American Drifter

by Heather Graham

  He smiled—the last thing he wanted to do was argue with her. And yet, he was fascinated by her mind and equally certain that she might be testing him.

  “Brazil,” he reminded her softly, “was the last country in the western hemisphere to abolish slavery—that was 1888.”

  “Ah, so you aren’t a ‘yes’ man,” she said, pleased. “But, you see, that is the point! The original Portuguese settlers were mostly men, and they looked for companionship among the indigenous people and, yes, the slaves. So we are truly all mixed up—a big mix for many hundreds of years. And we think nothing of it. As a whole, as a society, that is,” she added, sighing a little. “Well, we’ve had our bad. In the thirties the government encouraged workers to come from Europe—but not Asia or Africa. But, that was the thirties. We are a browner society in general—and our constitution prohibits discrimination by the government and by the people!” She shrugged. “Still, sometimes it is hard. Prejudice exists everywhere, but … I will always work against it. Women may not be discriminated against, and yet, for some old men, it’s hard. They think that the woman’s place is, as your people say it, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen. But, we toss our hair at those who carry cultural weight and think they are macho men.” She paused again. “And I think we try here. We love life—and I love to write about all life, the good and the bad—and what makes it special.”

  “Life?” he asked her, bemused. “What is it to you that makes life so special?”

  “Art, pictures, and music—traveling. Dancing, and meeting people, the people in the streets, little children, pets … everything. The grass, the sun, the mountains and the valleys. Nature’s beauty, all of it. The oceans and lakes and … and rivers.”

  He smiled. “Nice. And you make your points beautifully, with words that make people smile and think.”

  “Thank you,” she said. A slight frown creased her brow.

  “What is it?”

  “Here, sadly, sometimes, money talks,” she said. “The color of money—that is what sometimes matters.”

  “I believe that’s the whole world,” he told her.

  She refused to be down.

  “Life is what we make it, right? Come on … let’s hop on the bus.”

  “We just gave away all our coins.”

  “We’ll slip in the back.”

  There was no way he could resist her.

  “Come; it will be an adventure,” she persisted.

  “I’m into adventure,” he assured her.

  “Then follow me; I know how to do this.”

  And she did. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along to an overhang on the side of the road where people were waiting. She nodded and smiled as they joined the throng. The roads here were dusty; farmers and women carrying belongings in rolled-up scarves waited.

  Then the bus, spewing all kinds of smoke and noxious fumes, pulled up. A horde seemed to step off—and the group they were part of moved on. Natal led him through the back doors, where they were swept up in the sea of people and pushed toward the back.

  He wasn’t sure about not paying people—just as he wasn’t sure about stealing coins. But she had left her clothing—probably worth much more!—in lieu of the coins—and, of course, he had set down the dollar bill.

  The bus was going where it was going anyway. And if anyone noticed they were not paying, he did have bills in his backpack.

  Natal looked at him and smiled as if they were conspirators. She leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry, River, Mr. Water, my friend. I will see to it that I pay double a few times; we aren’t taking anyone … let’s see—as you would say it—for a ride!” She laughed softly.

  The sound was like music.

  For a while, he held on to Natal and stood next to a man clutching a chicken. Natal smiled at him and spoke to the man—and River patted the chicken on the head. Natal laughed and the man grinned, and River thought that, all around Natal, people seemed to brighten. The man with the chicken left the bus. More people got on and off. At one stop, the driver pulled the bus off the road and came striding down the aisle. He began a rapid explosion at them in Brazilian Portuguese. Natal listened gravely; the driver reached for River but Natal grabbed River’s hand and lifted her chin in the air—and headed for the exit of the bus, pushing them both past the driver.

  As they exited, River heard the riders who were still on the bus booing the driver for his actions.

  Natal stood by, watching, hands on her hips, grinning and satisfied.

  “You know, we could have just paid him,” River pointed out.

  “Yes, but what is the adventure in that?” she asked.

  “Getting where we were going!” he said, and laughed.

  “Did you even know where we were going?”

  “I guess I didn’t,” he admitted. “Do you know where we are?”

  “In Brazil?” she teased.

  “Even I know that!”

  “We are close,” she told him.

  “Close to where?”

  “To where we are going.”

  It wasn’t as if he had to be anywhere, River reminded himself.

  And it wasn’t as if there was anywhere else he would rather be.

  “How do we get there now?” he asked.

  She lifted her two hands, presenting both thumbs. “We hitchhike.”

  River wasn’t sure any sane person would pick up a scraggly backpacker like himself, but Natal had no doubts.

  A car was coming down the dirt road. She did nothing. He thought that maybe he was supposed to be doing the thumbing. He started to step out but she caught hold of him and pulled him back. “Wrong way, silly! Just wave nicely!”

  Embarrassed, he stepped back. But as she had encouraged him, he waved.

  The farmer waved in return.

  They both coughed in the cloud of dust left by the passing vehicle. But another quickly arrived, going the other way. The vehicle was a beat-up old Ford truck. Natal headed for the road before he could stop her—he ran quickly to put himself in front of her.

