by Will Forest
“Excelente,” Zé smiled. He introduced Jota, Filo, Bill and me as fellow team members, saying we were all on a mission to save the Amazon.
I wanted to know more about the play we had just seen, and also about the one that the group was going to put on, evidently, at the eco-lodge. After giving some glowing and sincere compliments of their performance, I asked, “Is the other play going to be determined by audience participation, like the lottery numbers we drew? Does it also have to do with animals?”
Jônatas hesitated. “Não quero revelar detalhes. Without giving it away, I can say, yes, there will be audience participation, but in a different way. It’s not a performance that requires us to have twenty-five scenes memorized so that we’re ready for whichever five are drawn, like the show tonight. And also yes, it does have to do with animals, but again, in a different way. Do you know the legend of the Boto—the river dolphin?”
I knew of the pink dolphins that live in the Amazon and its tributaries, but I didn’t know any legend about them.
“Cuéntanos,” Filo said. “Tell us.”
“O Boto, ele é sedutor… The Boto can transform into a handsome man. They say he’s always finely dressed, and wears a hat to cover up his blowhole. He seduces women and then takes them to live with him ao Encante—to an enchanted land at the bottom of the river. Or, sometimes he disappears, leaving the woman behind… with a lembrancinha—a little souvenir.”
“I get it,” said Bill. “The Boto is a scapegoat for unwanted pregnancies.”
Zé looked a little flushed. “Eu não sabia disso…”
“You didn’t know the legend of the Boto?” I asked him. I had not seen him look so flustered since his attempt to talk to my mamá.
“Não, não é isso. What I mean is, I didn’t know the play you’ll be performing has to do with the Boto legend.”
“Well,” said Jônatas, “he is in the play, but he is a minor character.” Then he winked at Zé and added, “Não se preocupe.”
I really couldn’t figure out why Zé was suddenly so uncomfortable, but I had a guess. “I think I’ve figured this out.”
Zé dropped his head to his hands. Jônatas’ eyebrows shot up.
“In Hamlet there’s this part where he hires a group of actors to put on a particular play, so he can watch his uncle’s reaction. The play depicts the same crime that Hamlet thinks his uncle Claudius committed in killing his brother, Hamlet’s father… You want Jônatas and his group to depict something in their play, so you can watch your brother’s reaction. Is that right?”
Zé beamed at me, repeating the word “Exatamente.” He gave me a big hug and kiss, and then he clarified, “The whole acting company is flying out with us to the property in the morning, and they’ll perform tomorrow night.”
“Will Nelson be there?” I asked. “You will enjoy meeting him,” I said to Bill and Filo.
“Esse Nelson…” said Zé. “He’s still not responding to my messages or calls. I hope he’s alright.”
Chapter 20: On the Edge
March 31, 2012
Western Amazonas State, Brazil
Even though I was becoming accustomed, with Zé and his family, to a level of luxury far above my usual life experience, I lowered my expectations for the eco-lodge, and that was a wise choice—it was much better than I had dared to hope. Certainly it was nothing like the all-inclusive resort on the Riviera Maya where I once spent a weekend for a friend’s wedding. After all, Mexico’s Caribbean coast is a highly developed tourist zone, but here we were in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, somewhere north of the Içá River but south of the Japurá, right on the edge of the border with Colombia, is what I was told.
So I had assumed that an eco-lodge would be rustic, but I had not counted on any sense of aesthetic delight, and that was how I was surprised—the Eco-Pousada da Floresta boasted grounds carefully landscaped with native flora, like soaring açaiceiro palms, and mother-in-law’s tongue growing as tall as I am. A river-pebble path led from the lodge to the allotment of a dozen or so palapa-style bungalows, all of which featured front porches with locally woven hammocks. In the lodge’s reception area there was a table with little seedcakes and pineapple-infused spring water for us.
With exaggerated emphasis, the hosts told me that Filo and I were their first guests from Mexico. Dona Clevina, immensely pregnant, smiled broadly, her cheeks spreading out to her heavy earrings. “In your bungalow,” she said, “you’ll find a basket of fresh fruit. When you finish the fruit, please keep the basket. I made it for you.”
