The village is desert. It’s just a bunch of cabins, with a short strip of grass to be used as a landing place for small planes. Cessna, that kind of aircraft. Not that I have any knowledge of airplanes. There is a rusted hangar at one side of the strip.
I continue to hovering in big circles high above the village, then, when I am sure nobody is in sight, I dive down. I land just behind the hangar, and suddenly a dog begins to bark.
So, this village is not really desert, after all.
I retire my feathers inside the arms, put some dirt on my feet, to look like I walked, and with water from my water bottle I try to make myself looking like I am sweating. Then, I walk around the corner, toward the entrance of the hangar.
Inside, there is a small airplane, I would say 50 years old or more, but like i said, I am no expert. Over the plane, there is a man. Alerted from the dog, he is ready to shot me with a rifle.
“I am friend” I say, raising my arms.
“A gringo, eh? But your accent is funny”.
“I am Italian, sir. I am with… an international archaeologist expedition. My name is professor Sardella. Guido Sardella.”
“Redpatch. Armadillo Redpatch, at your service.” The man is short, a meter and sixty, tanned, slim, muscular but with a large belly. Very white teeth and short, black curly hair complete the picture. Plus, obviously, the red patch that cover his left eye.
I look around. “I… am asking for your services, sir. I would rent your plane. Assuming it’s still functioning, of course”.
The man grimaces. “OBVIOUSLY it does function.” He looks at me, going from the top of my bald head to the nails of the feet fingers. “You have money?”
I take a roll of dollars from one of the pockets of my trousers, and throw them to the man, which quickly catches it. “Uhm, good. And where I should bring you?”
“First, to my colleagues on the other side of the river, and then to Peru. Cordillera Azul.”
The man stares at me. “Peru? Are you mad?”
“No. And I have many of those rolls of paper for you”.
The man jumps down from the airplane, takes my hand and shakes it. “Deal!” exclaims.
It just some minute later, when we are flying with his plane, over the Amazon, that the man turns to me, and asks: “How did you said you crossed the river?”
