THIRTY-ONE.

I HE CHIEF wasn't much of a weatherman. The storm I never materialized. It rained twice during the day as Nate and Jevy fought the tedium by napping in their borrowed hammocks. The showers were brief, and after each the sun returned to bake the dampened soil and raise the humidity. Even in the shade, moving only when necessary, the two men sweltered in the heat.

They watched the Indians whenever there was activity, but the work and play ebbed and flowed with the heat. When the sun was out in full force the Ipicas retreated to their huts or to the shade trees behind them. During the brief showers the children played in the ram. When the sun was blocked by clouds, the women ventured out to do their chores and go to the river.

After a week in the Pantanal, Nate was numbed by the listless pace of life. Each day appeared to be an exact copy of the one before. Nothing had changed in centuries.

Rachel returned in mid-afternoon. She and Lako went straight to the chief and reported on events in the other village. She spoke to Nate and Jevy. She was tired and wanted a quick nap before they discussed business.

What's another hour to be killed? thought Nate. He watched her walk away. She was lean and tough and could probably run marathons.

“What are you looking at?” Jevy asked with a grin.

“Nothing.”

“How old is she?”

“Forty— two.”

“How old are you?”

“Forty— eight.”

“Has she been married?”

“No.”

“Do you think she's ever been with a man?”

“Why don't you ask her?”

“Do you?”

“I really don't care.”

They fell asleep again, sleeping because there was nothing else to do. In a couple of hours the wrestling would start, then dinner, then darkness. Nate dreamed of the Santa Loura, a humble vessel at best, but with each passing hour the boat grew finer. In his dreams it was fast becoming a sleek, elegant yacht.

When the men began to gather to fix their hair and prepare for their games, Nate and Jevy eased away. One of the larger Ipicas yelled at them, and with teeth flashing issued what seemed to be an invitation to come wrestle. Nate scooted away even faster. He had a sudden image of himself getting flung about the village by some squatty little warrior, genitals flying everywhere. Jevy wanted no part of the action either. Rachel rescued them.

She and Nate left the huts and walked toward the river, to their old spot on the narrow bench under the trees. They sat close, their knees touching again.

“You were wise not to go,” she said. Her voice was tired. The nap had failed to revive her.

“Why?”

“Every village has a doctor. He's called a shalyun, and he cooks herbs and roots for his remedies. He also calls forth spirits to help with all sorts of problems.”

“Ah, the old medicine man.”

“Something like that. More of a witch doctor. There are lots of spirits in the Indian world, and the shalyun supposedly directs their traffic. Anyway, the shalyun are my natural enemies. I am a threat to their religion. They are always on the attack. They persecute the Christian believers. They prey on new converts. They want me to leave and so they are always lobbying the chiefs to run me off. It's a daily struggle. In the last village down the river, I had a small school where I taught reading and writing. It was for the believers, but it was also open to anyone. A year ago we had a bout of malaria and three people died. The local shalyun convinced the chief down there that the disease was a punishment on the village because of my school. It's now closed.”

Nate just listened. Her courage, already admirable, was reaching new heights. The heat and languid pace of life had lured him into the belief that all was at peace among the Ipicas. No visitor would suspect a war was raging over souls.

“The parents of Ayesh, the girl who died, are Christians, and very strong in their faith. The shalyun spread the word that he could've saved the girl, but the parents didn't call on him. They, of course, wanted me to treat her. The bima snake has been around forever, and there are home remedies that the sbalyun brew up. I've never seen one work. After she died yesterday, and after I left, the shalyun called some spirits forth and held a ceremony in the center of the village. He blamed me for her death. And he blamed God.”

Her words were pouring forth, faster than normal, as if she wanted to hurry and use her English one more time.

“During the burial today, the shalyun and a few troublemakers began chanting and dancing nearby. The poor parents were completely overcome with grief and humiliation. I couldn't finish the service.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, and she bit her lip.

Nate patted her arm. “It's okay. It's over.”

Crying was not something she could do in front of the Indians. She had to be strong and stoic, filled with faith and courage under all circumstances. But she could cry with Nate, and he would understand. He expected it.

She wiped her eyes and slowly collected her emotions. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“It's okay,” Nate said again, anxious to help. The tears of a woman melted the facade of coolness, whether in a bar or sitting by a river.

There was hollering in the village. The wrestling had started. Nate had a quick thought about Jevy. Surely he had not succumbed to the temptation of playing with the boys.

“I think you should go now,” she said abruptly, breaking the silence. Her emotions were under control, her voice was back to normal.

“What?”

“Yes, now. Very soon.”

