Hazards (12 page)

“Any trouble?” he asked.

“Only with the fish,” I said, just to see his reaction.

His face got all tense. “What
about
the fish?”

“They smelled so bad that I couldn’t get any young ladies of quality to ride with me,” I said.

“But you still have them?” he said kind of urgently.

“Yeah, they’re out there in the chariot.”

He suddenly relaxed. “I’m glad to see everything went off without a hitch.”

“I don’t suppose you brung my clothes with you?” I said. “I don’t like the way a couple of these guys are staring at my legs.”

“As a matter of fact I did,” said von Horst. He handed me the bag. “Maybe you should go change in the men’s room.”

And that was when I saw how I’d make my getaway.

“Thanks, von Horst,” I said. I put a hand to my stomach. “I was about to head off there anyway. I been feeling a mite queasy all day. I think it was the smell of them damned fish.”

“Take your time,” he said. “My fence isn’t due here for another half hour.”

And then, because I didn’t want him coming looking for me, I had another stroke of brilliance. I took the crown off and guv it to him.

“Here,” I said. “You hang onto this.”

He just looked kind of surprised, and a bit curious.

“What’s past is past,” I said, “and I just want you to know that there ain’t no hard feelings. I trust you not to run off with the Pebbles while I’m in the john.”

“I appreciate that, Doctor Jones,” he said.

I picked up the bag and walked to the bathroom. I’d call it the men’s room, but from the looks of it it served men, women, children, and the occasional mule what wandered in to get out of the weather. I took off the toga and sandals, got into my clothes, and then climbed out through the narrow window.

When I was about a block away I took a peek back. Dobbin was still tied to the post, and von Horst either hadn’t come out to check on the fish, or had maybe got as far as the front door, took a deep breath, and satisfied himself that they were still there.

I hitched a ride into Rio in the back of a truck what was delivering a few hundred live chickens to market, which certainly got the smell of fish out of my nose. I hopped off when we were a block away from the lamppost where I’d left the Pebbles of God, then waited a few minutes until I was sure no one was out on the street where they might see me.

I climbed up the lamppost, reached in, and found to my relief that the Pebbles were still there. I pulled ’em out, stuffed ’em into my pocket, clambered down to the ground, and headed off in search of a place to spend the night, preferably one what wasn’t frequented by none of Conchita’s friends and relations.

I passed a bunch of Brazilian hotels, and finally came to an American one, and the reason I knew that was that it had a small tasteful sign, written all in American, what said:
Bed and Broad, $7.

“Howdy,” I said, walking into the lobby, which was about the size of a closet, only maybe a little better-lit. “You got any rooms for rent?”

“Nah, we just rent airplanes and gorillas here,” said the clerk, which was the kind of answer what convinced me beyond any doubt that he was American.

“You need a better sign painter,” I said.

“That’s as big a sign as we could afford,” he said.

“I wasn’t talking about the size of it,” I replied. “But it says
Bed and Broad.
”

“I know what it says,” he told me.

“And you got no problem with it?” I asked.

“None,” he said.

“In that case I just may stay here a month,” I said, pulling off my shoe and reaching for my folded-up bill, which I shoved across the counter to him.

“What’s this?” he said, frowning.

“My last ten dollars,” I said. “But don’t worry; I’ll have more tomorrow.”

“If it’s like this, I won’t take it tomorrow neither,” he said, shoving it back to me.

I picked it up and realized that it wasn’t no bill at all, but instead a folded-up letter. It was too dark to read in there, so I took it out and stood under a street light.

My dear Doctor Jones:

If there are three certainties in the world, they are death, taxes, and the nature of Lucifer Jones. If my reading of your character is correct, and thus far it always has been, you instantly assumed that the crown contained nothing but cut glass. It would have taken you less than an hour to examine your costume, your chariot, and Dobbin’s harness, come up empty, and finally realized that I must have had an ulterior motive for insisting that the fish be part of your costume. You of course would have cut them open, found the faux “diamonds,” and secreted them away before meeting me at Carlita’s. (You are welcome to keep them as a memento of our partnership.) I knew you would want to take your leave of the place before I could examine the fish, so I brought your clothes along, giving you the perfect opportunity to escape, which of course you took.

