This story was written years ago for a contest. It got a positive feedback, but wasn’t picked. I found it again a few months ago, adjusted a bit of the flow, and it’s now here.
Some people say Hell is a fiery pit of despair, eternally engulfed in flames. Others say it’s a cold and desolated wasteland, where no hope survives its harsh winds and white snow. But hell can be green too. Only people who ventured deep enough in a rainforest, wet with sweat and being served to mosquitoes in a 35ºC damped hellscape know what it was like. But, truth be told, I chose to be here. The money was good enough.
So, the question is “Why?”, isn’t it? And it’s because things are going bad. Places are closing down. Inflation is high. People barely have money to buy what they need, and the only industry that can help the economy again is farming. I mean, everyone has to eat, right? So let’s plant more and sell more food. But, to do that, we have to tear down part of the forest. And man, let me tell you, it’s not an easy job. So they pay us well. Enough for me to be able to feed my family for a few months. That’s some good business right there.
My job was to scout ahead of the trail in the jungle and cut some of it down so, when the fires start, they don’t go over and burn some place they shouldn’t. Truth be told, that almost always happens anyway, but at least with me going there and cutting it beforehand, the boss can show it to the government and say something like, “Oh, the wind was too strong and some embers got carried over” or something like that.
Anyway, I’m not making excuses for what I do, but I need to feed my family.
When we started, it was already the middle of the night. We had some lanterns and the heat and humidity were getting to us. We cut what we cut, and we didn’t stay there. The fires were going to start as soon as the sun rose on the horizon. The people here with me were pretty tired, so we just stopped for a while and drank some coffee from a thermo someone brought. Silva talked about how his daughter was going to start preschool soon, Miguel was rambling about finally having the money to paint the walls of his house, and João was just reminiscing about a time when he worked the fields instead of burning down vegetation. We were sitting for maybe 10 minutes when someone else came out of nowhere, running from the bushes, and stumbled into us.
“The fire is creeping towards us!”
“What fire?”
“The fire! It started and is coming to get us!”, and then he ran off.
The farmers starting fires earlier didn’t surprise me. If a few workers get caught in it, it’s just fewer people to pay. It’s not like we have contracts or fancy stuff like that. So there we were, thinking about what to do. You might not know this but, in a rainforest, visibility is almost zero. There are so many trees and shrubbery that you can’t really see anything more than 10 or 20 meters ahead. That’s why we are always in groups — if we are attacked by animals or other people, at least one of us can escape and warn the farmers.
Well, as we couldn’t see past a few dozen meters, Miguel climbed a tree to have a better view. Less than a minute later, he came down, saying that the fire didn’t start at the farm but near the river and was following a zigzag pattern. It seemed a bit far away, so we had some time, we just had to follow a trail and 2 or 3 hours later we would be back at the farm, which is always the safest place while the burning happened.
We walked for no more than 30 minutes when I looked up and saw the sky painted in a reddish color. There was no doubt: the fire was getting closer. We didn’t know how — there was no wind and Miguel said the flames weren’t that strong — so the only thing we could do was to get out as fast as possible. At this point, I was sure someone was setting up fires randomly just to get us. It was cheaper to pay one jagunço1 than half a dozen workers.
“You said the fire starts at the river and follows a zigzag pattern, right? It starts before the riverbend?”
“Yeah, right before the reservation.”
“Ok, then it might cut us off from the farm. Let’s follow the trail for a while, we should still be ahead of the fire. If somehow the trail is already cut by it, we double back and run to the river. As long as we don’t trespass into the reservation, the people won’t attack, and we can jump in the water if it comes to the worst.”
“Do you really think they won’t shoot us?”, asked João. “People say they sometimes kill prospectors to use bodies in rituals.”
“That’s nonsense”, I said, “they kill prospectors because they are invading. I used to fish in the river, sometimes even went close to the bend, and nobody ever shot at me.”
“I bet it’s pretty hard to shoot an arrow over the river.”
“They have firearms, João. That’s why smart people don’t invade their land.”
“I think it might work”, Miguel said, “but we have to go now.”
And then we went for about 10 minutes, up until a flock of birds flew above us, going to the river’s direction. I was pretty sure the fire had already cut us off from the farm. There was no wind, and the felled wood wasn’t dry, but somehow the flames were catching up. Some among us seemed unsure, so Miguel went up a tree again. His skin was as burned by the sun as mine, but we could see he was pale when he came down.
