American Drifter

by Heather Graham

  By the time he reached the canga, the kids were gone—but Natal was there, tall and indignant.

  “The urchins know you are about. When will they learn not to steal?” she demanded.

  “When they’re taught not to do so.”

  She rested her hands on either side of her waist. “You mustn’t think we’re a bad people.”

  “I don’t think that at all; I think you’re wonderful people,” he assured her.

  She flushed. “I sneak on buses. I take a few coins—but only when I leave something behind, and the bus is going where it is going whether I sneak on or not. I like the challenge, you see—but never to hurt anyone else. I try to help people.”

  “I know that you do—please, I don’t think badly at all of the Brazilian people. I’m here because I’m fascinated with your country.”

  “There are just some people … sometimes children wind up without homes and the system can’t always manage or isn’t really in place. And they are taken under the wing of men who are less than scrupulous. And taught to steal. I hate that it happens in my country.”

  He nodded. “Natal, it’s not just Brazil. Think about Charles Dickens and Oliver Twist. Poor Oliver! First, he’s in a workhouse, then he’s with an undertaker, then he finds the Artful Dodger—and the next thing you know, he meets the evil Fagin! Please, I know—it’s not just Brazil.”

  “Dickens,” she said. “Yes, I have read Dickens. He knew people, eh?”

  “The bad—and the good,” River said. “I gave those kids money earlier; my fault. They know that I have bills in my backpack. I’m usually more careful.”

  “It’s good to give—it’s not good to steal. I’m sorry. They are young, but … the young get lost. Dickens, though. Yes, you’re right. And I love his work. You love his work?”

  River nodded. “A Tale of Two Cities is my favorite.”

  Natal smiled at him, tossing her sun hat on the canga. “And mine.” She slid her hands down his bare wet arms. “You’ve been swimming. Very good. We’ll have to bury the backpack—no! I will ask the older lady with the blanket on her knees to watch over our space. I want to feel the water and the sun.”

  She pulled her white blouse over her head and shimmied out of her skirt, revealing a bikini beneath.

  River struggled not to stare.

  “Wait one minute,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the effect she was having on him. “I will ask her to watch.”

  “For thieving children?”

  “Don’t underestimate the goodness in people either, my friend,” she replied.

  She took his hand and hurried over to the woman she had referred to—an older lady sitting under an umbrella who, despite the heat, did indeed have a blanket on her lap.

  He waved to the woman with a smile and as Natal spoke, he indicated his backpack. She nodded at him and looked at Natal.

  Natal came back and caught his hand. “Come, let’s get in the water.”

  “She’s pretty old,” he said quietly, indicating the woman. “Think she can guard my stuff?”

  Natal laughed. “She carries a mean cane, my friend. She will stop any little rascals. Trust me—they will know to fear her.”

  Something about the day still seemed to tug at River’s mind. In the far reaches, he knew that he couldn’t forget Tio Amato.

  But with Natal before him …

  He had to let it go.

  “Come!” She released his hand and ran for the water.

  He ran after her, splashing back into the cool surf, laughing as the saltwater hit his eyes, as the sand oozed through his toes. She was swimming with long, easy strokes; he swam after her.

  She paused suddenly, turning back to splash him.

  He splashed her in return. There were some children, perhaps between the ages of eight and twelve, in the water. They laughed and got into the splashing game. Soon, everyone was splashing everyone and having an all-out water war and tremendous fun.

  River dove beneath the water and came up directly in front of Natal. She couldn’t quite manage a splash that didn’t get her too. The saltwater stung River’s eyes but he didn’t really notice. Natal was so easy in the water. The children were children.

  “Hey,” he said softly, treading water hard with his legs and slipping his arms around her.

  “Hey,” she said in return. “Behave—there are children.”

  “Of course. I always behave.”

  “I doubt that,” she told him, but she remained in his hold for a minute before pointing to the boats farther out.

  “They are partying—we should join them.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you?”

  “No, so perhaps—”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t join them?” Natal supplied. “Don’t be silly.”

  “They may not want us.”

  “But they will. This is Rio—and it is Carnaval season.”

  She escaped his hold and swam straight out toward deeper water. He followed her and saw that she was heading to one of the boats.

  There were people partying on the boat, their music playing loudly. They had cups of wine and beer and food spread out on one of the back cushions.

  They waved to him and Natal.

  Natal spoke to them in Portuguese—she spoke quickly, and he didn’t think that he could follow what she was saying. River, not wanting to look like a fool, greeted them with his broken Portuguese.

  But the people on the boat were young and welcoming—and in a party mood. It seemed the more the merrier; there were two young men and three young women aboard. Before River knew what was happening, the partiers were insisting that they join them. Natal swam for the ladder; he did the same.

  A pretty young woman with light hair and eyes helped him onto the boat.

  “Americano! Join us!” she said.

  Someone had given Natal a glass of wine; he quickly found one in his hands as well. Those on board were all chatting and moving to the music and having fun.

  “Samba!” Natal exclaimed.