It may interest you to know that you were indeed in possession of the Pebbles of God all day long. They were precisely where I told you they were—embedded in Neptune’s crown—but I knew that a man of your deceitful nature would never trust a man of honor and integrity like myself to tell you the truth. I feel your behavior in this endeavor clearly disqualifies you from your share of the profits.

And profits there will be. The diamonds are only part of this little enterprise. The creature you know as Dobbin is actually the champion racehorse Phar Cry, whom I borrowed for a few days and am now returning for almost as much money as I will realize from the Pebbles of God. All in all, a good day’s work, thanks in no small part to you.

Your obedient servant,

Erich von Horst

A trio of amiable young men wandered up and asked me if I’d like to join them in a samba.

I kicked each of them in the shins.

Merry Bunta!

The first time I heard her name, I thunk it was some Brazilian holiday and someone was wishing me a merry one of ’em. I was in Rio, having just experienced some of the side effects of Carnival, which they kept spelling Carnaval, proving once and for all that Brazil ain’t never gonna present no threat of worldwide domination, and I figgered I might as well see if this was the place where I wanted to finally build my tabernacle.

Truth to tell, it had a lot going for it. For one thing, it abounded in evil men and scarlet women, and you can’t hardly run a religion without an abundance of sinners to save. For another, it had a real pleasant climate, and a lovely beach where most swimmers of the female persuasion left enough clothes at home that it’d get ’em arrested back in the States or applauded in most other places. And, third, there was a bar with a radio that brought in American baseball games, so I could see how Babe Ruth and Dizzy Dean were faring.

Of course, there were some disadvantages too. For one thing, hardly none of ’em spoke American. For another, the local padres weren’t real thrilled with competition, especially the vigorous kind of Christianity I preached. And for a third, I didn’t have no money, having been flim-flammed by the villainous Erich von Horst, the details of which I’ve already writ up and are too painful to go into again.

I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do when it was made up for me of a pleasant summer evening, which for reasons I ain’t figgered out yet came about in mid-November. I was walking down the street to Madame Sarcosa’s House of Exceptionally High Repute, just minding my own business and reciting some of the spicier psalms to myself, when I saw the most beautiful blonde lady I ever did see. I knew right off that she wasn’t no native to Rio, since blondes were somewhat rarer down there than mosquitoes, spiders, land crabs, rats and killer snakes—and blondes like this one was rarer than just about anything.

I must have been standing there staring at her slack-jawed, and the way I know this is a few seconds later I started choking on a pair of flies what had flown into my mouth. I must have made some strangling noises, because she suddenly turned and looked at me. I knew a delicate creature like her would disapprove of my spitting on the sidewalk, so I just chomped down on the flies and swallowed ’em, then guv her my biggest, friendliest smile. She smiled back, and I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that I had fallen eternally and everlastingly in love again.

Then she giggled, and I looked down to make sure my pants wasn’t unzipped, and they wasn’t, and I couldn’t figger out what was amusing her so much, and then I remembered that I was standing right in front of Madame Sarcosa’s. I didn’t want her thinking poorly of me, so as Ezra Willoughby and Slippery Jim Stevens came out the front door I whipped my copy of the good book out of my coat pocket and began preaching at them to mend their sinful ways.

“Aw, come on, Lucifer,” said Ezra. “You’re embarrassing us out here in public, and besides it ain’t as if you ain’t been in there with us the last four nights.”

“He just wants us to give the place up so he can have ’em all to himself,” added Slippery Jim.

“Shut up, you guys,” I said softly. “I’m trying to impress that fair damsel on the other side of the street.”

Slippery Jim looked over my shoulder. “I don’t see no damsel there.”

“What’s a damsel?” added Ezra.

I turned, and sure enough the love of my life had vanished.

“What did she look like?” asked Slippery Jim.

“Like unto an angel with blonde hair, a tiny delicate waist, and a extra pair of lungs,” I replied.

“Blonde, you say?”

“Like spun gold,” I said.

“Sounds metallic and shiny,” offered Ezra.

“Like spun hay,” I amended.

“Now you’ve got her smelling like a barnyard,” complained Ezra.

“Like spun silk,” I said angrily. “And don’t make no more comments, because I’ve run out of spuns.”

“She carry a parasol?” asked Slippery Jim.

“No, just a little delicate umbrella,” I said.

“I think I know who she is,” said Jim. “Merry Bunta.”

“Merry Bunta to you,” I said. “Now don’t just stand there while my entire future is on hold. Tell me who she is.”

