The Amazon Quest (House of Winslow Book #25)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “That’s real courage, I think,” Emily said.

  “He had that. Most of us would have given up.”

  They reached the hut and were admitted by a daughter. They found the sick woman lying in a hammock. Her face was drenched in sweat, and she had a poultice on her leg that the witch doctor had applied on the spider bite.

  Emily said nothing but knew that Ian had mentioned her coming. Finally he said, “Emily, why don’t you join me in prayer for this woman?”

  Emily was startled. She started to protest but felt that would be wrong. She watched as Ian put his hands on the woman’s head, and then she leaned forward and took up the woman’s hand. She bowed her head, and as Ian prayed in the woman’s own language, she began to pray. She had always had great faith in prayer, but she had difficulty praying about anything lately. Suddenly she found herself praying freely and knowing that she was in the presence of God. She almost lost the sense of where she was, the sense of place and time, and instead of praying silently as she normally did, the prayer burst from her lips. Passionately she prayed for the woman’s release from pain and felt the woman squeeze her hand. Finally Emily ceased, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that both Ian and the woman were staring at her.

  “That was a pretty potent prayer,” Ian said quietly. He listened as the woman spoke and then turned to Emily. “She says the pain is all gone—that the flame-haired woman is close to God.”

  Emily was unable to speak for a moment, and then she smiled at the woman. “Tell her I’m glad she feels better.” She listened as Ian translated, and then when the woman spoke, Ian turned to her. “She says may you have a good husband and many fine children.”

  Emily could not meet his eyes but nodded. “Tell her I thank her for her kindness.”

  They left the hut, and as they walked outside, the bright sunlight glittered so that it hurt Emily’s eyes. She walked slowly down the path that led to her small hut, and Ian finally asked, “How’s your work coming along?”

  “Very well. You’ve been such a great help, Ian. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Do you think National Geographic will take your story?”

  “I’m sure they will. There’s been nothing like it written before.”

  The two reached the hut, and as they approached, Sarita was standing beside the door. Her eyes were on them, and she did not speak.

  “Sarita, I think I’ll go see if I can catch a fish for supper. Care to come along?”

  “Yes, I will,” Sarita said quickly.

  Emily watched as the two walked off together. She did not miss the fact that Sarita reached out and touched Ian to draw his attention. When he spoke to her, she smiled up at him, and then her laughter floated back to Emily. Sarita’s infatuation with Ian troubled Emily, but she could not say why.

  She saw Adriano sitting in the shade of one of the small trees and walked over and sat down on the ground beside him. Adriano nodded pleasantly and asked about her work. When he heard her report, he nodded.

  “You will be finished soon, no?”

  “Yes, I don’t know exactly when, but it won’t be too long.”

  “And then you will go back home.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  Adriano did not speak for a time. His eyes were half hooded, and he was smoking a cigar—not one that the natives had made, but of a much finer quality. The light blue smoke curled upward into the air unbroken by a breeze, and finally he said, “What will you do then? When you get home, that is.”

  “Oh, write another story, I suppose.”

  Adriano studied her thoughtfully. He was a good student of human nature, and during the past two weeks, he had watched Emily carefully. Now he said, “Will Ian go back to the States with you?”

  Emily was startled. “No. There’s been no talk of that. What makes you ask?”

  Adriano did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders in a curiously eloquent gesture, and finally after a time he said, “I am worried about Sarita.”

  Instantly Emily sat up straighter, and her eyes met those of the old man. “Because of Ian?”

  “You’re very perceptive. You see, of course, that she is in love with him.”

  “It’s pretty obvious, although I’m not sure he knows it.”

  Adriano shook his head with a faint despair. “I do not think he does, but it is true.”

  “Do you think he cares for her at all?”

  “Oh yes. He is a very warmhearted man, and he’s very grateful to her for the way she cared for him when he was ill.”

  “But that is not enough for Sarita,” Emily ventured.