  Suddenly River was balancing his drink, trying not to spill it, as he found himself hopping in rhythm to the music—as Natal was doing.

  He was perturbed; the blonde was in front of him, then, and Natal called out to him, “It is just dance; we all dance. Come, River, this is nothing wrong. It is Brazil!”

  And so he danced. He thought about the night before and he thought that he loved Carnaval and Brazil. The people could be very religious; they honored their Catholicism. But they seemed to believe truly in the guidance that they should love everyone. They didn’t seem to have any hang-ups; the men danced with one another, laughed, changed partners, and had a good time.

  “You will have dinner with us?” the light-haired woman asked him.

  He realized that it was growing late; yes, even in Brazil, it was time for dinner.

  “No, no, we cannot—we must go back,” Natal said.

  “No, but thank you!” River said.

  The blonde looked as if she would plead; Natal laughed, and thanked them all again—and dived over the side of the boat.

  River did the same.

  Natal swam hard for the shore and he followed behind her. She turned to splash him, her laughter ringing lightly on the air.

  He splashed in return.

  For a while, she played in the water. He caught her to him, treading water, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat. All around him he could hear the sounds of talking and music and the sounds of children playing. Splashing and enjoying the water, as they had.

  But all he could see was Natal. Her eyes as he held her close. Her smile, as she looked back at him.

  Then, something shifted in the sky; darkness was coming.

  “I must go,” she said.

  He closed his eyes and lowered his head; he had sworn that he wouldn’t push this. If he did …

  She might not agree to see him again.

  “As you wish,” he told her, releasing h
is grip. Natal swam toward shore. He followed.

  When they reached his canga, his backpack was right where he had left it. The old woman nodded gravely to him as he thanked her. She smiled. He smiled in return.

  Natal had slipped her clothing over her bikini. He swept up his own shirt and put it on and threw his backpack over his shoulders.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  She placed a hand on his chest. “I leave you here.”

  “We can head back toward—”

  “No, no, I must go now. From here. But I will see you tomorrow?”

  He believed her. She had promised to be here today; she had come. And he had held her, even if just for a moment.

  “Yes. Where?”

  “A museum?” she suggested. “We have magnificent museums, art—history. Natural treasures.”

  “A museum is fine.”

  “No,” she said. “I know what you love. The statue. The Christ the Redeemer statue.”

  “But where by the statue?” he pressed, remembering where lack of planning had gotten him earlier today, pacing for ages. “The place we sat last time?”

  She offered him her most dazzling smile.

  “I know how to find you. Don’t worry; I promise you—I will find you.”

  She turned and scampered away off the sand.

  And he was left alone, looking after her.

  Even so, he was happy.

  CHAPTER 8

  Beluga was sitting in a chair out in the night, smoking a cigar and sipping what appeared to be scotch. He frowned when River came walking up. “You told me you had no schedule and might not be back—but you are. Why are you so late? Now we’re full tonight—I have a troop of Canadian backpackers and their chaperons here, kids on top of kids! I’m sorry—I didn’t think that you were coming back.”

  “That is no problem, Beluga,” River told him.

  “No? You want to sleep under the stars—with the bugs and the cold damp earth?”

  River laughed. “No—I want to sleep under the stars and the velvet of the night sky.”

  Beluga sniffed and muttered in his own language beneath his breath.

  “The world is what we see it as, right, Beluga?” River asked. “Tonight, I see the beauty of the sky.”

  “And the bugs of the earth, eh? Well, sit. Join me for a while.”

  River did so.

  “Nice night, eh?” Beluga muttered.

  Everything in the world is nice—after the day I’ve spent, River thought.

  “Yes, beautiful night.”

  Except …

  “You’re frowning,” Beluga pointed out. “What’s wrong?”

  Beluga was right; a dark shadow had slipped over his mood. Of course, he knew why—when he allowed himself to really think. The world was beautiful with Natal. But the world should be … good. When things were wrong, a decent man was supposed to fight them. And to be a truly happy man, he needed to be a decent one.

  And one thought haunted his mind far too often. Tio Amato—and the murder River was certain the man had committed.

  “What is it?” Beluga asked again, turning to face him.

  River was silent another moment before replying. “I saw Tio Amato yesterday at the track,” he said. “Today, I thought that I saw him again.”

  The expression on his friend’s face turned grave. “Where?”

  “Walking into the Copacabana Palace.”

  Beluga groaned. “You didn’t go accuse him of dumping a man off a bridge, did you?”

  “No.” River was silent a minute. “He’s a bad man, though, Beluga, a very bad man. And he taints those who are around him.”

  “River, I have told you, I have explained what I know. Stay away from him.”

  “I’m not a Brazilian peasant. He can’t touch me. I’m sorry; I’m not calling you a peasant. I’m just saying that I’m not native to this area; he can’t threaten me as he must others.”

  “I’m not offended; I made my place here, I chose my place here. And no, you are not from here. But don’t deceive yourself; your American citizenship is no protection here. He can hurt those he chooses to hurt. Do you want to be the next body that he tosses off a bridge?”

