THE RIVER

The days in Caracas passed swiftly. They had to climb Silla without a guide, because it turned out that not a single native had even set foot on the twin peaks. Bonpland's nose soon wouldn't stop bleeding, and their most expensive barometer fell down and broke. Near the summit they found petrified mussels. Strange, said Humboldt, the water could never have been that high, so it must indicate an upward folding of the earth's crust, i.e., forces from its interior.

Up on the peak, they were persecuted by a swarm of furry bees. Bonpland threw himself flat on the ground, while Humboldt remained upright, sextant in hand and the eyepiece against his insect-covered face. They were crawling over his forehead, his nose, his chin, and down inside his collar. The governor had warned him that the most important thing was not to touch them. Or breathe. Just wait them out.

Bonpland asked if he could lift his head again.

Better not, said Humboldt without moving his lips. After a quarter of an hour, the creatures detached themselves and whirred off in a dark cloud into the sunset. Humboldt admitted it hadn't been easy to hold still. Once or twice he had been close to screaming. He sat down and rubbed his forehead. His nerves were not what they had been.

To bid them farewell there was an open-air concert in the Caracas theater. Gluck's chords rose into the darkness, the night was huge and full of stars, and Bonpland had tears in his eyes. He didn't really know, whispered Humboldt, music had never said very much to him.

They set off toward the Orinoco with a train of mules. Around the capital the plains stretched away unbroken for thousands of miles, without a tree or bush or hill. It was so bright that they had the sense they were walking on a glistening mirror, with their shadows below them and the empty sky above, or that they were reflections of two creatures from another world. At some point Bonpland asked if they were still alive.

He didn't know either, said Humboldt, but one way or the other, what could they do except keep going?

When they first caught sight of trees, swamps, and grass again, they had no idea how long they had been traveling. Humboldt had difficulty reading his two chronometers, he had lost any sense of time. Huts appeared, people came to meet them, and only when he had asked several times about what day it was did they believe they had been walking for no more than two weeks.

In Calabozo they met an old man who had never left his village. In spite of this he possessed a laboratory: glass vessels and bottles, metal equipment for measuring earthquakes, humidity, and magnetism. Plus a primitive machine with pointers that moved if anyone in the vicinity told a lie or said something stupid. And an apparatus which clicked and hummed and made sparks fly between dozens of little wheels rotating against each other. He was the one who had discovered this mysterious power, the old man cried. That proved he was a great scientist!

Doubtless, replied Humboldt, but—

Bonpland poked him in the side. The old man cranked harder, the sparks crackled louder and louder, the voltage was so strong that their hair was standing on end.

Impressive, said Humboldt, but the phenomenon was called galvanism and was known around the world. He too had something with him that produced the same effects, but much stronger. He showed the Leyden jar and how rubbing it with a hide would produce the tiniest branching flashes of lightning.

The old man scratched his chin in silence.

Humboldt clapped him on the shoulder and wished him all the luck in the future. Bonpland wanted to give the old man money, but he wouldn't take any.

He couldn't have known, he said. They were so far from anywhere.

Of course, said Bonpland.

The old man blew his nose and repeated that he couldn't have known. Until they were out of sight, they saw him standing bent over in front of his house, looking after them.

They came to a pond. Bonpland pulled off his clothes, climbed in, stopped for a moment, groaned, and then sank his full length. The water was full of electric eels.

Three days later Humboldt wrote down the results of their investigation with a numb hand. The animals could deliver shocks without even being touched. The shock produced no sparks, no reaction on the electrometer, no deviation of the magnetic needle; in short it left no trace except the pain it delivered. If one seized the eel in both hands or held it in one hand while holding a piece of metal in the other, the effect was stronger. It was the same if two people held hands and only one of them touched the animal. In this case both felt the shock at the same moment and with the same force. Only the front of the eel was dangerous, eels themselves were immune to their own discharges. And the pain itself was immense; so strong that it was impossible to tell what was happening. It expressed itself in numbness, confusion, and dizziness, only afterwards was it recognizable, and it continued to grow in memory; it seemed more like something that belonged to the outside world than to one's own body.

Satisfied, they continued their journey. What a stroke of luck, said Humboldt again and again, what a gift! Bonpland was limping, and there was no feeling in his hands. Days later, sparks were still dancing across Humboldt's field of vision when he closed his eyes. For a long time his knees were as stiff as an old man's.

In the high grass they came upon an unconscious girl, maybe thirteen years old, in torn clothes. Bonpland dripped medicine into her mouth, she spat, coughed, and then began to scream. While he talked at her soothingly Humboldt walked impatiently up and down. Rigid with fear she looked from one to the other. Bonpland stroked her head, and she began to sob. Someone must have done something appalling to her, he said.

What, asked Humboldt.

Bonpland gave him a long look.

Well, whatever it was, said Humboldt, they had to get on.

Bonpland gave her water, which she drank hastily. She wouldn't eat. He helped her to her feet. Without a sign of gratitude she pulled herself free and ran away.

Must have been the heat, said Humboldt. Children got lost and passed out.

Bonpland stared at him for a while. Yes, he said. Probably.

In the town of San Fernando they sold their mules and bought a wide sailboat with a wooden superstructure on the deck, provisions for a month, and reliable weapons. Humboldt made enquiries about anyone who might be familiar with the river. He was directed to four men seated in front of a tavern. One of them was wearing a top hat, one of them had a reed sticking out of the corner of his mouth, one of them was festooned with brass jewelry, and the fourth was pale and arrogant and didn't utter a word.

Humboldt asked if they might know the channel that ran between the Orinoco and the Amazon.

Of course, said the man with the top hat.

He had already traveled it, said the man with the jewelry.

Him too, said the man with the top hat. But it didn't exist. All a rumor.

Humboldt, confused, said nothing. Well anyway, was his final remark, he wanted to measure this channel, and he would need experienced oarsmen.

The man with the top hat asked what the prize was.

Money and knowledge.

The third man used two fingers to remove the reed from his mouth. Money, he said, was better than knowledge.

Much better, said the man with the top hat. And besides, life was so damn short, why gamble on it?

Because it was short, said Bonpland.

The four of them looked at one another, then at Humboldt. Their names, said the man with the top hat, were Carlos, Gabriel, Mario, and Julio, and they were good but they weren't cheap.