“I'm anxious to go, but what's the rush? It'll be dark in three hours.”

“There is reason to worry.”

“I'm listening.”

“I think I saw a case of malaria in the other village today. Mosquitoes carry it and it spreads quickly.”

Nate began scratching and was ready to hop in the boat, then he remembered his pills. “I'm safe. I'm taking chloro-something.”

“Chloroquine?”

“That's it.”

“When did you start?”

“Two days before I left the States.”

“Where are the pills now?”

“I left them on the big boat.”

She shook her head with disapproval. “You're supposed to take them before, during, and after the trip.” Her tone was medically authoritative, as if death could be imminent.

“And what about Jevy?” she asked. “Is he taking the pills?”

“He was in the army. I'm sure he's okay.”

“I'm not going to argue, Nate. I've already spoken to the chief. He sent two fishermen out this morning before sunrise. The flooded waters are tricky for the first two hours, then the navigation becomes familiar. He will provide three guides in two canoes, and I'll send Lako to handle the language. Once you're on the Xeco River, it's a straight shot to the Paraguay.”

“How far away is that?”

“The Xeco is about four hours away. The Paraguay, six. And you're going with the current.”

“Whatever. You seem to have everything planned.”

“Trust me, Nate. I've had malaria twice, and you don't want it. The second time almost killed me.”

It had never occurred to Nate that she might die. The Phelan estate would be chaotic enough with Rachel hiding in the jungles and rejecting the paperwork. If she died, it would take years to settle things.

And he admired her greatly. She was everything he wasn't-strong and brave, grounded in faith, happy with simplicity, certain of her place in the world and the hereafter. “Don't die, Rachel,” he said.

“Death is not something I fear. For a Christian, death is a reward. But do pray for me, Nate.”

“I'm going to pray more, I promise.”

“You're a good man. You have a good heart and a good mind. You just need some help.”

“I know. I'm not very strong.”

He had the papers in a folded envelope in his pocket. He pulled them out. “Can we at least discuss these?”

“Yes, but only as a favor to you. I figure you've come this far, the least I can do is have our little law chat.”

“Thank you.” He handed her the first sheet, a copy of Troy's one-page will. She read it slowly, struggling with parts of the handwriting. When she finished, she asked, “Is this a legal will?”

“So far.”

“But it's so primitive.”

“Handwritten wills are valid. Sorry, it's the law.”

She read it again. Nate noticed the shadows falling along the tree line. He had become afraid of the dark, both on land and on water. He was anxious to leave.

“Troy didn't care for his other offspring, did he?” she said with amusement.

“You wouldn't either. But then I doubt if he was much of a father.”

“I remember the day my mother told me about him. I was seventeen. It was late summer. My father had just died of cancer, and life was pretty bleak. Troy had somehow found me and was bugging my mother to visit. She told me the truth about my biological parents, and it meant nothing to me. I didn't care about those people. I'd never known them, and had no desire to meet them. I found out later that my birth mother killed herself. How do you figure that, Nate? Both of my real parents killed themselves. Is there something in my genes?”

“No. You're much stronger than they were.”

“I welcome death.”

“Don't say that. When did you meet Troy?”

“A year went by. He and my mother became phone pals. She became convinced his motives were good, and so one day he came to our house. We had cake and tea, then he left. He sent money for college. He began pressuring me to take a job with one of his companies. He started acting like a father, and I grew to dislike him. Then my mother died, and the world caved in around me. I changed my name and went to med school. I prayed for Troy over the years, the same way I pray for all the lost people I know, I assumed he had forgotten about me.”

“Evidently not,” Nate said. A black mosquito landed on his thigh, and he slapped with enough violence to crack lumber. If it carried malaria, the insect would spread it no further. A red outline of a handprint appeared on his flesh.

He gave her the waiver and the acknowledgment. She read them carefully and said, “I'm not signing anything. I don't want the money.”

“Just keep them, okay. Pray over them.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No. I just don't know what to do next.”

“I can't help you. But I will ask one favor.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Don't tell anyone where I am. I beg you, Nate. Please protect my privacy.”

“I promise. But you have to be realistic.”

“What do you mean?”

“The story is irresistible. If you take the money, then you're probably the richest woman in the world. If you decline it, then the story is even more compelling.”

“Who cares?”

“Bless your heart. You're protected from the media. We have nonstop news now, twenty-four hours of endless coverage of everything. Hours and hours of news programs, news magazines, talking heads, late-breaking stories. It's all junk. No story is too small to be tracked down and sensationalized.”

“But how can they find me?”

“That's a good question. We got lucky because Troy had picked up your trail. To our knowledge, though, he told no one.”

