Jaguar Princess by Marjorie Bicknell Johnson

Author:Marjorie Bicknell Johnson [Johnson, Marjorie Bicknell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7414-9541-9
Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Published: 2011-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

34.

B’ALAM WITZ TO MÉRIDA

The floatplane drifted in the river below B’alam Witz. Kedar stared at his leg. Blood, lots of blood, blood running down the inside of his left calf. He hadn’t felt the cut. He had flooded the engine; he couldn’t try the ignition, not for another ninety seconds.

Pex scrambled over the seat to reach the first aid kit back in cargo, then climbed back to the passenger’s seat. She wrapped gauze and the whole roll of adhesive tape around his calf.

Kedar tried the ignition again. The engine caught. They had drifted downstream, too far—the aircraft wouldn’t clear the rapids. He used the water-paddles on the pontoons to turn the seaplane around and increased power to taxi upstream.

The aircraft couldn’t overcome the current and moved downstream toward the rapids, tail first. He could run it into the bank, but there might be more crocodiles, in a feeding frenzy from the smell of the Spaniard’s blood.

“Swim like a snake,” Pex yelled.

“Snake?” Kedar swiveled his head. He didn’t see any.

“Move the airplane upstream like a snake.” Pex moved her hand, an oscillating S-shape from side to side as though a snake swam over her head.

Kedar turned at an angle, upstream at full power. He made a turn across the current, next a turn the other way, S-turns across the current. To the right of the middle of the river, he found less current and moved upstream, burning a lot of fuel but making progress. Across the river from the dock, he made a U-turn and sped down with the current until he had takeoff speed. The seaplane lifted off, sluggishly, just clearing the water. As they reached the rapids, the aircraft climbed slowly away from the river.

They both were silent for a few minutes.

“Where are we going?” Pex asked.

“I guess Mérida. Can’t go back now.” His bruised feet hurt and his leg throbbed.

“Dr. Burt will worry.”

“I’ll call him from my apartment.” Kedar flew two hours without the energy to speak.

Kedar saw the docks at Progreso and concentrated on landing. When he pushed the seaplane toward its mooring, he felt faint. He splashed to the dock, pulled himself up, and hung his head between his legs.

Pex took over and seemed to know exactly what to do. She secured the airplane and brought his extra pair of Teva sandals from the back of the plane. Then she wrapped a towel tightly around his leg and summoned a taxi with his cell phone. Along the way, she asked the cabbie to wait, and she dashed into the local Indian market.

Later at Kedar’s apartment in Mérida, Pex tended to his wound. She rubbed the cut with honey and lotion from an unmarked plastic tube and held his laceration together with butterfly bandages. Afterward, she served him hot tea, vaguely reminiscent of mint, and had him lie on the floor with a pillow under his feet and a cold compress over his left eye. She looked him up and down, and with a frown of concern, she said, “You’re going to have a black eye.

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