Their laughter. It was so beautiful.
He heard a man’s voice; he wasn’t sure of the Portuguese, but he could hear the tone. The man was chastising his son—he shouldn’t be encouraging his sister to do something that she might not be old enough to do.
Then he saw the man, who was coming around a slight bend in the stream. He had a bag over his shoulder and River realized he’d been out collecting something. The man had on a worn denim work shirt and jeans; he appeared to be in his forties with a weatherworn face.
The little boy called out suddenly. He’d seen River.
River tried to stumble to his feet. He fell.
As the man rushed over to him, he couldn’t help but feel fear. He couldn’t run; he couldn’t do any of the evasive tactics he had learned.
He was trapped and cornered.
The children reached him first. They called out in friendly voices, curious, he thought, to see a stranger lying there in the stream.
He tried to speak; no words came.
The man reached him and hunkered down by him, looking concerned. He fired off a rapid question in his native language.
River tried to say something; he tried to form words in either English of Portuguese. He finally managed English. “I’m okay—I’m resting. I’m an American—just taking a walk,” he said lamely.
The man shook his head, telling River something. He helped him to his feet.
River hadn’t been ready to stand. He nearly fell. The man caught him. River tried to thank him and tell him that he was all right.
The little boy suddenly spoke to him. “He says you’re not all right. You come with us.”
“You speak English?” River said, relieved.
“They teach it in school and my uncle married an American girl,” he said, grinning and showing a mouthful of teeth. “I’ve been to San Diego!” he said proudly.
“That’s great,” River said. “Thank you. Please—tell your father that I’m all right, really. I wanted to see more of the country so I decided to walk, er, rather than take the train. And I fell.” It was almost the truth.
The man said something rapidly. The boy responded. The little girl just looked up at River with wide eyes. He had to smile. She stirred something in his heart. Something beautiful—and something painful too.
The little boy looked at River. “My father says that no good Christian could let you go on as you are. You come with us. We have a little farm just on the other side of the stream. Papa will help you—and my mama will take care of you. And you must eat.”
“Oh, no, no, thank you. That is so kind. But I could not impose upon you that way.”
The child spoke to the man again. The man looked at River as if he were crazy.
The man spoke; the child grinned and told River, “You will hurt him greatly if you don’t let us help you. He’ll be really offended.”
He could barely stand, River knew. He was going to fall again. He was starving—and if the men in blue suits did stumble upon him now, well, he might as well be dead.
He had little choice.
He looked at the man. “Obrigado,” he whispered.
The man nodded. “Guillermo,” he told him awkwardly, trying to introduce himself. “O meu nome é Guillermo. Este é Juanito,” he said, patting his son on the head. “Esta é Anna,” he said, pulling his daughter gently to him.
The boy rolled his eyes. “I’m almost eight,” he told River. “I am Juanito to them because my grandfather is Juan too. But, por favor, when you talk to me, Juan will be just fine.”
* * *
River gave his own name, and Juan started to laugh.
Guillermo wanted to know what was so funny. His son explained that River’s name translated to Rio. Guillermo laughed too. River shrugged; Guillermo patted him on the back and offered him his arm to lean on.
River looked at the ground worriedly. His backpack was there.
“Juanito, por favor,” Guillermo said, and Juanito, struggling only a little, picked up the pack with everything River had in the world.
“Obrigado,” he told Juan.
He realized as he went with the family and they made their laborious way around the bend that he was lucky—he wouldn’t have made it on his own.
When they rounded the little bend, River saw cows grazing in a pasture and in the distance, a little farmhouse.
There seemed to be nothing else there—not as far as the eye could see.
No men in blue suits.
He allowed himself to be helped along. Guillermo was a strong man and took a lot of the weight off his injured ankle. It was slow going.
“Vera! Vera!” he called as they neared the house.
A woman, wiping her hands on an apron, hurried from the front porch as they approached. She looked at her husband curiously but quickly came to River’s other side to help him along. Guillermo, Juan, and even little Anna started to talk to the woman, explaining that they had found River and what River had told them.
River tried to pick out words. He realized that they were all agreeing to help him.
He was hurt; he was in their country. They must tend to him and help him—God and Christ and their own hearts made it so.
As they entered the house, River began to notice several things. He saw that the family was very poor. The dress that little Anna was wearing was nearly threadbare; her shoes were too big for her. They had been a boy’s shoes—her brother’s shoes, he thought.
The house was built of wood and there was a wooden barn out back. River wondered if the family had built the structures by themselves. Perhaps other members of the family had come to help them.
While they had little, it was all clean and neat. The porch floor was freshly swept; a double swing made of raw wood offered a place to sit and look out over the land and down to the stream.
Guillermo and Vera brought him through a screen door to a small living room and got him seated on a couch—an old worn leather chesterfield. Vera dragged over a footstool and began to unlace his shoes.
“Please—por favor!” he said, leaning to do the task himself.