  “You are right. A woman would see that. Ian is very quick in some ways but very slow in the ways of the heart, I think.” He puffed on the cigar for a moment, took it out of his mouth, and stared at it thoughtfully, as if it held some great enigmatic secret. Finally he put it back in his mouth and puffed gently, then removed it again. “There is something in your eyes when you look at Ian. Is it something from the old time when you first knew him?”

  Emily felt her face glow. “I was very fond of him at one time—but that’s all over.”

  “I do not think it is. The eyes are the window to the soul, and when you look at him I can see your heart.”

  “No, you’re mistaken!”

  Adriano did not argue. He simply sat there and finally said in the softest possible tone, “Love can be painful.”

  Emily felt uncomfortable around this old man. It seemed he could look right into her mind, even into her heart, so she rose and, making an excuse, slipped away.

  “Yes, love can be very painful,” Adriano murmured, “but where would we be without it?”

  ****

  The same day that Emily had spoken with Adriano, Ian came to her and said, “Something is happening that you might use for your story.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s something called marake.”

  “Marake? What is that?”

  “It means ‘the ant test.’ Come along. You’ll find it interesting. And get Wes with his camera. He’ll want pictures.”

  The three of them went to the center of the village, where quite a few of the natives had gathered. For a long time there was singing and dancing, and it seemed to be a rather festive occasion.

  Finally Ian whispered to the pair of them, “Get your camera ready, Wes, and your pencil, Emily.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Wes asked.

  “This is a test that’s given to children at puberty.”

  Emily had brought a small notebook, and she jotted down as well as she could what went on. She watched as a child was brought forward and given kasili to drink.

  “Why is that young girl drinking that?”

  “It’s the closest thing to a pain-killer they have,” Ian said. “You probably won’t like this ritual, but it’s very important to these people.”

  Emily watched as the young girl, who was no more than thirteen, was brought to stand in the center of a group of elders. One man stood behind her and held her wrist out at arm’s length. “That’s her father,” Ian whispered.

  Malu, the witch doctor, approached with a wicker frame in his hand.

  Wes snapped a picture, and the snapping of the camera was made inaudible by the singing that was going on, a chant with a hypnotic rhythm to it.

  “What’s in that wicker?” Wes asked.

  “Ants,” Ian replied briefly.

  A chill went over Emily, and she watched as the wicker frame was applied to the body of the young girl. She saw the ants swarm out, crawling over the girl’s face and over her entire naked body. The girl shut her eyes, and from time to time her lips would tighten, but other than that she showed no response as the ants swarmed all over her. She did not struggle or try to get away. Emily could see her father’s face, stern but somehow pleased at the bravery and stoicism of his child as she endured the ritual.

  Finally the music rose to a crescendo, and Malu pulled the wicker away. The girl
’s mother came, brushing the ants off of her body, and then the singing broke into a glad chant.

  “She’s grown up now according to marake,” Ian said.

  Wes was excited. “I got some good shots. This will be great, Emily! Be sure you put it in the story.”

  Emily and Wes joined Ian as he went to congratulate the family. She found herself wondering if it would not be better for American youth if they were bred to endure some hardships such as this puberty ritual. Not ants, perhaps, but something that would teach them that life can be hard. This thought passed through her mind as she smiled, and the young girl smiled shyly back at her.

  As they left, Wes said, “I don’t know if I could stand that or not.”

  “You could if you were a Guapi. You would have been brought up to expect it,” Ian remarked, “from the time you were born. These people have learned one thing, that life is hard. So I think customs like marake give them a small taste of it, so when the hard challenges in life come, they’re more ready for it.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Wes nodded soberly. “I think the American Indians did somewhat the same. But we’re a pretty spoiled bunch. Our parents try to protect us as much as they can, which I guess, maybe, is not the best idea.”

