The Testament (26 page)

“What brings you here?” she asked. It was American English with no accent, no trace of Louisiana or Montana, just the flat, precise, inflectionless English from Sacramento or St. Louis.

“We heard the fishing was good,” Nate said.

No response. “He makes bad jokes,” Jevy said, apologizing.

“Sorry. I’m looking for Rachel Lane. I have reason to believe you and she are one and the same.”

She absorbed this without changing expressions. “Why do you want to find Rachel Lane?”

“Because I’m a lawyer, and my firm has an important legal matter with Rachel Lane.”

“What kind of legal matter?”

“I can tell no one but her.”

“I’m not Rachel Lane. I’m sorry.”

Jevy sighed and Nate’s shoulders slumped. She saw every movement, every reaction, every twitch. “Are you hungry?” she asked them.

They both nodded. She called the Indians and gave them instructions. “Jevy,” she said, “go with these men into the village. They will feed you, and give you enough food for Mr. O’Riley here.”

They sat on the bench, in the darkening shade, watching in silence as the Indians took Jevy to the village. He turned around once, just to make sure Nate was okay.

TWENTY-SEVEN
_____________

S
he didn’t seem as tall away from the Indians. And she had avoided whatever the women ate that made them thick. Her legs were thin and long. She wore leather sandals, which seemed odd in a culture where no one had shoes. Where did she get them? And where did she get her yellow short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts? Oh, the questions he had.

Her clothing was simple and well worn. If she wasn’t Rachel Lane, then surely she knew where Rachel was.

Their knees almost touched. “Rachel Lane ceased to exist many years ago,” she said, gazing at the village in the distance. “I kept the name Rachel, but dropped the Lane. It must be serious or you wouldn’t be here.” She spoke softly and slowly, no syllable missed and each carefully weighed.

“Troy’s dead. He killed himself three weeks ago.”

She lowered her head slightly, closed her eyes, and appeared to be praying. It was a brief prayer, followed by a long pause. Silence didn’t bother her. “Did you know him?” she finally asked.

“I met him once, years ago. Our firm has many lawyers, and I personally never worked on Troy’s business. No, I didn’t know him.”

“Neither did I. He was my earthly father, and I’ve spent many hours praying for him, but he was always a stranger.”

“When did you last see him?” Nate’s words too were softer and slower. She had a soothing effect.

“Many years ago. Before I went to college…. How much do you know about me?”

“Not much. You don’t leave much of a trail.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“Troy helped. He tried to find you before he died, but couldn’t. He knew you were a missionary with World Tribes, and that you were in this general part of the world. The rest was up to me.”

“How could he have known that?”

“He had an awful lot of money.”

“And that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here. We need to talk business.”

“Troy must’ve left me something in his will.”

“You could say that.”

“I don’t want to talk business. I want to chat. Do you know how often I hear English?”

“Rarely, I would imagine.”

“I go to Corumbá once a year for supplies. I phone the home office, and for about ten minutes I speak English. It’s always frightening.”

“Why?”

“I’m nervous. My hands shake as I hold the phone. I know the people I’m talking to, but I’m afraid I will use the wrong words. Sometimes I even stutter. Ten minutes a year.”

“You’re doing a fine job now.”

“I’m very nervous.”

“Relax. I’m a swell guy.”

“But you’ve found me. I was seeing a patient just an hour ago
when the boys came to tell me that an American was here. I ran to my hut and started praying. God gave me strength.”

“I come in peace for all mankind.”

“You seem like a nice man.”

If you only knew, thought Nate. “Thanks. You, uh, said something about seeing a patient.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were a missionary.”

“I am. I’m also a doctor.”

And Nate’s specialty was suing doctors. It was neither the time nor the place for a discussion about medical malpractice. “That’s not in my research.”

“I changed my name after college, before med school and seminary. That’s probably where the trail ended.”

“Exactly. Why did you change your name?”

“It’s complicated, at least it was then. It doesn’t seem important now.”