“Then I'm safe, right? You can't tell. The lawyers in your firm can't tell.”

“That's very true.”

“And you were lost when you arrived here, right?”

“Very lost.”

“You have to protect me, Nate. This is my home. These are my people, I don't want to run again.”

HUMBLE MISSIONARY IN JUNGLE SAYS NO TO ELEVEN-BILLION-DOLLAR FORTUNE

What a headline. The vultures would invade the Pantanal with helicopters and amphibious landing craft to get the story. Nate felt sorry for her.

“I'll do what I can,” he said.

“Do I have your word?”

“Yes, I promise.”

The send— off party was led by the chief himself, followed by his wife, then a dozen men, then Jevy followed by at least ten more men. They snaked along the trail, headed for the river. “It's time to go,” she said.

“I guess so. You're sure we'll be safe in the dark.”

“Yes. The chief is sending his best fishermen. God will protect you. Say your prayers.”

“I will.”

“I'll pray for you every day, Nate. You're a good person with a good heart. You're worth saving.”

“Thank you. You wanna get married?”

“I can't.”

“Sure you can. I'll take care of the money, you take care of the Indians. We'll get a bigger hut and throw away our clothes.”

They both laughed, and they were still smiling when the chief got to them. Nate stood to say hello or goodbye or something, and for a second his vision was gone.

A surge of dizziness rolled from his chest through his head. He caught himself, cleared his vision, and glanced at Rachel to see if she had noticed.

She had not. His eyelids began to ache. The joints at his elbows were throbbing.

There was a flourish of grunts in Ipica, and everyone stepped to the river. Food was placed in Jevy's boat and in the two narrow canoes the guides and Lako would use. Nate thanked Rachel, who in turn thanked the chief, and when all the right farewells were finished it was time to go. Standing ankle-deep in water, Nate hugged her gently, patting her on the back and saying, “Thanks.”

“Thanks for what?”

“Oh, I don't know. Thanks for creating a fortune in legal fees.”

She smiled and said, “I like you, Nate, but I couldn't care less about the money and the lawyers.”

“I like you too.”

“Please don't come back.”

“Don't worry.”

Everyone was waiting. The fishermen were already on the river. Jevy had his paddle, anxious to shove off.

Nate took a step into the boat, and said, “We could honeymoon in Corumba.”

“Good— bye, Nate. Just tell your people you never found me.”

“I will. So long.” He pushed away, and swung himself into the boat, where he sat down hard, his head spinning again. As they drifted away, he waved at Rachel and the Indians, but the figures were blurred together.

Pushed by the current, the canoes glided over the water, the Indians paddling in perfect tandem. They wasted no effort and no time. They were in a hurry. The motor started on the third pull, and they soon caught the canoes. When Jevy throttled down, the motor sputtered but did not quit. At the first turn in the river, Nate glanced over his shoulder. Rachel and the Indians hadn't moved.

He was sweating. With clouds shielding the sun, and with a nice breeze in his face, Nate realized that he was sweating. His arms and legs were wet. He rubbed his neck and forehead and looked at the dampness on his fingers. Instead of praying as he had promised, he mumbled, “Oh, shit. I'm sick.”

The fever was low, but coming fast. The breeze chilled him. He huddled on his seat and looked for something else to wear. Jevy noticed him, and after a few minutes said, “Nate, are you okay?”

He shook his head no, and pain shot from his eyes to his spine. He wiped drainage from his nose.

After two bends in the river, the trees grew thin and the ground was lower. The river widened, then spilled into a flooded lake with three decaying trees in the center of it. Nate knew they had not passed the trees on the way in. They were taking a different route out. Without the current, the canoes slowed a little but still cut through the water with amazing quickness. The guides did not study the lake. They knew exactly where they were going.

“Jevy, I think I have malaria,” Nate said. His voice was hoarse; his throat already sore.

“How do you know?” Jevy lowered the throttle for a second.

“Rachel warned me. She saw it in the other village yesterday. That's why we left when we did.”

“Do you have a fever?”

“Yes, and I'm having trouble seeing things.”

Jevy stopped the boat and yelled at the Indians, who were almost out of sight. He moved empty gas tanks and the remnants of their supplies, then quickly unrolled the tent. “You will get chills,” he said as he worked. The boat rocked back and forth as he moved around.

“Have you had malaria?”

“No. But most of my friends have died from it.”

“What!”

“Bad joke. It doesn't kill many, but you will be very sick.”

Moving gently, keeping his head as still as possible, Nate crawled behind his seat and lay in the center of the boat. A bedroll was his pillow. Jevy spread the lightweight tent over him and anchored it with two empty gas tanks.

