Affogato BrewBiz
Book One
E.M. Lindsey
Affogato
E.M. Lindsey
Copyright © 2023
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, jobs, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover by: Natasha Snow Designs
Editing: Abrianna Denae
Content warnings: This book contains a video of a breakup going viral that was taken without the consent of the main character, an attempted non-consensual kiss notbetween main characters, audism, ableism, identity struggles, and some mentions/instances of homophobia, past childhood neglect and language deprivation in the form of denying d/Deaf children access to sign language.
Foreword
Author Notes
Affogato
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue EM Lindsey Links
Also by E.M. Lindsey About the Author
Contents
Foreword
The primary language in Affogato is American Sign Language. In the book, it is translated rather than transliterated, so it reads as English, however ASL has its own grammar and structure. If you'd like to know more about ASL grammar, please refer HERE to the Lifeprint website. This book also uses some colloquial ASL phrases and idioms that cannot be directly translated exactly. Those will be shown in italics. Always remember, if you plan to learn any signed language, choose a Deaf instructor.
This book also contains an autistic character which is a very diverse spectrum disorder, and not one-sizefits-all. Some of Bodhi’s traits are sensory-seeking which means a preference for physical touch and movement, and selective mutism which affects both voice and ASL.
This book also does not use person-first language, I.E. characters are Deaf people, not people who are Deaf, or they are autistic, not people who are autistic. Person-first language is a personal choice, and not everyone’s preference.
Despitefindingsuccessinhiscareer,theBrewBizDeafCaféowner's lovelifeisanotherstory.BecauseCaleb'slongestrelationshipjust cametoascreechinghaltwhenhisexcheated.
Thendumpedhim.Publicly.Andthevideoofitwentviral. Resignedtohisfateofbeingfamousonlybecausetheworldsawhis publichumiliation,Calebturnssourandbitter.It'seasytohidehis feelingsafterthat,andit'seveneasiertoignorewhathisheartreally wants:thenewhirewho'ssoanxious,hejumpsathisownshadow. Italsodoesn’thelpthatBodhiistooyoung,toogoodlooking,and toosweetforamanlikeCalebtoeverdeservehim. EspeciallywhenCaleb'sbeennothingbutterribletohimfromthe momenttheymet.
Butthere'smoretoBodhi'sstorythanmeetstheeye,andhemight justbethemanwhocanteachCalebthemeaningoflovewithout strings,orexpectations. Thekindoflovethatleadstorealhappilyeverafters.
Chapter 1
“IT’S NOT PERSONAL. But it’s a good time to tell you that I think we should break up.”
Caleb blinked, then shook his head like maybe he was just high on coffee fumes or something and wasn’t understanding his boyfriend correctly.
But no. No, apparently, he was.
Cameron stood there with that little smirk on his face Caleb always fucking hated, his hands hanging kind of loose in the air like he couldn’t be bothered to sign with more than the bare minimum effort.
Caleb told himself the tremble in his fingers was from the caffeine and not from the adrenaline rushing through his system as he was apparently getting dumped, “I saw you on Instagram kissing some guy, and you’re dumping me, and telling me it’s not personal?”
Cameron was alsodumping him in front of an audience, Caleb suddenly noticed.
He zeroed in on the expression Cameron wore, and the way his pupils were dilated, and he immediately knew his now-ex had not only plannedthis, but he was enjoying it. Cameron was the kind of guy who liked to laugh at people who tripped and fell on the street, so it was no surprise he was getting pleasure out of hurting Caleb in front of a crowd.
He didn’t know why he expected better, but he had assumed Cameron would have allowed him to retain some of his privacy in a
moment like this. They’d been together for three years, for fuck’s sake. Caleb sort of assumed he’d earned some kind of respect.
Or, at the very least, dignity.
Cameron’s whole chest moved with his sigh. “Okay fine. It is personal, but shit happens, C.” C. Like he couldn’t be bothered to use Caleb’s actual sign name, which was hardly any more effort than the letter. “And even youhave to know that things between us haven’t been great. I mean, why do you think Javier and I started sleeping together.”
Well, no. He hadn’tknown things were so bad his boyfriend started cheating, thank you very fucking much.
He knew that over the last two years he’d been busier than he’d ever been in his life because owning and running a café was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He was fighting people who wanted to turn his all-Deaf café into a gimmick instead of taking him seriously as an actual business.
Andhe was learning a whole new skill set because he definitely did not have the kind of mind for marketing or numbers.
So maybe he wasn’t as present as he’d been when they first got together, but he thought Cameron had understood that sometimes people had to make sacrifices for their dreams. God knows he’d done that enough for Cameron over the years.
But apparently, he was wrong about that too. And now he couldn’t get the gorgeous, dark-haired guy out of his head. Javier— who lived in town and had a German Shephard that looked too much like the one Caleb’s brother owned. Javier, who had a smile like the sun, who apparently had no problem posting photos of him kissing a man who had a boyfriend to his public Instagram for the world to see.
“You never said anything,” he signed, his wrists feeling weak. “If you were this miserable, why didn’t you tell me before you cheated?”
Cameron made that face he did whenever he thought Caleb was being too sensitive. “I didn’t think I needed to. When was the last time we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, C? When was the
last time we just tore at each other’s clothes and went at it for hours?”
Caleb blinked at him, not quite sure how to answer that considering they’d been together for damn near a decade and he wasn’t sure it was supposed to be the honeymoon phase after that long. But fuck, was that the problem? Was hethe problem? His cheeks started to burn with both humiliation and panic.
Had they everbeen that hot and heavy? Maybe in the beginning, but it was new then. They were younger. And they weren’t even exclusively dating. Caleb had been working as a maintenance guy for some fortune five hundred company, and Cameron had been finishing up the last year of his MBA and doing his internship in accounting.
They’d started sneaking around during their shifts, and it had been fun, but it wasn’t meant to be serious. But two years after their fooling around, Cameron asked him on a date, and that was that.
Caleb hadn’t expected them to keep up that kind of fire forever. He hadn’t expected to stay perpetually horny for his boyfriend after they moved in together. He assumed they were doing the right thing —settling down when they started talking about marriage and a future.
He wasn’t exactly a relationship expert or anything, but for fuck’s sake, he didn’t know anyone who could live up to Cameron’s demands.
The fairytales always stopped at the first kiss, but an entire lifetime existed beyond them, and they weren’t all midnight rendezvous and ballroom dancing and rescuing damsels from their locked towers.
“Say something,” Cameron urged. “Say anything. Give me a reason to keep standing here.”
Caleb felt both furious and sick as he glanced out of his periphery to see at least four people trying to look casual as they held cell phones pointed at them. His face started to go hot again, and slightly numb, and his mind went a little foggy. It was a new sensation.
He lifted his hands to form some kind of reply, but what the fuck was he meant to say? And did he really need to say it in front of people who were recording him?
Jesus, someone was going to post it online and talk about how fucking beautiful ASL was, all while Caleb’s life was being turned upside down.
Shit, he was going to be sick.
“Do you want me to beg for you to stay?” he finally asked.
Cameron laughed. “If you want to. I always liked seeing you on your knees. But if you want honesty, it won’t help. I’m already packed, and by the time you get home, most of my stuff will be gone.”
God, how long had he been planning this?
“So you and him are a thingnow.”
“Please, C. You knowI’ve been half out of this relationship for a while now.” When Caleb looked into his face, he saw that Cameron’s pupils had dilated and his lips were twisted into a smirk. He was enjoying this so much. “I’ve been sleeping around on you since we met. Javi isn’t the first. I know you’re not thatstupid.”
He stumbled back a few steps like he’d been hit, the space near the left side of his ribs hurting like he was having a goddamn heart attack. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. His fingers shook harder with his reply. “Why the hell do you think I’d know that you were sleeping around? Do you think we’d be having this conversation right now if I knew you were cheating the whole time?”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “You were always so dramatic.”
There was more movement in his periphery and Caleb realized he couldn’t take it. Cameron thought it was a joke, the random strangers around him thought it was some kind of performance art piece, and his life was crumbling at his feet.
For a second, he felt like he was dying. He was outside of his body, entirely numb, watching it happen to someone else.
Help, he wanted to beg. Someonefuckinghelp me.
Then, suddenly, there was a hand on his wrist. He yanked himself back, his fight or flight rippling up his spine, and he almost started punching before he recognized the dark hair and light brown
eyes of his newest employee. An instant calm stole over him—almost like the eye of his emotional storm was passing over them both.
Bodhi. The younger man grazed the back of Caleb’s wrist. His touch was so, sowarm.
Caleb was finally able to take a breath and his gaze fixed to Bodhi’s lips because the guy never, ever signed when there were people watching. “Come with me.”
