"Are they friendly?" Nate asked.
"The men will tell us."
The men arrived within minutes, three of them, also short, thick, and muscular. Thankfully, their privates were covered with small leather pouches.
The oldest one claimed to speak Jevy's language, but his Portuguese was rudimentary at best. Nate stayed in the boat, where things appeared to be safe, while Jevy leaned on a tree near the water and tried to make himself understood. The Indians crowded around Jevy, who was a foot taller than the men.
After a few minutes of repetition and hand gestures, Nate said, "Translation please."
The Indians looked at Nate.
"Americana," Jevy explained, and another conversation ensued.
"What about the woman?" Nate asked.
"We haven't got that far yet. I'm still trying to convince them not to burn you alive."
"Try harder."
More Indians arrived. Their huts were visible a hundred yards away, near the edge of a forest. Upriver, a half-dozen canoes were tied to the bank. The children became bored. They slowly left their mothers and waded close to the boat to inspect it. They were also intrigued by the man with the white face. Nate smiled and winked and before long got a grin. If Welly hadn't been so damned cheap with the cookies, Nate would've had something to share with them.
The conversation poked along. The Indian doing the talking would periodically turn to his pals and make a report, and inevitably his words caused great concern. Their language was a series of primal grunts and strains, all delivered with as little lip movement as possible.
"What's he saying?" Nate growled.
"I don't know," Jevy replied.
A little boy placed his hand on the edge of the boat, and studied Nate with black pupils as big as quarters. Very softly he said, "Hello." Nate knew they were in the right place.
No one heard the boy but Nate. He leaned forward, and softly said, "Hello."
"Good - bye," the boy said, without moving. Rachel had taught him at least two English words.
"What is your name?" Nate asked, his voice a whisper.
"Hello," he repeated.
Under the tree, the translating was making the same progress. The male Indians were huddling in animated conversation while the women said nothing.
"What about the woman?" Nate repeated.
"I asked. They have no answer."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm not sure. I think she's here, but they are reluctant for some reason."
"Why would they be reluctant?"
Jevy frowned and looked away. How was he supposed to know? "
They talked some more, then the Indians left en masse-men first, then the women, then the children. They trooped single file to the settlement, disappearing from view.
"Did you make them mad?"
"No. They want to have a meeting of some kind."
"Do you think she's here?"
"I think so." Jevy took his seat in the boat and prepared himself for a nap. It was almost one, in whatever time zone they happened to be in. Lunch was over and done with without so much as a soggy saltine.
THE HIKE BEGAN around three. They were led by a small group of young men away from the river, along the dirt path to the village, through the huts where everyone stood still and watched, then away again, along another path into the woods.
It's a death march, thought Nate. They're taking us into the jungle for some Stone Age blood ritual. He followed Jevy, who loped along in a confident gait. "Where the hell are we going?" he hissed, like a prisoner of war afraid to offend his captors.
"Relax."
The woods opened to a clearing, and they were near the river again. The leader suddenly stopped, and pointed. At the edge of the water, an anaconda stretched in the sun. He was black with yellow markings on his underside. His girth was at least a foot at its widest. "How long is he?" Nate asked.
"Six or seven meters. Finally, you see an anaconda," Jevy said.
Nate's knees buckled and his mouth was dry. He had been joking about the snakes. The sight of a real one, long and massive, was truly amazing.
"Some Indians worship snakes," Jevy said.
Then what are our missionaries doing? Nate thought. He would ask Rachel about this practice.
The mosquitoes seemed to bother only him. The Indians were immune. Jevy never swatted. Nate slapped his | own flesh and scratched until he drew blood. His repellent was in the boat, along with his tent and machete and everything else he owned at the moment, no doubt being examined by the children.
The hike was adventurous for the first half hour, then the heat and the insects made things monotonous. "How far are we going?" Nate asked, not really expecting an answer with any accuracy.
Jevy said something to the point man, who said something in return. "Not far," came the reply. They crossed another trail, then a wider one. There was traffic in the area. Soon they saw the first hut, then smelled smoke.
When they were two hundred yards away, the leader pointed to a shaded area near the river. Nate and Jevy were led to a bench made of hollow cane poles lashed together with string. They were left there with two guards while the others reported to the village.
As time passed, the two guards grew weary and decided to take a nap. They leaned against the trunk of a tree, and were soon asleep.
"I guess we could escape," Nate said.
"To where?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Sort of. Are you?"
"No, I'm stuffed," Nate said. "I ate seven thin cookies nine hours ago. Remind me to slap Welly when I see him."
"I hope he is okay."
"Why shouldn't he be? He's swinging in my hammock, drinking fresh coffee, safe and dry and well fed."
They wouldn't have brought them this far if Rachel wasn't nearby. As Nate rested on the bench and stared at the tops of the huts in the distance, he had many questions about her. He was curious about her appearance - her mother was supposed to have been a beautiful woman. Troy Phelan had a good eye for women. What kind of clothes would she wear? The Ipicas she ministered to were naked. How long since she'd seen civilization? Was he the first American to ever visit the village?
How would she react to his presence? And to the money?
As time dragged along, Nate became more anxious about meeting her.
BOTH OF THE GUARDS were asleep when there was movement from the settlement. Jevy tossed a pebble at them and whistled quietly. They jumped to their feet and resumed their positions.
The weeds along the trail were knee-high, and from the distance they could see a patrol moving their way, along the path. Rachel was with them; she was coming. There was a light yellow shirt in the midst of the brown-skinned chests, and a lighter face under a straw hat. From a hundred yards, Nate could see her.
"We've found our girl," he said.
"Yes, I think we have."
They took their time. Three young men were in front, and three behind. She was slightly taller than the Indians, and carried herself with an easy elegance. She could've been out for a walk among the flowers. There was no hurry.
Nate watched every step. She was very slender, with wide bony shoulders. She began looking in their direction as they grew closer. Nate and Jevy stood to meet her.
The Indians stopped at the edge of the shade, but Rachel kept walking. She removed her hat. Her hair was brown and half-gray, and very short. She stopped a few feet from Jevy and Nate.
"Boa tarde, senhor," she said to Jevy, then looked at Nate. Her eyes were dark blue, almost indigo. No wrinkles, no makeup. She was forty-two years old and aging quite well, with the soft glow of one who knew little stress.