Shadows Under Golgotha

I stared across at the semi-automatic rifle being pointed at me. Facing death wasn't what I'd planned for that afternoon, but now that I was, I felt strangely calm. Calmer than I’d ever been in my life. Even the guy screaming in my face couldn’t disturb me.

The irony was all that I’d been looking for that day was minor salvation on the cross. Or should I say, by the cross. The one on the mountain somewhere in the distance, now out of sight, seemingly forever out of reach.

It’s what I always did in these Andean towns pasted into the folds of the giant carved valleys. On one of the looming peaks there’d always be a giant cross or a divine statue benevolently looking down upon all. Providing protection. Guidance.

I personally would find solace in making my way up to these monuments. Exercising my mind and body to find a route. Tackling nature. Seeing urbanity drop away as I steadily climbed higher. At the summit, I’d could sit for hours in peaceful solitude taking in the dramatic vista.

This time, though, was very different. I’d only arrived Vilcabamba, Ecuador, a few hours earlier. I'd spotted the cross up on high as the rickety yet colourful old bus sputtered into town.

An hour or so later, I was walking back along the road, trying to work out how to get across the rural valley floor. I then saw a river, intersecting the road, glinting in the sun as it flowed gently down from where I wanted to be.

So off I set along its banks. Down, down the muddy path safe in the knowledge that it’d guide me most of the way. I happily walked past farms and settlements. Past goats, chickens, donkeys. Mangy dogs. Cheeky kids. Surly older sisters looking at me out of the corner of their eyes.

But the further I progressed upstream, the more the high-afternoon sun began to scorch. Things then took an ominous turn when I saw three adolescent boys down by the water trying to control a goat. An angry, battering ram. I didn’t think much of it until I noticed one of the boys was carrying a body bag and a long neck-slitting knife. Slaughter was on their minds.

I stood and watched until the ram broke free and bolted away, the youths knowing it was pointless to chase it. Well done the goat, I thought.

It was then I realised I could no longer see the cross in the distance. I was lost.

Up ahead was a dusty hamlet of faded whitewashed walls and broken-tiled roofs. I wandered along its edge a little aimlessly until I heard shouting coming from behind me. I turned to see three guys sitting in the shade, with another standing and making angry gestures at me to come over. Of course I complied. What else could I have done?

Getting closer, and my eyes adjusting to the shade, I realised two of them were in military uniform. Armed. And drunk.

When I reached them, the standing guy was in my face. Yelling. Progressively getting more aggressive, abusing me in Spanish. He was dressed only in shorts and a vest, but by the way the others sat looking harshly at us in silence, I guessed he must have been their superior.

As I was being ranted at, one of the uniformed guys raised his rifle at me. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. But I didn’t start to panic. My mind computed that I was in trouble more serious than I’d ever been in my life. The gravity of the situation somehow taking me into a previously unknown emergency mode, clearing my mind of fear and confusion.

When he discovered I was a foreigner, things got even more sinister.

‘A gringo alone around here? Are you crazy?? You could easily go missing and your body would never found.’ His eyes were wild, in stark contrast to his handsome face, his slickly combed hair.

Still, I remained calm. All emotion expelled from my system. Not only that, but freakily it was like I was somehow projecting neutralising vibes onto him.

He took my bag off me and inspected my passport before pulling out the book I was reading – Jack London’s Call of the Wild. He started leafing through it, turning page after page, surreally poring over the words as if he could read English. The others and I just stared at him wondering what the hell was going on.

Finally, he looked up, confused, and handed me back my stuff. ‘What are you doing around here, anyway?’ He asked in a normal manner. When I told him I was looking for a way up to the cross, he positively cheered up, telling me I could leave and even gave me directions. He didn't even ask me for a little bribe.

I was confused. I said my goodbyes and turned to walk away as casually as I could, but my calmness quickly ebbed away to be replaced by a stabbing fear I was going to be shot in the back.

The path back out of the hamlet was long and straight. My every step was tense, seemingly taking forever. When I finally turned the corner and was out of sight, I just ran. For my life. Like the ram.

Back downstream, I turned to see the cross up on high again. I was safe. I was saved. The other salvation up there could wait.

#semiautomaticrifle #vilcabamba #ecuador #southamerica #latinamerica #jacklondon #callofthewild