That was all right, said Humboldt.

He was followed to the inn by a rough sheepdog. When Humboldt stood still, the dog came up and pressed its nose against his shoe. When Humboldt scratched him behind the ears, he hiccuped, then whimpered with pleasure, fell back, and growled at Bonpland.

He liked him, said Humboldt. Obviously he had no master, so he'd take him along.

The boat was too small, said Bonpland. The dog was rabid and smelled bad.

They would soon get on with each other, said Humboldt, and let the dog sleep in his room at the inn. When the two of them arrived at the boat the following morning, they were as easy with each other as if they'd always been together.

Nobody had said anything about dogs, said Julio.

Further south, said Mario as he straightened his top hat, where the people were mad and talked backwards, there were dwarf dogs with wings. He had seen them himself.

Him too, said Julio. But now they'd died out. Eaten by the talking fish.

With a sigh, Humboldt used sextant and chronometer to determine the position of the town; once again the maps had been inaccurate. Then they cast off.

Soon all traces of the settlement were left behind. They saw crocodiles everywhere: the animals were floating in the water like tree trunks, dozing on the bank or gaping their jaws wide, and on their backs little herons walked around. The dog jumped into the water. A crocodile swam at him immediately, and as Bonpland pulled him back on board, his paw was bleeding from a piranha bite. Lianas brushed the surface of the water and tree trunks leaned out over the river.

They moored the boat and while Bonpland gathered plants, Humboldt went for a walk. He clambered over roots, squeezed a way between tree trunks, and brushed the threads of a spider's web out of his face. He detached flowers from stalks, broke the back of a beautiful butterfly with a skilled hand, and laid it lovingly in his specimen box. Only then did he notice that he was standing in front of a jaguar.

The animal raised its head and looked at him. Humboldt took a step to the side. Without stirring, the animal lifted its lip. Humboldt froze. After a long time it laid its head down on its forepaws. Humboldt took a step back. And another. The jaguar watched him attentively, without raising its head. Its tail switched in pursuit of a fly. Humboldt turned. He listened, but he heard nothing behind him. Holding his breath, arms pressed tight against his body, head down on his chest, and his eyes fixed on his feet, he began to move. Slowly, step by step, then gradually quicker. He must not stumble, he must not look back. And then he couldn't help himself, he began to run. Branches reared into his face, an insect smacked against his forehead, he slipped, grabbed hold of a liana, one sleeve got caught and tore, he struck branches out of his way. Sweating and out of breath, he reached the boat.

Cast off immediately, he panted.

Bonpland reached for his gun, the oarsmen got to their feet.

No, said Humboldt, cast off!

These were good weapons, said Bonpland. They could kill the animal and it would make a wonderful trophy.

Humboldt shook his head.

But why not?

The jaguar had let him go.

Bonpland muttered something about superstition and untied the ropes. The oarsmen grinned. Once in the middle of the current, Humboldt could no longer understand his own fear. He decided to describe events in his diary the way they should have happened: he would claim they had gone back into the undergrowth, guns cocked, but had failed to find the animal.

Before he had finished his account, the skies opened. The boat filled with water and they steered hastily for dry land. They reached it to be greeted by a naked, bearded man so covered in filth as to be almost unrecognizable. This was his plantation, for a fee they could spend the night.

Humboldt paid and asked where the house was.

He didn't have one, said the man. He was Don Ignacio, he was a Castilian nobleman, and the whole world was his house. And these were his wife and daughter.

Humboldt bowed to the two naked women and didn't know where to look. The oarsmen attached expanses of fabric to the trees and cowered down underneath them.

Don Ignacio asked if there was anything else they needed.

Not at the moment, said Humboldt, exhausted.

None of his guests, said Don Ignacio, would ever suffer want. With dignity he turned on his heel and walked away. Raindrops pearled on his head and shoulders. It smelled of flowers, wet earth, and manure.

Sometimes, said Bonpland reflectively, it struck him as an absolute enigma that he was here. Indescribably far from home, dispatched by nobody's ruler, simply because of a Prussian he'd met on the stairs.

Humboldt lay awake for a long time. The oarsmen kept on whispering wild stories to one another which lodged in his brain. And every time he managed to banish the flying houses, threatening serpent women, and fights to the death, he saw the eyes of the jaguar. Alert, intelligent, and pitiless. Then he came to again and heard the rain, the men, and the dog growling anxiously. At some point Bonpland arrived, wrapped himself in his blanket, and immediately went to sleep. Humboldt hadn't even heard him leave.

Next morning, with the sun high in the sky, it was as if it had never rained, and Don Ignacio said farewell to them with the gestures of a chatelain. They would always be welcome here! His wife gave a perfect court curtsey, and his daughter stroked Bonpland's arm. He put his hand on her shoulder and pulled a strand of hair off her face.

The wind was as hot as if it were coming out of an oven. The growth on the banks was getting thicker. White turtles’ eggs lay under the trees, lizards clung like wooden ornaments to the hull of the boat. Reflections of birds kept moving over the water, even when the sky was empty.

Remarkable optical phenomenon, said Humboldt.

Optical had nothing to do with it, said Mario. Birds were constantly dying at every moment, in fact they did little else. Their spirits lived on in their reflections. They had to go somewhere and they weren't wanted in heaven.

And insects, asked Bonpland.

They didn't die at all. That was the problem.

And indeed, the mosquitoes came interminably. They came out of the trees, the air, the water, they came from all sides, filling the air with their whining, stinging, sucking, and for every one that got squashed, there were a hundred more. Not even thick clothes thrown over their heads brought any relief, the creatures just stung right through the material.

The river, said Julio, didn't tolerate anyone. Before Aguirre had come this way, he had been sane. Only once he got here did he have the idea of declaring himself emperor.

A madman and a murderer, said Bonpland, the first explorer of the Orinoco. That made sense!

This sad man didn't explore a thing, said Humboldt. Any more than a bird explores the air or a fish explores water.

Or a German explores humor, said Bonpland.

Humboldt looked at him with a frown.

Just a joke, said Bonpland.

But an unfair one. Prussians could laugh. People laughed a lot in Prussia. Just think of Wieland's novels or those outstanding comedies of Gryphius. Even Herder knew how to set up a good joke.

