12

Once inside the cave, Shankar lit his torch (he still had two dozen new batteries with him) and saw that it was small, its floor strewn with little stones, rather like a small room. His eyes fell upon a corner of the cave, and he stood staring in amazement. A small wooden barrel! How on earth had a wooden barrel come to be here?

He took two steps forward and started with a jolt. There, lying along the edge of the cave wall, was a white human skeleton, its skull turned to face the stone. Around it lay tattered black shreds of what looked like a woollen coat. A pair of boots was still attached to the skeleton’s feet. To one side lay a rust-eaten rifle.

Beside the barrel was a corked bottle. Inside the bottle was a piece of paper. Uncorking the bottle, he drew out the paper and saw that it had something written on it in English.

Just as he went to move the barrel, a hissing sound from beneath it made his blood run cold. In an instant, a huge snake reared up from the ground to a height of about three feet. Perhaps the snake hesitated for a second before striking. That one-second delay saved Shankar’s life. The very next moment, Shankar’s .45 automatic Colt roared. Instantly, the great, venomous sand viper’s head was blown to pieces, splattering blood and flesh against the barrel and the stone wall. Alvarez had taught him to always keep his weapon at the ready on the trail. This advice had saved his life many times.

A miraculous escape! In every sense. Examining the barrel, he found that a little water still remained inside. It was as black as boot-polish, but it was water nonetheless. Lifting the small barrel and uncorking it, Shankar tilted his head back and gulped down the foul-smelling, ink-black water until he could drink no more. Then, in the light of his torch, he examined the snake. It was a full eight feet long, and quite thick-bodied. This type of snake hides in the desert sand with only its head exposed—a serpent of the most lethal kind!

Now he unfolded the paper from the bottle and read it with concentration. The small pencil with which it had been written was also found inside the bottle. The paper read….

My death is near. This is my last night. If, after my death, anyone travelling this terrible desert path should take shelter in this cave, then this paper will possibly fall into his hands.

My donkey died in the desert two days ago. The barrel of water it carried on its back I have brought into this cave and set down, though my body is prostrate with fever. I have not the strength to lift my head. On top of that, my body was already weak from starvation.

I am 26 years of age. My name is Attilio Gatti. I was born into the Gatti family of Florence. The famous navigator Riolino Cavalcanti Gatti, who fought against the Turks in the Battle of Lepanto, was one of my ancestors.

I received a higher education at the universities of Rome and Pisa, but ultimately became a vagabond, drawn by the lure of the sea—a hereditary passion in our family.

On the way to the Dutch Indies, our ship was wrecked off the coast of West Africa.

Seven of us made it to shore with great difficulty. This West African coast is a region of dense jungle! We took refuge in a village of the Shefu tribe and stayed there for nearly two months. It was here that I chanced to hear the story of a strange diamond mine. This mine was said to be located to the east, in a region of vast mountains and fearsome forests.

We seven decided that we must find this diamond mine, whatever it took. They made me the leader of the party—and then we began pushing through the impenetrable jungle towards that completely unknown mountainous region. No one from the village would agree to guide us. They said they had never been to that place, did not know where it was, and moreover, that a demigod was said to be the forest’s guardian. No one could bring back diamonds from there.

We were not the sort to be deterred. On the way, two of my companions died miserably from the terrible hardships. The remaining four wanted to go no further. I am the leader of this party, I am of the Gatti line; I do not know how to retreat. As long as there is life in me, I know I must press forward. I refused to turn back.

My body is on the verge of collapse. Tonight he will come—that formless angel of death. How beautiful is our little lake, Serino Lagrano; on its shore stands my ancestral palace, Castoli Riolini. Even from so far away, I can smell the fragrance of lemon blossoms from the orange groves on the banks of Serino Lagrano. I can hear the sweet sound of the silver bell from the little church just below the hill.

No, what is this nonsense I write in my delirium? Let me get to the point. How much longer can I write?

We went to those mountains, to that impassable forest. We found that mine. The river on whose banks the diamonds are found has its source inside a vast and most terrifying cave. It was I who entered that cave and saw, on the banks of the river and in the water itself, countless diamonds scattered like pebbles. Each pebble was a tetrahedral crystal, transparent and yellowish; there are no such diamonds in the markets of London and Amsterdam.

I saw that demigod of the forest and mountains inside this very cave—a shadowy form, from a distance, in the light of my resin-wood torch. His appearance is truly fearsome! It was only because I held a burning torch in my hand that he did not come near me that day. He likely lives in this cave. That is probably why the legend arose that he is the guardian of the diamond mine.

But what an inauspicious moment it was when I found the diamonds, and what an inauspicious moment when I revealed it to my companions. When I entered the cave again with them, we could not find the mine. For one thing, it was pitch dark, a darkness the torchlight could not dispel; for another, the river was many-branched, and we could not for the life of us determine which current flowed over the hoard of diamonds.

