A Horse Called El Dorado Read Online Free PDF

ammunition.
    Work began on rebuilding the huts. It was decided after much discussion, and some arguing, among the adults to move further away from the river, up onto higher ground. We had to work hard, because everyone was quickly growing tired of living without a proper roof to shelter under. El Dorado and the other horses helped with the work too, hauling poles and branches.
    Each hut began with a tall central pole, surrounded by a circle of poles about a third as tall. The roofs sloped down from a high point and were packed with layers of leaves, fastened until they were watertight.
    One evening Mama told me quietly that she was waiting to pluck up the courage to announce at the next meeting that we would leave the commune. We were going to go to live with my grandmother, Mama’s mama, in Cali, a big city on the other side of the country. Something had changed in Mama because of what had happened , because of all the violence and death.
    Then, one night, AGRA came again. I was lying on the floor of the big hut with the women and children, waiting for sleep to come, when I heard the rumble of jeeps coming along the river. None of us moved; none of us even breathed as we listened to the guerrillas approaching . We heard shouting and a few shots being fired, and then the noise stopped. The women grabbed at us in case we would make a sound. I was pinched in the arms andmy mouth was grabbed – as if I would blurt out a word! The faces of the women remained as still as stones and anyone who tried to whisper was chopped at with someone ’s hand. What had happened?
    We crept out of the hut and over to the edge of the trees as far as we dared go, for fear of being seen by AGRA. It was a dark and murky night without a moon, the sky backlit with stars. Occasionally I could just about make out the shape of a gun, or one of our armed men changing position. Suddenly we heard a lot of shouting, and then the shouting faded away again.
    Then the headlights of one of the guerrillas’ jeeps were switched on. Their leader walked out into the light with his arms raised as though to embrace a friend. One of our men walked out to meet him. It was Hank Shepak. The two men stood talking as if they were having a friendly chat. They talked for a long time. The guerrilla leader produced two cigars and they both smoked. I yawned into my hands and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes as I watched. What they talked about I do not know, but no more shots were fired.
    Eventually the guerrillas all returned to their jeeps. They revved up noisily and sped off into the night, the engines becoming no more than a purr of sound in the distance.
    After a while Hank crossed the bridge, holding a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other. We mobbed him and at first he sniggered, speaking in Spanish in his funnyAmerican accent, ‘ Tranquilo ,’ which means, ‘Take it easy.’ We followed him back across the bridge to the commune side, and everyone listened as he told us about the truce he had made with AGRA. We would have to give a certain amount of our produce to them, and help with harvests when they hired migrant workers. We could keep the weapons that we had taken and they would generally leave us alone. A lot of the women nodded, looked at each other and began hugging their youngest children. But Mama gave me a look which made me shiver. She looked across at Paul Rooke and he gave her the thumbs-up sign.
    ‘Not a bad deal, eh, Maria?’ Paul bit his lip as he asked Mama’s opinion. ‘I think Hank has struck a good deal with those guys. Now we can get on with our lives.’
    ‘You call that a good deal?’ Mama yelled at him. ‘We will be slaves to those AGRA ___’ She used an unrepeatable word which made my ears go red.
    ‘Look, it is only like paying some tax.’ Hank tried to calm her down. ‘Anything for a truce and no more killing .’ He looked around for support, and some of the others nodded in agreement.
    ‘Pepe and I are leaving,’ said