Caleb was the worst at reading lips, but he was hyper focused, so he was able to understand. And even if he hadn’t, Bodhi touched his shoulder and gently propelled him toward the door. Caleb was only barely aware of his brother passing by him, his hands flying along with Luke’s who was presumably explaining to Wren what the hell had just happened.
Because, of course, it wasn’t just strangers who had witnessed the whole thing. It was every customer in the café, and every employee that worked under him.
Jesus God in heavenjust bury him under cement and leave him there.
Caleb was entirely unaware of moving through the café and into his office until he was being pushed into his cushy chair, and then Bodhi was kneeling in front of him. His lips were moving, probably saying something soothing, but it set Caleb off.
His hand slapped down on the wood, making Bodhi jump, his eyes staring up, wide and terrified. “I can’t understand you. I can’t read lips. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Sorry,” Bodhi signed quickly his eyes darting away, his fist moving in a stuttered circle over his heart.
He wasn’t nearly as expressive as he needed to be, and Wren had mentioned that he had a feeling Bodhi was on the spectrum. Neither one of them wanted to make assumptions, though, and Bodhi hadn’t said anything about it, so Caleb felt he wasn’t wrong to assume Bodhi was just being lazy.
“Sorry,” Bodhi signed again. He stood up and took a few steps back, and for some reason, the space between them caused Caleb’s panic to rise harder and faster than before.
He didn’t realize that he was gasping for breath until Bodhi was rushing forward, dropping to his knees and pressing a hand to Caleb’s chest. He tapped out a count on Caleb’s wrist: one,two, three.One,two,three.
On and on it went until Caleb could fill his lungs again, and his head wasn’t spinning, and it didn’t feel like he was about to topple off the side of a fucking mountain. He licked his lips, his tongue painfully dry, and he groped around on the shelf behind his chair for his water.
It was tepid which made it easier to swallow, and he passed a hand down his face which was shaking like he was out in a frigid winter. A laugh bubbled against the back of his throat, and it must have been loud because Bodhi startled and almost fell back.
“Sorry,” Caleb signed, then shook out his hand to try and get his limbs to calm down. His fight had turned into flight and all he wanted to do was race out the side door and go home and never look back. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Panic attack,” Bodhi spelled, slow on his fingers. “I get them all the time. Have you had one before?”
Caleb shook his head. “No. My brother gets them, though. I just didn’t realize they felt like that.”
“Like you’re dying?” Bodhi asked.
Caleb scoffed and leaned back, rotating his wrists before he answered. “Is that what it’s like for you?”
Bodhi stood up, but instead of moving away, he perched his hip against Caleb’s desk, and Caleb didn’t want to admit how grateful he was that Bodhi was still crowded in kind of close. It should have felt claustrophobic, but instead, it was just a small comfort.
“Not always,” Bodhi signed. “Sometimes I get really angry and I don’t realize it’s a panic attack until it’s over. It’s like, every sensation just pisses me off, and I want to scream and hit things until I can take a full breath.”
Caleb froze and wondered if maybe he’d been having panic attacks for a long time, because in spite of the fact that he was generally a happy person who enjoyed being around his friends and his brother, he had his random angry moments.
He had more than his fair share, actually, especially lately. And God, what if that was why Cameron cheated? What if he’d driven him to…
He snapped out of his thoughts at the sight of Bodhi’s hand waving. “Are you panicking again?”
Caleb took a quick assessment, then shook his head. “No.” He paused for a long second. “Did you see everything?”
“I saw most of it,” Bodhi confessed, looking a little sheepish. “I didn’t understand everything. You both sign so fast.”
Caleb bristled at the criticism until he realized Bodhi was aiming that comment at himself. Caleb was trying his best to be patient with him. According to what Bodhi had told Wren, he and his brother were born deaf to a hearing family who had mainstreamed the twins. They’d only started learning ASL their freshman year of college, and he was now in his last semester of his senior year.
He reminded himself that Wren had gone through almost the exact same thing. Caleb’s parents had only given in and sent him to the Deaf school because unlike Wren, Caleb’s implants had failed, and he stubbornly refused to behave in his speech therapy. Eventually his mom realized if Caleb was going to have a life, she’d have to send him somewhere he could understand and be understood.
Then Wren became the golden child and Caleb had hated him for so long—until he realized how much Wren had suffered because of it.
And maybe he was taking his frustrations out on a guy who really didn’t deserve it because Bodhi was sweet. He was a lot sweeter to Caleb than he deserved most of the time. He’d showed up with his resume in his bag and Signed English on his hands and a promise that he would get better because he was tired of living the way he was living.
Caleb had protested, but Wren had fought for him, and now Caleb could see why.
At the time, Caleb just assumed his brother had a crush. It made sense, considering Bodhi was obscenely good looking and easy to
get along with so long as the person didn’t have the same chip on his shoulder Caleb did.
And hell, maybe he was just…jealous. His life had obviously been a shit-show for a while now, he just had no idea until Cameron decided it set it all on fire. Publicly.
“Do you think I did this?” Caleb found himself asking.
Bodhi’s eyes widened. “Did what?”
“Drove Cameron to cheat.”
Bodhi’s mouth dropped open, but before Caleb could correct him, it snapped shut. “No. Is that what he told you?”
Caleb bit his lip, then shook his head and made sure to sign slower than he normally would so Bodhi could follow. “No. But he acted like I had no right to be angry or surprised that he did. He assumed I knew this was coming. So maybe it was my fault. Maybe I bring out the worst in everyone.”
Bodhi looked horrified, and Caleb felt a warm pulse of affection for him because he certainly hadn’t done anything to earn Bodhi blindly taking his side. “There’s nothing worse than cheating.” He spelled the last word painfully slowly and stiff almost like his fingers were hurting. “And nothing you did to him would make you deserve being treated like that. Nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he signed after a beat. His hands were shaking less now, thank God. “He already moved out.” When Bodhi frowned in confusion, Caleb laughed, the feeling of it bitter against the back of his throat. “He just told me he’s already got someone moving his stuff out. He’s clearly been planning this for a while.”
“He didn’t even talk to you about it?”
“Not until tonight.” Caleb shrugged and sat back, rubbing at his eyes until he saw stars. When his vision cleared again, he gave Bodhi a tired, flat look. “Can you go get my brother?”
There was a flash of hurt in Bodhi’s eyes that he was being so easily dismissed, but Caleb didn’t have the energy to prioritize the guy’s feelings right then. He wanted to be able to sign faster and looser than classroom ASL, and not double-check every hand placement to make sure Bodhi understood.
Everything felt like it was covered in a thick layer of static electricity—kind of fuzzy and foggy, yet sharp at the same time. His skin hurt, and he wondered if Wren felt like this every time he spiraled.
“Please,” he added when Bodhi carefully stepped away. “I need to go home.”
At that, Bodhi softened immediately. “BRB,” he spelled, then he was out the door.
The moment he was alone, the walls started to press down around him, and Caleb fought for breath before he reminded himself that this was a good thing. He wasn’t in love with Cameron anymore. He loved him.
Maybe. Probably.
Though he wasn’t sure he believed that now, if he was being honest with himself. He’d been content in his life with Cameron. He was glad to have someone to come home to—to sleep beside and share breakfast with in the morning whenever Cameron was home for it.
He was too happy to believe that everything was good and it was probably because Caleb hated change. And he hated being alone. Was thatlove?
The prospect of starting over was more terrifying than adjusting to being alone, but he was pretty sure relationships should run a lot deeper than just having someone around to fill the silences.
His head snapped up when the door swung open and Wren poked his head in. His brother looked almost sheepish, and Caleb was afraid to ask. Instead, his gaze flickered down to Wren’s hand to check for bloody knuckles because Wren’s solutions tended to come at the end of his fists.
“Is he gone?” Caleb asked, closing his eyes in a long blink.
“Yeah, he’s gone. He won’t be back.” Wren dragged an industrial sack of flour over to the edge of Caleb’s desk and sat down on it like it was a bean bag chair.
Caleb nodded, then felt a hot rush of emotion clawing at the back of his throat and with some horror, he realized he was about to
cry. He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
Wren frowned. “Are you sure?”
Caleb’s finger hovered near his chest. “I…”
And then the fucking dam broke. He felt hot tears coursing down his cheeks and the tightness in his throat as he tried to force breath out. Wren was on his feet instantly, grabbing Caleb round the back of the neck and holding him tight. He could feel the sobs rippling at the back of his throat, and he didn’t give a shit how loud he was. Let all the customers hear. They’d already seen the worst part of that night, anyway.