He was sure, said Bonpland wearily.

Then that was all right, said Humboldt, scratching the dog's insect-bitten and bleeding coat.

They started up the Orinoco. The river was so wide that it was like sailing on the sea: far in the distance, like a mirage, forests showed on the other bank. Now there were hardly any waterbirds. The sky seemed to shimmer in the heat.

After some hours, Humboldt discovered that fleas had buried themselves in the skin of his toes. They had to interrupt their journey; Bonpland classified plants, Humboldt sat in a camp chair, his feet in a bucket of vinegar, and mapped the course of the river. Pulex penetrans, the common sand flea. He would describe it, but nowhere in his diary was he going to mention that he himself had fallen victim to it.

It's not that bad, said Bonpland.

Humboldt said he'd thought a lot about the rules of fame. If it was known that a man had had fleas living underneath his toenails, nobody would take him seriously. No matter what his achievements had been.

Next day they had a mishap. They had reached a particular broad expanse where both banks were invisible when the wind reversed the sail against the direction of the boat, the boat dipped, a wave slopped in, and dozens of pieces of paper were floating away in the water. The boat tilted further, the water reached their knees, the dog howled, and the men wanted to jump overboard. Humboldt leapt up; in a flash he loosened the belt with the chronometer and barked in an officer's voice that nobody was to move. The current let the boat drift, the sail flopped uselessly to and fro, and the gray backs of several crocodiles came closer.

Bonpland volunteered to swim to shore and get help.

There was no help, said Humboldt, holding the belt up over his head. In case no one had noticed, this was primeval forest. The only thing to do was wait.

It was true: at the last moment the sail caught the wind and the boat slowly righted itself.

Bail the boat, yelled Humboldt.

The oarsmen cursed one another and went to work with pots, caps, and drinking mugs. In short order, the boat was back on an even keel. Pieces of paper, dried plants, quill pens, and books were all swimming in the river. Off in the distance a top hat seemed to be hurrying to escape.

Sometimes he despaired, said Bonpland, that he would ever get home.

That was just being realistic, replied Humboldt, checking to see if any of the timepieces were damaged.

They came to the infamous cataracts. The river was full of rocks and the water bubbled as if it were boiling. It was impossible to advance any further with the laden boat. There was a mission there, and the Jesuits, heavily armed and stocky, more like soldiers than priests, received them mistrustfully. Humboldt sought out the head of the mission, a lean man with a fever-jaundiced face, and showed him his passport.

Good, said Pater Zea. He called an order through the window and shortly thereafter six monks brought in two natives. These excellent men, said Pater Zea, who would know the cataracts better than anyone, had volunteered of their own accord to bring a suitable boat through the rapids. Please would the guests wait until the boat was ready further down, then they could continue their journey. He made a gesture; his people led the two natives out and shackled their ankles.

He was most grateful, said Humboldt carefully, but he couldn't allow it.

Oh nonsense, cried Pater Zea, it didn't mean a thing, it was just because these people were erratic. They volunteered themselves and then all of a sudden they were nowhere to be found. And they all looked alike!

The boat for the next stage of their journey was brought. It was so narrow that they would have to sit one behind the other on the chests that held their instruments.

Better a month in hell than this, said Bonpland.

He would have both, promised Pater Zea. Hell and the boat.

In the evening they were served the first good dinner in weeks, and even Spanish wine. Through the window they could hear the oarsmen interrupting one another as they argued about the proper outcome of a story.

He had the impression, said Humboldt, that storytelling went on here all the time. What was the point of this eternal singsong recital of totally invented lives, which didn't even have a moral in them?

They had tried everything, said Pater Zea. All colonies banned the writing down of made-up stories. But people were stubborn and even the holy power of the Church had its limits. It was something to do with the country. He wondered if the baron had met the famous La Condamine.

Humboldt shook his head.

But he had, said Bonpland. An old man who fought with the waiters in the Palais Royal.

That was him, said the pater. There were one or two old men around here who remembered him. And a woman, who went into a decline as the result of some powder from a bad medicine man, but couldn't die, a horrible sight, he might add. Their stories were worth hearing. Might he tell them?

Humboldt sighed.

Back then, said Pater Zea, the Academy had sent out their three best surveyors, La Condamine, Bouguer, and Godin, to establish the length of the meridian of the equator. The hope had been, if only on aesthetic grounds, to disprove Newton's ugly theory that the earth was flattening itself by its own rotation. Pater Zea stared fixedly at the table for a few seconds. An enormous insect landed on his forehead. Instinctively Bonpland reached out his hand, stopped, and then pulled it back again.

To measure the equator, Pater Zea continued. In other words to draw a line where no line had been before. Had they looked around outside? Lines happened somewhere else. His bony arm pointed to the window, the bushes, the plants covered in swarms of insects. Not here!

Lines happened everywhere, said Humboldt. They were an abstraction. Wherever there was space as such, there were lines.

Space as such was elsewhere, said Pater Zea.

Space was universal!

Being universal was an invention. And space as such happened where surveyors put it. Pater Zea closed his eyes, lifted his wineglass, and set it down again without drinking from it. The three men had worked with extraordinary precision. Nonetheless, their data never matched. Point zero two degrees of angle on La Condamine's instrument was point zero three on Bouguer's, and half a degree in Godin's telescope was one and a half in La Condamine's. In order to draw their line, they were advised to use astronomical measurements, since practical, portable clocks like this, and here he eyed the chronometer on Humboldt's belt with a mocking glance, didn't yet exist. Things weren't yet used to being measured. Three stones and three leaves were not yet the same number, fifteen grams of peas and fifteen grams of earth not yet the same weight. Then add the heat, the damp, the mosquitoes, the never-ending noises of animals fighting. An unfathomable, pointless rage had overcome the men. The perfectly mannered La Condamine had misplaced Bouguer's measuring instruments, Bouguer in turn had broken Godin's pencils. There were daily battles, until Godin drew his sword and staggered away into the primeval forest. Two weeks later, the same thing happened between Bouguer and La Condamine. Pater Zea folded his hands. Imagine! Such civilized men, with full perukes, lorgnons, and scented handkerchiefs! La Condamine held out the longest. Eight years in the forest, protected by a mere handful of fever-ridden soldiers. He had cut trails which grew back again as soon as he turned his back, felled trees which resprouted the next night, and yet, little by little, with stiff-necked determination, he had forcibly imposed a web of numbers over reluctant nature. He had drawn triangles which gradually approximated a sum of a hundred and eighty degrees and triangulated arcs whose curves finally stood strong even in the shimmering heat. Then he received a letter from the Academy. The battle was lost, the proof followed Newton, the earth was indeed oblate, all his work had been in vain.

