Forest of the Pygmies by Isabel Allende Read Free Book Online Page B

a great boon to them at this moment, but Tensing was far, far away. Brother Fernando started praying aloud in Spanish, and Joel immediately chimed in. At the end of the short strip of open shore, as forbidding as the Great Wall of China, rose the impenetrable growth of the jungle. They had only one chance to land; if that failed, there wouldn’t be enough strip left to allow them to pull up: They would crash into the trees.
    Angie lined up Super Hawk ’s nose and dropped abruptly. The first tree branches scraped the plane’s belly. The minute she found herself above the impromptu landing field, Angie felt for the ground, praying it was firm and not strewn with rocks. The plane hit the ground skipping and lurching like a great wounded bird, while chaos was unleashed inside: Bundles flew from one side to another, the passengers banged against the roof, beer cans rolled, and gasoline drums danced. Angie, her hands clamped on the controls, hit the brakes with all her strength, trying to stabilize the plane and not tear off its wings. The engine roared a desperate death rattle, and a strong odor of burned rubber filled the cabin. The machine shook from the struggle to stop and covered the remaining distance in a cloud of sand and smoke.
    “The trees!” screamed Kate when they were almost upon them.
    Angie did not respond to her client’s superfluous observation; she was having no difficulty seeing them. She felt the blend of absolute terror and fascination that coursed through her when her life was on the line: a sudden discharge of adrenaline that made her skin prickle and her heart race. That joyful terror was what she loved most about her job. Her muscles locked in the brutal effort to dominate the plane; she was taking on metal and motor personally, like a cowboy riding a wild bull. Suddenly, when the trees were six feet away and the passengers all thought their moment had come, Super Hawk tilted forward, gave one last tremendous shudder, and buried its nose in the sand.
    “Damnation!” yelled Angie.
    “Curb your tongue, woman,” said Brother Fernando in a wavering voice from the back of the cabin, where his weakly kicking legs were all that could be seen from beneath piles of photographic equipment. “Don’t you see that God provided us a place to land?”
    “Well, tell him to send me a mechanic as well, because we have problems,” Angie bellowed back.
    “Let’s not get hysterical,” Kate ordered. “First of all we need to examine the damage.” She prepared to jump out as the others crawled and pulled themselves toward the door. The first one outside was poor Borobá, who seldom had been so frightened in all his life. Alexander saw that Nadia’s face was covered with blood.
    “Eagle!” he cried, trying to dig her out from bundles, cameras, and seats that had wrenched free of the floor.
    When at last everyone was outside and they couldevaluate the situation, it turned out that no one was injured; Nadia had no more than a nosebleed. The plane, on the other hand, was damaged indeed.
    “Just what I was afraid of. The propeller’s bent,” said Angie.
    “Is that serious?” asked Alexander.
    “Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be. If I can get another propeller, I can change it myself, but way out here, we’re in the soup. Where am I going to get a replacement?”
    Before Brother Fernando could open his mouth, Angie confronted him, hands on her hips.
    “And if you don’t want to see me really mad, don’t tell me that your God will provide!”
    Prudently, the missionary held his tongue.
    “Where are we exactly?” asked Kate.
    “I don’t have the faintest idea,” Angie admitted.
    Brother Fernando consulted his map and told them that he felt sure they were not far from Ngoubé, the village where his companions had established the mission.
    “We’re surrounded with tropical jungle and swamps. There’s no way out of here without a boat,” said Angie.
    “Then let’s build a fire. A cup of