He felt shaky all over again, and wrung out like a used dish cloth. All he wanted to do was curl up under his covers and lay there until these feelings passed. But he also knew it didn’t work like that. Once he was under control, he pulled back and swiped his hands over his face.
“Sorry…” he started once he’d pulled back enough to give them both signing space.
“Don’t,” Wren snapped. “He’s lucky I didn’t beat his fucking face unrecognizable.”
Caleb rolled his eyes, but he felt the barest smile touch his lips because he loved his brother so much. He’d spent a lot of years resenting his brother, and while he’d done everything in his power to make up for it, he wasn’t sure he’d have been as forgiving as Wren was.
But he was profoundly grateful for it now.
“He said he’s moving out tonight, but I don’t know if I can be in that condo right now. Or ever,” he added.
Wren’s brows lifted. “You want to move? You loveyour place,” he said, using a fist-kissfor emphasis. “You can’t let that ugly piece of shit take your home from you.”
Caleb bit his lip, then let out a long sigh because truebiz, he did love his condo as much as he loved his café. Cameron hadn’t given a single fuck where they lived so Caleb had been the one to do all the real estate hunting, paying every dime and keeping it all in his name because Cameron didn’t want the stress of ownership. He’d also
taken care of all the decorating, turning the place from house to home.
For Caleb, it had been his sanctuary—hard fought, hard won.
For Cameron, it had been a place to lay his head and occasionally fuck Caleb when he was bored or horny.
So yeah, Wren was right. He didn’t need a new place. He just needed to purge it of all the things that reminded Caleb of what had once been.
He looked up when Wren touched his wrist. “You can stay with me as long as you want. Mousey will be happy to have his uncle there.”
Caleb wanted to cry all over again at the thought of being able to cuddle with Wren’s German Shephard. Mouse was Wren’s hearing dog, and he was massive. He’d just turned seven, so he was out of the puppy phase and happy to cuddle more than he wanted to tearass around the yard and destroy things when he wasn’t on duty.
And Caleb loved him more than most of the people Wren brought around.
“Would you mind closing up tonight? I think I need to get out of here. There were people filming…”
“I know,” Wren signed, his fingers giving an angry tap against his temple. His face was drawn with fury. “I tried to take care of that, too. A couple of them were the girls from the nail shop next door, so I’m going to be talking to Mindy tomorrow.”
“Just leave it,” Caleb told him as he pushed to stand. He didn’t have the energy for that kind of fight. He was no stranger to being filmed by randos in public since the advent of live streaming and phones with professional-level cameras in them.
As he steadied himself, his body felt a little weak and his head was foggy, but he was more stable than before. So long as Cameron really was gone and he could get to his car in peace, he’d be fine. “I’m going to go out the back door so I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t think I can handle explaining what happened to everyone else.”
Wren nodded, tapping his Y-hand in the air. Peh-peh. “I think they get it. We all hated Cameron anyway, and we kind of saw this
coming.”
Caleb’s brows flew up, and a small part of him wanted to demand to know why the fuck none of them had said anything before now, but he also knew he probably wouldn’t have believed them if they’d tried. He would have picked a fight and it would have ended badly, and ah hell, had he become that boss everyone was trying to avoid?
One of the perks of being in the Deaf community was trusting the blunt honesty of the people around him, so what did that say about him that no one was willing to be truthful?
Before he could ask, or start falling apart again, Wren was tugging him close and hugging him tight with one hand, the other rubbing a soothing line up his side. He could feel a faint rumble coming from his brother’s chest, but he knew Wren wasn’t speaking. He was just humming the way he used to do when they were younger.
The vibrations were soothing and soft, like the way Caleb always imagined a melody would be.
He pulled back after a beat and tipped his fingers from his chin. “Thanks.”
Wren shoved him with a small grin. “Go home. I have plenty of ice cream and cookies if you need comfort food. And the guest room is clean, so it’s all yours.”
Caleb reached out and squeezed a grip around the back of his brother’s neck in a gentle thanks, his other hand shooting him a four-fingered IRLY, then turned on his heel, grabbed his keys from his desk, and escaped before he could delay any further. He really did just need some space from all the chaos. He’d figure out the rest as it came.
Chapter 2
THE ONLY GOOD thing about the chatter in his class was the constant stream of noise. It allowed Bodhi to fuck with the settings on his app so he could adjust his hearing aids to filter them out and better hear the professor. At least, that’s what was supposedto happen. His audiologist had promised him these new, gut-wrenchingly expensive little devices were capable of making his life easier.
And they did filter out the background noise. He’d give them that. They also had Bluetooth so he could stream music, which helped him when the chaotic noise of being on campus started to give him a migraine. But even the slightest sounds were overwhelming at the best of times, and he was fighting the urge not to shut them off completely and sink into his silence.
Being born deaf was probably the best thing that could have happened to his autistic brain because all he had to do was take his hearing aids out and it would remove one of the stressors that had him fighting off sensory-overload meltdowns. But he had lectures all afternoon, so there was no peace to be had that day. And while he had work which would allow him silence, it came with the demand for signing.
And Bodhi hatedsigning where people could see him.
Most of the time it was the overwhelming awareness of hearing people staring at him.
And the rest was the humiliation of being surrounded by a bunch of Deaf people whose hands and fingers moved elegantly, like
flowing water, while he was like a goddamn toddler trying to learn fine motor skills.
Bodhi’d had big dreams when he and his brother started college. He was free of his oppressive grandparents and their ban on sign language, which meant he’d be able to embrace the language that came naturally to his brain. And early on, he’d been motivated and excited to set foot into a culture he’d only seen on the internet.
His freshman year ASL professor had introduced him to Oscar, a former TA of his that occasionally worked as a Deaf mentor and had agreed to be his that first semester. But it didn’t take long for Bodhi to realize that maybe he didn’t fit in with Deaf culture, either. His brain just didn’t work the way other people’s did. In class, he was constantly and gently criticized for his slow progress, and his struggle with facial expressions, and his distracting stimming.
It was humiliation to watch his brother—his twin, younger by three minutes—embrace their identity and immediately find a place for himself while Bodhi still existed on the fringes, weird, unwanted, and unliked.
Ravi had gone out of his way to include Bodhi, but he also threw himself into the community—joining the Deaf Club and attending all the events, and going voice-off for nearly all of his day. He never gave up on trying to get Bodhi involved, but the more he pushed, the more Bodhi panicked.
And after his first year, catching several people taking videos of his conversations, Bodhi couldn’t bring himself to do it anymore. Every time he thought about people watching him like he was some kind of zoo animal, his throat would get tight, and the panic would overwhelm him, and he’d shut down.
Or, when it was the worst, he’d have a public meltdown. And he was goddamn sick and tired of those. He’d been determined save them for when he was hiding under his blanket in his dorm room so he wouldn’t have the same reputation he had in high school, but it was next to impossible when almost everything was a trigger.
The only comforting thing at the moment was that he was in his final semester of his senior year. And while he had another two years of grad school looming over him, he’d at least be almost done with
all the jackass frat boys who either mimicked his accent or mocked his stimming fingers because they never quite matured past sixth grade.
He was looking forward to the day he didn’t have to do this anymore. Of course, that meant facing his future and figuring out what the hell he wanted to do with it, but that was a problem for future Bodhi.
Current Bodhi was busy giving up on trying to ensure he could hear his professor so he didn’t bomb his next quiz.
His stomach twisted in on itself and he took a breath until the nausea passed.
The door opened shortly after—he knew with the way everyone turned to look—and the crotchety old history professor hobbled his way to the front of the room. Even with the seat nearest to the podium, Bodhi could never understand Professor Johnson. His voice was a faint, wispy echo of what it had probably once-been when he was a younger man. Bodhi got by with borrowing notes from kinder students who sat near him, and doing more than the assigned reading in order to stay ahead of the information Johnson was giving. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d managed to scrape by on a B average that way.
“Good…time…begin. Notes…chapter…page two…ty. Who wants… first?”
He narrowed his eyes and focused on the professor’s lips, then prayed to God he wouldn’t miss anything as the lecture began.
Bodhi was halfway down the corridor and almost to freedom when he felt someone tug on his arm. The sensation shot straight up his neck, and it was only a lifetime of masking that kept him from visibly cringing as he turned to see a couple sorority sisters wearing matching pins and hair so similar, he struggled to tell them apart. He was pretty sure they sat in the back of Johnson’s class when they bothered to show.
The tallest one—who was presumably their pack leader—offered him what he assumed was a placating smile.
“Umm yes?” he said aloud.
“Yeah, so, you’re like…deaf, right? That’s what those things are for?” She pointed to his hearing aids, and he felt his cheeks heat up.
“I can’t teach you sign language, if that’s what you’re asking,” he told her flatly.