Bonpland took a large mouthful from the wine bottle. He seemed to have forgotten that there were wineglasses and that this wasn't done. Humboldt punished him with a glare.

And so, said Pater Zea, the beaten man went home. Four months to travel down a still-nameless river, which he only later christened the Amazon. On the way he painted maps, gave mountains names, tracked the temperature, and worked out the species of fishes, insects, snakes, and humans. Not because it interested him, but in order to stay sane. Afterwards, back in Paris, he never talked about the things that one or another of his soldiers remembered: the throaty sounds and perfectly aimed poisoned arrows that came flying out of the undergrowth, the nocturnal glows, but above all the minuscule displacements of reality, when the world crossed over into otherworldliness for a few moments. At such times the trees looked like trees and the slowly swirling water looked like water, but it was mimicry, it was something foreign, and it caused a shudder. It was at this time that La Condamine also found the channel that mad Aguirre had spoken of. The channel connecting the two greatest rivers on the continent.

He would prove its existence, said Humboldt. All great rivers were connected. Nature was a unity.

Oh yes? Pater Zea shook his head skeptically. Years later, when La Condamine, long since a member of the Academy and old and famous, was able (mostly) to wake from sleep without screaming and once again to make himself believe in God, he declared the channel to be an error. Great rivers, he said, had no inland connection. Such a thing would be a disorder of nature, and unworthy of a great continent. Pater Zea fell silent for a moment, then got to his feet and bowed. Dream well, Baron, and wake in good health!

Early next morning they were jolted from sleep by howls of pain. One of the men chained up in the courtyard was being beaten with leather whips by two priests. Humboldt ran out and asked what was going on.

Nothing, said one of the priests. Why?

A very old affair, said the other. It had nothing to do with their onward journey. He kicked the Indian, who took a minute to understand before summoning his bad Spanish to say that it was a very old affair and had nothing to do with their journey.

Humboldt hesitated. Bonpland, who had joined him, looked at him reproachfully. But they had to move on, Humboldt said quietly. What was he supposed to do?

Pater Zea called to them to come, so that he could show them his most priceless possession. A moth-eaten parrot, who could say several sentences in an extinct language. Twenty years ago the people who spoke it had still existed, but they had all died out and nobody could understand what the bird was gabbling.

Humboldt stretched out his hand, the parrot pecked at it, looked at the ground as if thinking, flapped its wings, and said something incomprehensible.

Bonpland enquired why the tribe had disappeared.

It happened, said Pater Zea.

Why?

Pater Zea stared at him with narrowed eyes. It was easy to be like that. A person came here and pitied anyone who looked sad, and back home there would be bad stories to tell, but if that person suddenly found himself with fifty men ruling ten thousand savages, wondering every night what the voices in the forest meant, and being amazed each morning to find himself alive, perhaps he would judge things differently.

A misunderstanding, said Humboldt. Nobody had intended to criticize.

Well, yes, maybe he had, said Bonpland. There were some things he wanted to know. He stopped, unable to believe that Humboldt had just kicked him. The bird swiveled its head between them, said something, then looked at them expectantly.

Correct, replied Humboldt, who didn't want to be impolite.

The bird seemed to think about this, then added a long sentence.

Humboldt stretched out his hand, the bird jabbed at it, and turned away, insulted.

While the two Indians were navigating the boat through the cataracts for them, Humboldt and Bonpland climbed the granite cliffs above the mission. There was supposed to be an ancient burial cave at the top. It was almost impossible to find a foothold, the only supports were protruding crystals of feldspar. Once they were up there, Humboldt put pen to paper to compose a piece of perfect prose describing the view of the rapids, the rainbow soaring over the river, and the watery glints of silver in the distance. The only thing to break his concentration was the need to keep slapping at mosquitoes. Then they balanced their way across the ridge to the next peak and the entrance to the cave.

There must have been hundreds of corpses, each in its own basket of palm leaves, the bony hands clasped around the knees, the head pressed down against the chest cavity. The oldest were already reduced to skeletons, others were in varying states of decay: parchment scraps of skin, intestines dried in clumps, eyes black and small as fruit kernels. Lots of them had the flesh scratched from the bones. The noise of the river didn't penetrate this high; it was so quiet they could hear their own breathing.

It was peaceful here, said Bonpland, nothing like that other cave. Down there had been the dead, here there were just bodies. Here it felt safe.

Humboldt tugged several corpses out of their baskets, detached skulls from spines, broke teeth out of jawbones and rings from fingers. He wrapped the bodies of a child and two adults in cloths and tied them together so tightly that two people could carry the bundle.

Bonpland asked if he was serious.

He should grab hold right now, said Humboldt impatiently, he couldn't get them down to the mules on his own!

It was late before they reached the mission. The night was clear, the stars particularly bright, insect swarms tinged the light red, and the air smelled of vanilla. The Indians backed silently away from them. Old women stared out of windows, children fled. A man with a painted face stepped into their path and asked what was in the cloths.

Various things, said Humboldt. This and that.

Rock samples, said Bonpland. Plants.

The man folded his arms.

Bones, said Humboldt.

Bones?

Of crocodiles and sea cows, said Bonpland.

Sea cows, the man said after him.

Humboldt asked if he'd like to see them.

Better not. The man stepped slowly aside. Better to believe him.

The next two days did not go well. They couldn't find any Indian guides who were prepared to show them the area, and even the Jesuits were in a hurry when Humboldt spoke to them. These people were all so superstitious, he wrote to his brother, that it was going to be a long time yet before they attained freedom and reason. But at least he'd managed to capture a few little monkeys unknown to biologists so far.

On the third day the two volunteers brought the boat unscathed through the rapids with only minor injuries to themselves. Humboldt gave them some money and a few glass marbles, had the cases of instruments, the caged monkeys, and the corpses loaded on board, and assured Pater Zea of his lifelong gratitude as he said goodbye.