A breeze settled in from the river. It was almost five. The clouds over the forest were dark and low. She saw him glance at his watch. “The boys are bringing your tent here. This is a good place to sleep tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess. We’ll be safe, won’t we?”

“Yes. God will protect you. Say your prayers.”

At that moment, Nate planned to pray like a preacher. The proximity to the river was of particular concern. He could shut his eyes and see that anaconda slithering up to his tent.

“You do pray, don’t you, Mr. O’Riley?”

“Please call me Nate. Yes, I pray.”

“Are you Irish?”

“I’m a mutt. More German than anything else. My father had Irish ancestors. Family history has never interested me.”

“What church do you attend?”

“Episcopal.” Catholic, Lutheran, Episcopal, it didn’t matter. Nate hadn’t seen the inside of a church since his second wedding.

His spiritual life was a subject he preferred to avoid. Theology was not his long suit, and he didn’t want to discuss it with a missionary. She paused, as usual, and he changed directions. “Are these Indians peaceful?”

“For the most part. The Ipicas are not warriors, but they do not trust white people.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been here eleven years. They have accepted me.”

“How long did it take?”

“I was lucky because there was a missionary couple here before me. They had learned the language and translated the New Testament. And I’m a doctor. I made friends fast when I helped the women through childbirth.”

“Your Portuguese sounded pretty good.”

“I’m fluent. I speak Spanish, Ipica, and Machiguenga.”

“What is that?”

“The Machiguenga are natives in the mountains of Peru. I was there for six years. I had just become comfortable with the language when they evacuated me.”

“Why?”

“Guerrillas.”

As if snakes and alligators and diseases and floods weren’t enough.

“They kidnapped two missionaries in a village not far from me. But God saved them. They were released unharmed four years later.”

“Any guerrillas around here?”

“No. This is Brazil. The people are very peaceful. There are some drug runners, but nobody comes this deep into the Pantanal.”

“Which brings up an interesting point. How far away is the Paraguay River?”

“This time of the year, eight hours.”

“Brazilian hours?”

She smiled at this. “You’ve learned that time is slower here. Eight to ten hours, American time.”

“By canoe?”

“That’s how we travel. I used to have a boat with a motor. But it was old, and it eventually wore out.”

“How long does it take if you have a boat with a motor?”

“Five hours, more or less. It’s the flood season, and it’s easy to get lost.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“The rivers run together. You’ll need to take one of the fishermen with you when you leave. There’s no way you’ll find the Paraguay without a guide.”

“And you go once a year?”

“Yes, but I go in the dry season, in August. It’s cooler then, not as many mosquitoes.”

“You go alone?”

“No. I get Lako, my Indian friend, to travel with me to the Paraguay. It takes about six hours by canoe when the rivers are down. I’ll wait for a boat, then catch a ride to Corumbá. I’ll stay for a few days, do my business, then catch a boat back.”

Nate thought of how few boats he’d seen on the Paraguay. “Just any boat?”

“Usually a cattle boat. The captains are good about taking passengers.”

She travels by canoe because her old boat wore out. She bums rides on cattle boats to visit Corumbá, her only contact with civilization. How would the money change her? Nate asked himself. The question seemed impossible to answer.

He would tell her tomorrow, when the day was fresh, when he was rested and fed and they had hours to deal with the issues. Figures appeared at the edge of the settlement—men walking in their direction.

“Here they are,” she said. “We eat just before dark, then we go to sleep.”

“I guess there’s nothing to do afterward.”

“Nothing we can discuss,” she said quickly, and it was funny.

Jevy appeared with a group of Indians, one of whom handed Rachel a small square basket. She passed it to Nate, who removed a small loaf of hard bread.

“This is manioc,” she said. “It’s our main food.”

And evidently their only food, at least for that meal. Nate was into his second loaf when they were joined by Indians from the first village. They brought the tent, mosquito net, blankets, and bottled water from the boat.

“We’re staying here tonight,” Nate said to Jevy.

“Says who?”

“It’s the best spot,” Rachel said. “I would offer you a place in the village, but the leader must first approve a visit by white men.”