She rolled her eyes. “Dude. No. Ew. But did you hear—oh shit. Sorry,” she said.
Bodhi blinked in confusion, and it took him a good several seconds to realize what she thought was a faux pas. He waved her off. “It’s fine.”
Her cheeks were faintly tinged pink, but she nodded and squared her shoulders like she was about to give a speech to the UN. “Cool. So, did you hear about that video that went viral? Someone shot it last night at that café with all the…” She waved her hand in a mockery of ASL which he’d long-since grown used to seeing.
It took him another second to process what she was saying again, then horror stole over him because he realized she was talking about the other night at BrewBiz. And Caleb’s break-up. Bodhi had seen the people by their cars taking video on their phones when Caleb and Cameron had their confrontation outside, but he hadn’t really thought about it at the time.
He was more focused on getting Caleb the hell out of there because Bodhi recognized a raging panic attack when he saw one, considering he had them at least twice a day. Cameron had swaggered into the lobby and had made a scene until Caleb agreed to go out front with him, and ten minutes later, all hell had broken loose.
It was possible no one would have even known what was going on, but Wren had been watching out the window and Bodhi had seen it when the younger brother’s face went pale. Then red and pissed.
Bodhi was the newest employee at BrewBiz, but he’d been there long enough to witness Wren’s temper at least half a dozen times. It was never aimed at the employees, but whenever shitty hearing
people came in, acting like their sign menu was some kind of joke, Wren unleashed his passive aggressive hell on them.
And sometimes—in rarer cases—he’d drop the passive part.
Swallowing thickly, Bodhi looked up at the blonde. “Do you have it? Can I see it?”
“Yeah. Um. We were actually kind of hoping you could tell us what they were saying. It’s like super rude that no one even captioned it, you know? You know how that is, right?”
He ignored that comment in favor of staring down at her phone screen, and sure enough, there was Caleb looking like he wanted to be sick all over his shoes, and Cameron looking like he was taking actual joy in hurting the other man.
Bodhi felt more rage welling up in him.
He’d wanted to punch Cameron last night. Now he wanted to set his face on fire.
“Could…for…please?”
Bodhi looked up at the woman in front of him. “What?”
“I asked if you could translate it for us,” she said, sounding annoyed and impatient now.
Bodhi took a step back, debated about a snarky answer before he decided no answer was better, and he walked off. He was pretty sure they called a couple insults after him, but the sound blended into the other formless noises that just compiled into his evergrowing headache.
His bag felt too heavy and all he wanted was to escape to his dorm and rock quietly on his bed until all the badness went away. Instead, he took a turn and headed into the tunnel, slipping past the automatic doors and into the bookstore where his brother was working.
Ravi always worked the coffee bar, and Bodhi could see the edge of his bun, which was tied up at the back of his head, bobbing slightly as he steamed milk in a metal pitcher. Not for the first time, Bodhi thought about how much better Ravi would have been at BrewBiz than he was, but there had only been one opening and Ravi had all-but threatened Bodhi until he applied.
He still had no idea why. Logic told him it was because Ravi wanted him to connect better with Deaf people, but if that was the case, it was clear that even his twin didn’t understand him.
His anxiety wasn’t not being around enough Deaf people and didn’t know how to make a connection with them.
It was the fact that Bodhi just didn’t connect with anyone at all. And he never had.
Ravi seemed to think there would be this one moment—this, like, lightbulb moment that would change everything and suddenly he’d be socially normal. Whatever the fuck that was, because being like Ravi sounded like a nightmare to him. But it hurt to know Ravi wanted to fix him so damn badly. He just wanted to be himself and he didn’t understand why his own brother didn’t get that.
Ravi spotted him a few second later and waved, then signed over the counter, “Sit down. You want a tea?”
Bodhi glanced around him before lifting his fist and nodding it, and he ignored Ravi’s eyeroll. Bodhi wasn’t the best at understanding subtle facial expressions, but luckily Ravi had never been subtle a day in his life. He glanced around before selecting a table in the very back of the café area where there was only one guy nearby working on his laptop.
The quiet settled around him like a soft blanket, the shop noise muted by the stacks of textbooks. He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes until he felt a sharp tap on his arm. It took him a second to force his eyes back open, and he saw his brother’s face looking almost as tired as he felt.
“What’s wrong?” Ravi signed, tapping his hand on his chin.
Bodhi glanced around and although the café was relatively empty, discomfort clawed at him, making his headache worse. He hooked his finger over his ear. “Please,” he added aloud. He didn’t necessarily mind asking Ravi to go voice-on since Ravi could physically hear better than he could. He just knew that Ravi hated it.
But Ravi never told him no, even when it pissed him off. He fished his hearing aid box out of his apron, then took the tall chair next to him. “You have to get over this shit, Bodhi. It’s embarrassing.”
Bodhi didn’t even feel the sting of Ravi’s words. He felt strung out and wound too tightly. All of the sensations around him were equally high and he had no room to prioritize emotional hurt over the physical one. He just said nothing, curling his hands around the tea that was just slightly hotter than tepid.
His brother didn’t ever really get why Bodhi needed things a certain way, but Ravi had also seen how shredded Bodhi had been under the “tender loving care” of their grandparents, so he indulged him. Even if he thought it was ridiculous. The heat sank into his palms and felt instantly soothing.
“I think my work is in trouble. Well,” he amended. “I think my boss is in trouble.”
Ravi’s middle finger touched the side of his head and dropped down. “Why?”
“Class gave me a migraine today,” he started.
Ravi scoffed. “Because you won’t use a fucking interpreter.”
Bodhi let out a bone-deep sigh. “Can you not? Please? This isn’t about that.”
Ravi’s gaze hardened for a second before he relented, and he waved his hand. “Fine. Go on.”
“This girl stopped me in the hallway when I was trying to get out. One of the blonde ones with those sorority pins.”
Ravi grinned a little wickedly and Bodhi didn’t need to ask to know what that face meant. He was enjoying college in every way that people were meant to enjoy it, while Bodhi stood on the sidelines and tried to figure out why he couldn’t unwind enough to at least go on a date.
“Was she hot?”
“I don’t find women hot,” Bodhi said quietly.
Ravi’s mouth moved like he wanted to say something, and Bodhi strained to hear if he was making any noise, but he could only make out the faint tinnitus that never left him.
“Sorry,” Ravi eventually said. “Go on.”
Bodhi’s stomach started to ache again, and he sipped his tea, trying to chase off the nausea, but he couldn’t think about the night
before without wanting to be sick. “My boss got dumped during my shift.”
Ravi’s brows shot up. “Seriously?”
“In front of everyone. His boyfriend—his ex,” he amended, remembering the devastated look on Caleb’s face, “took him outside and totally destroyed him. Said he was leaving him. Said he’d been cheating on him.”
Ravi’s face fell. “Shit.”
Bodhi let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. It was so awful. And there were all these people with phones, and…” He trailed off with a stressed hum. His fingers started stimming, so he shoved his hands under the table and let them dance across his thighs. “I think one of the videos went viral. That’s what that girl showed me in the hall. She asked me to interpret it.”
“Did you?” Ravi asked.
Bodhi felt immediate, burning offense in his chest. “No. God, why would I do that?”
“Just asking,” Ravi said softly, Bodhi mostly reading the word from his lips. “Does your boss know about the video?”
“I don’t know. No one’s sent a text to the work chat or anything, but I’m…” He swallowed heavily and forced his fingers to stop moving so he could think about his words. “Do I have to tell him if he doesn’t know?”
Ravi’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“What if he comes into work and he has no idea that this video is going around, and these sorority girls are out here asking people to interpret the ASL? It’s so…it’s humiliating,” he blurted, choking on the word. “He was so upset last night, Rav. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to be one more person that has to hurt him.” He rocked gently in his seat, letting out another hum. It was the only thing that was soothing the chaos in his chest.
Ravi’s face did that thing it always did when he finally understood what Bodhi was trying to say, and he laid his hands on the table, leaning in close. “You don’t have to tell him. If it doesn’t affect his work, he doesn’t need to know. I mean, he saw the people too, right? The ones taking the video?”
Bodhi nodded. “Yeah. I think so. They were hard to miss.”
Ravi’s face fell into an expression of rage which mirrored the way Bodhi was feeling inside. “Fucking nosy assholes.”
Bodhi shrugged. “It happens all the time. Like…like whenever you and I used to—”
“I know,” Ravi said. “I get it.”
And it was true. He did. The difference was, it didn’t bother him the same way it bothered Bodhi. Ravi didn’t lose sleep at night thinking of strangers treating him like he had no right to privacy and passing around videos on TikTok or YouTube.
Bodhi would have given anything to shut that part of his brain off and not give a shit, but it didn’t work like that. There was no switch to flip to make it all stop.
