“Oh, yes, of course,” the boy said quickly.
River grinned. “Really.”
The boy flushed.
“Yeah, of course. I mean, I’m not like you—you know what you’re doing here. You know your way around. You know what to watch out for.”
Yes, I do, River thought. The problem was that the whole thing with Tio Amato seemed to be eating at him.
Let it go, he told himself. Just let it go.
Think about Natal. Just Natal.
“Tomorrow, the Christ the Redeemer statue,” the boy said.
The very thought of the statue—where he would soon see Natal—made his heart race. “You’ll love it. It’s all amazing, the trip, the statue—everything. It’s so big and so high in the mountains, you can see it from many places. But go all the way up to it, if you can—that’s the most spectacular. And who knows—you may see half-naked women along the way,” River teased.
He left the boy’s side to go collect Convict. Maria seemed almost sorry to see the dog go.
“You bring him, back, River,” she ordered. “You bring him back when you go off again. No crazies will take the dog—he is a good dog.”
River gave Maria a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll watch out. Of course, I’ll bring him to you when I have business where a dog cannot be.”
“You had best, River. Beluga—he loves that dog now too, you know.”
“I know, and I’m grateful,” River assured her.
* * *
Natal had said that she’d find him by the statue; the area, of course, was massive. He decided that he’d head there like any tourist the following day, but for the night, he’d find a stretch of plateau near the mountain—he could see the statue and the stars that way.
When he stopped for the night, he thought that he was surely on a farmer’s land. But he’d learned that day—really learned, through Natal—that the people in the outskirts of the bustling city were nice. They were friendly. They wanted to know others.
“What do you say, Convict?” he asked the dog. “Have we found the right bed?”
Convict barked and wagged his tail.
River made a pillow out of his backpack and lay down on soft grass and earth.
Convict quickly curled up beside him. The warmth of the dog next to him was nice.
For a while, he stared up at the statue. Then he looked at the stars, noting the Big Dipper for Convict.
How far did Natal’s love of adventure extend? There was so much of the country he hadn’t seen. Maybe they could go off together on a long excursion through the countryside; they’d tour the mountains and the valleys. They’d find out about native tribes. Every day would be …
“I really just met her, Convict,” he told the dog. “But somehow, I feel like I’ve known her for years. And when we wake up—well, the two of you will become great friends.”
As he dozed, he began to imagine the map in his bag and made a mental note to check out the train stations and schedules. He didn’t want to fly anywhere—flying, they wouldn’t see the country. He would have to convince her that a free spirit would come with him. He didn’t have to hurry; there were still so many places they could go together here—so many things to do. He thought about the Jardim Botânico—exquisite! They could imagine what it had been like when João VI had created the gardens, determined to have cinnamon and spices and fruit from around the world at his table when he chose—not just when the ships came in. They could make up stories about him and his son, who had opened the magnificent gardens to the public. They could sip espressos at the D.R.I. Café by the pool, walk by magnificent fountains and falls. Maybe, when she trusted him more, he could introduce her to Theo—and they could all go ziplining together through the rich canopy of the rainforest trees.
And then they would travel on.
With dreams so sweet, he slept, and slept deeply.
* * *
When he awoke, he did so slowly. For a moment, he thought he heard laughter—a child’s laughter.
And he smelled …
Pancakes. Pancakes and maple syrup.
He hadn’t had pancakes and maple syrup in Brazil … he was in Brazil. And yet the aroma of the food was so real …
He was somewhere else—somewhere far away. He could hear—as if from a distance—the tinkling sound of a woman’s voice.
And the laughter.
The laughter of a child. It was delighted laughter, the kind only a child could ever create. It tore and tugged at his mind with a sweet sense of nostalgia …
Then Convict barked—a bark that was loud and anxious. Instantly snapping out of the memory, or dream, or whatever sweet illusion had filled his mind, River was wide awake and leaping to his feet, ready to face whatever danger might lurk.
But it was just a farmer—chiding him for sleeping, River imagined, on his property.
The man wasn’t really angry; he shook his head more from confusion. River figured that the farmer just couldn’t understand why people would sleep in the open.
River’s Portuguese wasn’t anywhere near good enough to begin to explain.
Convict barked again. River calmed the dog and apologized in his broken Portuguese.
The farmer looked at Convict, and River assured him that the dog was a good dog. After another glance at River, the farmer came forward and petted Convict.
River was careful when he reached into his backpack—it was never a good idea to let anyone see just how much money was in it—and handed the man a few bills.
The man looked at the money in surprise. River knew that he hadn’t had to offer the money. But after his conversation with Theo the other day, he thought that the few dollars might be something important to the man.
Maybe they were. The farmer smiled and nodded and tipped his sun hat to River.
River grinned and thanked him. He turned, calling to Convict, and made his way to the road.
He found a farmer’s market where vendors were selling meat pies and bought some for himself and for Convict. The dog was grateful—and well-mannered. But as River considered the day, he stroked Convict and said, “I think I’ll take you to Maria for the day—there just might be a few places they won’t let me take you. Sorry, you’ll have to meet Natal another time. Maybe Maria will give you a bath—you could use one, you know.”
