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Back in his hut, he tears open his mail.
A letter from Caracas catches his eye.
The pharmaceutical company has commenced testing his plant—the purple flower, and they’re now requesting more. His hope was for the shaman to speak to the trees and be guided on how to prepare the flower for health benefits for the Ularan people. The Western world is jumping at the opportunity to study the benefits, especially in healing diseases like diabetes and blood cancer. The request stands out like blood drops on white paper.
More samples required.
They are successfully growing the flower here, although it has not grown enough to cut the flower for samples without possibly killing it.
The only way is for another trek to the tepui, which he refuses to commit to while Eden is in the village.
His contract with the pharmaceutical company is ending.
He promised Eden he’d not sign on for another year.
The Ularans need to migrate west, especially after today’s threat. If the thugs come back with semi-automatic weapons, then it will end badly for both parties. The Ularans are camouflaged, and their blowpipes with poison-tipped darts kill in seconds. Never has he seen darts hit their target as they do with the precision of the Ularans.
The major threat is guns. To his knowledge, the Ularans have not witnessed the firing of bullets or the intimidating roar of a gun, and it could have devastating results.
He gazes up to the universe, closes his eyes, and prays for nothing to happen while Eden is here.
At twilight, Samuel sits beside Eden while she eats fish, oo bread, and a berry paste dip.
“Is the fish satisfactory?”
She nods.
“I see you’ve acquired a taste for the ants.”
Eden shrugs. “I couldn’t be bothered picking them off.”
Samuel slides closer to her to wrap his arm around her waist. “You’re afraid. I understand,” he whispers.
“I’m only tired,” she murmurs.
He assumed she’d deny it. “If you want to vent to me, then go ahead.”
“No need. I’m good.” She pushes the palm leaf aside with her meal only half-finished. “Can we go? I want to drink some water before I accompany you to the waipa.”
“There’s no rush. Finish your meal first. The shaman is still to tell his story.”
Samuel sips his tea while waiting for Eden. It must spur her to eat more as she finishes the meal quickly.
“Let’s leave,” she says and stands before the shaman has started his story.
Samuel gets to his feet and brushes the dirt from the back of his thighs. He bows at the shaman and chief before leading Eden to his hut.
He pulls Eden into his arms and mashes his lips with hers. “You don’t have to be brave all the time,” he says against her lips.
“Neither do you.” She pulls away from him and steps to the table holding their water bowl. Eden scoops out a cup and chugs it down. She drinks another three cups before placing the clay mug aside. “Do you want any?”
“No, thank you. I’ll have Wayara go to the stream and refill it for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it when we return in the early hours of the morning.”
“Lay with me,” he says and tugs her gently until he’s sitting on the edge of the hammock. “We have time to close our eyes and just be present with each other.”
Samuel senses her resistance and assumes she’s tired enough to fall asleep if she stops moving. It’s what he wants—for her to rest.