“What if he knows?” Bodhi asked after a beat. “What if someone sent him the video? He’ll have to live with knowing the whole world watched him get dumped.”
“It sounds to me like your boss’s ex made a literal ass of himself. Even if the world is watching, they’re going to be on his side.”
Bodhi scoffed. “Yeah, but they won’t even know what they’re saying. They’ll be like, aww two besties talking in sign language outside of a café. Isn’t ASL so beautiful?”
Ravi sneered. “Fuck those people. I know it bothers you, but I bet Caleb can ignore it.”
Bodhi wasn’t sure if that was a dig at him, or an attempt to make him feel better. Whatever it was, it only increased the discomfort rushing through him and his fingers began to move again. “I’m gonna head back to the room. I think I’m going to skip chem tonight.”
Ravi shrugged though Bodhi didn’t expect him to care considering how many classes he’d skipped since they started at the university. “Want me to bring you dinner?”
“I’ll text you,” Bodhi said. At the moment, eating sounded like hell, and he wasn’t sure it was going to get better for the rest of the night. He was only grateful he had three days off and prayed to whatever god was listening that by the time he had his next shift, the world would have forgotten all about Caleb’s public humiliation.
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— Questa è strana! — esclamò Alonzo, stupito. — Si sono mai veduti degli uccelli così poco diffidenti? se allungo una mano posso prenderli.
— E se tu scarichi su di loro il tuo fucile, vedresti che si lasciano ammazzare senza fuggire, — disse il dottore.
— Ma che uccelli sono?
— Si chiamano Ani o meglio, per la loro bruttezza, uccelli diavolo. Sono così poco diffidenti che non temono l’uomo e si godono a vivere in buona armonia con tutti, perfino cogli animali.
— Anche cogli animali?
— Sì, ma non feroci. Se vedono dei branchi di buoi, li raggiungono tosto, si posano famigliarmente sul dorso di quei ruminanti e si mettono a sbarazzarli degl’insetti parassiti.
— E vivono in società questi uccelli?
— Sì, Alonzo. Si uniscono in quindici o venti fra maschi e femmine e vivono nella migliore armonia, volando e cantando assieme. Anche i loro nidi li costruiscono in comune.
— E vanno d’accordo le femmine?
— Pienamente.... ma, guarda laggiù, su quel cespuglio.
Alonzo guardò nella direzione indicata e vide sulla cima una specie di vaso coi margini rialzati, con una circonferenza di circa quattro piedi, costruito con pagliuzze di piante filamentose e con rami, ma intrecciati con poca arte, quantunque solidamente. Sopra quel vaso si scorgevano dieci o dodici uccelli occupati a covare gli uni vicini agli altri.
— Un nido di ani? — chiese Alonzo.
— Sì, giovanotto mio, — rispose il dottore.
— Ma non si mescolano le uova, trovandosi così unite?
— Talvolta, ma quelle brave madri non se ne danno per intese, anzitutto cercano di allungare le ali più che possono, per riparare le
uova delle vicine.
— Quale ammirabile accordo! E quando i piccini sono nati?
— Le madri nutriscono tutti indistintamente. È cosa certa che ognuna riconosce i propri figli; ma prima di pensare a loro, dà l’imbeccata ai più affamati delle altre, perchè sa che le compagne faranno altrettanto con tutti.
— Ah i bravi e buoni uccelli! Se gli uomini ne imitassero l’esempio!...
Volevo abbattere alcuni di questi volatili, ma ora vi rinunzio, dottore, sarebbe una cattiva azione.
— Hai ragione, giovanotto.
Alle due, dopo una breve dormita all’ombra delle grandi palme, si rimettevano alla vela volendo, prima del tramonto, giungere alla foce del Meta che è il più grande affluente dell’Orenoco.
Le sponde tendevano a cambiare. Le grandi foreste si diradavano rapidamente ed apparivano delle terre basse, paludose, coperte in parte da acque pesanti, oscure, esalanti miasmi micidiali. Erano le pripris o meglio le savanne tremanti, paludi senza fondo, ma coperte d’un terriccio mobile che inghiotte l’uomo che osa affidarsi su quei terreni acquatici. In mezzo a quelle acque nerastre, si vedevano contorcersi di quando in quando dei lunghi serpenti d’acqua e dei gimnoti, specie d’anguille che lanciano, sugli imprudenti che osano avvicinarle, delle scariche elettriche così potenti da rovesciarli e da paralizzarli per qualche ora. Sopra quelle pericolose paludi si vedevano invece volteggiare, un grande numero di bernacle, specie di oche selvatiche col dorso variegato di nero, la coda, il collo, ed il petto nero e la testa bianca. Anche questi volatili non temono l’uomo, anzi si posano sulla capanna degli indiani e vegliano meglio forse dei cani, gridando a piena gola quando s’avvicina qualche sconosciuto.
Verso le sette di sera, nel momento in cui il sole stava per nascondersi dietro alle foreste della sponda sinistra, la scialuppa, dopo aver vinta la rapida corrente che si rovesciava nell’Orenoco col fragore del tuono, giungeva alla foce del Meta.
XV.
Ancora i segnali misteriosi.
Il Meta, come fu detto, è il maggiore degli affluenti del maestoso Orenoco, poichè la sua larghezza è dieci volte maggiore del nostro Po e la sua lunghezza tocca quasi gli ottocento chilometri.
Prima del 1800 non conoscevasi che imperfettamente, quantunque fosse stato più volte visitato dai conquistadores spagnuoli che andavano in cerca del famoso Eldorado; ma dopo le esplorazioni accurate di don Josè Mandariga, inviato in missione dal governo del Caracas a quello di Santa Fè di Bogota nel 1811 e dopo le esplorazioni dell’italiano Grilli, si sa ove nasce ed esattamente ove sbocca.
Esso scende dai dirupati e nevosi fianchi della grande catena delle Ande al sud di Santa Fè di Bogota, scorre verso l’est-sud-est, poi piega decisamente all’est formando per un largo tratto il confine venezuelano e si scarica nell’Orenoco sotto la famosa cascata di Atures a 6° 15′ di lat. nord e 87° 97′ di long, ovest, dopo d’aver ricevuto l’Upia, il Cascana, il Crabo, l’Oripaura, il Chire, ed un braccio del Cassanare.
Le sue acque scendono lente, ma durante l’estate sono coperte da grandi ondate in causa dei venti impetuosi che lo dominano, e durante le sue piene diventa pericoloso per le enormi quantità di legname che trascina.
Solca terre fertilissime, ove il riso dà tre raccolti all’anno, e foreste immense antiche quanto il mondo, popolate da numerose tribù, dai Salivi, dagli Accaguè, dai Caveri e sopratutto dai Guaivi, indiani,
questi, assai bellicosi, che resistettero in ogni tempo alle armi degli spagnuoli e che respinsero sempre i missionari.
Un tempo sulle rive di quel grosso affluente, sorgevano molte missioni fondate dai frati Agostiniani, ma a poco a poco gl’indiani prima le abbandonarono, poi le distrussero quasi tutte.
I viaggiatori si erano arrestati all’estremità d’una penisola che si protendeva sull’Orenoco per parecchie centinaia di metri, dividendolo dalle acque del Meta. Era quasi scoperta e perciò era stata scelta ad evitare qualsiasi sorpresa da parte dei misteriosi indiani che li precedevano; però qua e là, a distanza, crescevano degli alberi stranissimi, ma che il dottore riconobbe subito per iriartree panciute.
Sono piante curiosissime che hanno un tronco rigonfio, panciuto verso il centro, alto dai venti ai venticinque metri, ma sostenuto, a tre metri dal suolo, da parecchie radici le quali scendono dal tronco dopo che sono sparite quelle normali, affondandosi profondamente entro terra. Hanno le foglie dentellate, che ricadono in basso come un vero parapioggia, lunghe dai tre ai quattro metri. Amano la vicinanza dell’acqua, anzi non soffrono quando la piena del fiume le copre in gran parte.
Non osando, di notte, affrontare la corrente del Meta che sboccava irata nell’Orenoco, respingendo le acque di questa fiumana per lungo tratto e producendo delle ondate che potevano riuscire pericolose, don Raffaele decise di accamparsi all’estremità di quella penisola.
Dopo la cena tesero le loro comode amache fra le iriartree e s’addormentarono sotto la guardia di Yaruri a cui spettava il primo quarto.
Il silenzio non era rotto che dai muggiti delle acque e da qualche grido emesso da un caimano, il quale si moveva verso l’estremità della penisola. Gli animali da preda tacevano, forse perchè in quei dintorni mancavano.
