sip. The legend of the Monkey God had just enough anecdotal evidence to make him want to take a look. Ten years of treasure hunting in South America every vacation had brought him little reward. Two broken ribs, eight cases of dysentery, a malaria scare, two snake bites, one scorpion sting and a close call with some heavily armed bandits, but very little actual treasure to show for it. A conservative estimate put him over $30,000 down over the last decade of hacking through jungles, climbing trees, kayaking deserted stretches of river, and hiking snowcapped mountains. His income as a history teacher hardly began to cover his expenditure. Lucky, then, that his movie producer wife thought his expeditions were the best vacations she’d ever taken. It was how they’d met, Sally vetting locations for a movie about drug smuggling, Harvey about to go home after a fruitless search for a legendary diamond. She’d been the first woman he’d ever met who didn’t mention Indiana Jones when he told her why he was there. He told her later that was the moment he’d fallen in love.
Harvey passed Carlos another cigarette and offered him a light. He knew he was supposed to quit, but—as he’d pointed out to his oncologist—there was a famous saying about shutting a barn door after its occupant had escaped. No point adopting a healthy lifestyle with his prognosis. He was fifty-three and in pretty good shape. Other than the terminal cancer, that was. However, he increasingly found himself struggling to climb even small hills now. Stopping every few minutes, trying to catch his breath. And Sally had noticed, of course. He’d claimed a lingering case of bronchitis, but he knew she wasn’t buying it. That was a conversation he’d put off for too long. But how do you tell the love of your life that “til death do us part” was going to roll around a little sooner than planned? He promised himself he’d tell her in the morning. Just as he had every night for the last six weeks.
“You believe in the Monkey God, Carlos?” he said.
“Si,” said Carlos. “My father’s father saw him once. The whole town was sick, everyone sick. Dios Mono, he walk through the town in the dark. My father’s father was small. Young, yes? He saw him. Then every sick person get well. The day after, no one is sick. Dios Mono took away the sickness. Of course I believe.”
Harvey was silent for a minute, sipping the rum, feeling the warmth run down his throat. He struggled with conflicting emotions. The healing properties of the Monkey God was one of its most famous attributes. The other was its propensity for kidnapping women, impregnating them, then sending them back home where they’d give birth to strange half-human creatures. Harvey’s choice of Honduras for his last adventure owed more than a little to the healing legend. He could only hope Sally would escape the latter fate.
“Mr Foster, I-,” Carlos stopped, looked a little embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Harvey, Carlos. Call me Harvey. What do you want to know?”
“Are you sick, Harvey?”
Before Harvey could answer, the ground lifted itself about six inches, seemed to shake itself briefly, then settled with a low cracking sound and a small cloud of dust.
“What the-?” said Harvey.
“Terremoto!” said Carlos, jumping out of his seat, knocking the table, which had already thrown off their glasses and the bottle. “Earthquake!” He was heading for a large bell hanging from the corner of the porch. Before he got there, there was another shudder of movement and Harvey saw one of the supports holding the roof give way. As the structure collapsed, Harvey, moving with a speed he hardly credited possible, sprinted toward Carlos, crashing into him, his momentum carrying both the men off the decking into the street.
“No!” said Carlos, “I must ring bell.” He started to stand, then hurriedly pushed himself backward as the porch collapsed in a shower of
Harvey passed Carlos another cigarette and offered him a light. He knew he was supposed to quit, but—as he’d pointed out to his oncologist—there was a famous saying about shutting a barn door after its occupant had escaped. No point adopting a healthy lifestyle with his prognosis. He was fifty-three and in pretty good shape. Other than the terminal cancer, that was. However, he increasingly found himself struggling to climb even small hills now. Stopping every few minutes, trying to catch his breath. And Sally had noticed, of course. He’d claimed a lingering case of bronchitis, but he knew she wasn’t buying it. That was a conversation he’d put off for too long. But how do you tell the love of your life that “til death do us part” was going to roll around a little sooner than planned? He promised himself he’d tell her in the morning. Just as he had every night for the last six weeks.
“You believe in the Monkey God, Carlos?” he said.
“Si,” said Carlos. “My father’s father saw him once. The whole town was sick, everyone sick. Dios Mono, he walk through the town in the dark. My father’s father was small. Young, yes? He saw him. Then every sick person get well. The day after, no one is sick. Dios Mono took away the sickness. Of course I believe.”
Harvey was silent for a minute, sipping the rum, feeling the warmth run down his throat. He struggled with conflicting emotions. The healing properties of the Monkey God was one of its most famous attributes. The other was its propensity for kidnapping women, impregnating them, then sending them back home where they’d give birth to strange half-human creatures. Harvey’s choice of Honduras for his last adventure owed more than a little to the healing legend. He could only hope Sally would escape the latter fate.
“Mr Foster, I-,” Carlos stopped, looked a little embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Harvey, Carlos. Call me Harvey. What do you want to know?”
“Are you sick, Harvey?”
Before Harvey could answer, the ground lifted itself about six inches, seemed to shake itself briefly, then settled with a low cracking sound and a small cloud of dust.
“What the-?” said Harvey.
“Terremoto!” said Carlos, jumping out of his seat, knocking the table, which had already thrown off their glasses and the bottle. “Earthquake!” He was heading for a large bell hanging from the corner of the porch. Before he got there, there was another shudder of movement and Harvey saw one of the supports holding the roof give way. As the structure collapsed, Harvey, moving with a speed he hardly credited possible, sprinted toward Carlos, crashing into him, his momentum carrying both the men off the decking into the street.
“No!” said Carlos, “I must ring bell.” He started to stand, then hurriedly pushed himself backward as the porch collapsed in a shower of