Death In The Peru Rainforest: Mahogany And The Huni Kuin

By Donald R Houser

Maria, who was born in Peru but grew up in the United States, has come to Peru to write environmental stories for the Guardian newspaper and escape her brutal ex-husband and chauvinist boss. She and her friend, Huapu, leader of the Huni Kuin in the Alto Purus Rainforest, meet Michael on the train to Machu Picchu. Michael, a former police detecti

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donald R Houser
• Release date: May 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733917513

Donald R Houser

Donald Houser is a writer of two previous self-published novels, Death In The Peru Rainforest (2019) and Escape From The Presidio (2015). He is a retired engineer, who is interested in the plight of the world in the face of continuing climate crisis and the devastating militarism. He enjoys reading informative and captivating books, traveling and learning about other cultures, and hiking in the wonders of nature. He is a long time resident of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Book preview

DEATH IN THE PERU RAINFOREST

Mahogany and the huni kuin

A NOVEL 

Donald Houser

Copyright © 2019 Donald Houser

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-7339175-0-6 (Donald Houser)

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to all concerned about the Anthropocene Age and the survival of the Planet.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Although this book is based on contemporary circumstances and issues, any resemblance to real people or places in this book is purely coincidental.

I want to thank my editor Ioanna Carlsen for all her help.

1

Maria glanced back furtively, looking for the men, who had watched them move through the Cusco airport terminal, as she and Huapu walked to her car in the parking lot. The men’s interest had concerned her, but didn’t rise to actual fright. Huapu garnered interest wherever she went.

She unlocked the car and slipped into the hot, stuffy car, starting the engine and lowering the windows to cool the interior with the morning air. What do you think of my car? Maria asked in Spanish.

Huapu looked around the car. Excellent car, Maria. I like very much.

Maria laughed. Thank you. I bought it used last year. Quite a step up from my previous car. She marveled how Huapu made the transition with ease from her simple life in the rainforest to the hustle and bustle of Cusco. It’s only a short ride to my house, but I’ll take you around Armas Plaza first. I love the Plaza and all the people there enjoying themselves.

I like the Plaza also. Have seen it once before. Yes, let us look. We are in no hurry.

When Maria noticed the men, who had watched them inside the airport, come outside, her concern jumped a notch. Were they somehow connected to the men in Puerto Esperanza, who wanted to stop Huapu’s activism? She wished that Sami or Santo had come with them. She wasn’t much of a protector and abhorred violence. When the men remained at the airport as she drove away, she told herself to relax and try to enjoy their excursion. She was reading too much into people’s interest in Huapu. Being watched didn’t necessarily mean the watchers were connected to attempts to stop Huapu’s activism.

This is my house, Maria said as she turned into her driveway. No one had followed them, and she relaxed.

This big house, Huapu said.

Yes, it is much bigger than I need, but I like the location. She escorted Huapu inside the house.

Nice… great furniture, Huapu said. I like house. Very welcoming, like you.

Would you like to take a shower? We have about an hour before Betty comes to take us to Ollantaytambo.

Yes, I would like shower.

Maria showed Huapu to the bathroom and laid a clean towel on the towel rack. Huapu dropped her simple dress by removing the shoulder straps and stepped out of the dress. Maria marveled how well Huapu’s compact, muscled body looked. If Maria looked this good in ten years, she would be happy. She left the bathroom and went to her bedroom. She removed her clothes and set out a clean pair of jeans and shirt.

When Huapu walked into the bedroom with her pack, Maria left for the shower. When she returned wrapped in her towel, Huapu had changed into her colorful, woven, Huni Kuin dress. Maria thought Huapu was stunning in her woven red, green, and blue native dress. She was so happy she had convinced Huapu to come with her to Machu Picchu. She wasn’t going to allow her paranoia to spoil their trip. She would stay alert, but she would make sure Huapu enjoyed her visit to Machu Picchu. Maria donned her blue underwear, dark blue jeans, beige tank top, and crisp white shirt.

When her friend Betty arrived, they piled into her friend’s car and drove to Ollantaytambo where they would catch the train to Aguas Calientas. At Ollantaytambo, she and Huapu hoisted their backpacks, said goodbye to Betty, and walked from the small Plaza down the hill to the artisan market outside the Inca Ruins. They wandered around the small market, perusing the many different handmade articles for sale. Maria loved Peruvian artisan markets. The range of items was impressive in the market, crowded with tourists, many of whom had visited the ruins rising up the hill next to the market.