L’indiano, dall’alto della sua amaca, sorvegliava però attentamente non solo le sponde, ma anche la corrente dei due fiumi. Egli sperava sempre di poter scoprire i misteriosi indiani, che avevano cercato di assassinarlo con una freccia avvelenata.
Vegliava da due ore, quando sulla sponda opposta del Meta, lontana circa due chilometri, scorse un rapido bagliore, poi, attraverso alle fitte piante, un punto luminoso che ora si allargava e ora s’impiccioliva.
— Che siano indiani erranti o quelli che ci precedono? — si chiese.
Stette immobile alcuni minuti, cogli sguardi sempre fissi su quel punto luminoso, poi, non sapendo a quale partito appigliarsi, decise di svegliare don Raffaele.
Stava per scendere dall’amaca, quando vide il caimano che si avvoltolava all’estremità della penisola, arrestarsi, poi scendere nel fiume e tuffarsi rapidamente.
Qualunque altra persona non avrebbe fatto gran caso a quella scomparsa, ma l’indiano, abituato a notare i più piccoli avvenimenti come tutti i suoi compatrioti, che vivono in continuo sospetto, trovava che quella rapida fuga non era naturale.
Si gettò prontamente a terra, afferrò il fucile che don Raffaele gli aveva dato e si mise a strisciare verso l’estremità della penisola, tenendosi nascosto dietro ai cespugli che sorgevano qua è là.
Vi era appena giunto, quando vide, a soli cinquanta passi di distanza, avanzarsi con mille precauzioni, fra le piante acquatiche, un canotto e muovere diritto verso la scialuppa, la quale era stata ormeggiata alle radici d’una iriartrea.
Non si poteva distinguere da chi era montato, in causa dell’oscurità che era profonda ed anche perchè su quel canotto vi avevano gettato dei rami e delle canne che lo copriva da prua a poppa, in modo che si sarebbe potuto scambiare per un ammasso di vegetali abbandonati alla corrente.
— Sono furbi, — mormorò Yaruri. — Fortunatamente io conosco questi inganni; ma chi saranno? Gli indiani che ci precedono o dei predoni di fiume che sperano di rubarci la scialuppa?
S’alzò cautamente, armando il fucile. Il canotto, un montaria indiano a quanto pareva, s’avvicinava sempre mosso da due remi manovrati sotto l’ammasso di vegetali. Ad un tratto sulla riva opposta, dalla parte ove brillava il fuoco, echeggiò improvvisamente un grido simile a quello che emette il tucano.
— Il segnale che abbiamo udito! — esclamò Yaruri.
Il canotto, a quel grido, si era arrestato; poi aveva girato di bordo riprendendo subito il largo. Yaruri puntò rapidamente il fucile, mirò meglio che potè e fece fuoco.
Un grido partì sotto ai vegetali, ma il canotto non s’arrestò, anzi scese la corrente a tutta velocità e sparve fra i boschetti acquatici e le isolette che ingombravano la foce del fiume.
Quasi contemporaneamente, il fuoco che brillava sulla sponda opposta si spense.
Don Raffaele ed i suoi compagni, svegliati bruscamente da quello sparo, si erano precipitati giù dalle amache ed avevano raggiunto l’indiano.
— Su chi hai fatto fuoco? — chiesero.
— Su d’un canotto che s’avvicinava alla scialuppa, — rispose Yaruri.
— Montato da chi?
— Dagli indiani che ci precedono.
— Ne sei certo? — chiese don Raffaele, con viva emozione.
— Sì, perchè ho udito il loro segnale.
— Hai ucciso qualcuno?
— Non lo so, ma ho udito un grido.
— Dov’è il canotto?
È fuggito verso la foce.
— Bisogna inseguirlo.
— Ma il vento è debole, — osservò Alonzo.
— Non importa; avanti!
Ripiegarono in fretta le amache, sciolsero le vele e presero prontamente il largo, spingendo la scialuppa fra le onde del Meta.
Don Raffaele ed Alonzo si erano collocati a prua muniti di lunghi remi per evitare le scogliere ed i banchi sabbiosi, mentre Yaruri si era messo alla barra.
La corrente del Meta si riversava nell’Orenoco con furia estrema, respingendo le acque del grande fiume, le quali si sollevavano in cavalloni altissimi. Si udivano scrosci, e muggiti formidabili echeggiare per ogni dove, mentre s’alzava una nebbia umidissima che ricadeva poi sotto forma di pioggia.
Don Raffaele ed i suoi compagni aguzzavano gli orecchi e gli occhi colla speranza di udire ancora il segnale o di scoprire il canotto, ma invano. Lo strepito della corrente copriva qualunque altro rumore e l’oscurità era troppo profonda per poter scorgere una piccola imbarcazione, fra tutte quelle isole e quegli isolotti boscosi che si stendevano dinanzi alla foce per un grande tratto.
— Che si siano nascosti dietro a qualche isola? — chiese Alonzo a don Raffaele.
— Tanto meglio, — rispose questi. — Rimasti dietro di noi, più nulla avremmo da temere.
— Quanta ostinazione in quegli uomini!
— Hanno interesse a mantenere celato il secolare segreto della Città dell’oro.
— Ma cosa vorrebbero fare?
— Non li hai compresi? Avvertire i loro compatrioti sullo scopo del nostro viaggio e prepararli a respingerci.
— Allora bisogna lasciarli indietro. Mi stupisce però come ci abbiano preceduti mentre noi abbiamo le vele.
— Credi che anche loro non approfittino del vento? Se non hanno veramente delle vele, piantano a prua dei rami fitti o delle grandi foglie per raccogliere il vento e lavorano contemporaneamente coi remi. Tutti gl’indiani dell’Orenoco sono famosi ed instancabili battellieri e non si lasciano vincere da nessuno.
— Ma penso, cugino, che anche lasciando indietro quegli indiani, possono sorpassarci durante le nostre fermate notturne.
— Non ci fermeremo più, Alonzo. Oh!...
— Cosa vedi?
— Un punto luminoso dinanzi a noi e che fugge rapidamente.
— Il canotto?
— Forse.
— O qualche banda di moscas de luz?
— Yaruri, — disse don Raffaele, — scorgi quel punto luminoso che solca le acque?
— Sì, padrone.
— Cosa credi che sia?
— Una torcia accesa in un canotto.
— I furfanti ci sfuggono!
— Sono spariti, — disse Alonzo.
Infatti quel punto luminoso si era improvvisamente spento e più nulla scorgevasi sull’oscura superficie del fiume.
— Spero un giorno di raggiungerli, — disse don Raffaele, con rabbia concentrata. — Sopra le cateratte troveremo un vento più vigoroso e allora li sfido a precederci.
La scialuppa, che navigava colla rapidità di quattro miglia all’ora, continuò la caccia tutta la notte, ma senza successo, poichè quando l’alba spuntò nessun canotto appariva sulle acque della fiumana.
Non si scoraggiarono però e continuarono a navigare favoriti dal vento, il quale però non soffiava regolarmente.
Verso le dieci del mattino, Yaruri, che da qualche tempo osservava l’acqua, disse:
— Badate alle mani!... Chi le immerge, corre il pericolo di perderle.
— Vi sono dei caimani? — chiese Alonzo.
— Peggio che peggio, — disse il dottore, che aveva gettato uno sguardo sulla corrente. — Vi sono i caribi.
— Cosa sono?
— Guardali.
Alonzo si curvò sul bordo della scialuppa e scorse in acqua dei battaglioni di pesciolini di colore argenteo ed azzurro, che salivano dal fondo fangoso del fiume.
— Sono quei pesciolini che vi fanno paura? — chiese egli, alzando le spalle.
— Sì, Alonzo, e ti assicuro che sono peggiori dei caimani.
— Così piccoli! Eh, via! Volete scherzare?
— Quei pesciolini ti mangerebbero come se tu fossi una semplice bistecca. Come vedi non sono lunghi che pochi centimetri, ma hanno dei denti triangolari taglienti come rasoi, e tale forza nelle mascelle da intaccare il cuoio più duro. — È incredibile, dottore.
— Eppure è vero. In quasi tutti i fiumi dell’America del Sud si trovano a milioni e si tengono nascosti nel fango, ma basta che vedano una goccia di sangue alla superficie dell’acqua perchè salgano con rapidità sorprendente. Allora la vittima, sia uomo od animale, non ha più scampo, poichè quei milioni di denti si mettono all’opera, si
piantano nelle parti carnose del corpo e in pochi istanti penetrano entro, divorano gli intestini, il cuore, i polmoni, tutto infine. Un minuto o due, basta a loro per ridurre un uomo allo stato di scheletro.
— Che pesciolini feroci!
— E che ferite tremende producono!
