“Yes, Brother Monkey is here,” he said in Yanomamo, patting her hand. “You’re safe. Your papa is here, too.”
One of the nurses fetched Takaho. When he saw his daughter awake and speaking, he fell to his knees. His stoic demeanor shattered, and he wept with relief.
“She’ll be fine from here,” Nate assured him.
Kouwe collected his fishing tackle box and retreated from the room. Nathan and Dr. O’Brien followed.
“What was in that powder?” the auburn-haired doctor asked.
“Desiccated ku-nah-ne-mah vine.”
Nate answered the doctor’s confused expression. “Climbing hempweed. The same plant the tribal shaman burned to revive the girl back at the village. Just like I told you before.”
Kelly blushed. “I guess I owe you an apology. I didn’t think…I mean I couldn’t imagine…”
Kouwe patted her on her elbow. “Western ethnocentrism is a common rudeness out here. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He winked at her. “Just outgrown.”
Nate did not feel as courteous. “Next time,” he said harshly, “listen with a more open mind.”
She bit her lip and turned away.
Nathan instantly felt like a cad. His worry and fear throughout the day had worn his patience thin. The doctor had only been trying her best. Knowing he shouldn’t have been so hard on her, he opened his mouth to apologize.
But before he could speak, the front door swung open and a tall redheaded man dressed in khakis and a beat-up Red Sox baseball cap stepped into the lobby. He spotted the doctor. “Kelly, if you’ve finished delivering the supplies, we need to be under way. We’ve a boat that’s willing to take us upriver.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m all done here.”
She then glanced at Nathan and Kouwe. “Thank you.”
Nathan recognized the similarities between this newcomer and the young doctor: the splash of freckles, the same crinkle around the eyes, even their voices had the same Boston lilt. Her brother, he guessed.
Nathan followed them out of the hospital and into the street. But what he found there caused him to take an involuntary step backward, bumping into Professor Kouwe.
Aligned across the road was a group of ten soldiers in full gear, including M-16s with collapsible butt stocks, holstered pistols, and heavy packs. Nate recognized the shoulder insignia common to them all. Army Rangers. One spoke into a radio and waved the group forward toward the waterfront. The pair of Americans joined the departing group.
“Wait!” someone called from beyond the line of Rangers.
The military wall parted, and a familiar face appeared. It was Manny Azevedo. The stocky black-haired man broke through the ranks. He wore scuffed trousers and the pocket of his shirt had been ripped to a hanging flap. His characteristic bullwhip was wound at his waist.
Nathan returned Manny’s smile and crossed to him. They hugged briefly, patting each other on the back. Then Nathan flicked the torn bit of his khaki shirt. “Playing with Tor-tor again, I see.”
Manny grinned. “The monster’s gained ten kilos since the last time you saw him.”
Nathan laughed. “Great. Like he wasn’t big enough already.” Noting that the Rangers had stopped and were staring at the pair, as were Kelly O’Brien and her brother, Nathan nodded to the military party and leaned closer. “So what’s all this about? Where are they heading?”
Manny glanced at the group. By now, a large crowd of onlookers had gathered to gawk at the line of stiff Army Rangers. “It seems the U.S. government is financing a recon team for a deep-jungle expedition.”
“Why? Are they after drug traffickers?”
By now, Kelly O’Brien had stepped back toward them.
Manny acknowledged her with a nod, then waved a hand to Nathan. “May I introduce you to Dr. Rand? Dr. Nathan Rand.”
“It seems we’ve already met,” Kelly said with an embarrassed smile. “But he never offered his name.”
Nathan sensed something unspoken pass between Kelly and Manny. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you searching for upriver?”
She stared him straight in the eyes. Her eyes were the most striking shade of emerald. “We came to find you, Dr. Rand.”
Two
Debriefing
AUGUST 6, 9:15 P.M.
SÃO GABRIEL DA COCHOERIA
Nate crossed the street from Manny’s offices at FUNAI and headed toward the Brazilian army base. He was accompanied by the Brazilian biologist and Professor Kouwe. The professor had just returned from the hospital. Nate was relieved to hear that Tama was recuperating well.
Freshly showered and shaved, his clothes laundered, Nathan Rand felt nothing like the man who had arrived here only hours before with the girl. It was as if he had scraped and scrubbed the jungle from his body along with the dirt and sweat. In a few hours, he went from a newly anointed member of the Yanomamo tribe back to an American citizen. It was amazing the transformational power of Irish Spring deodorant soap. He sniffed at the residual smell.
“After being so long in the jungle, it’s nauseating, isn’t it?” Professor Kouwe said, puffing on a pipe. “When I first left my home in the Venezuelan jungle, it was the bombardment upon my senses—the smells, the noises, the furious motion of civilization—that took the longest to acclimatize to.”
Nathan dropped his arm. “It’s strange how quickly you adapt to the simpler life out in the wilds. But I can tell you one thing that makes all the hassles of modern civilized life worth it.”
“What’s that?” Manny asked.
“Toilet paper,” Nathan said.
Kouwe snorted with laughter. “Why do you think I left the jungle?”
They crossed toward the gate of the illuminated base. The meeting was scheduled to start in another ten minutes. Maybe then he’d have some answers.
As they walked, Nathan glanced over the quiet city and studied this little bastion of civilization. Over the river, a full moon hung, reflected in the sleek surface, blurred by an evening mist spreading into the city. Only at night does the jungle reclaim São Gabriel. After the sun sets, the noises of the city die down, replaced by the echoing song of the nightjar in the surrounding trees, accompanied by the chorus of honking frogs and the vibrato of locusts and crickets. Even in the streets, the flutter of bats and whine of blood-hungry mosquitoes replace the honk of cars and chatter of people. Only as one passes an open cantina, where the tinkling laughter of late-night patrons flows forth, does human life intrude.