Two tribesmen set Eden’s father on the seat beside her. The tarp didn’t cast enough shade for both of them. Already, she felt the prickly heat in her body, the sweat dripping down her back. She inched towards the border of hot light, begrudging her father each centimeter of shade, and hating herself for it. Promise you will take care of your father.
As usual, he seemed oblivious to any physical threat. He took out a small notebook from his shirt pocket and began to scribble.
“Incredible,” he said. “The Huaorani have waited since 3,000 B.C. for the Jaguar Man to save them.”
“And just what is he supposed to do?” Eden asked.
“Appease the spirit world.”
“Naturally. Because Bramford is so appeasing.”
“What?” Her father laughed but she knew he didn’t get it. “The idea of spirits may seen counterintuitive to our way of thinking,” he continued. “And yet, thousands of years ago a prophecy was told that one day the greatest of shamans, a real Jaguar Man, would come to save the people from the destruction of their lands.”
Eden looked out at the sad, hardscrabble earth and sighed. “Well, he’s too late.”
“Perhaps not,” her father said with a thoughtful air.
“Don’t tell me you believe in this fairy tale?”
“Often, sometimes centuries later, science validates folk wisdom. The Indians believe the great shaman will fly into the spirit world by embodying the jaguar in form and spirit.”
She watched the newly anointed Jaguar Man command the men to load supplies into the vehicles. “So he intended to dominate the world, after all,” she said. “Jamal was right. Bramford never had any intention of helping people. He was always a beast at heart.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Daught.” Her father looked up from his notes, adding, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
How then did her birth rank? Or did Eden count at all?
She gasped as Bramford leapt into the passenger seat from several yards away. Show off. The rusty vehicle creaked, listing to one side with his weight. Her father beamed, while Eden wished she’d never been born.
Behind them, the Huaorani climbed into the packed cars. Bramford turned to face the company and raised a triumphant arm. He announced their destination in a booming voice.
“Vamos a la Zona Intangible.”
“Where is that?” Eden said.
He gave her a nasty grin. “No Man’s Land.”
Exactly what she most feared: now, she’d never find anyone to mate.
EDEN SHIFTED her aching back on the wooden seat, as the vehicle jounced along a rutted road. If only she could relax. But she held her body rigid, as if she could ward off the boundless, sunlit world. For hours they’d driven past miles of mud-baked shanties and desolate fields with an occasional tree or small rodent scurrying past. Not a living soul appeared.
She felt dirty and grimy from the layers of dust that coated her skin. She’d tied the company T-shirt around her nose and mouth to filter the dust and the nauseating smell of plant petrol. The shirt stuck to her skin, wet with sweat. Even if she’d been brave enough to jump out of the car, she lacked the energy. Gummy humidity chained her listless body to the seat. She lifted a hand with the odd feeling that it didn’t belong to her, and waved away dive-bombing mosquitoes.
Burning rays edged under the tarp onto her legs, as the relentless sun marched across a baked sky. Eden considered a sunburned patch on her thigh with numb desperation. Had her white blood cells shouted an alarm? Hurry to the defense. Still, it would be a losing battle. She might last a week or two before she got The Heat.
She stared daggers at the back of Bramford’s head. The beast seemed to enjoy the ride. His broad back and alert posture reminded her of a big cat attuned to subtle signs. Signs Eden couldn’t read without her Life-Band, thanks to him.
For the umpteenth time, her fingers crawled like spiders over the red backpack that lay on her lap, hoping to feel the outline of a hidden Life-Band. Once more she thought of Shen, whose Chinese name meant strong spirit. It was an odd choice in a soulless world. If only Eden could connect with him, she just hoped he’d live up to his name. And what if Shen came? Would she be able to convince Bramford to send her and her father back home? Maybe by then her father would have served his purpose. If he lived that long.
Wait and see. That’s what Father would say.
The memory of a sterile laboratory flashed in Eden’s mind in sharp contrast to the bleak landscape around her. How eager she’d been at the age of six to please her father. But she’d botched her first DNA analysis by adding a twenty-fourth pair of chromosomes. It was the first time he voiced his simple philosophy.