“You know grizzled old Harvey Bunta?”

“I’m in love and you’re telling me about grizzled old guys!” I complained.

“He’s a trader. Lives a few hundred miles inland. He comes to town once every eight or nine months to sell whatever he’s conned the natives out of.”

“What about him?” I asked.

“Sounds to me like you just described his daughter,” said Slippery Jim.

“You sure?” I said.

“Pretty blondes and wild elephants in
musth
are equally rare in Rio,” he replied. “That’s his daughter, all right. I think her name’s Merilee, but Old Man Bunta calls her Merry.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked suddenly. “You ain’t despoiled the fairest flower in all Brazil, have you?”

“No,” he said before Ezra could ask what “despoiled” meant. “I just heard him talking to her.”

“That’s a relief,” I said.

He stared at me curiously. “Does she really have to be a virgin for you, Lucifer?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t put no special stock in virgins.”

“Then why did you ask?” he said.

“Because I put even less stock in comparisons,” I told him. “One thing I don’t need to hear from the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with is ‘Slippery Jim did it this way’ or ‘Ezra did it that way’.”

“I did no such thing,” said Ezra. “But if she’s half as purty as you say she is, I
wish
I had.”

Just then a horse pulling a cart down the street broke into a trot, and ran right through a puddle in front of Madame Sarcosa’s place, and I got all splattered with mud, and I knew I didn’t want to introduce myself to Merry Bunta looking like this, so I went into Madame Sarcosa’s and asked if anyone there did laundry, and she said that yes, I could toss my duds in with the next load of towels and sheets, and while I was wandering around in my skivvies perhaps I’d like to relax in a room down the hall with a young lady of quality, and since I hadn’t sworn my eternal fealty to Merry Bunta yet I couldn’t see nothing wrong with it, so that was what I did. Matter of fact, it was so relaxing that I did it all over again, and then once more, and when I finally climbed back into my clothes it was the next afternoon.

I left Madame Sarcosa’s and headed across the street to where I’d seen Merry Bunta standing the day before, and tried to figure out where she could have vanished to so quick, and then I saw that she’d been standing in front of a hotel, so I walked in and asked the desk clerk where the Buntas were.

“Beats me, Señor,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, why don’t you look in your guest book and give me their room number?” I said. “And make it snappy, this being the first day of the rest of my life.”

“They checked out early this morning, Señor,” he said.

“Did they say where they was headed?”

“Inland, Señor, to Señor Bunta’s vast estate.”

“I don’t want to seem picky,” I said, “but the whole of South America is inland from here. You got any more specific address?”

“You don’t like inland?” he said. “How about dense, impenetrable jungle?”

“How does he get his mail?” I asked.

“He comes into town twice a year for it.” The clerk stared at me. “What business do you have with Señor Bunta?”

“None,” I said. “It’s his daughter I’m after.”

He nodded his head knowingly. “A lovely young girl,” he said. “And of course she’s in line to inherit the Bunta fortune.”

“Yeah?” I said. “How much is Old Man Bunta worth?”

“I do not know, Señor. But I know he doesn’t trust banks. He keeps it all in a strongbox on his estate.”

“You don’t say,” I said.

“I just did say.”

“And you ain’t got no idea how I can find him?”

He shrugged. “Just go inland and ask the natives.”

I thanked him for his time and walked back out into the street. I decided not to bother the desk clerk by checking out of my hotel, so I stopped by the local store, bought a toothbrush and a canteen, filled the canteen with beer, and I was ready to find the woman of my dreams, to say nothing of the family fortune.

I faced the west, so the Atlantic Ocean was behind me, and I figured I might as well start marching toward the setting sun, and keep doing it day in and day out until I finally ran into someone who could tell me where Merry Bunta lived.

The first full day was uneventful, and the next ten weren’t much different. I never saw a living soul, and truth to tell tapirs ain’t much for conversation. I crossed a couple of rivers, which were filled to overflowing with crocodiles or alligators—I couldn’t tell one from the other, but I ain’t never encountered one of either persuasion what didn’t have a lean and hungry look to him, with an emphasis on the
hungry
. Anyway, they’d chased all the snakes up onto solid ground, and some of ’em were more than a little bit reluctant to share it with me, so I started zigging and zagging, still heading west, but in a route that more resembled Merry Bunta’s outline than a straight course.