He should take care, said the pater, or it would be a short one.

The four oarsmen arrived and there was a vigorous discussion about loading. First the dog, then that! Julio pointed to the cloth bundle with the corpses.

Humboldt asked if they were afraid.

Of course, said Mario.

But of what, said Bonpland. That the bodies were suddenly going to wake up?

Exactly, said Julio.

Anyhow, it was going to cost them, said Carlos.

Above the cataracts, the river was very narrow, and rapids kept hurling the boat from side to side. Spray saturated the air and they had to move dangerously close to the cliffs. The mosquitoes were relentless: the sky seemed to be entirely composed of insects. The men soon gave up swatting at them. They had got used to the fact that they were constantly bleeding.

At the next mission they were given ant paste to eat. Bonpland refused it, but Humboldt tasted a mouthful. Then he excused himself and disappeared into the undergrowth for some time. Not uninteresting, he said, when he came back. Certainly a possible future solution to the food supply.

But this place was completely uninhabited, said Bonpland. The only thing in full supply was food!

The village chief asked what was in the cloth bundles. He had a terrible suspicion.

Sea cow bones, said Bonpland.

That was not what it smelled of, said the chief.

Very well, cried Humboldt, he would admit it. But these dead were so old, they couldn't even be described as corpses any more. In the final analysis, the entire world was made up of dead bodies! Every handful of earth had once been a person and another person before that, and every ounce of air had already been breathed by thousands and thousands now dead. What was the matter with them all, what was the problem?

He had only asked, said the chief shyly.

To ward off mosquitoes, the villagers had built mud huts with entrances that could be closed. They lit fires inside to drive out the insects, then crawled in and blocked the entrance, put out the fire, and were able to spend a few hours in the hot air without being bitten. In one of these huts Bonpland spent so much time cataloguing the plants they had gathered that he fainted from the smoke. Humboldt sat in the next hut coughing and half-blind, with the dog, writing to his brother. When they emerged, with stinking clothes, gasping for air, a man came running up to them, wanting to read their palms. He was naked, with brightly colored body paint and feathers in his hair. Humboldt refused, but Bonpland was interested. The soothsayer took hold of his fingers, raised his eyebrows, and looked in amusement at his hand.

Ah, he said, as if to himself. Ah, ah.

Yes?

The soothsayer shook his head. He was sure it was nothing. Things could happen one way or the other. Everyone forged his own luck. Who could know the future!

Nervously, Bonpland asked what he saw.

Long life. The soothsayer shrugged. No doubt about it.

And health?

Generally good.

Dammit, cried Bonpland. Now he demanded to know what that look had meant.

What look? Long life and health. That's what was there, that's what he said. Did the gentleman like this continent?

Why?

He was going to be here for a very long time.

Bonpland laughed. He doubted it. A long life, here of all places? Certainly not. Unless someone forced him.

The soothsayer sighed and held his hand for a moment, as if to give him courage. Then he turned to Humboldt.

Who shook his head.

It hardly cost a thing!

No, said Humboldt.

In one swift movement, the soothsayer grabbed Humboldt's hand. He tried to pull away but the soothsayer was stronger; Humboldt, forced to play along, gave a sour smile. The soothsayer frowned and pulled the hand closer. He bent forward, then straightened up again. Squeezed his eyes together. Puffed out his cheeks.

Just say it, cried Humboldt. He had other things to do. If something bad was there, it didn't matter, he didn't believe a word of it anyway.

Nothing bad there.

But?

Nothing. The soothsayer let go of Humboldt's hand. He was sorry, he didn't want any money, he couldn't do it.

He didn't understand, said Humboldt.

Him neither. It was nothing. No past, no present, no future. There was, so to speak, nothing and nobody to see. The soothsayer looked sharply into Humboldt's face. Nobody!

Humboldt stared at his hand.

Of course it was nonsense. Of course it was the man's fault. Perhaps he was losing his gift. The soothsayer squashed a gnat on his belly. Perhaps he'd never had it.

That evening, Humboldt and Bonpland left the dog tied up next to the oarsmen, so that they could have an insect-free night in the smoke-huts. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Humboldt nodded off to sleep, soaked with sweat, eyes burning, his thoughts a blur in the fug.

He was awakened by a noise. Someone had crawled in and was lying down beside him. Not again, he muttered, lit the candle stub with shaky fingers, and found himself looking at a small boy. What do you want, he asked, what's the matter, what is this all about?

The child examined him with little animal eyes.

So what is it, asked Humboldt, what?

The boy kept staring at him. He was completely naked. In spite of the flame in front of his eyes, he didn't blink.

What, whispered Humboldt, what, child?

The boy laughed.

Humboldt's hand was shaking so badly that he dropped the candle. In the darkness he could hear them both breathing. He reached out his hand to push the boy away, but when he felt his damp skin, he recoiled as if he'd been hit. Go away, he whispered.

The boy didn't move.

Humboldt sprang to his feet, bumping his head on the roof, and kicked at him. The boy screamed—since the business with the sand fleas Humboldt wore boots at night—and rolled himself into a ball. Humboldt kicked again and hit the boy's head, the boy whimpered softly and then went quiet. Humboldt could hear himself panting. He saw the shadowy body in front of him, seized him by the shoulders, and pushed him out.

The night air did him good; after the thick fug in the hut it felt cool and fresh. Walking unsteadily, he went to the next hut, where Bonpland was. But when he heard a woman's voice, he stopped. He listened, and heard it again. He turned back, crawled into his hut, and closed the entrance. The curtain had been open for long enough to let the insects fly in, and a panicked bat fluttered round his head. My God, he whispered. Then, out of sheer exhaustion, he fell into a restless sleep.

When he woke up, it was broad daylight, the heat was even more intense, and the bat was gone. Impeccably dressed, his uniform dagger at his side, and his hat under his arm, he stepped out into the open air. The area in front of the huts was empty. His face was bleeding from several cuts.

Bonpland asked what had happened to him.

He had tried to shave himself. Just because there were mosquitoes was no reason to turn savage, one was still a civilized human being. Humboldt set his hat on his head and asked if Bonpland had heard anything during the night.

