The Testament (Page 49)

Jevy’s father had piloted the rivers for thirty years, and his body was never recovered.

WELLY FOUND the law office an hour later. He had not met Mr. Valdir, but he knew from Jevy that the lawyer was paying for the expedition.

"It’s very important," he told the secretary. "It is urgent."

Valdir heard the ruckus and appeared from his office. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Welly. Jevy hired me as a deckhand on the Santa Loura."

"The Santa Loural"

"Yes."

"Where is Jevy?"

"He’s still in the Pantanal."

"Where is the boat?"

"It sank."

Valdir realized the boy was tired and frightened. "Sit down," he said, and the secretary ran to get water. "Tell me everything."

Welly clutched the arms of his chair, and spoke rapidly. "They left in the johnboat to find the Indians, Jevy and Mr. O’Riley."

"When?"

"I don’t know. A few days ago. I was to stay with the Santa Loura. A storm hit, the biggest storm ever. It blew the boat free in the middle of the night, then rolled it over. I was thrown into the water and picked up later by a cattle boat."

"When did you arrive here?"

"Only a half hour ago."

The secretary brought a glass of water. Welly thanked her and asked for coffee. Valdir leaned on her desk and watched the poor kid. He was dirty and smelled like cow manure.

"So the boat is gone?" Valdir said.

"Yes. I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do. I have never seen such a storm."

"Where was Jevy during the storm?"

"Somewhere on the Cabixa River. I fear for him." Valdir walked to his office, where he closed the door and returned to his window. Mr. Stafford was three thousand miles away. Jevy could survive in a small boat.

No sense jumping to conclusions.

He decided not to call for a few days. Give Jevy time, and surely he would return to Corumba.

THE INDIAN stood in the boat and braced himself by clutching Mate’s shoulder. There was no noticeable improvement in the motor’s performance. It continued to sputter and miss, and at full throttle had less than half the power it had when they left the Santa Loura.

They passed the first settlement, and the river bent and looped almost to the point of going in circles. Then it forked, and the Indian pointed. Twenty minutes later, their little tent came into view. They docked where Jevy had bathed earlier in the day. They broke camp and moved their belongings into the village, where the chief wanted them.

Rachel had not returned.

Because she was not one of them, her hut was not in the oval. It was a hundred feet away, nearer to the edge of the forest, alone. It appeared to be smaller than any of the others, and when Jevy inquired about this, the Indian who’d been assigned to them explained that it was be –  cause she had no family. The three of them-Nate, Jevy, and their Indian-spent two hours under a tree at the edge of the village, watching the daily routine while waiting for Rachel.

The Indian had learned Portuguese from the Coopers, the missionary couple who had come before Rachel. And he had a few words of English he intermittently tried on Nate. The Coopers had been the first white people any of the Ipicas had ever seen. Mrs. Cooper died of malaria and Mr. Cooper went back to wherever he came from.

The men were hunting and fishing, he explained to his guests, and the younger ones were no doubt sneaking around seeing their girlfriends. The women had the hard work-cooking, baking, cleaning, watching the children. But labor was at a languid pace. If time moved slower south of the equator, then there was no clock at all among the Ipicas.

The doors to the huts remained open, and children ran from one to the other. Young girls braided their hair in the shade, while their mothers worked over the fires.

Cleanliness was an obsession. The dirt of the common areas was swept with straw brooms. The exteriors of the huts were tidy and neat. The women and children bathed three times a day in the river; twice for the men, and never with the women. Everybody was naked but some things were private.

Late in the afternoon, the men gathered outside the men’s house, the larger of the two rectangular buildings in the center. They worked on their hair for a while –  cutting and cleaning-then began to wrestle. The matchups were one on one and toe to toe, with the object being to throw the opponent to the ground. It was a rough game, but with strict rules and smiles afterward. The chief settled any disputes. The women watched from their doorways with only a passing interest, as if they were expected to. Little boys imitated their fathers. And Nate sat on a block of wood, under a tree, watching a drama from another age, and wondering, not for the first time, where he was.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

FEW OF THE INDIANS around Nate knew the girl’s name was Ayesh. She was only a child and she lived in another village. They all knew, though, that a girl had been bitten. They gossiped about it throughout the day while they kept their own children closer at hand.

Word came during dinner that the girl had died. A messenger arrived in a rush and delivered the news to the chief, and it swept through the huts in a matter of minutes. Mothers gathered their little ones even closer.

Dinner resumed until there was movement along the main trail. Rachel was returning with Lako and the other men who’d been with her all day. As she entered the village, the eating and the chatting stopped as everyone stood and stared. They lowered their heads as she walked by their huts. She smiled at some, whispered to others, paused long enough to say something to the chief, then continued to her hut, followed by Lako, whose limp was worse.

She passed near the tree where Nate and Jevy and their Indian had spent most of the afternoon, but she didn’t see them. She wasn’t looking. She was tired and suffering and seemed anxious to get home.

"What do we do now?" Nate asked Jevy, who passed the question along in Portuguese.

"We wait," came the reply.

"Surprise, surprise."

Lako found them as the sun was falling behind the mountains. Jevy and the Indian went to eat leftovers. Nate followed the boy along the trail to Rachel’s dwelling. She was standing in the door, drying her face with a hand towel. Her hair was wet and she had changed clothes.

"Good evening, Mr. O’Riley," she said, in the same low, slow tone that betrayed nothing.

"Hello, Rachel. Please call me Nate."

"Sit over there, Nate," she said, pointing to a short square stump remarkably similar to the one he’d been perched upon for the past six hours. It was in front of the hut, near a ring of rocks where she made her fires. He sat, his rear still numb.

"I’m sorry about the little girl," Nate said.

"She is with the Lord."

"Her poor parents aren’t."

"No. They are grieving. It’s very sad."

She sat in the doorway, arms folded over her knees, eyes lost in the distance. The boy stood guard under a nearby tree, almost unseen in the darkness.

"I would invite you into my home," she said. "But it would not be proper."

"No problem here."

"Only married people can be alone indoors at this time of the day. It’s a custom."

"When in Rome, do like the Romans."

"Rome is very far away."

"Everything is very far away."

"Yes it is. Are you hungry?"

"Are you?"

"No. But then I don’t eat much."

"I’m fine. We need to talk."

"I’m sorry about today. I’m sure you understand."