According to Rachel's statistics, there were eighty-six adult females, eighty-one adult males, and seventy-two children in the four settlements, a total of 239 Ipicas. When she began working with the Ipicas eleven years earlier, there had been 280. Malaria took the weak ones every few years. An outbreak of cholera killed twenty in one village in 1991. If Rachel hadn't insisted on a quarantine, most of the Ipicas would've been wiped out.
With the diligence of an anthropologist, she kept records of births, deaths, weddings, family trees, illnesses, and treatments. Most of the time she knew who was having an extramarital affair, and with whom. She knew every name in every village. She had baptized Ayesh's parents in the river where they bathed.
Ayesh was small and thin, and she would probably die because there was no medicine. The antivenin was readily available in the States and in the larger cities of Brazil, and not terribly expensive. Her small budget from World Tribes would cover it. Three injections in six hours and death could be prevented. Without it, the child would become violently ill with nausea, then a fever would hit, followed by a coma, then death.
It had been three years since the Ipicas had seen a death by snakebite. And for the first time in two years, Rachel had no antivenin.
Ayesh's parents were Christians, new saints struggling with a new religion. About a third of the Ipicas had been converted. Because of the work of Rachel and her predecessors, half of them could read and write.
She prayed as she trotted behind the boys. She was lean and tough. She walked several miles a day and ate little. The Indians admired her stamina.
JEVY WAS WASHING himself in the river when Nate unzipped the mosquito fly and extricated himself from the tent. He still carried bruises from the plane crash. Sleeping in the boat and on the ground did little to ease the soreness. He stretched his back and legs, aching all over, feeling every one of his forty-eight years. He could see Jevy, waist-deep in water that looked much clearer than the rest of the Pantanal.
I'm lost, Nate whispered to himself. I'm hungry. I have no toilet paper. He gingerly touched his toes as he summed up his sad inventory.
It was an adventure, dammit! It was time for all lawyers to charge into the new year with resolutions to bill more hours, win bigger verdicts, cut more overhead, take home more money. He'd made those vows for years, and now they seemed silly.
With a little luck, he'd sleep in his hammock tonight, swinging in the breeze, sipping coffee. To the best of his recollection, Nate had never before longed for black beans and rice.
Jevy returned as a patrol of Indians arrived from the village. The chief wanted to see them. "He wants to have bread," Jevy said as they walked away.
"Bread's fine. Ask if they have bacon and eggs."
"They eat a lot of monkey."
He didn't appear to be kidding. At the edge of the village, a group of children stood waiting for a look at the strangers. Nate offered them all a frozen smile. He'd never felt so white in his life, and he wanted to be liked. Some naked mothers gawked from the first hut. When he and Jevy entered the wide common area, everyone stopped and stared.
Small fires were burning out; breakfast was over. The smoke hung like fog over the roofs, and made the humid air even stickier. It was a few minutes after seven, and already very hot.
The village architect had done a fine job. Each dwelling was perfectly square with a thatched roof angled steeply, almost to the ground. Some were larger than others, but the design never varied. They circled the settlement in an oval-shaped ring, all facing a large flat area-the town square. In the center were four large structures-two circular and two rectangular-and all had the same thick straw roofs.
The chief was waiting for them. Not surprisingly, his home was the largest hut in the village. And he was the largest Indian of the lot. He was young, and lacked the heavy wrinkles across the forehead and the thick belly the older men carried with pride. He stood and gave Nate a look that would have horrified John Wayne. An older warrior did the interpreting, and within minutes Nate and Jevy were asked to sit near the fire, where the chiefs naked wife was preparing breakfast.
When she bent over, her breasts swung about, and poor Nate couldn't help but stare, if only for a long second. There was nothing particularly sexy about the naked woman or her breasts. It was just the fact that she could be so naked and so unconcerned about it.
Where was his camera? The boys around the office would never believe it without proof.
She handed Nate a wooden plate covered with a serving of what appeared to be boiled potatoes. He glanced at Jevy, who gave a quick nod as if he knew everything about Indian cuisine. She served the chief last, and when he began eating with his fingers, so did Nate. It was a cross between a turnip and a redskin potato, with very little taste.
Jevy talked while he ate, and the chief enjoyed the conversation. After a few sentences, Jevy would translate things into English and pass them along.
The village never flooded. They had been there for more than twenty years. The soil was good. They preferred not to move, but sometimes the soil forced them to. His father had been a chief too. The chief, according to the chief, was the wisest, smartest, and fairest of them all, and he could not engage in extramarital affairs. Most of the other men did, but not the chief.
Nate suspected there was little else to do but fool around.
The chief had never seen the Paraguay River. He preferred hunting over fishing, thus spent more time in the woods than on the rivers. He'd learned basic Portuguese from his father and from the white missionaries.
Nate ate, listened, and watched the village for any sign of Rachel.
She wasn't there, the chief explained. She was in the next village tending to a child who'd been bitten by a snake. He wasn't sure when she would return.
Just wonderful, thought Nate.
"He wants us to stay here tonight, in the village," Jevy said. The wife was refilling their plates.
"Didn't know we were staying," Nate said.
"He says we are."
"Tell him I'll think about it."
"You tell him."
Nate cursed himself for not bringing the SatFone. Josh was surely pacing the floor of his office right now, worried sick. They had not talked in almost a week.
Jevy said something slightly humorous that upon translation became downright funny. The chief roared with laughter, and soon everyone else was laughing too. Including Nate, who laughed at himself for laughing with the Indians.
They declined an invitation to go hunting. A patrol of young men led them back to the first village, to their boat. Jevy wanted to clean the spark plugs again and fiddle with the carburetor. Nate had nothing else to do.
LAWYER VALDIR took the early call from Mr. Stafford. The pleasantries took only seconds.
"I haven't heard from Nate O'Riley in days," Stafford said.
"But he has one of those phones," Valdir said, on the defensive, as if it was his duty to protect Mr. O'Riley.
"Yes, he does. That's what worries me. He can call anytime, from anywhere."
"Can he use the phone in bad weather?"
"No. I suppose not."
"We've had many storms down here. If is, after all, the rainy season."
"You haven't heard from your boy?"
"No. They are together. The guide is very good. The boat is very good. I'm sure they are well."
"Then why hasn't he called?"
"I can't answer. But the skies have not been clear. Perhaps he cannot use his phone."
They agreed that Valdir would call at once if something was heard from the boat. Valdir walked to his open window and looked at the busy streets of Corumba. The Paraguay River was just down the hill. Stories were legion of people who entered the Pantanal and never came back. It was part of the lore, and the lure.