A woman at one of the stalls waved to them. Please come, the woman called in Spanish, smiling widely. Yes, yes, please come.

Maria pointed to herself. Yes, please come, the woman repeated.

Maria nodded to Huapu, and they approached the stall.

This is a beautiful dress, the women in the stall said, taking hold gently of Huapu’s dress. I have never seen one like it. Did you make this dress?

Yes, Huapu replied.

Would you sell it to me? the woman asked.

No, Huapu said. Important for me. I no sell.

The woman tried to show other dresses to Huapu to entice her to exchange and sell her dress. Maria knew no matter what the woman offered Huapu would not part with her dress. Huapu seemed to enjoy the banter, so Maria allowed them to continue before she encouraged Huapu to move on.

A man, who she was sure she had not seen when they arrived at the market, seemed to be following their meanderings. Maria thought the Hispanic man was one of the men at the airport, but couldn’t be sure. She didn’t alert Huapu, but suggested they leave for the train station.

They walked up the hill from the market, crossed the bridge, and joined the crowd walking along the Rio Patacancha River to the train station. Maria kept turning to look at the bumper to bumper cars creeping down the road to the station for the men that had watched them in Cusco. Would she even recognize them? She hadn’t been sure about the man at the market.

Huapu suddenly stopped walking and grabbed Maria’s arm. What’s going on?

I thought I saw one of the men, who we saw watching us at the airport, following us around the market. I was searching for him or any of the others.

It is okay, my friend, Huapu said. Let them watch. Forget about them. We shall enjoy trip. She hooked her arm in Maria’s and continued down the sidewalk. Huapu was right. She was too much on edge and was spoiling their excursion.

They stopped outside the train station just as their train was backing up on the nearest track. After standing in line for what seemed an extended time, they were allowed to board. They went to their reserved seats and settled in. A handsome man with graying, blond hair and melancholy blue eyes, who had been standing in line behind them, took the seat next to Maria. He was tall, broad shouldered, and quite muscular. He introduced himself as Michael and had a polite manner. He was an American like herself. Well, she wasn’t much of an American after her years in Peru.

Her Father and Mother had immigrated to Los Angles, California from Peru when she was ten. Her father had done his doctorate in economics at U.C.L.A. and had been offered a teaching post at University of California, Irving. She was probably more of a California girl than a Peruvian, but she had jumped at the chance to come back to Peru to do a story for the Guardian newspaper. Both her parents were dead, and she had wanted to get away from her annoying ex-husband and chauvinist boss at the LA Times.

When she moved to Peru, she had fallen in love with the country of her birth again and had made it her home—at least for now. She liked her rented home on the hills out of Cusco and enjoyed living in Cusco. She had had a few male liaisons in Cusco during the five years of her return, but none that stirred her emotions.

She was surprised that she felt drawn to Michael for some unknown reason. Maybe it was his sadness —so apparent behind his mask of cheerfulness. She was a sucker for strays. Or maybe it was because of his tall, strong appearance. His presence might scare away anyone following them.

2

Michael watched the other passengers sitting, standing, and shuffling around as the afternoon light flooded the Ollantaytambo train station. Many, like himself, wore weary expressions from their hike through the Ollantaytambo Ruins where the Incas had their last victory against the Spanish in 1537. He had arrived in the morning on a minivan from Cusco. It was cool when he first arrived, but the day had soon heated up in the bright sun. His shirt was damp from climbing the two hundred steep steps up to the Temple of the Sun. He had enjoyed the Ollantaytambo Ruins and was excited that he would soon see the famed Machu Picchu Ruins in the morning, the principal reason for his trip to Peru. The pictures of Machu Picchu had always looked magical to him. He and Jenny had wanted to visit the site for many years.

When the train arrived, the passengers, as instructed, lined up according to the car of their reserved seat. Michael reviewed his ticket and got in in line behind an attractive, dark-haired, middle-aged woman in jeans and white blouse, who was talking to an older indigenous woman turned toward her. The native, wearing a colorful, woven dress and rainbow-colored head-band, was dark skinned with a lined face, hosting faded bluish-black geometric designs. Her dark- brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight. She was short and muscular, coming up only to the taller woman’s throat. Her erect posture and warm smile spoke of a sturdy disposition. They were speaking rapid Spanish and laughing, obviously enjoying each other’s company. He followed the two aboard the train and took his seat next to the dark haired women across the table from the native.