Seu Sérgio, her husband, gave a sly smile. “You can also enjoy a play to be staged tonight by a theatre troupe from Manaus. They are visiting here to perform for our guests.”
Dona Clevina pinched his arm and hissed, “Mas esses atores saem todos nuinhos.”
“Querida,” said Seu Sérgio, “maybe Dona Marisol does not mind. Here we are in the middle of the forest, no meio da mata. It is very appropriate to leave off the clothing.”
I traded smiles with Zé. Of course the actors they were referring to were the same ones we had hired in Manaus. We had all arrived together, with Bill, Jota and Filo too, and Zé and I had let them all check in to their bungalows ahead of us.
Also, Seu Sérgio had a very good point about leaving off the clothing. In the sticky heat of the rainforest, my blouse was clinging to me, my shorts felt uncomfortably tight and even wet, and instead of serving any useful purpose, these pieces of fabric were actually blocking skin contact with the air being wafted around by the ceiling fan.
Drawing my hand across my sweaty forehead, I said, “We’ve seen this acting group before, and we’re excited to see them again. But, wait… Zé, will your brother be able to see the show? When is he getting here?”
“Pedro?” Zé frowned and looked down. “Should be arriving soon.”
Clevina sighed deeply. Sérgio—who I noticed was much older than Clevina, perhaps old enough to be her father—folded his arms and addressed Zé. “O Pedro vem hoje? Não sabíamos.”
It was obvious that the new landowner’s pending visit was an unwelcome surprise.
“Se preocupe não,” said Zé. “Don’t worry. He told me he just wants to see the lake. He’s got some kind of surveying team coming tomorrow.” Zé started a conversation with Sérgio about the accessibility of the lake shore, while Clevina took my hand and led me on a tour of the lodge and grounds. It was difficult for her to walk, but she seemed to want the opportunity to move around. When we had made it down the short path to my bungalow, she leaned against a tree, resting for a few minutes. I was concerned.
“Dona Clevina, when are you due?”
She smiled. “Any day now!”
“That’s so exciting!” I said, beginning to wonder where and how the baby would be born in that very remote area. I assumed there would be a midwife.
From his bungalow, Bill had seen us arrive, and offered to accompany Clevina back to the lodge. As they walked back, I put my things down, got out of my sweaty clothes, climbed into one of the inside hammocks and took a nap.
When I was waking up, and starting to remember where I was, I heard an odd sound, something like a great breath being let out, or an intermittent hiss. It was a loud sighing sound, vibrations that filled the air around me and grew more intense as I opened my eyes and sat up. What was it?
I saw that Zé had come in and was snoozing in one of the chairs. But the sound was much louder than a snore. I shook his shoulder, and when he heard the noise he stood up quickly. “My brother’s here.”
He pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and stepped out on our little bungalow balcony. The hissing sound was more frequent, and I was just on the verge of recognizing it. “Come here!” he called. “You should see this!”
I wrapped a towel around me and went out to look. Filling the horizon was a great golden globe. It was a balloon, of course—a hot air balloon landing just a short distance away, in front of the lodge. The yellow balloon had a large blue Q wit
h rays of white light coming out the end of the Q’s slash, the same Queluz Properties logo I had seen on the umbrellas a few days earlier.
I could see the pilot handling the ropes to make a smooth landing. Once the basket was on the ground, a tall man helped a woman descend from the step on the side of the basket.
“Is that Pedro and his wife?”
“Sim. And frankly I am surprised Lisbeth is here.”
Then I saw Pedro help Dora down the step. I remembered what she had told me about the history of Lisbeth with both her sons, but did not say anything about it.
Zé pointed, smiling with obvious relief. “Nelson did make it! And there’s Pedrinho! Volto logo.” Zé went out to greet his family and Nelson, saying he’d be back soon.
As I watched, Pedrinho stood looking up into the balloon from below. I imagined he had been enthralled by the entire experience. It was certainly all I could think about as I showered, until I heard, suddenly, two male voices—Zé’s and his brother’s, I guessed—not in friendly greeting but rather argumentative tones. I decided that the barking brothers’ dialogue was my cue to take a longer time in the bathroom.