My companions were brutes, mere ship’s hands. They thought I was deceiving them, that I planned to take everything for myself. I do not know what conspiracy they hatched, but the next evening, the four of them drew their knives and attacked me without warning. But they did not know me, Attilio Gatti. In my veins flows the hot blood of my ancestor Riolino Cavalcanti Gatti, who sent many such barbarians to hell in the Battle of Lepanto. When I was a student at the military academy of Santa Catalina, I had wounded the region’s finest fencer, Antonio Dreyfus, in a dagger duel. Two of them died from my knife-work, two were gravely wounded, and I myself was injured at their hands. The two wounded scoundrels also breathed their last that very night. I realised that I would probably not be able to find the mine again from within this labyrinth of caves. Besides, I was grievously wounded; I had to reach the civilized world. I had set out, hoping to reach the Dutch colonies by an eastern route. But having come this far, I could go no further. They had stabbed me in the lower abdomen, and the wound has turned septic. With it came the fever. I think of the greed of men. Why did they try to kill me? They were my companions; not once had the thought of cheating them ever crossed my mind.

I am the owner of the world’s greatest diamond mine, for I discovered it at the peril of my own life. He who reads and understands this letter will surely be a civilized man and a Christian. My request to him is that he give me a Christian burial. In exchange for this kindness, I bequeath to him the rights to that mine. Even the treasures of the Queen of Sheba are as nothing before this mine.

My life is gone, so be it. What can be done? But what a terrifying desert this is! Not even the chirp of a cricket to be heard anywhere! That such places exist on earth! Today I cannot stop thinking that I will never again see the poplar-fringed Lake Serino Lagrano; nor the fourteenth-century church on its shore, with the sacred tolling of its great silver bell; nor our ancient palace high on the hill, Castoli Riolini, that looks like a Moorish fortress… in the distance, the little river Dora flowing through the green fields and vineyards of Umbria… but there I go, raving again.

Sitting at the mouth of the cave, I am gazing my fill at the countless stars in the sky for the last time…. I am reminded of Saint Francis’s Canticle of the Sun—Praised be Thou, my Lord, for the moving wind, for the still air, for my sister the Earth, for the blue clouds, for the heavens, for the stars, for good days and for bad, for the death of the body.

One more thing. Hidden inside the soles of my two boots are five large diamonds. I give them to you, O unknown friend and wayfarer. Do not forget my final request. May Mother Mary bless you.

Commander Attilio Gatti

March, possibly.

The poor, unfortunate young man!

Thirty long years had passed since his death. In all that time, perhaps no one had passed this way, or if they had, they had not entered the cave. After so long, his letter had finally fallen into human hands.

How, astonishingly, could there have been water in the wooden barrel even after thirty years?

But as soon as he read the paper, it struck Shankar: the cave described in this letter was the very same one where he himself had become lost and faced death! Then, with curiosity, he pulled at the boots on the skeleton’s feet, and as they came loose, five large stones fell out. They were identical to the pebbles he had stuffed into one of his pockets to mark his path in the darkness of the cave, one of which he still had with him. He had seen heaps of these pebbles beneath the current of that dark river inside the cave, and along its two banks! Who would have known that the diamond mine he and Alvarez had crossed seven seas and thirteen rivers to find, for which they had exhausted themselves wandering the Richtersveld mountains for six months—that he would stumble upon it in such a completely unexpected way. And who could have imagined that diamonds could lie about in piles, like common pebbles! If only he had known this before, he would have filled both his pockets with those pebbles and brought them out!

But he had made an even worse mistake: he had not made a map of the jewelled cavern’s location, nor left any marker there so that it could be found again. Did he have any clear memory of where, in that vast region of mountains and forest, he had chanced upon that cave? Would he ever be able to find the place again in the future? This young man hadn’t made a map either, but he had been grievously wounded right after discovering the mine; it was only natural for him to have made such a mistake. Perhaps what Gatti could have relocated without a map, he would not be able to.

Suddenly, Shankar remembered Alvarez’s words before he died. He had said, “Let’s go, Shankar, the king’s treasury is hidden in the cave. You can’t see it, but I can.”

Shankar then buried the skeleton inside the cave. He broke apart the barrel and, with two of its staves and some rust-eaten nails, fashioned a cross. He planted the cross over the grave. He knew of no other rite for the burial of a Christian. Then he prayed to God for the peace of the dead youth’s soul.

All this took the entire day. After resting for the night, he set out again the next day. He carefully took with him the skeleton’s letter and the diamonds.

Yet it occurred to him that it seemed whoever went in search of that accursed diamond mine never returned. Attilio Gatti and his companions had died, Jim Carter had died, Alvarez had died. Who knew how many others had died before them? Now it was his turn. He would meet his end in this desert, just like that brave young Italian.