  The truck stopped, and the driver, a friendly-looking white-haired fellow, waved them on back to the bed of the truck, offering them both a grin that showed his few remaining teeth.

  River nodded his gratitude profusely; Natal said something in Portuguese.

  They hopped into the back of the truck, squeezing between crates of clucking chickens.

  “Chickens—it had to be chickens!” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Bad joke,” he told her. “There’s an American movie—”

  “Indiana Jones!”

  “You know it?”

  “Of course. He hated snakes—and he encountered snakes. Do you hate chickens?” she asked.

  He laughed. “No—we’re just encountering a lot of them!”

  She grinned and leaned against him a little. “It’s a bit of a drive,” she warned.

  He didn’t care. Her leg brushed against his. The sky was blue above him. A cluck here and there meant nothing.

  But they got there—though even when they did, River wasn’t sure where they were.

  When they hopped out of the truck, Natal rewarded the driver with a kiss on the top of his white-haired head. They both waved their thanks as the driver drove away.

  “Now?” River asked.

  “We walk,” she told him.

  “Walk where?”

  She pointed to a small footpath that led upward. It was largely obscured by bracken, but she knew where she was going. He followed her.

  He loved so much of the landscape in Brazil. The rainforest here was geologically ancient—way older than the Amazonian rainforest. When explorers had first come to the coast, they had seen nothing but green, the forest so rich it eclipsed all else. It had been called Mata Atlântica, or Atlantic Forest, and in places, it had stretched inland for 125 miles. But that had been then, and now, civilization—and the twelve million plus people who currently lived on the coast—had changed it. Only spe
cial, wonderful places were left where the flora and fauna—as uniquely diverse as the people—reigned supreme. In these wilds, a man could catch a glimpse of a woolly spider monkey, a lion tamarind, or a sloth. Not always, since the animals were wary of human beings. But the monkeys could sometimes be seen up in the trees; their cries to one another could occasionally be heard. It was truly a wonder—like stepping back in time.

  “I feel like I’m on safari in Africa!” he called to her, getting smacked in the face by another branch.

  “And wouldn’t you like to be on safari in Africa?” she asked. “I would.”

  He laughed. “Okay, so yes, but, I don’t think I’m prepared to run into a lion.”

  “Some beautiful birds, a few wild dogs—no lions in this stretch. Monkeys!” she added, grinning. “We are not so in the wild here, really. Or, at least, if we are in the wild, it is a wild that others have found too.”

  He was surprised when they broke into a clearing, where a few vendors were selling cheese, fruit, bread, and some dried fruit.

  “Now,” she said.

  “Now?”

  “Dig into your backpack for some bills for these people!”

  He did. He walked behind her as she pointed out her selections and at the end, she must have argued about the price of the items because the old vendor continued to haggle with River.

  He just grinned and paid the man, and then followed her over to where he was certain she was haggling over the price of a blanket with another old man.

  He simply paid what was asked, grinning all the while. She shook her head and rolled her eyes; haggling was an art, he realized.

  He shrugged and tried not to smile too stupidly. He was with her. They were having a picnic.

  They headed off again, climbing. There were clear patches, areas of rock, and stretches of scruff and even heavy brush.

  “We are about to find the treasure!” she called back to him.

  A moment later, he followed her out into another clearing. They had climbed fairly high, but nowhere near as high as Corcovado mountain, which they could see in the distance. The Christ the Redeemer statue, in the late-afternoon sunlight, seemed to glisten and gleam and look down at them with a holy light.

  “Christ the Redeemer,” Natal said. “A magnificent sight, yes—and from here, far from the crowds that throng around it every day.”

  He turned to her. “This is breathtaking,” he said. “Truly beautiful.”

  She smiled and flushed. “Set out the blanket, please.”

  He quickly did so, doffing his backpack. Natal set to opening their little containers of food. “This place is good. You can see the statue. You can feel love and forgiveness—but you don’t have to see the tourists.”

  “Are we in the national park now?” River asked her. The statue was in Tijuca National Park, he knew. He’d been to it before.

  He’d never seen the statue as he was seeing it now.

  She shook her head. “No, but we are near. There is a chapel under the statue and there are so many tourists, but … I will tell you a little secret. There is a pass—an old mountain pass—and it will take you there when you wish. I prefer it here.”

  “Where we’re alone?” he murmured.

  She rolled her eyes. “We are not alone. See there—by the gnarled old tree? Right beyond, there is an old couple, gnarled like the tree. But they come here for their lunch. Maybe they come to remember when they were young. When they had adventures, yes?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And over there,” she said. “There is a young couple—escaping a harsh papa, perhaps!”

  She was right. They weren’t alone. But that, of course, was why the vendors were in the clearing: they sold their wares to those who liked to escape to this quiet place where they looked up and into the distance and saw the giant Christ—His arms outstretched to encompass all and, perhaps, forgive all.

  Natal looked up at the sky. “Eat, you must eat. Enjoy what you see. We can’t stay long.”

  He rolled over on the blanket and looked at her. “Why?”

