Read Online The Jaguar's Children by John Vaillant - Free Book Online Page A

life—down the sidewalk and into the calenda. The female federale brings up her gun, but there are too many people so she is shouting instead. The two federales in front go after him, but Axl Rose is still rolling around and the mess of bamboo and giant clothes slows them down—only for a moment, but it is sufficient. Everyone is looking at César now, pointing and shouting, and then I am running too, behind the taxi and the truck to the other side of the street and into the crowd. By the time the two federales get through, César is down at the corner and I am past the calenda, maybe twenty meters behind. César takes a last look over his shoulder and one of the federales stops to aim his gun. There is the scream of a rocket and then a shot. There is the puff of smoke as the rocket explodes above the street and a cloud of dust as the bullet hits the adobe wall by César’s shoulder. But César doesn’t notice and he is faster than he looks. Juquila is with him, and around the corner he goes. All the federales are chasing us now, but the band is going crazy, playing many songs at once, and the dancers are getting in their way. The shooter in front turns and sees me on the other side of the street, but fear makes you faster and I make it to the corner. There is one more shot and then only shouting, music and rockets.
    César is ahead of me running and he seems to know where he is going. He disappears through an open gate, and I follow him—across a courtyard, up a fig tree, over the wall of an abandoned house. I am trying to keep up with him, but he is fast and I am still half a block behind. We make it to Guerrero, heading for Bustamante and the market on 20 de Noviembre. I hear more sirens, but César has wings on his feet and—he told me later he can feel this—Juquila is guarding him with her tiny cloak. Police cars speed past a block away and all the time we are moving—south and west because already César knows where he must go. For ten blocks we travel like this—invisible—until César sees a taxi. I can tell by how he whistles and waves it down that he knows the driver, and he jumps in the back. He’s pulling the door closed when I catch up to him and pull it open again.
    â€œWhat the fuck are you doing here?” he says.
    Well, this is my question also.
    â€œGet out!” he shouts.
    â€œNo!” I say. “You can’t leave me here!”
    He tries to push me out the door but I grab on to the headrest in front and will not let go and now the driver is shouting, “No fighting in my taxi or you both get out!”
    Well, César wants to get away more than he wants to fight. “¡Abastos!” he says. “¡Pronto! But for God’s sake don’t run any lights.”
    And then we are driving with me closing the door and both of us breathing hard. I turn around to look for the police, but César pushes my head down. After maybe one minute with no sirens César lets out a long breath and looks over at me. “I can’t believe we got away from those chingados.”
    â€œWhy did you run?”
    â€œBecause it’s worse if I don’t. It’s dangerous to be near me right now. When we get to the market you must leave.”
    Jesucristo—qué demonios—

7
    Thu Apr 5—22:08
    Â 
    There was some fighting in the front of the tank. By their accent it is the Nicas who started it. I think they had only one bottle of water for the two of them and when they tried to get some from la Michoacana—the baker—she would not give it. They insulted her then and the baby-face man and his friend said they are also from Michoacán, and they threatened the Nicas. No one can see anything in here, but one of the Nicas followed their voices, punching into the darkness. I heard grunting and swearing and I think the baby-face man or his friend caught the Nica’s arm and did something to it—I