After another six days I came upon a village with a bunch of half-dressed little guys and their women. They must have been hunting monkeys, because they had a collection of little monkey heads that they seemed mighty proud of. They kept jabbering at me about them, but since none of ’em spoke American and I didn’t speak no Jabber, I never did find out what it was about these here monkey heads that got ’em so excited. Finally, after an hour or two, as we was sitting around a fire and watching the womenfolk cooking up a big pot of something, I figured I might as well see if any of ’em could help me on my romantic quest.

“Excuse me, Brother,” I said as one of ’em was jabbering about the weather, or maybe the snakes that had all kind of gathered around to listen and beg for scraps, “but I happen to be embarked on a search for the woman of my dreams, and I was wondering if any of you could point me in the right direction?”

They just kind of stared at me, so I kept on speaking.

“I know it ain’t too likely, you being a bunch of godless heathens what don’t speak no civilized language and probably eat your babies, but if anyone can just kind of point me in the direction of my lady love, whose name happens to be Merry Bunta, I’d be much obliged.”

Well, actually, I had planned to say “I’d be much obliged”, but before I could get the words out they’d all jumped to their feet and pointed off to the west.

“Merry Bunta! Merry Bunta!” they kept shouting.

I couldn’t believe my luck, that the first village I’d stumbled upon knew the woman what had captured my heart.

“Now, you’re sure?” I said.

They seemed pretty sure. They all kept pointing to the same spot and yelling “Merry Bunta!”

“Well, she sure seems to have established a fan following,” I said. “I want to thank you for your help, and now I think I’ll head off to find the rarest treasure all Brazil has to offer.”

And I took maybe three steps when two of the bigger ones grabbed my arms.

“Merry Bunta!” they yelled.

“Ain’t I going in the right direction?” I asked.

They pointed to the west. “Merry Bunta!”

“Then why are you holding me back?” I said. “I know these ain’t my Sunday-go-to-meeting duds, but I lost them in a game of chance back in Rio. Besides, once I declare my love, it shouldn’t make much difference to her, and anyway I figure neither of us are gonna stay dressed for long.”

I headed off again, and this time they just looked at me as if I committed some social error, like maybe I hadn’t brung no flowers to their womenfolk, but no one tried to stop me and I soon left the village far behind me.

I traveled west for a few more days. I couldn’t remember what berries was safe to eat, so I settled for cooking up some eggs I had found, and you wouldn’t believe how mad that made the anaconda what laid ’em, even though I’d left her a few hundred. So I figured I’d only eat fish eggs after that, which I seemed to remember was a pretty ritzy food back in the glittering capitols of Europe, but I guessed wrong again, and I found out that an enraged mama alligator can hold a grudge even longer than an angry mama anaconda. I found me a clutch of condor eggs, but as quick as I’d tap on the shell to bust ’em open, a baby condor would tap on his side of the shell, and before I could figure out what code we were conversing in, out he’d pop, and there went my breakfast. Not only that, but three of ’em decided I was their mama, and I had to keep feeding ’em all the insects I kept plucking out of my hair until they found a lady condor that seemed to be in the adoption business and went off with her.

I’d been getting myself pretty thoroughly lost, though I kept walking toward the setting sun, and just when I was sure I wasn’t never going to see another human being again, a passel of ’em burst out of the forest up ahead and started racing toward me, yelling, “Merry Bunta!”

“Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” I said. “How did Merry know to send a greeting party for me?”

Strangely enough, not a one of ’em stopped to answer me. Instead, they just ran by me like I wasn’t there.

It was puzzling, but I finally decided I’d run into a tribe what was all near-sighted to a fault, and I kept on heading in my true love’s direction.

This here near-sightedness must have been catching, because before night fell I’d come across two more tribes what kept yelling Merry Bunta’s name and running right past me, and I figgered that once I’d found Merry and built my tabernacle, I’d import the best optometrist in Brazil once me and God reimbursed ourselves for expenses.

The next morning I came to one lone little guy, wearing a loincloth and not much else. He ran right up to me like Satan was hot on his heels and began repeating Merry’s name over and over.

“Hold on, Brother,” I said, grabbing his wrist before he could break into a run again. “Can you tell me where I can find Merry Bunta and her father?”

He pointed back the way he’d come. “Merry Bunta! Merry Bunta!” he hollered.