She shook her head, chiding him. He looked up at her. Her face was as weatherworn as her husband’s, thin, and yet beautiful. There was warmth and tenderness in her eyes. She was drawn and haggard, too old for her years—and yet beautiful.
She took off his boots and looked at his ankle. She wagged a finger at him.
“My mother says that you are to behave,” Juan told him, grinning. “This is good—she is yelling at you, not me.”
River smiled. He thanked Vera in English and in Portuguese.
She gave him a smile in return and hurried on into the kitchen. Guillermo followed her; Anna and Juan sat there staring at him.
“So, you are just walking about Brazil?” Juan asked him.
“I love Brazil,” he told Juan. “I came … to see the country.” For a moment, he couldn’t remember exactly why he had come. “Right now, I’m heading back to Rio de Janeiro.”
“Rio!” Juan said, his eyes bright. “How I would love to go! And go for Carnaval. My father says that Rio is filled with the wicked. It’s dangerous. We are better here.”
“All places have good people and bad people, Juan.”
“You are going for Carnaval? You’ll miss it if you don’t go back soon.”
“I don’t care about Carnaval—though it is exciting. There are many performers.”
“And many drunks, my father says.”
River shrugged. “Well, that may be true.”
“If you don’t care about Carnaval, then why do you go?”
River smiled. “I’m going to look for a friend.”
“You can find friends all over the world,” Juan told him gravely.
River laughed softly. “A special friend. We were traveling together, but we became separated. I know that I will find her in Rio.”
“Ah.” Juan grinned at that.
Anna apparently demanded to know what was going o
n and Juan told her, acting it out by hugging her tightly before letting her go with a dismissive shake of his head.
“You are in lo-ve!” he said teasingly.
River grinned and shrugged again.
Guillermo came back into the room carrying a large, deep basin. Vera followed with towels and a jar of something. The basin went down before him and he was shown how to soak his ankle. He did so, thanking them again.
Vera set to work cleaning his forehead; he hadn’t realized it but he had a gash there. She said something to her son; Juan ran off to the kitchen and came back with a large glass of something white—milk, he thought.
“Mama said you drink this and then she’ll bring you food. You look like a starved rat—I don’t think she means to be offensive,” Juan told him.
“I don’t believe your mother could offend me,” River said.
Guillermo said something to the children and Juan sighed. He told River, “They say that Anna and I must go feed the chickens and do our chores.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I must do my homework. But I’ll be back to help when you don’t understand Mama or Papa—and when they don’t understand you.”
He and Anna ran off—looking at him until they reached the door. He was, he thought, definitely an oddity to them. He broke up their usual existence.
In a few minutes, Guillermo began to speak to him, gesturing. River understood that Guillermo was off to do his work.
He thanked the man again.
When Vera finished tending to his wounds and ankle, she hurried back into the kitchen. She returned quickly with a steaming bowl of food. It was some kind of meat in a sweet and spicy sauce over rice.
It was delicious. He started to swallow it down, gulping.
She set a hand on his leg and shook her head.
His manners, he realized, were disgusting. But, as she pantomimed being sick, he understood that she didn’t care about that. He was just eating too quickly.
He nodded. “Obrigado.”
“Nao é nada,” she said, smiling.
When he was done, she took the bowl from him and disappeared back into the kitchen.
He didn’t know what herbs or substances Vera had put in the basin water but whatever it was, he thought it was magical. Or maybe it was just that the water was hot. He leaned his head back; he probably dozed a few minutes because when he looked up, Vera was before him with a bundle of clothing in her hands and the water had grown cold.
She set the clothing down and took the basin away. Then she pressed the clothes into his hand and pointed.
They wanted him to bathe, he realized. And he smiled because he didn’t blame them; he was a wreck and their little home was spotless.
He started to get up on his own; she reprimanded him and offered him an arm. She led him around a little wall to a compact bathroom and started to enter with him. He flushed and shook his head, showing her that he could balance.
“It’s better—so much better. You’re an angel,” he told her.
She didn’t understand his words, but she did understand his gratitude—and his embarrassment. She waved a hand in the air but smiled.
She left him and he closed the door.
The water from the old shower head was only lukewarm but stepping beneath the spray was wonderful. He closed his eyes and let the water rush over him.
He thought about Tio Amato—and about this man Guillermo and his family. The world could be so different—and so much the same. People, no matter what their language, were the same. Everywhere, there was amazing goodness to be found in people.
And everywhere, there were monsters—the evil and greedy, like Amato.
He longed to stay under the rush of the water forever but he was afraid that they might get only so much warm water. He hurried out and dried himself with a large towel and balanced his way into the rough-denim fabric of the jeans he had been given along with a cotton work shirt. Guillermo’s clothing was a little big and baggy but he was grateful to be wearing it.
His own clothing was gone. Vera, he thought, had slipped in while the shower was running and taken it.