When I came out, the bungalow was empty. I put on a loose, comfortable dress I had purchased in Manaus—the kind of dress one is supposed to wear in the Amazon, I imagined—and went to the lodge, where I found Zé and the recent arrivals all waiting for me. Zé introduced me, rather stiffly, to his brother and sister-in-law.
Pedro was slightly shorter than Zé, with a more angular face and the beginning of a bald patch on his crown. He ran his eyes up and down my body with a disapproving look. Let me just include here, for the record, that even having been born and raised in Mexico, a country I imagined to be just as machista as Brazil, and even with all the numerous times I could recall men blatantly assessing my physique, I could not remember a more patronizing, sexist gesture passing for what was supposed to be a greeting.
“Zé tells me you’re a historian?”
“I…”
“How quaint. Meet my wife, the former Miss Brazil. Lisbeth?”
Lisbeth feigned a smile and pulled me into the kiss-on-each-cheek greeting. “Bienvenida al Brasil,” she welcomed me in Spanish, which I thought was a nice detail. To better assess the standard against which I had been so crudely measured by her husband, I scrutinized her smooth face, flush lips, perpendicular bust, ample cleavage, wasp waist, and full buttocks, unable to guess what was natural and what had been operated. But I was sure she had been under the scalpel a good three or four times. This was all perfectly ‘natural’ for a Latin American woman, especially a Brazilian woman, who could afford plastic surgery. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but when you’re introduced to a beauty queen, there’s a certain curiosity about how, exactly, the beauty came to be.
Pedrinho was very excited to see us. “Did you know that Nelson’s laptop was stolen? Nelson’s laptop. I remember Nelson’s laptop. It had a big sticker that said ‘Rock in Rio 2008,’ just like my dad’s new laptop.”
I gave Zé a quick look. He turned his face to wink at me without Pedrinho seeing. Pedro and Lisbeth had already moved away. They were talking to Dora and hadn’t heard him.
But Nelson had definitely heard him. He was approaching us to say hello, from behind Pedrinho, and he froze when he heard what the boy said.
Zé gave Nelson a reassuring smile. “Olha, Pedrinho, onde foi que você viu isso? Where did you see your dad’s new laptop?”
“Na pasta dele,” he said, and then went walking off somewhere else.
I had no idea what that meant, but Zé and Nelson had both turned to look at Pedro across the lodge. Nelson was muttering some choice words under his breath. “Fill me in, guys,” I said. “Surely he doesn’t have the laptop in his Italian dinner?”
“His briefcase,” said Zé.
I looked at Pedro, too. “The one he’s holding right now…” I trailed off.
Nelson’s nostrils flared out and his brow furrowed. “Is that a bad rap or what? I stole the scroll, and now it’s my own boss who stole my laptop.” He shook his head. “And his briefcase looks like it’s that kind with a combination lock…”
Zé eyed Lisbeth and mused, “I’ll bet I can guess the combination.” Then he turned to Nelson. “Vamos fazer o seguinte…” Trying not to look suspicious, Zé and Nelson walked further away from Pedro. Zé was spelling out a plan for Nelson to slip out of the after-dinner performance, open Pedro’s briefcase, get into his laptop, and send the full Amana document to his email. That was the gist I got, anyway, from the Portuguese, along with Zé stating that they had no more time and couldn’t wait to make a print copy. I was pretty sure Nelson wanted to reclaim his laptop, but Zé told him he would have to leave it there, so Pedro wouldn’t suspect anything. Zé also asked why Nelson had not been returning his calls, and he said he had lost his cellphone, and hadn’t felt safe staying in his apartment until he could get the lock changed.
I very much wanted to read the end of Amana’s story, but I did not want to be involved in sneaking and stealing. I did not want to be involved in Zé’s feud with his brother. So I left Zé and Nelson and went to greet Dora. My reward? I got to hear every single detail of how their trip went, every single step of the way from Rio to the Eco-Pousada da Floresta. Alas, I also got to hear each and every particular way in which she was not as impressed with the artistic touches at the eco-lodge as I was.
