looked at me questioningly. “Were you caught with copies of the Manuscript?” he asked.
“Yes. Were you?”
“Yes. I live near here, in an orphanage. My headmaster was teaching from the Manuscript. He allowed me to teach the children. He was able to escape but I was captured.”
“How many insights have you seen?” I asked.
“All that have been found,” he said. “You?”
“Eh, I’ve seen all but the Seventh and Eighth Insights. I had the Seventh but I didn’t get a chance to read it before the soldiers showed up.”
The young man yawned and asked, “Can we sleep now?”
“Yeah,” I said absently. “Sure.”
I laid on my cot and shut my eyes, my mind racing. What should I do now? How had I let myself be caught? Could I escape? I concocted several strategies and scenarios before I finally drifted off to sleep.
Again I dreamed vividly. I was searching for the same key but this time I was lost in a deep forest. For a long time I had been walking aimlessly, wishing for some sort of guidance. After a while, a huge thunderstorm came and flooded the landscape. During the deluge, I was washed down a deep ravine and into the river, which was flowing in the wrong direction and threatening to drown me. With all my might I fought against the current, struggling for what seemed like days. Finally, I was able to pull myself from the torrent by clinging to the rocky shoreline. I climbed up the rocks and along the sheer cliffs that bordered the river, ascending higher and higher and into ever more treacherous areas. Although I had summoned all my willpower and expertise to negotiate the cliffs, at one point I found myself clinging perilously to the rock face, unable to proceed any further. I looked down at the terrain below me. In shock, I realized that the river I had been fighting flowed out of the forest and gently up to a beautiful beach and meadow. In the meadow, surrounded by flowers, was the key. Then I slipped and fell screaming down and down until I hit the river and sank.
I sat up quickly in my cot, gasping for air. The young Indian, apparently already awake, walked over to me.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
I caught my breath and looked around, realizing where I was. I also noticed that the room had a window and that it was already light outside.
“Just a bad dream,” I said.
He smiled at me as though he was pleased at what I said. “Bad dreams have the most important messages,” he commented.
“Messages?” I asked, getting up and putting on my shirt.
He looked embarrassed at having to explain. “The Seventh Insight talks of dreams,” he said.
“What does it say about dreams?”
“It tells how to, eh …”
“Interpret dreams?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say about that?”
“It says to compare the story of the dream to the story of your life.”
I thought for a moment, unsure of what that instruction meant. “What do you mean, compare stories?”
The young Indian could barely look me in the eye. “Do you want to interpret your dream?”
I nodded and told him what I had experienced.
He listened intently, then said, “Compare parts of the story with your life.”
I looked at him. “Where do I start?”
“At the beginning. What are you doing at the beginning of the dream?”
“I was searching for a key in a forest.”
“How did you feel?”
“Lost.”
“Compare this situation to your real situation.”
“Maybe it does relate,” I said “I’m looking for some answers about this Manuscript and I’m damn sure feeling lost.”
“And what else is happening to you in real life?” he asked.
“I’ve been caught,” I said. “In spite of everything I tried to do, I’ve been locked up. All I can hope for now is to talk someone into letting me go home.”
“You are struggling against being caught?”
“Of course.”
“What happened next in the dream?”
“I fought against the current.”
“Why?” he asked.
I began to pick up on where he was headed. “Because at the time I thought it would drown me.”
“And if you hadn’t fought the w
ater?”
“It would have carried me to the key. What are you saying? That if I don’t fight against this situation that I might still get the answers I want?”
He looked embarrassed again. “I’m not saying anything. The dream is saying.”
I thought for a moment. Was this interpretation correct?
The young Indian looked up at me, then asked, “If you had to experience the dream again, what would you do different?”
“I wouldn’t resist the water, even though it looked as though it might kill me. I would know better.”
“What is threatening you now?”
“I guess the soldiers. Being detained.”
“So what is the message to you?”
“You think the message of the dream is to look at this capture positively?”
He didn’t answer; he only smiled.
I was sitting on my cot leaning back against the wall. The interpretation excited me. If it was accurate, it would mean that I hadn’t made a mistake at the crossroads after all, that this was all part of what should be happening.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Pablo,” he said.
I smiled and introduced myself, then briefly told him the story of why I was in Peru and what had happened. Pablo was sitting on his cot, his elbows resting on his knees. He had short, black hair and was very thin.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“To find out about this Manuscript,” I replied.
“Why specifically?” he asked again.
“To find out about the Seventh Insight and to find out about some friends, Wil and Marjorie … and I guess to find out why the church is so against the Manuscript.”
“There are many Priests here to talk to,” he said.
I thought about his statement for a moment then asked, “What else does the Seventh Insight say about dreams?”
Pablo told me that dreams come to tell us something about our lives that we are missing. Then he said something else but instead of listening, I started to think about Marjorie. I could see her face clearly in my mind and I wondered where she might be, then I saw her running up to me smiling.