When he came out, he heard her humming in the kitchen. She was setting the table for the family dinner.
“May I help?” River asked.
She seemed to understand. But she turned, shaking her head, and indicated that he must sit—his ankle was still bad.
As he sat, Juan and Anna came in. Vera spoke to Juan and he began to put glasses on the table.
Anna was given the napkins to distribute.
A moment later Guillermo came in. River watched as he set his hands on his wife’s hips and kissed the top of her head. She turned with a smile.
They seemed so happy together. They had so little—but they were in tune with what mattered, he thought.
He looked away, oddly embarrassed to watch the emotional intimacy.
“You look good clean!” Juan told him.
“Thanks. Will you tell your parents for me how very grateful I am for all their help, please? And tell them that I have money—I can pay for my food.”
“Oh, I won’t tell my father that!” Juan said. “It would offend him. He has made you a guest. Guests don’t pay.”
“That’s nice, but—”
He didn’t finish. Guillermo spoke to his son, demanding to know what River was saying.
Juan replied quickly. Guillermo looked at him and grinned.
“What did you tell him?” River asked.
“I told him that you were in lo-ve,” Juan said, again extending the last word and rolling his eyes.
River flushed.
Guillermo spoke again. Juan listened to his father and turned to River.
“He says that the road is not far—and that Jorge Maestro goes by every day, bringing produce down to Rio. You may probably ride with him.”
River nodded. “Great!”
Vera put the food on the table, pointing out what she served. There was a big bowl of sopa, soup, and salsicha, sausage, and salada, salad. She brought bread to the table as well, and he thought he clearly understood her when she told him to eat up.
The dinner table—even with him there—seemed to be a lively and loving place. Conversation flowed across the table with Juan pausing now and then to tell him what was going on. Naturally, he told River, shuddering slightly, his parents wanted to know about his schoolwork. And they wanted to know if all his and Anna’s chores had been done correctly.
Anna, he said, dismissively, just wanted to know if there was sorvete—ice cream.
They made such a beautiful picture …
There was sorvete. When it was served and eaten, and Vera and the family had begun to clean up, River asked Juan to bring him his backpack.
Juan did so.
“What are you doing? What do you need?” the boy asked.
“If they won’t let me pay them, maybe I can leave you something,” he said.
He pulled out his sketchpad and pencils and set them on the table. He didn’t look at the family; he’d watched them all through dinner.
He drew the kitchen and the kitchen table. He drew them all smiling, Juan with a spoonful of soup, Anna leaning upon the table, and Guillermo and Vera smiling as they looked at one another and listened to their children. He hoped that he’d drawn the warmth of the kitchen—and all the love and goodness that seemed to thrive there.
He handed it to Guillermo. Vera came to look over her husband’s shoulder. Little Anna tugged at her mother’s skirt and Juan nudged between his parents.
Guillermo looked at River a long moment and then inclined his head and spoke.
“He says that he is humbled and you are a very good artist,” Juan said.
Vera spoke.
Juan grinned. “And my mother says thank you—you didn’t draw in all of her lines.”
“Tell them I drew what I saw,” River said.
The picture was done; there was no television and there were no computers. The children helped Vera with the dishes
and then Juan suggested that he read one of the children’s books that their uncle had sent them from America so that the children could learn English. Juan was good, if he did say so himself, he told River, but Anna needed help.
And so River read to Anna. She sat on the couch by him, almost curled into his arms. He loved that she was there, and yet …
Something seemed to tease at him, to plague him. To hurt somewhere so deeply buried in his heart he couldn’t begin to understand.
It was a story about a stray cat. The cat was starving and the farmer took him in. There was an evil fox that was coming after the farmer’s chickens. The cat, though small, caught the fox in the barn and battled the fox. When the battle was over and the fox ran away, the cat was so wounded that he was afraid he wouldn’t live. But it didn’t matter; the farmer had been kind.
The farmer nursed the cat back to health and the story ended happily.
Anna worked on pointing to pictures and identifying the creatures in English. “Fox, cat, chicken, farmer.”
“Like Papa,” Juan said, pointing to Guillermo, who sat in a chair reading the paper.
“Kind, like your father,” River agreed.
Juan looked at him gravely. “You really think you will find your friend?” He laughed softly. “Your love?”
River nodded. “I will find her.”
Guillermo looked up. Juan translated.
Guillermo turned to watch his wife, who was mending a sock beneath a lamp.
He spoke softly.
Juan made a face for River. River asked him, “What did he say?”
“He said that you will find her. He knows. He would look for Mama everywhere—and not stop until he found her. Yucky.”
“No, very beautiful,” River told him.
The children were then sent off to bed. Vera produced a pillow and a blanket for River. The house became silent as everyone went to sleep for the night.
Sleep came easily for River; he’d been so worn and beaten and tired. Now his ankle felt better, and his belly was full, but he was still exhausted from the effort of moving through the day.
American Drifter Page 19