He waited for a pause in the two’s conversation before speaking. I’m Michael, he said, somehow expecting that the woman spoke English, and extended his hand.

I’m Maria, the younger woman replied in her husky, honeyed voice. She grasped his hand and smiled. Her dark eyes lingered on his face before she twisted toward the native woman and held out her hand. This is my friend, Huapu.

He was intrigued by Maria’s slight Spanish accent, thinking she almost sounded like an American.

Huapu contemplated Michael, smiling broadly. Ola, she said, and reached across the table. After a quick shake, she held Michael’s hand for an extended time, staring intently into his face.

He felt a strange warmth flow from Huapu and was comforted somewhat by the prolonged grasp. Huapu removed her hand, nodded solemnly, and turned back to Maria with a smile. He continued to feel a glow from her touch.

Huapu doesn’t speak much English, but understands it pretty well, Maria said. Her Spanish is quite good.

He felt his heart quicken, strangely bringing emotions to the surface that he had buried over the years as deep as he could manage. He was confused by his reaction. The jolt of the starting train allowed him to turn away and compose himself. He pictured Jenny and Suzie in his mind. Both were smiling at him, and Jenny had her arm around Suzie. It was a happy image he often brought to mind.

After they had been underway a few minutes, Michael turned to Maria. Have you been to Machu Picchu before? he asked

Yes, many times, Maria said, but this will be Huapu’s first time. How about yourself?

It’s my first time, Michael said. Maria’s midnight-eyes seemed to fix his gaze like magnets, and he had a hard time thinking of words to continue the conversation. He placed his hands on the table and looked down momentarily. When he looked up, both women were watching him. Huapu was smiling broadly, and Maria had an enigmatic half-smile as if she were pondering a puzzle. He took a deep breath and continued. I’ve wanted to visit Machu Picchu for many years. I’m so excited that I’m nearly there.

He and Jenny had talked about visiting Peru, but never managed to arrange the trip. His work as an investigative reporter in San Francisco and Suzie’s school activities made it difficult to plan an overseas vacation with the family.

You will enjoy Machu Picchu, I’m sure, Maria said. It’s a spectacular sight. I never tire of visiting it. Is your ticket for today or tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Where are you staying tonight? Maria asked.

Wirococha Hotel, Michael replied.

Maria sat erect and laughed, her face bright with enthusiasm. We’re at the same hotel. She leaned toward him, and he caught a whiff of her engaging, musky perfume. If you are going up early for sunrise, we could go together. I can be your and Huapu’s guide. Sunrise over the hills at Machu Picchu is not to be missed. She watched his reaction, waiting for his reply.

Oh, that would be great. He couldn’t believe his luck. He wanted to learn as much about Machu Picchu as he could and had considered hiring a guide, but now would not need to. I take it you’re from Peru.

I was born here, but grew up in the States. I’ve lived here quite a few years. She placed her hand on the table near Michael’s. I’m an independent environmental reporter working for the Guardian. I’ve been working with Huapu’s tribe on a story about the illegal logging and mining in her tribal homeland.

He had read about illegal mining and logging in the rainforest, the lungs of the world. What a coincidence. I was an investigative reporter in California, but I’ve recently retired. After the car accident, he just didn’t have the impetus to continue with his job with the San Francisco Examiner.

You seem too young to have retired, Maria said. You don’t look much older than me.

I’m fifty-five. He laughed. I won’t be impolite and ask you your age. He studied her face and liked the way her smirk became a full smile. I came into a small inheritance and decided to take a break from work and do a little traveling. He eschewed the idea of having to go back to work. The day would come when he would have to confront his future, but he would put that out of his mind as long as he could. I may go back to journalism—maybe become independent like yourself.

I’m not embarrassed or secretive about my age. I’m fifty one.

You look much younger. He was surprised that she revealed her age so easily. He wasn’t just being polite—the woman truly did not look fifty one.

Kind of you to say so. She pointed with both hands toward her face. I’m afraid these wrinkles are a testament to the years and too much sun.

Not at all. Her cappuccino-hued face was smooth and her dark-pink, full, lips seemed to jump out at him, begging to be kissed.

Kissed? He couldn’t believe his thoughts. What was happening to him? A smile from this attractive, middle-aged woman had sent him reeling. He tried not to dwell on the slim neck as he followed it down to the gap at the collar of her shirt and the rest of her shapely frame. Maybe her obvious indigenous heritage was why she looked younger than her age. Yes, there were a few lines around her almond-shaped eyes, but they just added character.

