“You will,” Dr. Budi said.
Nancy Saturn shook her head. “It’s too soon to say.”
Dr. Saturn and Dr. Budi announced that they were talking too much and the window of time for work would not stay open indefinitely. They excused themselves and began going tree to tree asking the women questions that involved the use of four or five words of Lakashi. Nancy took a cuff out of her bag and was checking Mara’s blood pressure. Marina took the opportunity to look at the trees: a small plastic placard, numbered and dated, had been staked in front of each one. She ran her hands over the scarred bark, sniffed at the wood. Had she seen them by a lake in Minnesota she wouldn’t have given them a second look, or maybe one glance back, just because she had no memory of seeing such yellow bark. The Rapps she would have noticed, looking down at the small clump near her feet. They were like a cluster of exotic sea creatures that had washed up a thousand miles inland. How in the world had Dr. Rapp found this place? How had he known to look past the fire waving tribe on the shore and go a mile into the jungle? Marina cut a path between the trees. What a pleasure it was to walk! What a pleasure to take a large step and be able to see where her foot was landing. She raised her arms above her head and stretched. One by one the women stepped back from the trees and began scratching out whatever splinter of bark had lodged between their teeth with their fingernails. Budi picked a handful of women out of the crowd and wiped down their fingers with alcohol swabs and then pricked them to draw the small pipettes of blood. After making notes she carefully pressed the tubes into a small metal case. On the other side of the stand, Dr. Saturn went through a more challenging interaction as she handed three of the women long cotton swabs and waited while they reached beneath their dresses, made a quick flick with the wrist, and handed the swab back to her. Dr. Saturn then tapped the swab on a slide and on a piece of litmus paper.
“What in the world are you doing?” Marina asked.
“Checking the levels of estrogen in cervical mucus.” Dr. Saturn’s carrying case was a more complicated affair and she sat down on the ground to make her notations on the test tube where she deposited her swabs. “The slides are for ferning.”
“No one does ferning anymore,” Marina said. It was the slightly arcane process of watching estrogen grow into intricate fern patterns on slides. No ferns, no fertility.
Dr. Saturn shrugged. “It’s very effective for the Lakashi. Their estrogen levels are quite sensitive to the intake of bark.”
“How in the world did you convince them to—” She wasn’t sure of the appropriate word. Self-swab?
“That,” Dr. Saturn said, “is Dr. Swenson’s genius. The training was in place a long time before I arrived. I cannot imagine how terrified of her they must have been to have gone along with it. These days it doesn’t even seem to register as an invasion of privacy.” The third Lakashi woman handed over her Q-tip without fanfare and Nancy bowed her head as she accepted it.
When the Lakashi had finished what had been asked of them, they walked off in groups of two and three and four, not looking back at the trees or acknowledging the scientists. They picked up the children who were too small to walk reliably and let the others trail behind as best they could. They were done.
“Do they come every day?” Marina watched as the entire lot of them receded into the thickening woods as if a school bell had been rung. They left without so much as a glance back to the doctors or the trees. Their work was done.
“They chew the bark every five days, though the entire female sector of the tribe doesn’t come on the same day. Their visits are regular. How they figure the five days is beyond us as they have no apparent system for marking time. I can only assume that it has at this point become a biological craving. They don’t come when they’re pregnant. In fact the bark repulses them from what seems to be the moment of conception. Dr. Swenson confirms this. Because of this pregnancies seem especially long out here. We know about them for a full thirty-nine weeks. They also don’t come when they’re menstruating, though conveniently they’re pretty much on the same cycle so we get a few days off every month.”
“All of them?”
Nancy nodded. “It takes the new girls a while to get it straightened out and no one is perfectly regular after giving birth, but other than that.”
Dr. Budi walked over to a tree near her and looked to find a place where the bark was darkest yellow and dry, then she leaned towards it and bit, her teeth making that same scraping sound. “You’ll try it?” she said, looking back at Marina.
“I should take her vitals,” Nancy said, pulling out the blood-pressure cuff again. “Budi, take her temperature.”
“Why would I?” Marina said.
“We need people to test. People who aren’t Lakashi. We do it.”
“But I’m not going to get pregnant.”
Nancy Velcroed a cuff around Marina’s arm and began to pump it tighter and tighter. Dr. Budi held up a flat plastic thermometer and Marina, sure of nothing, opened her mouth.
“You would not be alone in that,” Dr. Budi said.
“Believe me, there are plenty of things to test you for. You don’t have to get pregnant.”
“Thomas will tell you,” Dr. Budi said, and then as if on cue, Dr. Nkomo broke through the thicket outside the stand of Martins and was walking towards them.
“I see I am sufficiently late,” he said, bowing his head to the three women.
“Men and women don’t come to the stand at the same time,” Nancy told Marina. “The women chew the trees and the men gather the Rapps.”
“Division of labor,” Dr. Budi said. Nancy removed the blood-pressure cuff and pressed two fingers to the side of Marina’s wrist to find her pulse.
“First time, yes?” Thomas said.
Marina nodded, keeping her mouth fixed to the thermometer.
“Ah, very good. Just remember to keep your tongue pushed down. Otherwise you can get splinters.”
“Although we’re geniuses at taking them out,” Nancy said. “Pulse sixty-four. Well done, Dr. Singh.”
Thomas brought his mouth to the tree beside him and, far above the band of scarring, began to scrape down the bark. Marina took the thermometer out of her mouth. “Wait a minute,” she said.
“The Martins have many purposes,” Nancy said. “For years Dr. Rapp thought that part of the hallucinogenic qualities in the mushrooms must come from the root system of the tree, that it must in some way be leached from the trees themselves, so he assumed that by chewing bark the women were, in essence, giving themselves a little bump. It was Annick who made the connection between the trees and extended fertility. Apparently he never noticed that they kept getting pregnant.”
“She still is always giving Dr. Rapp the credit,” Dr. Budi said, not as a correction, simply as a statement.
“If you look at their notes from that time it’s quite clear.” Thomas took a handkerchief out of his pocket and touched it to the corners of his mouth.
“It wasn’t until 1990 that she made the connection between the Martins and malaria,” Nancy said. “And that was definitely her discovery. Dr. Rapp was barely in the field by the nineties.”
“She still gives him credit,” Dr. Budi said. “Says he had mentioned it before.”
Thomas Nkomo shook his head by way of acknowledging the sadness of a woman who was so quick to assign her achievements to a man. “This is the greatest discovery to be made in relation to the Lakashi tribe. Not the Rapps or the fertility but the malaria.”
“I don’t understand,” Marina said, and she didn’t, not any of it.
“Lakashi women do not contract malaria,” Dr. Budi said. “They have been inoculated.”
“There is no inoculation for malaria,” Marina said, and the other three smiled at her, and Thomas bit the tree again.
Nancy Saturn pointed out the small purple moth resting on the white inner bark of the tree. It was the spot that Dr. Budi had recently chewed and there was still the slightest glimmer of saliva on the surrounding outer bark. “The Martin is a soft bark tree. Once the bark is broken the Lakashi have no trouble scraping through the inner bark and down into the cambium where the living cells are. This creates an opening, as you can see, a sort of wound in the tree, and into that wound comes this moth, the purple martinet.”
“You can’t be serious,” Marina said, leaning in for a better look. “Is there anything he didn’t name for himself?”