Nothing special, said Bonpland carefully. One heard all sorts of things in the night.

Humboldt nodded. And one dreamed the strangest dreams.

Next day they turned in to the Río Negro, where the mosquitoes were less plentiful over the dark water. The air too was better here. But the presence of the corpses was weighing on the oarsmen, and even Humboldt was pale and silent. Bonpland kept his eyes closed. He was afraid, he said, that his fever was coming back. The monkeys screamed in their cages, rattled the bars, and pulled faces at one another. One of them even managed to open its door, turned somersaults, plagued the oarsmen, went climbing along the edge of the boat, jumped onto Humboldt's shoulders, and spat at the snarling dog.

Mario asked Humboldt if he would please tell them a story.

He didn't know any stories, said Humboldt, as he straightened his hat, which the monkey had turned around. And he didn't like telling them. But he could recite the most beautiful poem in the German language, freely translated into Spanish. Here it was. Above all the mountaintops it was silent, there was no wind in the trees, even the birds were quiet, and soon death would come.^*

Everyone looked at him.

That's it, said Humboldt.

Yes, but, asked Bonpland.

Humboldt reached for the sextant.

Pardon, said Julio, but that couldn't have been the whole thing.

Of course it wasn't some story about blood, war, and shape-changing, snapped Humboldt. There was no act of magic in it, nobody got turned into a plant or began to fly or ate somebody else. With one swift grab he seized the monkey who was just in the process of trying to undo his shoes, and stuck him in his cage. The little creature screamed, tried to bite him, stuck out its tongue, moved its ears, and showed him its backside. And unless he was mistaken, said Humboldt, everyone on this boat had work to do!

Near San Carlos they crossed the magnetic equator. Humboldt watched the instruments devoutly. He had dreamed of this place when he was a child.

It was almost evening when they reached the mouth of the legendary channel. Swarms of biting flies immediately descended on them. But as the heat dissipated, so did the haze; the sky cleared, and Humboldt could measure the degree of longitude. He worked all night, measuring the angle of the moon as it tracked across the Southern Cross. Then, by way of confirmation, fixing the ghostly spots of Jupiter's moons in his telescope. Nothing could be relied on, he said to the dog, who was observing him intently. Not the tables, not the instruments, not even the sky. One had to be so precise as to be immune to disorder.

It was almost dawn when he finished. He clapped his hands, get up everybody, no time to lose! One end of the channel was now pinpointed, and they had to reach the other as quickly as possible.

Sleepily Bonpland asked if he was afraid someone might beat him to it, given that it was at the end of the world, and entire centuries had passed without the goddamn river attracting the slightest attention.

One never knew, said Humboldt.

The region had never been mapped, and they could only guess where the water was carrying them. Tree trunks crowded the bank so tightly that it was impossible to land, and every few hours a thin spray of rain would moisten the air without cooling it or discouraging the insects. Bonpland made a whistling sound whenever he breathed.

It was nothing, he said, coughing, it was just that he didn't know whether it was the fever or something in the air. Speaking as a doctor, he suggested it wasn't a good idea to inhale too deeply. He suspected the woods were giving off unhealthy vapors. Or maybe it was the corpses.

Out of the question, said Humboldt. The corpses had nothing to do with it.

Eventually they found a place to land, and took machetes and axes to chop out a small space where they could spend the night. Mosquitoes crepitated in the flames of their campfire. A bat bit the dog in the nose; he bled profusely, turned circles growling, and wouldn't settle down again. He went to hide under Humboldt's hammock, and his rumbling kept them awake for a long time.

Next morning neither Humboldt nor Bonpland was able to shave: their faces were too swollen from insect bites. When they went to cool their swelling in the river, they realized that the dog was missing. Humboldt quickly loaded his gun.

Not a good idea, said Carlos. The forest was at its thickest, and the air was too wet for guns. The dog must have been taken by a jaguar; nothing to be done.

Without saying a word, Humboldt disappeared into the trees.

Nine hours later they were still there. The seventeenth time Humboldt came back, drank water, washed himself in the river, and tried to set off again, Bonpland held him back.

There was no point, the dog was gone.

Never. Absolutely not, said Humboldt. He wouldn't permit it.

Bonpland put a hand on his shoulder. The dog was damn well dead!

As a doornail, said Julio.

Gone for good, said Mario.

It was certainly the deadest dog in history, said Carlos.

Humboldt looked at them all, one after the other. His mouth opened and closed, but then he laid down the gun.

It was days before they saw another settlement. A missionary turned half-witted by the silence greeted them in a stutter. The people were naked and brightly colored: some had painted tailcoats on themselves while others had painted uniforms which they themselves could never have seen. Hum-boldt's face lit up when he was told that this was a place where they prepared curare.

The curare master was a dignified, gaunt, priestly figure. This, he explained, was how the twigs were peeled, this was how the bark was rubbed on a stone, this was how—careful— the juice was poured into a funnel made from a banana leaf. The most important thing was the funnel. He doubted that Europe had produced anything so ingenious.

Well, yes, said Humboldt, it was certainly a perfectly respectable funnel.

And this, said the master, was how the stuff was evaporated in a clay vessel, please pay attention, even watching it was dangerous, and this was how the concentrated infusion of the leaves was added. And this, he held the little clay dish out to Humboldt, was now the strongest poison in this world and the other world too. It would kill angels!

Humboldt asked if one could drink it.

It was put on arrows, said the master. Nobody had ever tried to drink it. They weren't insane.

But people ate the animals killed by it right away?

Yes, said the master. That was the point.

Humboldt looked at his index finger. Then he stuck it in the bowl and licked it clean.

The master screamed.

Not to worry, said Humboldt. His finger was intact and so was the inside of his mouth. If one had no wounds, the stuff must not be deadly. The substance had to be researched, so he had to take the risk. But he must excuse himself, he was feeling a little weak. He sank to his knees and then remained sitting on the ground for some time, rubbing his forehead and humming to himself. Then he stood up with great care and bought all the master's supplies from him.

