one of his. On the table near him lay an unpublished manuscript. He put it in front of her, then dropped his eyes as he saw her begin to read. It was in English, but she appeared fascinated. He couldn't have been more shocked if she had said, 'Hi, I'm Dr. Marita from Harvard.' Next to him was a portable cassette player. He turned on the tape, which played soft quena flute music, floating, lilting. Michael was the instrumentalist, a dedicated member of the Red Howler band in Angomos. He would now go on with his work as if all this were perfectly natural.
Marita kept reading. Michael wished his scientist friends could see this Matses girl reading English. Had she read magazines? If she went away to school, to the city, Western publications would be available. Had she seen a car? Western-style makeup?
He wondered what she knew of the outside world and im mediately wondered how much he really knew of what was happening outside the vastness of the Amazon jungle. Occasionally he thought perhaps he should go to New York and meet Elaine, his agent, and Rebecca, his editor, at the publishing house. He liked them both. They were creatures of the corporate world, but when they communicated with him, it was all about the Amazon-he the expert and they the novices. Their relationship had been cast in that mold. He wasn't sure he wanted that to change.
When he looked at her again, Marita held his gaze. 'It is very good. Like all your books,' she said in workmanlike English.
'You are astounding me, you realize. You come here and never say a word…'
'I am shy. I like to watch people first.'
'It is still strange to go that long,' he said.
'Especially when visiting pink dolphins.'
He laughed. 'A tale you obviously don't believe.'
'Blond men from America are blond men from America.'
She placed her book on the table next to the English manuscript: The Ramparts of the Amazon by Michael J. Bowden. It was a Portuguese-language edition.
'Ja leis-te? ' He asked her. 'Fala Portuguese? '
'I speak Portuguese fine. But I wish to practice English. I want to go to New York. At least to see. If I like it, I want to have my children there.'
'Is thatwhy you came to see me?'
She hesitated. 'I desire that you come with me. Now.' Somehow her grave expression didn't match the words she spoke.
'Your English is remarkable.'
'I have been to missionary school for twelve years. Catholic. On the Brazil side of the river. In Tabatinga. They say I learn fast. They give me many tutors.'
He was beginning to get an inkling that she was older than she appeared. Girls normally went to school from about ages six to twelve, maybe fourteen, and then they began bearing children. In Peru early education was compulsory except for the indigenous tribes. Obviously, Marita was not fitting the mold of limited education and that told him that she must have an unusual aptitude for learning to attract such attention among the Catholics.
'But you have never spoken to me. You stood and watched.'
'I explained the best I can about that. Now I need your help. You will need a gun.'
'A gun?' Michael didn't like them, but he owned plenty.
'A long gun,' she said, gesturing with her arms in the manner of someone firing a rifle.
She looked dead serious, even a little fearful. Without questioning her further, Michael walked to a cabinet that held his rifles. He removed a. 300 magnum, Winchester Model 70. Returning to the porch, he said, 'This is a big gun. Why do you need it?'
'Do you have a small gun? I think we'll need both. You can show me how to shoot.'
'Why? What's wrong?'
'To protect us from the bad men.'
'Que homens? A gue distancia? Conto e que sabes que sao maus? ' He spoke rapidly in Portuguese to make sure she understood his questions.
What she said next nearly stopped his heart.
'One of the men is the man who killed your wife.'
Before he realized it, he had sat back down at the desk, dumbfounded. After a moment he opened a side drawer, re moved a. 357 magnum Ruger GP 100 pistol, and placed it on the desk. 'I need to understand how you know this.'
'They are one day's walk from here… for a estrangeiro.' She seemed stuck on English now.
'How many?'
'Six. Matses hunters saw them on the Blanca.'
He tried to picture the terrain. It sounded like they had come up the Ucayali and Tapiche river system, then overland on foot. It would only make sense to do so if they sought to remain bidden. To think the Matses wouldn't see them was foolish. That would make them foreigners.
'I saw them this morning,' Marita said.
'But you're here.'
'They are estrangeiros. I am Matses.'
'Do you know why they have come?'
'The same reason as before, when the man killed your wife. They are looking for your experiments.'
Michael stood again. 'You're sure this man killed my wife?'
'Yes. He took your things too.'
'You saw him do this?'
'I did.'
'Tell me.'
'It's better not to talk about it. She fought and they killed her. They were trying to… hurt her.'
'But only one of these new men is the same.'
'Yes. They call him Cy. The other men… I think they are very bad too.'
'What do you think you can do?'
'I want to kill them.'
'We have police.'
'Where? These men will break the police like little sticks. And the police won't follow if they go into Brazil.'
'Soldiers?'
'These men will be here and they will kill and hurt Matses and they will be gone before the soldiers arrive.'
'We could leave and try to get everyone out of San Jose.'
'Matses men? Run? They already think I am unruly and crazy. They will say I have bewitched you.'
David Dun
Unacceptable Risk
He thought for a moment and nodded. He had never seri ously considered killing anyone. Even when he found his wife's brutalized remains, killing did not become his dream. His first rule of life was to do no harm. But then to kill this kind was to prevent harm. Perhaps his first rule of life could use some rethinking.
'Did they hurt you?'
'No.'
He was surprised at the almost physical sense of relief he felt at her answer.
'They hurt my sister, and killed my child,' she said. 'Before my sister escaped…,' she trailed off. 'She is dif ferent now.'
His throat thickened and he hesitated. He still did not know for certain if there was a connection between his wife's death and this group. Or if so, who exactly was re sponsible for Eden's murder. He looked to Marita. Her eyes said what he scarcely dared to think: one, at least, among these men was a murderer and rapist, and that was enough.
He stood. 'How will we find him?'
'They will walk along the small creeks. The way the land lies they will eventually find the trail from Herrera to