— E spolpano un uomo in così breve tempo?
— Sappi che gl’indiani si servono dei caribi per conservare i loro morti.
— In qual modo?
— Legano i cadaveri con delle solide corde e li lasciano penzolare nei fiumi frequentati dai caribi Questi arrivano in grande numero, divorano la carne e non lasciano che uno scheletro, ma così ben pulito che un preparatore anatomico non farebbe di meglio. Quegli scheletri poi vengono conservati entro canestri e sospesi ai rami più alti degli alberi.
— E sono buoni da mangiarsi, questi caribi?
— Eccellenti, giovanotto mio, e gl’indiani li pescano a migliaia, anche per diminuire il numero di quei pericolosi abitanti dei fiumi. Ecco che il vento accenna ad aumentare. Buono! Procederemo più rapidamente e ben presto giungeremo alla cateratta.
XVI.
La cateratta d’Ature.
Due giorni dopo la scialuppa, che mai si era arrestata nemmeno alla notte, giungeva dinanzi alla cateratta di Ature, la quale trovasi presso il Catenaparo, affluente di destra dell’Orenoco.
Questa cascata, al pari di quella di Maipuri, che trovasi più innanzi, oltre gli affluenti Toma e Taparro, è una delle più belle del mondo, ma è pure anche una delle meno difficili a superarsi, poichè perfino i piccoli canotti degli indiani osano affrontarla e senza rovesciarsi.
Non forma un vero salto ma una discesa rapida e relativamente poco alta, interrotta da un vero arcipelago di isolotti e di rupi, attraverso al quale le acque si precipitano con muggiti così formidabili, da udirsi a parecchie miglia di distanza.
Attraverso gli alberi che coprivano quelle isolette e quelle rupi che s’alzavano in forma di torri nerastre e semi-diroccate, si vedevano le onde accavallarsi, bianche di spuma, schiacciarsi, per così dire, attraverso ai passaggi, lanciando in aria una grande colonna di nebbia in forma d’ombrello, la quale si tingeva dei più splendidi colori dell’iride.
— Che rimescolamento d’acque! — esclamò Alonzo che ammirava la cascata, con viva attenzione. — Mi sembra impossibile che si possa superare quella corrente furiosa.
— Eppure passeremo, — disse don Raffaele. — Penserà Yaruri a guidarci.
— A vela?
— A remi, ma sarà necessario mettere in opera tutte le nostre forze e tutta la nostra abilità. Un colpo di barra male dato, basterebbe per farci naufragare. Spicciamoci: imbrogliamo le vele.
Tutti si misero all’opera. In pochi istanti tutta la tela venne calata e ripiegata attorno al piccolo bompresso ed alla boma della randa, poi vennero afferrati i remi. Alonzo si mise a prua, il dottore dietro di lui, don Raffaele a mezza barca e Yaruri a poppa essendo incaricato della direzione.
— Il passaggio? — chiese il piantatore.
— Là, a sinistra, fra la sponda e quella barriera di scogli, — rispose l’indiano indicando un passaggio ove l’acqua calava meno rapida e meno turbinante.
— Saldi in pugno i remi e badate a non cedere o la scialuppa s’infrangerà.
— Non temete, — risposero il dottore ed Alonzo.
— Avanti!...
Nessuno però si mosse. Yaruri, il dottore ed Alonzo si erano voltati verso la sponda sinistra, gettando sotto gli alberi sguardi indagatori.
— Ebbene? — chiese il piantatore stupito. — Vi fa paura la cateratta?
— No, — disse Alonzo. — Non hai udito?
— Che cosa?
— Ancora il segnale.
— Sarà stato un tucano.
— No, padrone, — disse Yaruri. — Era il segnale misterioso.
— Ancora?...
— Don Raffaele, — disse il dottore, — che gli indiani ci aspettino qui per impedirci il passo?
— Ed in qual modo? Non possono già ostruire il passaggio.
— Ma possono arrestarci colle loro frecce mortali.
— In quanto a questo la vedremo, — disse il piantatore, con tono risoluto. — Abbiamo i nostri fucili e ci difenderemo. Avanti e teniamo le armi a portata delle mani.
Afferrarono i remi e spinsero la scialuppa fra le acque turbinanti, puntando con sovrumana energia sul fondo roccioso della cateratta.
Yaruri, munito d’un lungo remo fornito di punte d’acciaio, la dirigeva verso il passaggio. Ben presto i naviganti si trovarono fra le acque spumeggianti che si precipitavano rabbiosamente attraverso la discesa, muggendo e rompendosi contro le rocce.
Urtavano con furia estrema, polverizzandosi, ed alcune onde balzavano perfino sopra il bordo della scialuppa entrando da prua e allagando le casse contenenti i viveri, ma gli uomini non cedevano e raddoppiavano gli sforzi per vincere quegli impeti brutali. Tenendosi nella scia degli scogli, per non ricevere direttamente l’urto di quelle masse liquide, ben presto giunsero nel punto più pericoloso e più erto della cateratta.
— Non cedete! — gridò l’indiano. — Un ultimo sforzo ancora!...
La scialuppa, spinta innanzi con suprema energia, entrò nella corrente, ma ad un tratto urtò contro un ostacolo che l’arrestò dapprima e poi la fece ridiscendere.
— Mille tuoni! — esclamò don Raffaele, impallidendo. — Abbiamo urtato?...
— Non è possibile, padrone, — rispose Yaruri. — Il passo è stato sempre libero.
— Forza, amici!
La scialuppa riguadagnò la via perduta, ma giunta nello stesso punto di prima tornò a urtare contro un ostacolo che non opponeva resistenza decisa, pur impedendo di proseguire.
Un grido di rabbia uscì dalle labbra del piantatore. Quasi nell’istesso istante si udì echeggiare il misterioso segnale.
— Non deve essere uno scoglio, — disse don Raffaele. — Tenete saldo, amici, e cercate di non perdere via o ci sfracelleremo.
Abbandonò il remo, si precipitò a prua, immerse un braccio nell’acqua e tosto emise un grido di trionfo.
— Ah i furfanti! — esclamò.
Levò rapidamente la navaja che portava alla cintola, l’aprì e vibrò un colpo furioso fra le acque spumeggianti. Tosto si videro due corde grosse un buon pollice e che parevano fatte di fibre vegetali, apparire a galla e quindi stendersi lungo la corrente.
— Avanti! — tuonò il piantatore, riprendendo il remo.
La scialuppa, sotto un deciso e più vigoroso sforzo, superò l’ultimo e più ripido pendìo della cateratta e s’ormeggiò a fianco d’un isolotto sul quale crescevano due solitarie cari, specie di palme spinose con folto fogliame.
— Finalmente! — esclamò don Raffaele. — Siamo passati a dispetto del loro tentativo per farci naufragare.
— Ma quale ostacolo avevano messo nel passaggio? — chiesero Alonzo ed il dottore.
— Avevano tesa una fune vegetale fra due scogli.
— Magro ostacolo, — disse Alonzo.
— Ma che poteva tornarci fatale, — rispose don Raffaele. — Se voi cedevate, la corrente ci trascinava addosso alle scogliere e per la nostra imbarcazione era finita e fors’anche per noi.
— E più c’inoltreremo altri ostacoli ci opporranno, disse Velasco. Si vede che sono decisi ad arrestarci.
— Ma se sperano di rinnovare il tentativo alla cateratta di Maipuri, s’ingannano, — disse don Raffaele. — Procederemo cauti e prima esploreremo le scogliere.
— Ma è ancora molto lontana questa Città dell’oro? — chiese Alonzo.
— Solo Yaruri lo sa, — rispose don Raffaele.
— È necessario passare ancora dinanzi alle foci di molti fiumi, disse l’indiano. — Il Venituari è ancora assai lontano.
— Adunque è sul Venituari questa Manoa? — chiesero tutti ad una voce.
— Sì, rispose Yaruri, — ma lontano dalla foce, verso il sole che si leva, fra montagne a tutti sconosciute.
— Ma il luogo preciso?
— A suo tempo lo saprete.
— Diffidi di noi? — chiese don Raffaele.
L’indiano non rispose.
— Parla, Yaruri.
— A suo tempo, — ripetè l’indiano. — Partiamo!...
Don Raffaele, ben sapendo che non sarebbe riuscito a levare una parola di più a quell’indiano, ordinò di spiegare le vele, non volendo lasciare troppo tempo ai misteriosi individui che lo precedevano e che ormai, veduto fallire il tentativo, dovevano essersi rimessi in viaggio.
Il vento però era debole assai e non soffiava che ad intervalli. Era molto se la scialuppa poteva guadagnare due miglia all’ora, anche in causa della corrente che era più rapida per la vicinanza della cateratta.