“The fire spread around us! The trail to the farm is burning, and it seems to be encircling where we are.”
Well, we all went for the river then. We weren’t running yet, but the march was quick. Everyone was getting nervous, including myself. You definitely don’t want to get caught in a circle of fire in the middle of a burning forest. In a situation like this, the fire doesn’t have to be near you to be dangerous. It’s not pretty to see what happens.
After some time walking, the fire was creeping around us on both sides of the trail. The river wasn’t far now, so we ran, hoping to find a safe place. Then I heard a scream coming from beyond the trees: the way ahead was burning already. There was an opening, but it was narrow. It was still possible to go through, but you had to be fast.
I’m not proud of what I did but, thinking about my family… I shoved people out of the way and ran as fast as I could through the flames. The heat was unbearable and I could feel my lungs burning and failing. Looking over the shoulder, I could see João and Miguel right after me. The rest was maybe not too far behind, or at least I hoped so.
The morning still hadn’t come, but the fire was so spread out that it would engulf even the sun’s rays. I laughed, thinking about the green hell becoming a literal fiery pit as I made my way to the river shore. I could see João and Miguel getting out from random points of the forest, and it seemed there were some others as well. A few of them were screaming their lungs out; some were as quiet and still as statues.
We stayed by the shore, thinking the water could keep us safe, but then the shootings started followed by yells of “Kill it!”. The Indigenous people were angry at us, probably thinking that farmers planned to burn their land as well. And, well, could you blame them for thinking so? I would realize, only after all the ordeal, that it wasn’t them doing the shooting, and it wasn’t aimed at people. At the moment, though, I dove on the high grass and stayed as immobile as I could until the shooting stopped. After a few minutes, I heard some shouting on the other side of the river and raised my head.
It was then that I saw it: the crawling terror made of fire, with eyes as clear as the moon. It slithered through the shore, burning everything it touched. I was stunned. I mean, I heard the stories, but you never think they are true until they come after you.
That giant snake kept coming, meter by meter until I could feel its heat burning over the forest fire. Then it stopped, raised its head, and looked at me. I’m pretty sure it was measuring my existence — every little thing I did in my life. Its fire started to burn my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. This creature understood me more than anyone else.
Shouting and shooting again broke me from the creature’s trance. On one side, there was a forest burning, and this thing might’ve something to do with it. On the other, there was a river so wide that no bridge was ever built over it. There was no doubt about what to do — I jumped into the river and started to swim.
At some point, I looked behind. The fire snake was on the shore, still looking in my direction. Afraid it would come after me, I swam until I couldn’t anymore and passed out from exhaustion, not far from the other side.
I felt something burning my face and opened my eyes. The sun was shining high and, despite the discomfort, it felt gentler than the raging fires from the night before. There were people around me I didn’t recognize. I was trespassing on their land but, with care, they helped me up. Looking at the river, I could see the other side of the shore intact, as if that hellscape was nothing but a dream. But I could also smell the burnt flesh.
Holding guns and looking at me with distrust, they gave me water and some fruit.
“What happened?”
“The prospectors woke something up while looking for gold”, one of them said.
“What?”
“Blood flowed through the river in the last few months. We fought for our survival. But this is something we can’t control. It has awakened, and it is angry.”
“What has awakened?”
“Boitatá2“, he said while looking over the shore.
It took me half a day of trekking and a canoe ride to get back to the farm. Many people saw the fires that started the night before, but the vegetation still intact attracted even more attention, so the place was flocking with reporters. Some said the fires were still raging, going deep into the forest, towards the place where illegal woodcutters and prospectors usually meet. I kept my head down and walked quickly. I didn’t see Miguel, João, or any of the other guys that were with me, but there were people with burns all over their bodies being kept in a barn, far away from the main house. Some of them seemed physically fine but were catatonic. I think I know what they’ve seen.
After a few hours and some heated arguments, I finally got paid. It wasn’t all that was promised but, well, that’s how things go around here. I’m just happy to be alive. Now we are waiting for the bus. I don’t want to be near this town anymore. I bought tickets for my family so we can go far away from here. God willing, we might even get to Rio or São Paulo if we are lucky enough.
I don’t want to be near forests, especially while they burn.