  “Because I must be back.”

  “Why must you be back?”

  She wagged a finger at him. “I am a free spirit—I don’t answer questions. Adventurers make no promises, and they give no explanations or excuses.”

  He reminded himself that he had never really expected to meet her, much less spend an afternoon with her.

  “No questions,” he said. “You need give me no explanations.”

  She smiled at that. “So! I will tell you the story of the very old couple. She was a child in Germany—a Jewish child. He was an American soldier. When the Americans and Russians rolled into Brazil, he found her hiding in a field. She was terrified because she was Jewish; she was afraid to say so. But he showed her his Star of David and said, ‘But, fräulein, I am Juden too.’ They kept in touch; when he was twenty-eight and she was twenty-one, they married. That’s beautiful, yes?”

  “Very.”

  “Now you. The young couple.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, now it is your turn. You must tell their story.”

  River stared at them thoughtfully. “Hmm. Every man and woman has a story, and in beautiful tales, their stories combine—and they become one tale to tell. Let’s see. I will tell you their story. Their fathers are at odds with one another. They were business partners when the children were young. They had a huge fight. The mothers were friends too, but they were no longer allowed to talk. The children found one another at a football game. He is a star player. They met and flirted and teased and at a dance, they fell in love. But then they realized who they were—who their fathers were—and they knew they had to meet secretly.”

  Natal clapped her hands in delight. “That is their story?”

  “Okay, so it’s kind of a Romeo and Juliet rip-off,” he admitted.

  “It’s a lovely story about the couple meeting in the rainforest beneath a canopy of trees and nature. Yes. Or, we could go back.”

  “Back?” he said, swallowing his disappointment. She’d said that she couldn’t stay, but he hadn’t thought to lose her quite so quickly.

  “For the story, we can go back to the days when the Portuguese came here.” She rolled toward him, mischief in her eyes.

  “Oh, back to the colonial days, of course. Sure. Wonderful. Then, what is the story?”

  “It’s always the same, for all peoples. In 1550, Pedro Álvares Cabral arrived at Puerto Seguro. When he came, there were many native tribes living here. Two main groups spoke Tupi, but they were very different. The Temiminó were fascinated by the newcomers. And they were a lovely people—they were fishermen, they farmed the land, and they hunted. And they bathed. They made the explorers bathe too. They were hospitable and welcoming to those who came, but … There were also the Tamoio. They hated the newcomers! They were bitter, brutal enemies from the beginning!”

  “Terrible,” River said. “Imagine that—they didn’t like giving up their land!”

  Natal sighed and shook her head. “We are all guilty of that, eh? Anyone of European descent in the New World. That, however, is beside the point. You are ruining their beautiful love story.”

  “I would never ruin a love story!” he protested.

  “She was the daughter of a Temiminó chief—he was a great warrior of the Tamoio tribe, son of a great war leader. He could have swept her up and made her his slave, but he was in love, yet he was not allowed to be in love. He knew that he couldn’t force her to return his passion; he had to win her love. What he didn’t know was that she did love him. He was beautiful, and she knew that no matter where he came from, or what he had been taught, he was a good man deep inside. And so, though her people deplored him as the enemy, she wanted to be with him. But it would be horrible if they were caught; she might be thrown out, denied by her family forever. And he could face death for such a betrayal! So … they came here.”

  He smiled. “I think I like my story best. I think my coup
le have a better chance at making it in the end.”

  “Ah, well, love is always a beautiful story. There is a rich history here, yes? Next, we could tell a tale of love between a native girl and a Portuguese—she teaches him cleanliness first, so that he learns to bathe and keep his body fresh and beautiful, eh? Ah, when the explorers came at first, they were horrified and amazed. The native people did not think of their bodies as evil. They danced naked. Or maybe the explorers—men at first, of course!—were not so horrified. The women must have been very beautiful, eh? And that’s how our hero fell in love: he saw this beauty, dancing. She was naked, and as rich and beautiful as the earth, and he believed in all the freedom and music in her soul. But that’s for another day. Now … we must go.”

  “No matter what year, no matter what nationality or tribe—he would protect her from all things, even to his own death,” River assured her.

  “And she would lie down and die for him,” Natal said passionately. “We must get back.”

  He couldn’t seem to dissuade her. He told himself that he had to be grateful for the time he’d had with her.

  “We still have food,” he noted, even as she started to pack it away. But she was ready to go; they would go.

  And he would pray for another time together.

  “We will give it to the old people.”

  “Just to the old people? Why not the young people too?”

  “Because they are young. They will go to their separate homes and their parents will feed them. Even in Brazil, not every child cares for an aging parent.”

  He folded the blanket and took the bundle of food from her, following her over to the older couple. He didn’t know what she said—he only knew that the old couple smiled and nodded and seemed grateful as he handed over the food and the blanket.

  He flushed and nodded when they thanked him profusely.

  Again, Natal caught his hand.

  It was strangely more difficult going downhill than it had been coming up. Probably because while going up, he’d looked forward to the time with her. Coming down meant that she was going to leave.