—Wait and see, Daught.
—For what?
—Progress.
—But I failed.
The edges of his mouth had curled into a half-smile, the best he could offer.
—Some of the biggest discoveries have come from plans gone awry. Think of Albert Einstein unable to obtain a university job. For two years he suffered odd jobs and even questioned his goal of becoming a physicist. Imagine that.
Forced to take a lowly position as a clerk at the patent office, Einstein found ‘a kind of salvation,’ as he put it. The regular salary and stimulating work of evaluating patent claims freed him to think, even to dream. He began to publish important physics papers and change the world.
You see, Daught, we must be patient. One door closes and another opens. Wait and see.
Eden believed her father knew everything. And so she had waited for someone to see past her skin color and recognize the Real Eden. After all, didn’t everyone share the same DNA? In the end, there had been nothing to wait for but a treacherous Coal. All over again, Eden felt the sting of Jamal’s betrayal.
Lost in the bouncing rhythm of the car ride and the merciless heat, she began to obsess on his evasive remarks, the double-sided meanings and clever prodding. His deception had been plain to see if only she’d looked. How Eden wished she’d listened to Austin’s warnings, or been smarter, prettier, darker, better.
By the time the convoy arrived at a small encampment along a river, Eden was desperate to burrow into a shady spot. At least the sun hid like a gauzy pearl in the hazy sky. Sad, gray clouds nestled in the treetops, as if abandoned there.
She shook off the T-shirt and stretched her limbs. Waves of blackness passed behind her eyes, as she stood. When had her last meal been?
Leaning against the vehicle, she eyed the surroundings with little hope. Patches of wild jungle encircled a string of ramshackle huts. Native women and children in tattered rags stood by, staring blankly at the new arrivals. They looked ill with patchy hair, and red, scaly rashes on their brown skin. The children’s stomachs were swollen, their eyes lifeless. Two drunken men sprawled in a heap of garbage. One of them raised his head, eyed the commotion, then spit and turned over.
An antique boom box filled the air with pounding music, each beat twisting the knot in Eden’s head tighter. The fast, driving, spoken lyrics told a gruesome tale of violence and revenge. A typical example of man’s headlong race to destruction in the late twentieth century. If only they had understood, she thought, staring at the blighted environment.
Bramford’s gaze raked over her as he passed her by. She watched him head into a palm grove, mesmerized by the rippling of his muscled back and hips. He moved with the simple grace and powerful confidence of a predator. No wasted energy, no self-consciousness. What must that be like?
Eden hefted the backpack, following the men towards the river that appeared in layers of green and black at the edge of the camp. Suddenly, the ground seemed to shift underneath her. But no, she realized, dozens of columns of leaves moved around her. Atta colombica, known as leaf-cutter ants, carried the leaves on their backs.
She screamed as the ants scrambled over her feet. She tried to slap them away but they kept coming, hundreds of them. She started to run when her high heels caught in the dirt.
Headlong, she tumbled into a mud puddle, to the delight of the children who laughed at her.
At least that pompous action hero hadn’t witnessed her fall.
Eden wiped herself off with the T-shirt and, in the process, shed even more of her dark coating. The Indians found that especially funny, but she was too tired to care.
She collapsed onto a boulder by the moribund river. A thick, black film coated its surface. Gobs of debris—diapers, clothes and animal carcasses—cluttered the shore. Nearby, several canoes with small outboard motors bobbed beside a rickety dock.
One of the Huaorani with a surprisingly gentle face carried Eden’s father towards her. A heavy-set warrior pulled a huge leaf, at least nine feet long, from a giant banana tree and laid it next to her on the ground. To Eden’s surprise the men set her father down on the huge leaf. He looked like a fragile baby cradled in a green boat. That was the extent of comfort here—a leaf for a bed.