  “There must be a way to stop him.”

  “He buys the authorities; leave him be.”

  “Surely every policeman can’t be bought. I know there are those out there—from here—who believe in decency, who don’t believe in the innocent disappearing or being killed.”

  “Sure. I believe it too. I just don’t know how you tell the good from the bad. Or even those who are good but afraid.” He was quiet for a minute. “You see many blondes in Brazil, my friend. Many your age. And do you know why?”

  “There are many blond Portuguese people,” River supplied, not knowing where this was going.

  “Yes, that’s true. But many of them are newly arrived. They came after World War Two. Some were war criminals who were terrible and cruel. Some might have been taken for war criminals—they were good people, but they didn’t want to go to the workhouses or the gas chambers themselves. They knew that terrible things were happening and many of them wanted to do something, but they were afraid. They came here or escaped to other places as quickly as they could. Some came here when they began to see the changes and they came rather than starve. But in all people, those who are evil can’t always be distinguished from those who are just afraid. Do I make sense? It’s often hard to see what lies in a man’s heart. So, you may find good police officers—but they have wives and children, and while they see things that horrify them, they will be too afraid to do anything. Do you understand?”

  “I understand. I still believe in the brave—and I believe in strength when enough people see what is going on and determine to face it together.” River thought about his afternoon with Natal. He was falling head over heels for her, but still—he liked her so much because she was free, because she believed in justice, because she would never be cruel. “I believe in the brave—who will risk everything.”

  “Then you are just silly, my friend. This isn’t your war; you don’t need to fight it.”

  He didn’t want to think about war—even the word could make him smell gunpowder and see the earth as it exploded around him.

  River fell silent for a moment, then said, “Well, my friend, I’ll collect Convict. We will find a place under the stars.”

  Beluga sniffed. “Stay awhile; have a shower, relax. Then go sleep under the stars.”

  River grinned. “Thanks, Beluga.” He had rinsed off after at a freshwater spray station at the beach. But it hadn’t been much. He was going to see Natal again the next day. He would be clean—even if he did sleep on the ground after his shower.

  He headed to the main house. Maria chastised him for being gone so long—and leaving her with a dog. But her hand was on Convict’s head, and when River had showered and was ready to leave, she seemed loathe to let Convict go. She told River that he could leave Convict with her any time.

  “Maria, you are the best,” he told her.

  “Yes, I am,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t you forget that.”

  He smiled, about to start out. But then he paused and said, “You really are the best. Always so nice.” He hesitated, not sure how to ask the question. “Are you happy?”

  Maria’s eyebrows shot up. “Happy? No one is happy all the time. But mostly, yes.”

  “I need to find you a man,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “You think a man is all it takes to make me happy? Anyway, I have one already.”

  River chuckled. “But you work with Beluga. I mean a man to love.”

  “I do love Beluga.”

  “I mean as in a great romance.”

  “I had my great romance and it is still here,” she told him, a hand on her heart. “Now I have Beluga, like a brother. Are we ecstatic every day? Maybe not. But we are content. We like what we do. Yes, maybe … yes. I am happy. Why do you ask?”

&n
bsp; He hugged her and spun her around, causing her to squeal, “River!”

  He set her down. She was grinning and flushed.

  “Just wanted you to know you really are the best,” he told her.

  “Obrigado!” she told him. “Thank you.”

  Grinning, he left her at last.

  The hostel was full; there were one or two older guests, a group of young counselors, and what seemed to be a tribe of twenty-some teenagers. They were cheerful and smiled when they saw him; they were on a group trip, he learned, and were anxious to see the countryside and Rio.

  One of the boys told him in a whisper—because it was a church group—he mostly wanted to see the half-naked women getting ready for their Carnaval dancing.

  “Enjoy; it is a beautiful city,” River told him, winking.

  “I like the women; Reverend Thornberry says we must see the Christ the Redeemer statue,” the boy whispered.

  “There is nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of a woman,” River said. He noted that Maria had come from the house and the reverend was speaking with her in halting Portuguese. “And you won’t have problems doing that. They are everywhere. Just be respectful.”

  “Of course!” the boy exclaimed, shocked.

  River grinned. “Are you going to any of the beaches?”

  The boy nodded. “Ipanema.”

  “You’ll see plenty of lovely women,” River assured him.

  “And we’re going to see some of the parades—we’re staying through Carnaval.”

  “Then you’ll see beautiful dancers too.”

  “Samba!”

  “I promise you—you’ll see plenty of samba dancing.”

  “Do you like the beaches here?” the boy asked.

  River nodded, a little hesitantly. When he thought of beaches, he thought of Natal … but he also thought of Tio Amato. He was becoming somewhat obsessed with the very thought of the man, he realized. But, maybe he couldn’t help it.

  Tio Amato just hurt—even killed—people.

  God alone knew where the man might be. He’d surely be smart enough never to prey upon a North American religious group.

  Still, River found himself warning the boy. “Don’t wander from your group. You’ll see all the wonders you can imagine—but listen to the reverend as well.”