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The volunteers love it. Jennifer and I prefer our beer in bottles, which is harder to come by, depending on who travels back to Canaima.
Today is my first day off in what feels like weeks.
One should be excited, yet considering I’ve seen nothing but death over the past seven days, I’d rather be working to distract my thoughts. I’m sinking into a mood pool of dark, murky quicksand.
It doesn’t feel like enjoyable work when watching life drain away in a child’s eyes. It’s bloody torture, nothing less, and I’m not sure how much more I can take. And I can’t spend my nights drinking beer to forget because there isn’t enough pure water here to cure dehydration and hangovers. It’s rained for ten days without a break, and I’m convinced it harbored the microbes which made saving the children more difficult. Maria told me it was unusual for this time of year. I’m thankful it’s nothing but blue skies today, although the air still reeks of musty, rotten, decaying wet wood.
I need time on my own to reflect and recharge, so I asked to borrow the curiara and cruise the waters for a couple of hours. Dr. Leon was reluctant, especially with the lack of fuel for the motor. I reassured him I’d also use the paddles and not go far. He had listened to me cry night after night, and possibly it’s the only reason he agreed.
My snacks are packed in my bag, and I’m ready for a few hours of peace.
How I feel in the jungle, the true essence of Mother Nature’s heart…
After traveling the river for hours, I came to the river fork, killed the motor, and sailed beyond the long overhanging branches concealing the entrance. I paddled quietly, taking in the beautiful rainforest, untouched and full of animal life. I drifted closer to the shore and stopped to sketch the beautiful landscape before me. An eerie silence surrounded me. Today there was no laughter from children frolicking in the water. I sighted a sandy riverbank only a couple of hundred yards from the river fork, so I paddled to the bank, climbed out, and tied the canoe to a nearby tree trunk.
Sitting here, I’m surrounded by a sense of serenity. Apart from the mosquitoes continually buzzing above my head and the monkeys screeching in the treetops, there’s no other life besides the plants, birds, and insects. Sitting in the sand watching the river current gives me a sense of contentment. Butterflies flutter past, and their beauty catches my eye. Their flight path is toward the trees where it lands on some berries, opening and shutting pretty blue wings.
Beyond the calm, I feel like I’m being watched. Only when I check, there’s nothing. I can’t ignore the tingles along my spine.
I’m rushing to write this last entry because I know I am being watched. I’m sure I saw a dark-haired man with equally dark eyes beyond the trees.
Now he’s gone.
I should return to the curiara and leave.
I’m back at our camp and writing this quickly before nightfall with no light in my hut.
My heart is still racing.
I want to write every little detail as I remember it.
When I turned back to the river, he was there, coming out of the water like a god rising from the river. Long, dark hair fell past his shoulders. He wore nothing except a twine skirt that didn’t cover much, especially when wet. I dragged my eyes up his muscled, lean stomach and chest to those dark eyes that held me to a point I was incapable of moving. I stood so stiffly, if he touched me, I’d have fallen like a log to the ground. He stalked slowly toward me, and beyond his curiosity, he didn’t look threatening. Because up close, he appeared to be a teenager, nineteen maybe. Only he had the body of a man, not a boy. Beautifully handsome for a wild man. For a few seconds, he stood there, staring. Then he reached out and caressed a strand of my hair, and I realized the source of his fascination. He didn’t see me as a threat. Instead, my white hair confused him. And maybe my blue eyes because the way he stared sent shivers through my entire body. Voices sounded beyond the trees. He held up a hand and pointed to the river.
I didn’t need words to comprehend what he was telling me. I fled in the curiara and paddled as fast as I could before any arrows reached me.
I keep telling myself I must never go back there again.
Yet, all I can think about is what would have happened next?
This place is messing with my sanity because what would have happened is his people would see me as a threat, and they wouldn’t want an intruder observing them.
19
SAMUEL
The gray hallway of the hospital matches Samuel’s mood. He has fallen into a routine like a robot.
Walking stiffly toward the meeting room, his life is no longer his own. He’s back in society for her, for them both—acting responsibly, providing for his family, and doing the right thing. He’ll do it for as long as he can, yet there are cracks in his façade.
Eden warned him it was too early.
He refuses to break a promise to his father.
In society, material things provide for more than love alone. And Eden deserves a luxurious house and car after what he put her through in Ulara. With the rest of his savings and inheritance now frozen, his wage is what will support them.
Yesterday he dreamed of Ulara.
