It was a gray-barked tree, around forty feet tall, with shiny thick leaves and dark brown podlike fruit. Its foliage started about three-quarters of the way up and was tangled in some thick climbing vine. She stared up into the green gloom and called out softly, “Hey, Juan! Whatever your name is! Are you there?”
No sound but the breeze whispering among the branches and a lawn mower off in the distance. She continued staring upward, and as her eyes adjusted to the shade, she saw something brown that was not a fruit, or bark, or shadow. At first she thought it was an animal, a coon, or, absurdly, a sloth, but then she saw that it was a man’s face, his.
“Hey, you can come down now. They’re gone. They think you’re out of the Gardens. Come down!” She gestured broadly and wished again that she wasn’t so dumb and could speak Spanish. But the Indian appeared to catch her meaning. In what seemed like no time at all he flowed down the trunk like a python and stood in front of her, regarding her gravely. He was wearing nothing but a breechclout and a kind of furry belt, and a thong around his neck with a little bag hanging on it. He had his cloth suitcase secured over one shoulder by a woven band, like a mailman carries his sack.
“Wow, we thought we lost you!” she said. “You shouldn’t have gone away when you were with Kevin. Anyway, you could’ve got arrested. They don’t allow cutting plants and stuff here. See, it looks like a rain forest, but it really isn’t.”
Blank stare from the Indian.
“Look, man, here in Gardens you no pick! No do like this!” She went to a small bush and looked around to make sure no one official was watching, and plucked a leaf, while shaking her head vigorously. “No do this, see? Not allowed.”
He took the leaf from her and examined it. In his own language he replied, “This is mikur-ka’a. I use it mainly for skin diseases, but it’s also good for headaches. Also, if someone has been cursed by a witch, I have them bathe in a decoction of the leaves, and it usually works pretty well, depending on the witch, and so on. We could try it, if you have that problem.”
“That’s right,” she said encouragingly, “no do. No pick. Get in big trouble.”
“Although you don’t seem witched to me,” he added. “It’s hard to tell with dead people.”
“Right, but we can’t just stand around talking,” she said, “we have to get you to the car and out of here. Let me go ahead and check if the coast is clear, and then I’ll wave, like this, and you come on. Try to stay off the paths, okay?” She sighed. “Hide in bushes, yes. Si. We go car,si?”
“Si,” said the Indian.
She smiled. “Great! Okay, follow me!”
She started off down the path that led from the rain forest area to the parking lot. She waited for a group of tourists to pass and then performed a come-along gesture. The path behind her was empty. “Oh, no!” she cried. “He got lost again!”
But hardly were these words out when the Indian stepped from behind a large cycad three feet behind her. She gaped in amazement. “Wow, that’s awesome! How did you do that?” Receiving no answer, she said, “Okay, just follow me, then.”
She started out again, without the gesturing now, but stopped every fifty yards or so to assure herself that he was still with her. Each time he appeared among the plantings almost within arm’s reach, although she didn’t see or hear him move. When they were nearly at the entrance, she led him through some narrow paths to the wall that separated the Gardens from Old Cutler Road.
“Okay, you have to go over the wall here, because you can’t just walk out past the guard. I’ll get the car and pick you up. You comprendo? ” She gestured broadly, climbing and staying, repeating them until she was sure he understood. Which he did, apparently, for she drove around and retrieved him without incident. Then she drove the Mercedes back to the lot and parked in the shade of a cocolobo tree.
She turned the radio on and adjusted the dial. “When I’m alone, I listen to country. Kevin hates it. He likes alternative/punk, Limp Bizkit and Maroon 5, like that. I mean, I can handle that kind of music sometimes, but country is more real, if you know what I mean, it’s about, you know, love and having hard times, like life is, or maybe I’m just a hick. That’s what Kevin says. Of course, compared to you, I’m like totally downtown.” She laughed. “God, what an idiot, Jennifer! You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you? But you sort of know what I mean in a funny way. I can sort of feel it. Like a dog does, but better. Maybe I could teach you English. Do you want to learn English? Okay, here goes: I am Jenny.” She pointed to herself and repeated the phrase, and then just her name, and then pointed to her mouth. “Jen-ny.”
