Nothing to worry about

by Aleksandr Senatorov (Russia)

A leap into the unknown French Guiana

I looked again at the paper in my hand. “Bar L'Étranger. Ask Dmitry.” My friend from France assured me that Dmitry knows French Guiana better than all the locals, and I have nothing to worry about with him. A heavenly sunset on a background of palm trees and a flaming sky that merged with the orange roofs of houses didn't make me worry. However, a dark, narrow street of some local favelas, dim lights and gloomy people did. I was right next to the bar. Dmitry stood out among all the visitors. He was twice bigger than me, I guess, both in height and width. Tattoo the size of my head, the stubble of a lumberjack. What could such a person do in South America? For a moment I trembled like a leaf, but then I spoke to him and explained why I needed a guide. My uncle, whom I wanted to surprise with my unexpected visit, lived in a remote village. There was the only road bypassing the jungle — the river. “I'll pay you!”, I blurted out in response to Dmitry's stern look. “I have a boat. I'll drive you. I just need to take something to my friends on the way back. There is no need to wait long. Be on the pier right behind the bar at midnight”, he said. I can't say that he looked suspicious, but the dictionary would have put a picture of him under the word “bandit” or “smuggler”. I didn't know anyone else here, so I shrugged and shook his hand. The wrecked boats thundered against the wooden pillars of the berth. Dmitry was waiting for me in the motor boat. As soon as I sat down, he covered the large boxes in the corner with a blanket. “I don't want them to get wet”, he growled. As we drifted down the river, he often looked around. Noticing my worried look, he chuckled, “Force of habit”. Of course, it was a habit. What was I getting into? Ahead, the shape of another ship appeared out of nowhere, as if detached from the jungle. I saw the silhouette of a man on its prow, but strangely shaped, holding something in his hands. Weapon. Suddenly a siren sounded, and the sky lit up with red light. It was a patrol. Now everything fell into place. I glanced at the boxes and was about to jump overboard with the hope that the crocodiles were full today. My next impulse was even more daring and reckless. I picked up the oar that lay beside me, swung at my guide and shouted, “You will tell them that there is nothing I did and I don't know what's in these boxes, Dmitry! I don't want to be an accomplice!”. Dmitry turned slowly and exhaled saying, “What a fool”. The searchlight made me squint, and the patrol boat was a few meters away. "Put down your paddle, kid, and both of you tell me quickly what you are doing here!», the man with the gun snarled. I started babbling, tripped, and almost fell out of the boat. Dmitry suddenly stood up. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst. The mighty colossus almost completely blocked me from the searchlight. I just had to trust him and wait. “Sergeant, is that you?”, another patrolman was surprised, seeing Dmitry. “Smirnov, ha! Got you on your night shift!”, Dmitry burst out laughing . They were so close that the last one jumped on a patrol boat, and the two Russians embraced. At that moment, I didn't know if I was safe or not, but later it became clear that we met Dmitry's former colleagues from the French Foreign Legion. People from different countries serve there, because they get paid well, and they get French citizenship. They usually catch smugglers, but Dmitry's boxes only contained food for the legionaries. Already on the ground, by the fire, I was jokingly invited to join them. Next to me were Russians, Croats, Georgians, and Americans. What a colorful membership! While I was politely refusing, a burning splinter from the fire fell on me. I jumped to my feet, and the audience collapsed with laughter.