  Ian did not speak, nor did he look at Emily. He seemed preoccupied, and after talking to a few of the Guapi, he made his excuses and left. He had not gone far, however, before he found himself joined by Adriano.

  “Did you go to the ceremony, Adriano?”

  “Yes. Very impressive.”

  Ian would have passed on, but Adriano fell into step beside him. “I must speak to you, Ian.”

  Instantly Ian turned toward the man. He had great trust in Adriano Rey, and now he said, “What is it? Is there trouble?”

  “Yes, come along. We will find a quiet place.”

  Ian followed Adriano down one of the jungle paths that led to the river. They stopped beside the brown waters that swept the bank with a sibilant sound, and Adriano motioned toward a trunk, then sat down himself beside Ian. “There’s trouble,” he said quietly.

  “Something I can do to help?” Ian asked quickly.

  “I think you must help if there is help at all.”

  “Tell me. Are you sick?”

  “No, I am not.”

  Adriano did not answer for a while, and Ian knew that his silence was part of a ritual with him. Adriano Rey did not speak quickly but allowed thoughts to be born in him, and after a long time they would be birthed in a quiet voice. He waited until the older man lit his cigar and then started talking. Ian had also learned that Adriano often clothed his wisdom, which was considerable, in the form of a parable. It was the old way teachers used, even Jesus himself.

  “My son, if you take a good-natured animal, say a dog, and you chain him up, then you often show him food but do not give him any, in time he will become very ill-tempered.”

  Adriano continued to speak of how an animal could become almost vicious if he were treated in this way, and finally he fell silent.

  Ian waited, then said, “This is true. I would probably be the same.”

  Adriano turned and faced Ian and spoke clearly, though his voice was gentle. “You must know that Sarita cares for you.”

  Suddenly Ian Marlowe was embarrassed. He looked down at his hands for a time and then shook his head. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “I know that. You are a good man, and you would not misuse any woman.”

  “Has she told you this, my friend?”

  “Not in words, but I am not blind. Her eyes follow you wherever you go. Have you not seen it?”

  Ian shifted nervously and ran his hand through his tawny hair. “At times I have thought she had an affection for me.”

  “I did not know whether you had seen that, but you must have if you are not totally blind.” Adriano puffed on his cigar, then shook his head. “You are a fine man, Ian Marlowe, but you are not for Sarita.” He let his words sink slowly into silence and then added, “You will leave this place one day and go back to your homeland. Sarita would be very unhappy there. She would be a stranger in a very different world. It must not happen.”

  “I’m very fond of Sarita,” Ian said carefully. He was like a man picking his way through a dangerous minefield, for he did not want to hurt Adriano, and he certainly did not want to hurt Sarita. “What must I do, Adriano?”

  The answer came quickly. “You must tell her that you can never care for her. Not in the way she wants you to.”

  “Why, I can’t do that!”

  “Why not?”

  “It would be cruel to say such a thing.”

  “And do you think,” Adriano spoke quickly and with more force, “that it is kinder to let her continue to think of you in this way when you know in your heart that nothing will ever come of it? She will become bitter and angry.”

  Ian sat on the log, misery reflected in every aspect of his body and features. He had vaguely felt this coming on, and more than once had tried to think of a way to let Sarita know that there could never be anything like love between the two of them. Not the kind of love she wanted, as Adriano put it. Finally he looked up and said, “I’m sorry about all this, Adriano. I never meant for it to happen.”

  “I know you did not. But unfortunate situations like this do happen, and when they do, we have to use great wisdom to resolve them. The greatest kindness you could show to Sarita would be to speak directly to her. Tell her your heart and make it clear that she should begin trying to put you out of her mind and heart and look for another.”

  Ian rose to his feet. He stood silently gazing off into the distance for a long moment, then he shook his head and said, “It will be very hard, but I will do it.”