“Jenny,” said the Indian.
“Good! Terrific! Now, what’s your name? Is it Juan? I’m Jenny, you are…” She pointed. The Indian made a little chin-raising gesture she had seen earlier and which she now understood was a kind of nod. But now he seemed to hesitate, and he stared at her, into her eyes, for what seemed like a long time, as if trying to make up his mind about something. Finally, he placed his hand flat against his chest and tapped it twice.
“Moie,” he said.
She pronounced the name as he had, Mou-ee-eh. “Great! You Moie, me Jenny, this”-touching the interior, pointing broadly-“is car. Say car!” And so on, with objects and parts of the body. Jenny could not figure out how to show verbs very well, but she had a fine notion of how to teach a dull child, having been on the receiving end for many years, and they made good progress, she thought. After an hour or so of this, she brought out a vacuum bottle of iced tea she had brought along and a crumpled joint. She lit up, turned the music louder, took a hit, and passed the smoldering number to Moie, who placed the coal-end in his mouth and sucked.
She watched, amazed, and after a while said, “You’re supposed to give it back, man.” This idea having been conveyed, in word and gesture, they filled the interior of the Mercedes with hypnotic fumes, after which Jenny opened the door and rolled down the windows. Moie pointed to the fading smoke.“Chaikora,” he said.
“Yeah, we call it pot, or ganja, or marijuana. A lot of names. Dope. This is pretty good dope. We grow it ourselves. You like?” She mimed goodness, rubbing her stomach, smiling broadly, kissing her hand, to which he responded in his own tongue, “You dead people are very strange. You know chaikora, but you take it without chanting, and also you don’t mix it with its brothers and sisters, so that it can speak to you properly. We say that assua is the brother and uassinai is the sister of chaikora. Together they are one of the small holy families that help you listen to the animal spirits. Now, without the rest of the holy family, we can’t hear the animal spirits very well, but only the spirits in our own heads. What’s the good of that?”
She giggled. “Yeah, I hear you, man. It’s dynamite boo. Oh, wait, this is a great song.” She leaned back and closed her eyes and listened to Toby Keith sing “I Love This Bar.” Time passed.
The sound of a car door opening. Professor Cooksey slid into the backseat.
“Well, Jennifer, I see you found our friend. You never cease to mystify and amaze me.”
“Yeah, he was in the Gardens, stealing pieces of plants. He almost got busted, but I got him out of there. I’m trying to teach him English.”
“Are you, indeed? Well, good for you.” Jenny saw that the Professor was staring at the Indian in a strange way, really hard, like he was trying to see into his head, and the Indian was staring back, like he was trying to do the same. She had a familiar and sad feeling that stuff was going to happen that she wouldn’t be able to understand.
“My dear, could you turn that music down a bit? I’d like to see what this gentleman has to say for himself.”
“He can speak Spanish,” she said. “Geli was talking to-”
“Yes, but I doubt he speaks it very well,” said Cooksey, and then he began to speak in a language she had never heard before, and she was about to feel kind of crummy about being shut out and all until she saw Moie’s face light up with sheer pleasure; a flood of the same speech issued from his mouth.
“I’m amazed, Tayit, to hear Runisi in the land of the dead. Are you a priest?”
“Not I, but I spent a lot of time in the Jimori country. Do you know them?”
“I have heard of them, of course. They are vile and steal wives and eat babies.”
“They say the same about the Runiya people. Also that you kill all foreigners in your country.”
“They are liars, then, as well,” said Moie, and after a pause, added, “but we do kill foreigners. Or most foreigners. Did you know Father Tim? He was a dead person like yourself.”
“Well, you know there are very many of us, too many to allow us to know all the others, as you can. Why do