“That would be me,” Nate said.

“Yes.”

“And not him?” He nodded at Jevy.

“He went for food, not to sleep. The rules are complicated.”

This struck Nate as funny—primitive natives yet to discover clothing but following a complicated system of rules.

“I would like to leave by noon tomorrow,” Nate said to her.

“That too will be up to the leader.”

“You mean we can’t leave when we want?”

“You will leave when he says you can leave. Don’t worry.”

“Are you and the chief close?”

“We get along.”

She sent the Indians back to the village. The sun had disappeared over the mountains. The shadows from the forest were engulfing them.

For a few minutes, Rachel watched as Jevy and Nate struggled with the tent. It looked quite small rolled up in its case, and expanded just a little as they hooked the poles together. Nate wasn’t sure it would hold Jevy, let alone the both of them. Fully erected,
it was waist-high, pitched sharply from the sides, and painfully small for two grown men.

“I’m going,” she announced. “You will be fine here.”

“Promise?” Nate said, with sincerity.

“I can have a couple of boys stand watch if you like.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jevy said.

“What time do you folks wake up around here?” Nate asked.

“An hour before sunrise.”

“I’m sure we’ll be awake,” Nate said, glancing at the tent. “Can we meet early? We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes. I’ll send some food out at daybreak. Then we’ll chat.”

“That would be nice.”

“Say your prayers, Mr. O’Riley.”

“I will.”

She stepped into the darkness and was gone. For a moment, Nate could see her silhouette winding along the trail, then nothing. The village was lost in the blackness of the night.

________

THEY SAT on the bench for hours, waiting for the air to cool, dreading the moment when they would be forced to pack themselves into the tent and sleep back to back, both smelly and sweaty. There was no choice. The tent, flimsy as it was, would protect them from mosquitoes and other insects. It would also keep out things that crawled.

They talked about the village. Jevy told Indian stories, all of which ended in the death of someone. He finally asked, “Did you tell her about the money?”

“No. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

“You’ve seen her now. What will she think about the money?”

“I have no idea. She’s happy here. It seems cruel to upset her life.”

“Then give me the money. It won’t upset my life.”

They followed the pecking order. Nate crawled into the tent
first. He’d spent the previous night watching the sky from the bottom of the boat, so the fatigue hit fast.

When he was snoring, Jevy slowly unzipped the tent door, and nudged here and there until he had a spot. His pal was unconscious.

TWENTY-EIGHT
_____________

A
fter nine hours of sleep, the Ipicas arose before dawn to begin their day. The women built small cooking fires outside their huts, then left with the children for the river, to collect water and to bathe. As a rule, they waited until first light to walk the dirt trails. It was prudent to see what lay before them.

In Portuguese, the snake was known as an
urutu.
The Indians called it a
bima.
It was common around the waterways of southern Brazil, and often fatal. The girl’s name was Ayesh, age seven, helped into the world by the white missionary. Ayesh was walking in front of her mother instead of behind, as was the custom, and she felt the
bima
squirm under her bare foot.

It struck her below the ankle as she screamed. By the time her father got to her, she was in shock and her right foot had doubled in size. A boy of fifteen, the fastest runner in the tribe, was dispatched to get Rachel.

There were four small Ipica settlements along two rivers that met in a fork very near the spot where Jevy and Nate had
stopped. The distance from the fork to the last Ipica hut was no more than five miles. The settlements were distinct and self-contained little tribes, but they were all Ipicas, with the same language, heritage, and customs. They socialized and intermarried.

Ayesh lived in the third settlement from the fork. Rachel was in the second, the largest. The runner found her as she was reading scriptures in the small hut where she’d lived for eleven years. She quickly checked her supplies and filled her small medical bag.

There were four poisonous snakes in their part of the Pantanal, and at various times Rachel had had the antivenin for each. But not this time. The runner told her the snake was a
bima.
Its antivenin was manufactured by a Brazilian company, but she had been unable to find it during her last trip to Corumbá. The pharmacies there had less than half the medicines she needed.