Would you allow me to take you and Huapu out to dinner tonight, since you’ll be our tour guide tomorrow? he asked breathlessly, surprised by his boldness. There was something about the two that was so compelling.

We’d love to go to dinner with you, but we can all share the expense, Maria said. I enjoy showing people around Machu Picchu.

For some reason, he desperately wanted to accompany these two women and was overjoyed by their acceptance. There was no doubt he was lonely, something he thought he had gotten used to. Initially he had been apprehensive about traveling to Peru on his own and had tried to induce his friend Frank, a fellow reporter, who had recently been divorced, to come with him to no avail. After almost continuous haranguing from his sister for months, he had agreed to take the trip on his own. He hadn’t been alone on vacation for over twenty-five years. His wife Jenny and he had been inseparable, and, when Suzie, their daughter, entered their life, the three went nearly everywhere together.

He turned away to compose his thoughts as he glanced around the train car at the other passengers before turning back to surreptitiously glance at Maria, who apparently sensing his gaze turned her searing eyes on him. Huapu was glued to the window as the landscape and Urubamba River sped past.

He racked his brain for something intelligent to say. Where is Huapu’s homeland? he asked.

She lives in the southern rain forest in the Alto Purús Region, Maria replied before glancing at Huapu and laughing. The train ride is a new experience for Huapu. She’s enjoying it. I must say I like riding the train also. You can get up and walk about, and there’s the lovely countryside to watch.

Yes, I like train rides too. He remembered the train ride he, Jenny, and Suzie took to Chicago to visit Jenny’s cousin. Suzie had brought a friend, and she and her friend had run up and down the train with great delight. The conductor had asked him to restrain the kids because they were disturbing the other passengers. He had hated to dampen their enthusiasm, but had counseled them to be quieter. He sucked in his bottom lip to stop his thoughts. Where is the Alto Purús Region?

It’s in Eastern Peru near the border with Brazil. It’s one of the most pristine rainforest regions. Maria turned to watch Huapu before swiveling back to Michael. Huapu is an activist fighting the outsiders exploiting the rainforest. Supposedly, there is a price on her head. She was shot at in the rainforest. I wasn’t there, but her husband told me about it. Huapu rejects that they were actually shooting at her and is reluctant to even discuss the incident. I wanted her to get away for a while, so I suggested she come with me to Machu Picchu. She’s always wanted to see her country’s most famous site. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to pry her away. She is so dedicated and fearless that I worry about her safety. She paused and her face took on a solemn expression. Actually, I’m glad I met you. I thought maybe we were followed from Cusco. Some strange men seemed to be shadowing us in Cusco and may have followed us here. Maybe your presence will scare them away.

Was this why this lady was showing interest in him? So what? He didn’t mind. If he could help these ladies, he was all for it. Did you see these individuals at the train station?

No—I thought I saw one of them in the Ollantaytambo market outside the ruins, but I’m not sure.

Did you tour the ruins?

No, we arrived there in the afternoon. I’ve been to Ollantaytambo ruins before. A friend of mine drove us there from Cusco. We just went to the market to see what they had.

If you see any of them again, point them out. Before I went into journalism, I was a police detective.

3

When the train arrived at Aquas Calientes, Maria walked from the train station with Huapu and Michael in the warm sun across the bridge over the fast flowing Rio Aguas Calientes. It was a glorious day of blue skies with just a few clouds floating above the hills to the north where Machu Picchu was located. They crossed the bridge over the river with the crowd from the train station and turned north. The hotel was located just a few blocks away.

The hotel looked inviting and the lobby had a polished gray marble, tiled floor, small reception desk, and comfortable seating area of two couches and three chairs arranged around a coffee table. Behind the seating area were a group of tables, which Maria surmised was where the included breakfast would be served.

After checking in, she arranged to meet Michael in the lobby a 6:30 PM, and she and Huapu went to their room. The room was small with two beds, taking up much of the space, but a large sliding glass door out to a balcony that overlooked the river gave the room a more spacious feel. Everything was spotless, and the room smelled pleasant. She was happy with the room and glad she had met Michael. His presence would hopefully deter any followers bent on mischief. She thought it strange that Huapu seemed happy about meeting Michael also, since Huapu was usually very wary of strangers. Maybe there was more about Michael Huapu garnered than met the eye.