Il paese circostante non era cambiato. Le due sponde erano sempre coperte di boscaglie fittissime, le quali impedivano di spaziare gli sguardi al di là del fiume.
Si vedevano sorgere qua e là, in una confusione indescrivibile, grandi simaruba carichi di fiori, alberi di noci moscate selvatiche, cedri colossali, alberi da pepe, alberi del cotone alti solamente tre metri, con dei fiori gialli e porporini; euforbie cactiformi irte di spine, gruppi immensi di passiflore tempestate di quegli strani fiori che
contengono un martelletto, una tenaglia ed una piccola corona; poi dei maot, piante appartenenti alla specie delle cotonifere, con foglie immense coperte d’una peluria rossastra e cariche di lunghe capsule scannellate; delle baspa butiracee, dai cui semi si estrae una specie di burro; dei saponieri, dalle cui bacche e dalla cui corteccia si ottiene una spuma densa che ha la proprietà del sapone, ed infine un caos di bambù, di liane e di spine ansara, tremendi pungiglioni che trapassano perfino le suole delle scarpe a chi osa affrontarli.
Il fiume appariva ricchissimo di pesci, i quali si vedevano guizzare in grande numero, perseguitati da stormi di piassoca, di caracari, appartenenti alla famiglia dei falchi e di gaviaos, specie di sparvieri.
Si vedevano apparire e scomparire grossi storioni, trote, legioni di acari che sono pesciolini rotondi di colore verdognolo ma molto delicati; di cascudo, pesci lunghi venticinque centimetri, neri sopra, rossicci sotto e colle squame durissime; di raje spinose, di piraia, i cui morsi sono pericolosi e di pemecur, che nascondono i loro piccoli nelle branchie.
Quell’abbondanza aveva fatto radunare colà moltissimi caimani, i quali giocherellavano fra di loro inseguendosi, ora mostrando le loro formidabili mascelle armate di terribili denti, o le potenti code rugose. Alcuni invece si azzuffavano ferocemente fra di loro, mordendosi e insanguinandosi.
XVII.
L’agguato degl’indiani.
Nei giorni seguenti i viaggiatori continuarono ad inoltrarsi nell’Orenoco, passando successivamente dinanzi alle foci del Toma — salendo la cui corrente si va a Mauro, luogo ove un tempo i gesuiti avevano fondati fiorenti missioni — e del Treparro, entrambi affluenti di sinistra.
Il quinto giorno da che avevano lasciata la cascata di Ature, giungevano dinanzi a quella di Maipuri, chiamata anche di Quituma.
Anche questa è di poca altezza ed è formata da una specie di arcipelago di isolette e di rupi d’aspetto maestoso che si estendono per oltre un miglio, facendo argine all’impeto della corrente, specialmente al di là della grande rupe di Manimi.
Il passaggio non è difficile, ma può riuscire pericoloso in causa delle ondate che si rovesciano, col fragore di mille tuoni, fra tutte quelle nere scogliere e quei brani di terra.
Una fitta nebbia copre tutta la cascata, alzandosi in forma d’una cupola immensa, sui margini della quale si vedono degli arcobaleni splendidissimi che cangiano continuamente tinte e dimensioni.
Dopo di essersi accostati alle due rive per vedere se erano deserte, temendo un secondo agguato, i viaggiatori decisero di affrontare subito la cascata, essendo il sole prossimo al tramonto e non osando avventurarsi, di notte, fra quelle scogliere innumerevoli.
— Animo, — disse don Raffaele. — Dopo questa cascata non ne troveremo altre e continueremo il viaggio tranquillamente.
— Sei ben sicuro, cugino, che gl’indiani non ci abbiano preparato un nuovo agguato? — chiese Alonzo. — È bensì vero che nulla abbiamo veduto di sospetto sulle due sponde, ma io temo ancora una sorpresa.
— Se hanno teso delle altre funi, le taglieremo. Mano ai remi e avanti senza paura. Yaruri, al posto.
— Sono pronto, padrone, — rispose l’indiano.
La scialuppa s’impegnò tosto in un passaggio largo venti o venticinque metri, fiancheggiato da alte rupi che avevano l’aspetto di cupole e da una doppia linea di scoglietti, i quali lasciavano scorgere le loro punte nere e aguzze.
Il braccio del fiume scendeva rimbalzando e spumeggiando, ma la scialuppa, come nella precedente cascata, s’avanzava trionfando contro tutti quegli ostacoli ed evitando destramente le scogliere che minacciavano di sfracellarla.
Ormai aveva oltrepassato mezzo canale, quando Alonzo, che si trovava a prua, vide scendere con impeto irresistibile delle masse oscure e colossali che balzavano e rimbalzavano fra le muggenti acque.
Quantunque non sapesse ancora di cosa si trattasse, gettò un grido di terrore.
— Cos’hai, Alonzo? — chiese don Raffaele, il quale provò una stretta al cuore.
— Stiamo per venire frantumati.
In quell’istante si udì Yaruri a gridare:
— Lasciate andare i remi! Ridiscendiamo la cateratta o siamo perduti!...
Quelle masse enormi non erano che a cento passi e s’avanzavano con spaventevole velocità, travolte dalla furiosa corrente. Erano dieci o dodici alberi grossissimi, dei tronchi di paiva (bombax pentandrum), piante che raggiungono un’altezza di trenta metri, ma
che sono facilissime a tagliarsi, essendo il loro legno fragile e leggero, ed hanno una circonferenza ragguardevole.
Al comando dell’indiano tutti avevano ritirato i remi e la scialuppa, non più sorretta, aveva virato di bordo lasciandosi trasportare dalle acque. In pochi istanti giunse in fondo alla cateratta, oscillò spaventosamente imbarcando parecchie ondate, poi si rialzò girando su sè stessa.
Quasi nell’istesso momento i tronchi colossali precipitavano giù per l’ultima china. Yaruri, don Raffaele ed i loro compagni avevano rapidamente riafferrati i remi per evitare un urto, ma mancò a loro il tempo.
Uno di quei tronchi, il più enorme, investì la scialuppa a poppa e con tale impeto da spaccarla. Le onde della cateratta in un baleno si rovesciarono attraverso all’apertura, sommergendo le casse.
— I fucili e le munizioni! — urlò don Raffaele. — Tutti sull’albero!
Gli uomini balzarono sulle loro armi che stavano sui banchi, afferrarono alla rinfusa quanto era a portata delle loro mani e s’aggrapparono alle griselle dell’albero.
Erano appena giunti sul picco della randa, che la scialuppa affondava, scomparendo sotto le acque spumeggianti. Discese rapida per quattro metri, poi, quando già i naufraghi credevano d’esser perduti, s’arrestò: aveva toccato il fondo!
— Siamo salvi! — esclamò Alonzo.
— Ma sono riusciti nel loro intento, — disse don Raffaele con sorda rabbia. — Ci hanno arrestati.
— Non ancora, — mormorò Yaruri.
— Ma che siano stati gl’indiani a lanciarci contro quei dannati tronchi? — chiese Alonzo.
— Sì, — rispose don Raffaele. — Io non ho più alcun dubbio.
— Sono stati loro, — confermò Yaruri.
— Ma in quale modo? Occorrono molte braccia per abbattere simili giganti.
— È facile a spiegarsi, — disse il dottore. — Avranno raccolto i tronchi d’albero che l’Orenoco, quasi sempre trascina nel suo corso; li avranno radunati presso il passaggio della cateratta e quando ci hanno veduti li avranno lasciati andare.
— E così ci hanno rovinati, — disse don Raffaele. — Eccoci in una posizione disperata e privi dei mezzi necessari per continuare il viaggio. Addio Città dell’oro.
— Yopi sarà ancora mio, — disse Yaruri con accento feroce.
— È meglio che tu rinunci.
— No, padrone.
— Ti sembra ancora possibile il viaggio?
— Yaruri sa fabbricare i canotti.
— Ed i viveri?
— Yaruri troverà il manioca e gli uomini bianchi la selvaggina. Io ho la mia scure e voi le vostre armi.
— Che diavolo d’un indiano! — esclamò Alonzo. — Trova rimedio a tutto.
— Ma non trova il modo di farci uscire da questa situazione poco allegra, — disse don Raffaele. — Eccoci tutti e quattro sospesi a quest’albero come le frutta d’una pianta e sopra un abisso popolato di caimani....
— Che si avanzano avidi di preda, colla speranza di fare dei buoni bocconi, — aggiunse il dottore.
— Abbiamo i fucili, — disse Alonzo.
— E quante munizioni?
— Io ho salvato una bisaccia di polvere che non pesa meno di quattro chilogrammi.