“Residue from oil mining,” her father said, indicating the murky water. “My hypothesis is the tribe sold their oil rights long ago, probably for worthless cash. I suspect no one ever explained the consequences.”
Eden could see what the trip had cost him. His eyes were pinched and red, the bandaged leg, bloody, once more.
“How are you, Father?”
“What? Fine.” He stared off at the nearby trees. “Just look at the amazing variety of flora. I imagine we could find a new species or two here.”
The gentle warrior returned with two coconut bowls full of white mushy liquid.
“Chicha,” he said with smiling eyes.
“Gracias,” her father thanked him and then tasted it. “Hmmm. Yucca plant. The women chew it up, mix it with water and then spit it out. It’s a complete and nourishing meal.”
Eden declined with a polite wave of her hand. Even if she could stomach the repulsive, sour smell, she doubted she could digest real food.
Her father frowned. “When you’re starving you’ll eat anything, Daught.”
Always the failed daughter. She pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples.
The Indian pointed to himself. “Lorenzo.”
He couldn’t have been much older than her. She liked his soft brown eyes, she decided.
“Eden,” she said, tapping her chest.
“El soroche.” Lorenzo touched his temples and grimaced, as she must have. Then he reached into his pocket and offered them each a handful of small, oval, dark green leaves.
Eden noted the distinctive small circle they bore. “Coca leaves,” she said.
“Precisely, Daught. Erythroxylum coca. A traditional remedy for altitude sickness.” Her father’s short-lived approval disappeared, as she tucked the leaves in her backpack. “You’re supposed to chew them,” he said.
“But they’re dirty,” she whispered.
“What? That’s illogical. Your skin provides housing for millions of microbes. Without them you wouldn’t be able to fight any number of diseases.”
Lorenzo nodded, whether or not he understood, and told her how good the leaves were. “Muy bueno.”
Eden responded with a pained shrug. Lorenzo simply smiled and left to join his tribesmen, who transferred supplies onto the canoes. A sinking realization hit her.
“We’re not going over water, are we?” she said.
“It appears so,” her father said.
“But I can’t swim! Neither can you.”
He chuckled. “Then don’t rock the boat, Daught.”
Her insides twisted, like a strand of DNA. Like any Pearl, Eden was terrified of water, which had the power to expose. She never even had experienced swimming or any other bygone water sport on the World-Band. She’d rather die than ride in a canoe.
She clutched the backpack, hoping for a miracle. Now was her chance.
“I’ll just be over there,” Eden said, pointing towards a large trumpet tree. At her father’s quizzical look she added, “For privacy.”
“Hurry,” he said. “We must leave at once or wait until the next day.”
“Why?”
“Elementary. There are no lights here.”
Unable to absorb the concept of living by day, she gave him a blank look and then walked away. She struggled to form a little prayer as she stepped into the dark thicket.
Mother Earth, please, let me find salvation in this backpack.
It was pointless, Eden knew. There was no omniscient power to substitute the objects that already lay inside the pack. Back home, she would have ridiculed any idea that violated the laws of physics.
But then, Eden never imagined she would have to survive by her wits alone, either.
EDEN SQUINTED as she stepped into a shadowy grove, clutching the backpack to her chest. Sunrays strafed through a high canopy of trees, piercing dark pockets of vegetation below. The high contrast between dark and light made it difficult to see. Her eyes darted towards silvery specks that glinted, here and there, as if dozens of eyes watched her.
A monkey pant-hoot startled her and she looked up to find a troop of capuchin monkeys, Cebus capucinus, gathered in the branches. Somehow they didn’t look or sound like their World-Band Holo-Images. And how reverential they seemed with their caps of brown fur around solemn, light-colored muzzles. Now she understood why they were named for the ancient Capuchin Friars.
Eden knelt down, spilling the contents of the backpack onto the ground. Just as she thought, there was nothing special inside. A rain of empty seedpods fell on her, followed by the capuchin’s hysterical jeering. So much for reverence.
Eden waved her arms and hissed. “Go away.”
Instead, the bothersome pests renewed their assault.