The Indians were beside them, curious about what was happening. Lako inquired in Portuguese. Nate heard the word malaria spoken by Jevy, and it caused mumblings in Ipica. Then they were off.

The boat seemed faster. Maybe it was because Nate was lying on the bottom of it, feeling it slice through the water. An occasional branch or limb that Jevy didn't see jolted Nate, but he didn't care. His head ached and throbbed like no hangover he'd ever experienced. His muscles and joints hurt too much to move. And he was growing colder. The chills were starting.

There was a low rumble in the distance. Nate thought it might be thunder. Wonderful, he thought. That's precisely what we need now.

THE RAINS stayed away. The river turned once to the west, and Jevy saw the orange and yellow remnants of a sunset. Then it turned back to the east, to the approaching darkness across the Pantanal. Twice the canoes slowed as the Ipicas conferred about which fork to take. Jevy kept their boat a hundred feet or so behind, but as darkness settled in he followed closer. He couldn't see Nate buried under the tent, but he knew his friend was suffering. Jevy actually once knew a man who died from malaria.

Two hours into the journey, the guides led them through a bewildering series of narrow streams and quiet lagoons, and when they emerged into a broader river the canoes slowed for a moment. The Indians needed a rest. Lako called to Jevy and explained that they were now safe, that they had just gone through the difficult part and the rest should be easy. The Xeco was about two hours away, and it led straight to the Paraguay.

Can we make it alone? Jevy asked. No, came the reply. There were still forks to deal with, plus the Indians knew a spot on the Xeco that would not be flooded. There they would sleep.

How is the American? Lako asked. Not well, Jevy replied.

The American heard their voices, and he knew the boat was not moving. The fever burned him from head to toe. His flesh and clothes were soaked, and the aluminum under him was wet as well. His eyes were swollen shut, his mouth so dry it hurt to open it. He heard Jevy asking him something in English, but he could not answer. Consciousness came and went.

In the darkness, the canoes moved more slowly. Jevy trailed closer, at times using his flashlight to help the guides study the forks and tributaries. At half-throttle, his unsteady outboard settled into a constant whine. They stopped just once, to eat a loaf of bread and drink juice, and to relieve themselves. They latched the three craft together and floated for ten minutes.

Lako was concerned about the American. What shall I tell the missionary about him? he asked Jevy. Tell her he has malaria.

Lightning in the distance ended their brief dinner and rest. The Indians set off again, paddling as hard as ever. They had not seen solid ground in hours. There was no place to land and ride out a storm.

The motor finally quit. Jevy switched to his last full tank, and started it again. At half-throttle, he had enough fuel for about six hours, long enough to find the Paraguay. There would be traffic there, and houses, and at some point, the Santa Loura. He knew the exact spot where the Xeco emptied into the Paraguay. Going downriver, they should find Welly by dawn.

The lightning followed, but did not catch them. Each flash made the guides work harder. But they began to tire. At one point, Lako grabbed a side of the johnboat, another Ipica held the other, Jevy held the flashlight above his head, and they plowed forward like a barge.

The trees and brush grew thicker and the river widened. There was solid ground on both sides. The Indians were chattering more, and when they entered the Xeco the paddling stopped. They were exhausted and ready to stop. It's three hours past their bedtime, Jevy thought. They found their spot and landed.

Lako explained that he had been the missionary's assistant for many years. He'd seen lots of malaria; he'd even had it himself three times. He eased the tent off Nate's head and chest, and touched his forehead. A very high fever, he told Jevy, who was holding the flashlight, standing in mud, and anxious to get back in the boat.

There's nothing you can do, he said as he completed his diagnosis. The fever will go away, then there will be another attack in forty-eight hours. He was disturbed by the swollen eyes, something he'd never seen before with malaria.

The oldest guide began talking to Lako and pointing to the dark river. The translation to Jevy was to keep it in the center, ignore the small divides, especially the ones to the left, and in two hours he should find the Paraguay. Jevy thanked them profusely, and took off.

The fever didn't die. An hour later, Jevy checked Nate and his face was still burning. He was curled into a fetal position, semiconscious and mumbling incoherently. Jevy forced water into his mouth, then poured the rest over his face.

The Xeco was wide and easy to navigate. They passed a house, the first they'd seen in a month, it seemed. Like a lighthouse beckoning a wayward ship, the moon broke through the clouds and lit the waters in front of them.

“Can you hear me, Nate?” Jevy said, not loud enough to be heard. “Our luck is changing.”

He followed the moon to the Paraguay.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 601