When Maria and Huapu came down the hotel stairs, Michael was waiting. He jumped up from his chair as soon as he saw them. Maria wore a summer dress with a colorful flower print and had applied make up, which she seldom wore. What was she doing? She could tell that Michael was impressed, and she felt a tingling of curious excitement.

You both look great. Muy bella. Michael laughed at his poor Spanish pronunciation.

Gracias. Mucho gusto, Maria answered. She waited for Michael’s reply, but since he stood staring with a rather silly expression, she pointed at the door. Shall we go?

Of course. He opened the door for them.

Huapu glanced at her with a questioning look and slight turn of her head as they left the hotel. This man likes your looks, Huapu whispered in Spanish.

Maria placed her arm in Huapu’s and breathed in the moist night air. She was confused by Huapu’s comment. So what if Michael liked her looks. She was fully aware that most middle-aged men considered her to be attractive. She admitted to herself she was pleased if Michael liked her looks. It had been a while since she had been out with a man and was enjoying the sensation.

They strolled down the alley to the main street, Avenida Pachacuteo, where the tourists were parading and inspecting the various restaurants. The crowd seemed festive. Most had either seen Machu Picchu or would in the morning. She was enjoying the mood of the crowd and the warm night.

She stopped and gazed up and down the street at the many restaurants before turning to Michael. What do you like to eat?

I’ve recently become a vegan, but I’ve taken some enzymes and can eat almost anything, Michael replied.

A vegan? She was surprised a muscular, older American would make such a choice.

Yes, my miniscule part against climate change.

She was supremely aware that meat production was devastating the rainforest as much if not more than logging, hydrocarbon production, and mining. She knew that world meat consumption was increasing as people in developing countries became more affluent. Good for you.

She didn’t eat much meat herself. There wasn’t enough grazing space on the planet for the world population to gorge themselves on meat like the Americans. She had noticed since her return to Peru that meat eating had increased dramatically compared to when she was a child. She admired people, who had the will power and foresight to be vegan. This man was becoming more interesting by the minute.

Maria turned to Huapu. What would you like to eat, Huapu?

Huapu looked up and down the street, then with a big smile and wide eyes exclaimed, Pizza.

Maria and Michael joined Huapu in laughter. What do you think, Michael? she asked as she placed her hand on his arm.

Yeah, sounds good.

They walked down the street to the pizza parlor that seemed popular with many patrons and went inside. Huapu and Maria shared a large pizza with the works, and Michael ordered an assorted vegetable pizza with no cheese.

No cheese? Maria said.

Michael nodded. It’s still good without.

She laughed and gave him a small shove.

When the pizzas came, they had consumed a round of beer, and she could tell that Michael had relaxed a little. She thought his nervousness was endearing. A welcome change from the haughty Peruvian men. As they dug into their pizzas, she wondered about his lack of a wedding ring. He had the manner of someone married. Maybe he didn’t wear rings.

Are you married? she asked and wondered why was she being so bold.

I was, but my wife died.

I’m sorry, Maria said and wished she hadn’t asked. How long ago?

Three years. She died along with my sixteen year daughter in an auto accident.

Maria felt like a boulder had been dropped on her stomach. She didn’t know what to say. She noticed the tears brimming as he hastily drank his beer. She thought she herself had had it bad with her abusive, asshole ex-husband. However, compared to Michael there was no contest.

How about yourself? Michael asked. I notice you don’t have a wedding band.

I was married, but I have been divorced for seven years.

Any significant other?

I haven’t heard that phrase for a while. She leaned back and appraised the man. He was definitely quite the handsome man. No, not at the moment. I’ve had a few men friends here in Peru, but I am unattached and dedicated to my work.

Excellent, he burst out, then curled his lips in in embarrassment.

She was surprised by his response, but didn’t read any romantic thoughts into his answer. After the crushing death of his family, she suspected he was doing well to be able to carry on and come on a vacation by himself. Romance was not something she was particularly interested in at present either.

When Maria saw a man out the corner of her eye, lingering outside the restaurant and watching them, she looked toward the street, and the man hurried off. Was it the same man at the market? She told herself she was being paranoid. She needed to relax. No one would try something in this crowded town especially when she and Huapu were accompanied by this strong American.

She understood why Michael had seemed melancholy when they first met. He was carrying around a gargantuan grief. She sensed his marriage had been a satisfying one in contrast