Convict looked at him, gave him a strange, friendly howl, and thumped his tail.
Maria accepted a few dollars for keeping and bathing the dog, though, at first, she protested. He didn’t understand her Portuguese—she could speak so quickly!—but it seemed that Maria was saying that she had fallen in love with Convict too, and didn’t need to be paid to take care of an animal she loved.
He had to remind her that she was doing him a favor that meant a great deal to him, and that she needed money for soap for the dirty dog and for food—and for some trinket for herself.
She was a widow, he knew. Beluga didn’t let her want for the things she needed in life, but she could always use a little extra for something special that she simply wanted rather than needed.
He gave her his most winning smile, and she finally accepted the money.
“I work, I make money, you know.” She paused. “You asked me if I am happy. I forgot to mention—my children who survived come and see me. They work in Brasília, but Rio is their home, and they are good children. I am grateful I have them still, though I mourn those I lost. But every life is precious, yes? And I still have my two. A girl and a boy.”
“I’m sure you have wonderful children, Maria. They have you for a mother!” He winked, and she rolled her eyes in response. “And you work very hard. To do me another favor, you must take this money. Perhaps you should even use it for something fun or pretty. Perhaps for a hair comb or a bracelet—or a scarf, maybe. Or a scanty costume for Carnaval.”
“A scanty costume, eh?”
“You’d be beautiful.”
“Once!” she said softly. “Once, yes. Now—maybe a hair comb.”
“Maria, you are truly beautiful now,” he assured her.
She laughed briskly and waved a hand in the air. “Go and see Beluga.”
But River was eager to slip away to meet Natal. He told Maria he’d be back soon for Convict. Then he hopped a bus and headed into the city.
And from the city, he looked up at the statue.
Today. Today, he would see her again.
And perhaps, come closer.
But, all he had to do was see her …
And life was suddenly good.
CHAPTER 9
River stood on a busy street in the city, listening to the sights and sounds of crawling traffic, motorbikes, motorcycles, music leaking from a dozen venues, horns, and shouts. So many people—how would he find her?
As Carnaval neared, it seemed that the population of Rio had doubled and then tripled.
There seemed to be more music, pouring from every venue.
There were performers in the streets.
There was dancing, and women in colorful costumes with bare midriffs.
The city itself was incredible; it had a life of its own.
And from each peak that surrounded it, he knew, the view was spectacular.
But it was time to get to the statue—to find Natal.
He felt someone standing close behind him and turned. To his astonishment, it was Natal.
In a city so insanely large and crowded!
He smiled and cast his head at an angle. “Were you following me?”
“I don’t follow any man!” she said, laughing to keep any sting from her words.
“How did you find me here?”
“Well, maybe I followed you. A little.”
She was beautiful and as light as a summer day in a white embroidered peasant dress with a white flower in her hair. His heart beat faster.
“So … here we are. In a city that truly never sleeps. So many neighborhoods, so many museums, shopping … dining.” She threw out her arms as if offering the beauty of Rio to the world. “What shall we do today? I know! Rob a bank!”
He laughed. “We are not robbing any banks.”
“Then we should hop the metrô and see where it takes us.”
“I thought we were going to the Christ the Redeemer statue. I was about to head that way and try to find you.”
“But I found you.”
“Yes, you did. How?”
She ignored his question. “So—we do both love the statue. We can go there. Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes and sighing softly with a teasing lilt to her voice. “I will act like a tourist.”
“You know,” he reminded her, “I am a tourist.”
“Ah, yes. But you come here for a long time, right? There’s no place you have to be? You’re staying in Brazil.”
He shrugged. For a moment, something seemed to tear at his memory, but he dismissed it.
Yes, he was staying in Brazil. He wanted to see wonders with her here in Rio—and he wanted to travel the country with her. He walked to her, took her hand, and looked into her eyes. First, he had to really win her. Earn her trust. Make her feel for him …
That absolute need he had for her.
“Want to indulge me?” he asked. “You’ve shown me Rio as a native might see it. Let me show you Rio as a tourist might see it.”
She groaned softly. “I will not walk around with a city map and stare up at tall buildings.”
“I don’t expect that,” he assured her. “But—I won at the track the other day. Let’s take a tour. Let’s take the cable car up Sugar Loaf Mountain. Stop and see all the views. We can look down on Copacabana Beach and I’ll imagine the swimsuit I saw you in when we were there ourselves. We can view the Rio-Niterói Bridge and see Corcovado mountain. Then we can take the cog train all the way up to the Christ the Redeemer statue … stop in the little chapel and act like tourists.”
She dipped her head at an angle, offering him a half smile as she mulled over his proposition.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes—you will be the tour guide today.”
He caught her hand. “Come, then, we’ll catch the subway to the cable car.”
He was oblivious to the people around him—people of many different nationalities—as they hurried through the busy business district to catch the subway.
