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

circled a couple of times, still descending.
    â€œWe’re burning up what little gasoline we have left! I’m heading south,” she decided finally.
    â€œThere, Angie!” Kate pointed suddenly.
    Along one side of the river, as if by enchantment, appeared the clear fringe of a shore.
    â€œThat strip is narrow and very short, Angie,” Kate warned.
    â€œI only need a little over a couple of hundred yards, but I don’t think we have that much,” Angie replied.
    She circled again to take measure of the open area and check the best angle for her approach.
    â€œIt won’t be the first time I’ve landed in less than two hundred yards. Hang on, guys, we’re in for a ride!” she announced with another of her typical war cries.
    Until that moment Angie had been totally relaxed in her piloting, with a can of beer between her knees and a cigarette between her fingers. Now her attitude changed. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray fastened to the floor with adhesive tape, settled her corpulence in her seat, gripped the wheel with both hands, and got ready to set her course without ever interrupting the steady stream of curses and Comanche yells and appeals to the good luck that according to her had never failed her—after all, why did she wear a fetish around her neck? Kate chorused Angie, yelling till she was hoarse, because she couldn’t think of any other way to calm her nerves. Nadia closed her eyes and thought of her father. Alexander opened his eyes wide, invoking his friend, the lama Tensing, whose prodigious mental powers would have been 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.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œDamnation!” yelled Angie.
    â€œCurb 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?”
    â€œWell, tell him to send