The Ruins by Scott Smith Read Free Book Online

he was good at things like that—picking out
constellations, naming flowers. He was a reader, a fact hoarder, maybe
a bit of a show-off at times: ordering in Spanish even when it was
clear that the waiter spoke English, correcting people's
pronunciation. Eric couldn't decide how well he liked him.
Or, for that matter—and maybe this was more to the
point—how well he was liked by Jeff.
     They
rounded a curve and descended a long, gradual slope with a stream
running alongside the trail, and then suddenly there was sunlight in
front of them, blinding after all that time in the shade. The jungle
fell away, beaten back by what appeared to be some sort of aborted
attempt at agriculture. There were fields on either side of the trail,
extending for a hundred yards or so, vast tracts of churned-up earth,
baking in the sun. It was the end stages of the slash-and-burn cycle:
the slashing and burning and sowing and reaping had already happened
here, and now this was what followed, the wasteland that preceded the
jungle's return. Already, the foliage along the margins had
begun to send out exploratory parties, vines and the occasional
waist-high bush, looking squat and somehow pugnacious amid all those
upturned clods of dirt.
     Pablo
and Eric fumbled for their sunglasses. In the distance, the jungle
resumed, extending like a wall across the path. Jeff and Mathias had
already vanished into its shadows, but Stacy and Amy were still
visible. Amy had put on her hat; Stacy had tied a bandanna over her
hair. Eric called to them, yelling their names, and waved, but they
didn't hear him. Or, hearing him, didn't glance
back. The little black flies remained behind beneath the trees, but the
mosquitoes continued to accompany them, unabated.
     They
were midway across the open space when a snake crossed the path, right
in front of them. It was just a small snake—black, with tan
markings, two feet long at the most—but Pablo gave a shout of
terror. He jumped backward, knocking Eric down, then lost his own
footing and fell on top of him. He was up in an instant, pointing at
the spot where the snake had disappeared, chattering in Greek, dancing
from foot to foot, a look of horror on his face. Apparently, he had a
fear of snakes. Eric rose slowly to his feet, dusting himself off.
He'd scraped his elbow when he fell, and there was dirt in
the cut; he tried to brush it clean. Pablo kept spewing his Greek,
exclaiming and gesturing. All three Greeks were like this; sometimes
they tried to mime their meaning or draw something to explain
themselves, but mostly they just held forth, making no attempt to
clarify what they were saying. It was as if the uttering of it was all
that mattered; being understood was beside the point.
     Eric
waited for Pablo to finish. Toward the end, it seemed as if he were
apologizing for knocking him down, and Eric smiled and nodded to
express his forgiveness. Then they continued on, though Pablo proceeded
at a much slower pace now, nervously scanning the edges of the trail.
Eric spent some time trying to picture their arrival at the ruins. The
archaeologists with their careful grids, their little shovels and whisk
booms, their plastic bags full of artifacts: tin cups the miners had
drunk from, the iron nails that had once held their shacks together.
Mathias would find his brother; there'd be some sort of
confrontation, an argument in German, raised voices, ultimatums. Eric
was looking forward to it. He liked drama, conflict, the rush and
tumble of other people's emotions. It wasn't all
going to be like this, the drudgery of walking through the heat, his
elbow throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Once they found the ruins,
the day would shift, take on a new dimension.
     They
reached the far end of the open space, and the jungle resumed. The
little black bugs were waiting for them here in the shade. They hovered
around them in a humming cloud, as if joyful in the reunion. There was
no sign of the stream anymore. The trail