Natal, however, pulled back. There were stiltwalkers in the street. There were clowns and regal women dressed in colonial clothing, throwing candy to children. They were led by a vehicle playing music for them as they walked about and stooped here or there or paused for pictures.
“I love Carnaval,” Natal murmured. River had to lean close to hear her. “We’ve not yet come to Fat Tuesday, and already, the city is so alive.”
He paused with her and realized that half of what intrigued him so much about her was her ability to see all around her, to appreciate everything that she saw.
“Stop to smell the roses,” he replied.
“What?”
He smiled. “You. It’s a saying. Never become so embroiled with what you’re doing and where you’re going that you forget all that is beautiful.”
“Well, that would just be stupid, eh?” she asked, knocking his shoulder.
“Indeed.”
The stiltwalkers passed on by.
“You see, we were just like tourists, distracted by what is going on. But now—ready for the next adventure.”
He caught her hand, thinking that his face might freeze in the silly smile he always felt when he was with her.
“Onward,” he agreed.
CHAPTER 10
At the station, he produced his card—which, he realized, he could have used on the bus with Natal—and slid in with her close behind him. He was afraid he’d lose her if they stopped for another car.
She seemed amused. “Ah, so we are robbing the subway.”
“If you wish.”
They were jostled between others. But each time the subway car weaved and waved, he caught sight of her face and the smile she gave him—and the way she rolled her eyes.
Before following a line of tourists who seemed to be composed of Americans, Canadians, and an Italian family, they paused for dark, rich coffee. The Italians argued with the others about the size of their mountains. The Canadians reminded them all about the Canadian Rockies. Natal and River laughed with the others.
“You’re traveling Brazil alone with a backpack?” a Canadian woman asked.
The question was jarring; it seemed to take River from time and space. And then he saw the twinkle in Natal’s eyes.
“Ah, not really,” he said. “I have Brazilian friends.”
“Indeed, he does!” Natal said.
“And where are you from?” the woman asked.
“I’m an American,” River said. “Seeing the sights. Making my way around the world—with friends.”
“Lovely,” she said.
The cable car rose to the first height—seven hundred feet above sea level. Everyone rushed to the glass windows to look out. From there they could see the city with its teeming life, Guanabara Bay, Corcovado mountain, and the Rio-Niterói Bridge. And, of course, rising high on Corcovado, the Christ the Redeemer statue. From their vantage point, the magnificent mountains seemed touchable; the water in the bay was sparkling as if a thousand diamonds rested upon it, and the heights and valleys and water were all remarkable.
“This land—so beautiful!” Natal whispered.
“Nothing here is more beautiful than my friends,” he teased.
She flushed and grinned.
Soon, the cable car began to rise again. River found himself sitting next to an American man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties or perhaps sixty. He told River he was there with his wife, his son and his son’s wife, and their teenaged girls.
“The trip of a lifetime for the wife and me,” he said.
River nodded. “For me too.”
The man studied him briefly.
“Yo
u served in Afghanistan?” he asked.
“Iraq,” River replied, turning away. He didn’t want to be asked about his service; he didn’t want to answer questions about it. There was always something painful about it that seemed to burn in his gut. He’d see the flashes of fire, hear the screams of men.
“Take care of yourself,” the man said.
River nodded, disturbed. The air seemed to be filled with the scent of pancakes and syrup once again.
But Natal turned to look at him then, and he was back in the moment.
The cable car made a stop at a higher level. They went on to ascend the peak of Sugarloaf Mountain to see Copacabana Beach, the Santa Cruz fortress, and the beaches of Niterói.
Everyone oohed and aahed again. The teenaged American girls pestered their parents and grandparents to take them to the beach as soon as possible. The mother reminded them that they were due to see the National Museum of Fine Arts that afternoon.
The grandfather said, “Perhaps the museum will wait for tomorrow. A beach will be pleasant today, don’t you think?”
The girls kissed and hugged their grandfather; the mother shook her head but smiled and gave in.
Natal nudged River. “When we have our children, we will be strict. With our grandchildren, we will just delight in them at every step.”
He smiled at her as she curled into his arms. So he wasn’t the only one dreaming of a future. Her hair was silk and her perfume was exotic. It almost cleared the day of that strange hint of pancakes and maple syrup.
“We’ll be doting grandparents,” he promised her.
When they alighted from the cable car, it seemed that they had become friends with everyone who had been with them. It was nice.
Natal knew a little out-of-the-way restaurant where they could go to eat—where his attire and backpack would be readily accepted, she told him.
It was down an alley in a residential section of the city where children played barefoot in the street, where the smell of spices and broiling meats was heavy in the air and music played badly from ancient sound systems.
The restaurant walls looked like old adobe. Windows opened to the street, and a little brook trickled by just behind the restaurant. The kitchen was in full view of the restaurant, behind a counter where the one waiter moved about, shouting orders to the cook, collecting plates as they were prepared. Huge copper pots hung from the ceiling.
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