  “Do it quickly. When she knows you do not love her as she had hoped, she will want to leave, and the quicker she gets away from you, the quicker she will be able to deal with her wounded feelings.” Adriano watched as the tall man walked slowly away. He felt grief in his heart, for he loved Ian Marlowe as a son, but he had known with an ancient wisdom that this had to be. For a time he had hoped that the two would marry, but something told him that such a marriage would never work. They were from two different worlds and would each have to find their happiness with someone else.

  ****

  “Sarita, I need to talk to you.”

  Instantly Sarita put down the root she was cleaning with a knife and stood to her feet. “Yes, Ian?”

  Ian stood silently for a moment. He had come into the hut and found Sarita alone. He knew that Adriano had taken Wes and Emily to watch a ceremony among the young men of the Guapi. He stood there uncertainly, and yet he knew what he must do. “Sit down, Sarita.”

  Sarita instantly sat down on her cot, and Ian took the one that Emily used. Never had he felt so unable to say clearly what he must say, but finally he looked up and said, “Sarita, I think you know how much I care for you and your father.”

  “Yes,” Sarita said.

  “I see something happening between us that I wish were different.”

  “What is that, Ian?”

  Ian shook his head and had to force the words out. “It seems you have formed an affection for me—” At this point he saw hope blaze in her eyes and quickly he said, “But it must not be, Sarita. It can’t be.” He saw her draw back as if he had struck her and knew that being honest with her was going to be hard on her, more than he had thought. “In my country, before a man and a woman become married, there must be equal feeling on both sides, and—”

  “And you do not care for me!” Sarita said. She stood up suddenly, and Ian rose with her. Her back was stiff, and she stared at him, all joy and hope gone from her face.

  “I do care for you—as a dear sister. I could never forget what you did for me when I was sick, but that’s not enough.”

  “Perhaps it will be enough for me!”

  “It wouldn’t be in time to come. A woman deserves to have all of a man, and it must be a special kind of love
.” Knowing that he must make his feelings almost brutally clear, he said, “I love you like a sister, not like a man should love a woman he wants for his wife.”

  He hesitated, then said, “You must have seen the affection Wes has for Emily. That’s what I feel for you. I always will care for you in this way, but—”

  “Don’t say any more!” Sarita snapped. For a moment she looked away, then she looked up at him and said, “My grandfather and I will leave at once.”

  “You don’t have to go, Sarita—”

  She did not answer but turned and walked out of the hut. Ian suddenly felt a trembling in his knees and saw that his hands were not steady. He wiped his hand across his face and shook his head. “This is bad,” he muttered. “Very bad.” He left the hut and looked for Sarita, but she seemed to have disappeared. He walked slowly toward the tent and found Adriano there. He stopped and looked down and said in a voice of pure misery, “Well, I did as you suggested, Adriano, and I feel like shooting myself.”

  Adriano rose and came over to put his hand on the tall man’s shoulder. “You must not blame yourself. You have been honorable in telling her the truth.”

  “She’s hurt and angry, and I can’t blame her.”

  “Yes, she is, but time will make a difference.” He paused, then said, “We will leave tomorrow.”

  Ian nodded and walked away. He could not remember feeling so miserable, not for a long time at least, and he wondered how long such a feeling would last.

  ****

  “I haven’t seen much of Ian since Adriano and Sarita left,” Wes said. “How long has it been now—three days?” He nodded, then looked over at Emily. “You think he’s angry about something?”

  “I don’t know, Wes.” Emily was writing, and she paused and stared down blankly at the sheet. She was well aware of the truth of what Wes had said, for she too had noticed a difference in Ian but didn’t know what to make of it.

  Finally she rose and left, taking her tablet with her, making notes of interesting aspects about the Guapi that she had observed in the last few days. She had reams of notes, more than she would ever need for a magazine article but enough, perhaps, for a book, which was her goal.

  Thirty minutes later she came upon Ian. She saw him come out of the chief’s hut and hesitated. He glanced at her and would have turned away, but with determination she said, “Ian, would you walk with me awhile?”