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“But the authorities don’t know that. They still have my January 30 date from my gynecologist. Please, give me Christmas.”
It gives me the extra time to convince him to make the journey home with me.
16
SAMUEL
Two Days Later…
Eden had convinced Samuel to stay in Canaima for a week to quarantine in his room, yet not so far from a Cessna if she needs to fly out. He was also comforted knowing his order of supplies will arrive, and he’d have enough medication and sterile instruments on hand.
“Samuel.”
He turns to his friend who’s calling his name outside the room. Eden is asleep on the bed, so he sneaks out to speak with Asoo, remaining a few yards apart.
“The miners you speak of along the Carrao River. They talk of burning forests and building mines, look for hidden gold in river. In tepui. Garimpeiros will come work. Everyone needs money.”
“Mine near the tepui?”
“Yes, my friend.”
“Christ. Where did you hear this?”
Asoo points to the restaurant. “They stay here. They eat here.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.” He holds up four fingers.
“Where are they now?”
“Getting chain saws and guns.”
“You need to warn your friends, all the Pemón communities, not to work for these men. Ask the elders to explain the damage and how they’d be slaves.”
He assumes it will be months before the mine opens, yet he knows the shaman has to be notified. The mine will be on the opposite side of the tepui, but the mine leaders will risk Pemón lives with no regard to Indian values and destroy everything that’s sacred.
“Asoo, please bring me a map of the area from reception.”
Asoo nods before heading to the office building.
It’s time the chief and shaman saw his paper map.
He returns to his room and sits on the bed where Eden sleeps, opening the news app on his phone. Many countries remain hostile, and civilization is still competing to be the most beautiful, the most famous, or the biggest jerk. There’s a part of him that vowed never to return to society, and it creates an internal battle with his love for Eden.
She makes a sound from her throat. A sharp sob. Is she dreaming?
Samuel takes hold of her hand and gives a gentle squeeze to indicate she’s safe. It’s enough to rouse her, and she opens her eyes, closes them as though relieved to be with him.
“What are you dreaming about?” he asks gently.
“Their faces,” she murmurs. “I keep seeing the sticks in their cheeks, mouth, and nose and the way his dark eyes stared at me as though I was an animal.”
Sliding down the covers to be closer, he pulls her to his side. “Appearances are measured differently in every society. What you find beautiful, they may find offensive. The Indians are in tune with the jungle. She’s a source of life and not feared or considered a hostile place.”
“I don’t think the jungle is hostile. I just… don’t know it well, so it’s dangerous in that respect.”
“I know, and you’re looking more relaxed with every week you stay. I’m explaining how the Watache respect all creatures of the jungle, including the most venomous. Those sticks in the shaman’s face? It’s his way of dressing like a cat. He believes it helps him to hunt more effectively and move quietly through the jungle.”