Chapter 21: Allegory of Golden America
After a simple but healthy and hearty dinner featuring the catch-of-the-day with steamed manioc and vegetables, the evening’s entertainment began. The lodge porch had become an improvised stage, and we spectators sat just a meter below in folding chairs on the lawn. There were about thirty of us in the audience, a mix of hotel guests and people who lived close by. Since the sun had just set, a few of the eco-lodge staff members placed some twenty tiki torches all around us to add to the porch light. Over the porch, a sky blue banner proclaimed in sparking gold lettering:
ALEGORIA DA AMÉRICA DOURADA
(Allegory of Golden America)
Jônatas walked onto the stage wearing the robe we had seen the night before in the production in Manaus. He announced that his group would be presenting what he called a Fable of the Encante, that mystical land of Amazonian folklore, a kind of alternate universe located at the bottom of the river. Since we would be ‘traveling’ to the river bottom, he explained, and we wouldn’t want to get our clothes wet, then we should take the opportunity to remove them. As he said this, he opened his robe and let it drop. I thought this was marvelously clever. Zé disrobed immediately, and I did too, although first I looked around to see if anyone else would do the same. Nelson, Dora, and Pedrinho were removing their clothes. Sérgio and Clevina made a point of undressing, and a few other people took their clothes off, mostly guests, it seemed—visitors from Europe or Canada.
Local people, on the other hand, even though many of them were already very close to being naked, giggled nervously and acted like they could not believe anyone would remove any clothing at all. Thanks to them, I think Filo and Bill felt more comfortable in their refusal to undress. Pedro and Lisbeth, of course, kept their clothes on and did not care how many others around them did the same. They did not even bother to look around, and for that reason they did not see Nelson back away from the lodge and disappear into the trees.
Those of us who had disrobed placed our clothes over our chairs to sit on, and then the play began. A woman wearing only a crown and a robe of scarlet and gold appeared on the left edge of the stage. She nodded her head toward the other side, where there appeared a man, similarly attired in just a crown and his robe of royal blue and white, who nodded back. They introduced themselves as Queen Isabel of Spain and King Manuel of Portugal, and immediately began arguing about their territorial claims in the New World. To settle their argument, they summoned America to the stage, and she came to stand in the middle, nude as well, except for a sash over one shoulder and a t
iara over her brow. Also, she ‘wore’ a coat of gold paint, with a map of the Western Hemisphere painted along her front. Her sash proclaimed “MISS BRASIL,” but when the Queen pointed to it and laughed, America made a show of being flustered while flipping the sash over to the other side, which read “MISS AMERICA.” I looked quickly at Lisbeth—she was laughing with everyone else, but Pedro was not amused.
The King and Queen began to circle around America, proclaiming speeches with a false formality. I very much enjoyed listening to the Queen trying to make her Portuguese sound like Spanish. The monarchs pressed their fingers onto the map of her body, aggressively pointing out the locations where their respective admirals had landed and the cities their captains had founded, but America kept swatting their hands away.
At some point they grew desperate and started pulling America’s arms in opposite directions. America yelled what must have been insults at them in an indigenous tongue, and tried to kick and bite them. That’s when the Pope appeared, wearing only a crucifix around his neck and that big fish-mouth hat, the mitre. He had scissors in his hand, and made threatening gestures as if he were going to cut America apart, but the only thing he did cut was her beauty contest sash. Then he took a marker from his hat and drew a dotted line down the middle of her torso. He moved the Queen of Spain to the west—America’s right side—and the King of Portugal to the east, or left, in this way graphically performing the infamous Treaty of Tordesillas that divided the New World between the Catholic superpowers. Then the Pope wiped the palms of his hands together, blessed America, crossed himself, and left quickly, not without dropping his marker.
The King slyly pulled the marker toward him with his foot, while pointing offstage and yelling “The Fountain of Youth!” to distract the Queen. When she disappeared backstage searching for the Fountain, he winked and grinned at the audience, hamming it up as he used the marker to redraw the Pope’s line further to the west, over America’s right breast. When the Queen reappeared, she said she hadn’t seen the Fountain, but had found something much more valuable: El Dorado. The nude chieftain—it was the troupe leader, Jônatas—walked onstage coated in gold body paint. He announced that he, just like the King and Queen, was a free and independent sovereign, and did not need to be governed by anyone, thank you very much. Declaring that he would take his riches and hide where no one could find him, he tossed golden trinkets across the stage to distract the Europeans, and then absconded with America.