She turned her back on them, hurrying now. She flipped the bag inside out and ran her hands over it. There, along the bottom, she found a bulge. New thread was stitched over the seam. Her hopes soared as she ripped it open with her teeth. Something fell to the ground with a small plink.
Sweet Mother of Earth. A Life-Band. It was a standard flexible bracelet. Thank you, Daisy.
“Daught?” her father called out.
Any minute someone might come looking for her. Even Bramford.
Eden repacked the Life-Band and other items. As she stood up, pinpoint of lights danced in front of her eyes. She took a deep breath and, as her surroundings came back into focus, reached for the backpack. But it moved away. Confused, she tripped after it.
Then the bag flew into the air—in a monkey’s grasp. The nimble thief carried it onto a limb from which he and his conniving friends heckled her.
“Hey!” Eden shook her fist. “That’s mine.”
To her surprise, the thief drew back. The monkeys shrieked.
In the distance Bramford’s deep voice boomed like thunder. “Eden?”
The troop scampered away with the backpack—her salvation.
“No!” she cried.
She kicked off her heels and plunged into the forest after them without a second thought. She struggled to keep an eye on the red backpack, but unlike running at home on the World-Band, she actually moved forward. When she smacked into a tree limb, she fell down, more surprised than hurt.
In a panic, she heard Bramford’s pounding feet.
Don’t lose the bag, Eden. Stuck here if you do.
She scrambled to her feet and ran ahead. Her head screamed with pain. Her legs felt like wet noodles.
“Stop, Eden!” Bramford said.
Only the monkey thief obeyed him and came to an abrupt halt. It swung the stolen bag into the air and sent it sailing. Eden had a sick feeling, as it spiraled over a steep cliff. She skidded to a stop and looked over the edge.
The backpack hung on a bush several yards down slope. Frothy white river rapids carved a serpentine path through a steep, narrow canyon below. If Eden fell she’d drown, or be pummeled to death on the rocks, or both. But she couldn’t think about that now.
She sidestepped her way down the incline, using large rocks as footholds. Don’t look d
own, she told herself, as she inched closer. Nerves on fire, she reached a spot above the bag. She hung onto a branch behind her and stretched forward, working the strap free. A little more and she would have it.
Pebbles skittered down the slope behind her, and she heard Bramford’s throttled roar, half curious, half menacing.
“What are you doing, Eden?” he said.
Why risk her life for a silly bag? Best to ignore him, she decided.
Determined, she yanked the pack free. She glanced uphill, terrified to find Bramford coming towards her. Like a fly trapped in a glass bottle, she batted back and forth, looking below for an escape route. Her hand slipped from the branch, as she twisted around. She dropped the backpack to find purchase but only grabbed thin air. With nothing to stop her, she plummeted through the air towards the raging river.
“Eden!” Bramford cried.
Her mind drew a blank. There was no time to wish for anything. Not even death.
To her relief, Eden hit the water feet first. At least, she thought that was lucky. As if luck might save her now.
The churning rapids pummeled her underwater until she lost all sense of direction. Her heart hammered like an anvil. Just when she thought her lungs would burst, something grabbed her from behind. Images of the lethal anaconda flashed through her mind. The giant monster propelled her to the surface, holding on tight, as Eden thrashed about, gasping for air.
“Relax, I’ve got you,” Bramford said.
Too shocked and too grateful to speak, she simply grabbed onto his arm around her chest. He kept her head above water, as the rapids carried them downstream. Ahead, Eden spied a series of large boulders. She screamed as they hurtled towards the first one.
Just in time, Bramford twisted her out of harm’s way by wedging himself between her and the rock. He vaulted them past the danger with his powerful legs. Over and over, he navigated the tortuous obstacle course. Twice, his legs slipped and he bashed against a huge rock.
And yet, he never let Eden slip from his grasp. She coughed and sputtered as she took in water. Numb with pain, her flailing legs struck the rocks underwater. But she was safe with him.
Revealing Eden Page 9