The onward journey was delayed for a day. Humboldt and Bonpland sat side by side on a fallen tree. Humboldt's eyes were fixed on his shoes, and Bonpland endlessly chanted the first line of a French counting rhyme. They knew now how curare was prepared, and together they had proved that one could ingest an astonishing amount by mouth without suffering worse effects than some dizziness and hallucinations, but that if even the tiniest amount was dripped into the blood, unconsciousness resulted and even a fifth of a gram was sufficient to kill a monkey, though the monkey could be saved by blowing air hard into its mouth for as long as the poison paralyzed its muscles. After an hour the effect would wear off, its capacity to move would gradually be restored, and there would be no ongoing effect except the ape would feel a bit sad. So they thought it must be a delusion when the bushes suddenly parted and a man with a mustache, wearing a linen shirt and a leather jacket, stepped out in front of them, sweaty but composed. He seemed to be in his midthirties, his name was Brombacher, and he was from Saxony. He didn't have plans and he wasn't going anywhere, he said, he just wanted to see the world.

Humboldt said why didn't he come with them.

Brombacher said thank you but no. One had more experiences on one's own and besides, home was full of nothing but Germans.

Stumblingly out of practice in his mother tongue, Humboldt asked which town he was from, how high the church spire was, and how many people lived there.

Brombacher replied calmly and politely: Bad Kürthing, fifty-four feet, eight hundred and thirty-two souls. He offered them dirty flat cakes of dough; they declined. He told them about the wild game, the animals, and the lonely nights in the forest. After a short time he stood up, raised his hat to them, trudged off, and the foliage closed behind him. Among all the absurdities in his life, Humboldt wrote next day to his brother, this meeting was the most extraordinary. He would never be quite sure whether it had really happened or whether it had been a last aftereffect of the poison on their imaginations.

Toward evening, the curare had passed off sufficiently for them to be able to move around, and they even felt hungry. The inhabitants of the mission were turning spits over a fire with the head of a child, three tiny hands, and four little feet with what were clearly toes. Not human, explained the missionary. They stopped that wherever they could. Just little monkeys from the forest.

Bonpland refused to taste any. Humboldt hesitated, but took a hand and bit into it. It didn't taste bad but he didn't feel well. Would people be offended if he didn't eat it all?

The missionary shook his head, mouth full. Nobody would notice!

In the night, animal noises kept them awake. The imprisoned monkeys hammered against the bars and kept on screaming. Humboldt wrote the beginning of a treatise on night sounds of the forest and animal existence, which was to be understood as the continuation of an ongoing struggle, and consequently, the opposite of paradise.

He thought, said Bonpland, that the missionary had lied.

Humboldt looked up.

The man had been living here a long time, said Bonpland. The forest exerted enormous power. It must have been awkward for him, which is why he'd made his assertion. People here ate human flesh, was what Pater Zea had said, and everyone knew it. What could one missionary do against that?

Nonsense, said Humboldt.

No, said Julio, that sounded right.

Humboldt was silent for a moment. He begged their pardon, but they were all completely exhausted. He quite understood. But if any one of them said again that the godson of the Duke of Brunswick had eaten human flesh, he would reach for his weapon.

Bonpland laughed.

He meant it, said Humboldt.

No he didn't, said Bonpland.

Yes he did.

Everyone seemed uneasy and fell silent. Bonpland drew breath, but said nothing. One after the other they turned toward the fire and pretended to be asleep.

From now on Bonpland's fever began to get worse. More and more often he got up during the night, took a few steps, then collapsed, giggling to himself. Once Humboldt got the feeling that someone was bending over him. As if in a dream he saw Bonpland's face, teeth bared, a machete in his hand. He thought as fast as he could. One had strange dreams here, as he knew only too well. He needed Bonpland. So he had to trust him. This must therefore be a dream. He closed his eyes and forced himself to lie there motionless, until he heard the sound of footsteps. When he blinked the next time, Bonpland was lying beside him, eyes closed.

Day after day the hours blended into one another; the sun hung low and fiery over the river, it hurt to look at it, the mosquitoes attacked from every side, even the oarsmen were too exhausted to talk. For a time they were followed by a metal disc that flew ahead of them and then behind them again, glided silently through the sky, disappeared, reappeared, came so close for minutes at a time that Humboldt with his telescope could see the curved reflection of the river, their boat, and even himself in its glistening surface. Then it raced away and never came back.

The weather was clear when they reached the end of the channel. To the north, granite-white mountains reared over their heads, and on the other side grassy plains stretched away into the distance. Humboldt fixed the setting sun with his sextant and measured the angle between the path of Jupiter and that of the moon as it wandered on its way.

Now finally, he said, the channel really existed.

On the way back downstream, said Mario, things would go faster. No need to fear the rapids any more and they could stick to the middle of the river. And that way they'd escape the mosquitoes.

He doubted it, said Bonpland. He didn't believe there was a place anywhere that was free of them. They had even worked their way into his memory. If he thought of La Rochelle, he found the town full of insects.

The appearance of the channel on maps, said Humboldt, would benefit this entire part of the world. It would be possible to transport goods across the continent, new centers of trade would spring up, enterprises no one could ever dream of before would become possible.

Bonpland had a fit of coughing. Tears came pouring down his face and he spat up blood. There was nothing here, he panted. It was hotter than hell, there were nothing but stinks, mosquitoes, and snakes. There would never be anything here, and this filthy channel wouldn't make a bit of difference. Now could they please start back?

Humboldt stared at him for several moments. He hadn't decided that yet. The Esmeralda mission was the last Christian settlement before the wilderness. From there it would be a few weeks’ journey through uncharted land to the Amazon. And nobody had yet discovered the Amazon's source.

Mario crossed himself.

On the other hand, said Humboldt reflectively perhaps it would be imprudent. The thing might be dangerous. If he died now, all the findings and scientific results would die with him. No one would ever know about them.

They shouldn't be put at risk, said Bonpland.

It would be insanity, said Julio.

Not to mention those! Mario pointed to the corpses. No one would ever get to see them!

Humboldt nodded. Sometimes one had to be able to hold back.

The Esmeralda mission consisted of six houses set between huge stands of bananas. There wasn't even so much as a missionary, just an old Spanish soldier to oversee fifteen families of Indians. Humboldt engaged some of the men to scratch the termites out of the planks of the boat.

The decision not to go further was the right one, said the soldier. In the wilderness behind the mission the people were uninhibited murderers. They had several heads, they were immortal, and the language they spoke was Cat.

