watch, so don’t talk to me about Tuesday at nine o’clock, man. And I got news for you. The
Scofield’s face had revealed a momentary flare of anger, but he decided to let it go and held up his hands, palms out. “It’s your show,” he said coldly. “Man.”
“Okay.” Cisco suddenly shuddered, put a hand to his face, and massaged his temples. “Hey, look, Arden, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start off on the wrong foot. I’m not feeling that great today, that’s all. I get these frigging headaches, and this new stuff I’m taking for them, it didn’t agree with me—look, I didn’t mean no offense, okay?”
“None taken, my friend,” said the wonderfully changeable Scofield, now all ruddy cordiality.
“I have a question, Cisco,” Duayne said. “Or rather a request. I’m primarily interested in insect life, especially unusual or rare insect life. So if there are opportunities to see some on some of our treks, I’d appreciate it—”
“You want to see bugs?”
“Well . . . yes.”
Another whinny from Cisco. “Well, you sure as hell picked the right place to come, Chief. We got bugs up the wazoo.”
EIGHT
Asurprisingly good buffet lunch, its service genially overseen and described course by course by the captain, was set out for them in the dining room: Amazon River codfish in tomato sauce (a Peruvian national delicacy, according to Vargas), fried plantains, rice, beans, and cucumber-and-onion salad. There was a bowl of watermelon slices for dessert. Only the coffee service—open jars of Nescafe instant and powdered creamer, each with a crusted teaspoon stuck in it—left something to be desired. Still, considering where they were, thought Gideon, there was nothing to complain about.
Cisco had shakily disappeared down the corridor from which he’d come, but the rest ate at three trestle tables that had been pulled together. The tensions that had shown themselves earlier were no longer apparent, except in the case of Mel Pulaski, who sat as far as possible from Scofield, wolfed down his food without conversation, and left early. Everyone else, in good spirits, made an hour-long
meal of it, most, including Gideon, even going back for more of the coffee.
Toward the end, when the general talk had broken down to conversations between two or three people, Maggie Gray and Scofield found themselves quibbling over the biochemical properties of
“I have a copy of Duke and Vasquez in my duffel bag,” Scofield said, rising. “If that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will. It’s in that first storage room.”
Tim Loeffler, sitting nearby, leaped to his feet before Scofield was all the way up. “I’ll get it, Professor.”
“Thank you, Tim,” Scofield said, sinking to his seat again. “It’s a blue bag with something about Peru on it. ‘
Tim returned shortly with the bag and set it on the table in front of Scofield, who unzipped it, reached in, and jumped back with something between a yelp and squeak, a colossal, hairy, brown spider clamped around his hand and halfway up his forearm. When he reacted with a shudder, the thing flopped down to the table with an audible
By now they were all on their own legs, well away from the table. Three of the chairs lay on their backs.
“Whoa,” Phil marveled, “look at that thing. It’s the size of a medium pizza. That’s got to weigh three pounds.”
Duayne, staring at it with something like ecstasy on his face, responded in an awed whisper. “It’s
“Did you hear that? The damn thing just
“No, no,” Duayne said, “not really. It’s not a hiss. He does that by rubbing the bristles on his legs together.” He pointed. “See? He’s doing it now. He does that when he feels threatened.”
“
“Yuck,” said John.