Humboldt sighed. He was troubled. It angered him that now some other person would find the source of the Amazon. To distract himself, he studied the paintings of suns, moons, and intricately coiled snakes that were scratched into the cliff almost three hundred feet above the river.

The water level must have been higher long ago, said the soldier.

Not that high, said Humboldt. Evidently the cliffs were once lower. He had a teacher in Germany whom he was hardly going to dare tell about this.

Or there were flying people, said the soldier.

Humboldt smiled.

Lots of creatures flew, said the soldier, and nobody thought that was odd. While on the other hand nobody had ever seen a mountain rising.

People didn't fly said Humboldt. Even if he saw it, he wouldn't believe it.

And that was science?

Yes, said Humboldt, that was exactly what science was.

When the boat was repaired and Bonpland's fever had subsided, they started the return journey. As they said goodbye, the soldier asked Humboldt to put in a good word for him in the capital, so that he would be transferred elsewhere. It was unendurable. Just recently he'd found a spider in his food, and here he held both palms next to each other, that big! Twelve years, you couldn't expect that of anybody. Full of hope, he gave Humboldt two parrots as a gift and kept waving for a long time as they left.

Mario was right: going downstream was faster and out in midstream the insects weren't so aggressive. A short time later they reached the Jesuit mission, where Pater Zea greeted them with amazement.

He hadn't expected to see them again so soon. Remarkable robustness! And how had they got on with the cannibals?

He hadn't encountered any, said Humboldt.

Odd, said Pater Zea. Almost all the tribes up there were cannibals.

He couldn't confirm that, said Humboldt with a frown.

His people in the mission had been absolutely restless since their departure, said Pater Zea. They had been very stirred up by their ancestors being taken from their graves. Perhaps it would be better if they switched back into their old boat at once and continued their journey.

It looked as if a storm was coming, objected Humboldt.

This couldn't wait, said Pater Zea. Things were serious and he couldn't guarantee anything.

Humboldt thought for a moment. Then he said that they must obey authority.

The next afternoon clouds gathered. Thunder rumbled distantly over the plain, and suddenly they were plunged into the most cataclysmic storm they had ever encountered. Humboldt ordered the sail to be hauled down, and the chests, corpses, and animal cages unloaded onto a rocky island.

They'd had it coming, said Julio.

Rain had never yet hurt anybody, said Mario.

Rain hurt everyone, said Carlos. It could kill a person. It had already killed a lot of them.

They would never get home, said Julio.

And what if they did, said Mario. He'd never liked home.

Home, said Carlos, was death.

Humboldt instructed them to moor the boat over there against the other bank. They cast off and at that moment there was a surge in the river which carried the boat with it. For a moment, Bonpland and Humboldt saw one of the oars fly overboard, then the foaming water blocked their sight. Seconds later the boat flashed again a long way in the distance, then it and all four oarsmen were gone.

And now, asked Humboldt.

Since they were already here, said Bonpland, they could inspect the rocks.

A cavern led under one of the cataracts. Water thundered over their heads, and poured down in thick spouts through holes in the roof, but between them it was possible to stand dry. Hoarsely Bonpland suggested they measure the temperature.

Humboldt seemed to be exhausted. He couldn't explain, but sometimes he felt close to just letting go. Slowly he occupied himself with the instruments. And now, they must get out again—the cavern could flood at any moment!

They raced back into the open.

The rain was coming down even harder. The water poured down over them by the bucketful, soaked their clothes, filled their shoes, and made the ground so slippery that it was hard to keep their footing. They sat down to wait. Crocodiles slid through the boiling water. The monkeys were roaring in their cages, pounding on the doors and pulling at the bars. The two parrots hung from their perches like dripping wet towels. One of them was staring miserably in front of it, while the other kept muttering curses in bad Spanish.

And what, asked Humboldt, if the boat didn't come back?

It would, said Bonpland, hush.

The rain came down even harder, as if the sky were trying to wash them off the island. The horizon flickered with lightning, and thunder broke over the cliffs on the other bank of the river, making the echo of each clap merge into the next.

This wasn't good, said Humboldt. They were surrounded by water, and they were sitting on the highest point. They must hope Mr. Franklin was wrong in his theory of lightning strikes.

Bonpland didn't say anything. He pulled out his flask and drank from it.

And he was surprised, said Humboldt, that there were so many lizards in among the rapids. It contradicted the suppositions of biology.

Bonpland took another swallow.

On the other hand there were known examples of fish that could even climb waterfalls.

Bonpland raised his eyebrows. The thunder had become a single, deafening, relentless uproar. At the other end of the island, not fifty feet away, something large and dark heaved itself onto the rock.

If they died, said Humboldt, nobody would know what had happened to them.

And if they did, said Bonpland, throwing away the empty flask, dead was dead.

Humboldt looked apprehensively at the crocodile. If they managed to return to the coast, he would send everything off to his brother: plants, maps, diaries, and collections. On two separate ships. Only then would he leave for the Cordilleras.

The Cordilleras?

Humboldt nodded. He would like to see the great volcanoes. The question of Neptunism had to get settled once and for all.

Soon they lost all sense of how long they had been waiting. Once a dead cow was propelled past them, then the lid of a piano, then a chessboard and a broken rocking chair. Humboldt carefully took out the clock, listened to its Parisian tick-tock, and peered at the hands through its waxed cloth cover. Either the storm had only begun a few minutes ago, or they'd been sitting fast for more than twelve hours, or then again perhaps the storm hadn't just wreaked chaos on river, forest, and sky, but on time itself; and simply washed away the hours, so that noon had now merged with the night and the following morning. Humboldt wrapped his arms around his knees.

Sometimes, he said, things made him wonder. By rights he should have been an inspector of mines. He would have lived in a German castle, had children, hunted deer on Sundays, and visited Weimar once a month. And now he was sitting here in the middle of a flood, under foreign stars, waiting for a boat that would not come.

Bonpland asked if he thought he'd made a mistake. Castle, children, Weimar—that would be something!

Humboldt took off his hat, which the rain had reduced to a useless lump. A bat rose from the forest, was caught by the storm, forced down by the rain, and after a few wing beats was dragged away by the current.

The thought had never occurred to him.

Not even for a second?

Humboldt leaned forward to look at the crocodile. Then he shook his head.