out some of the starchy mandioca bread on the table which was the Indian’s staple diet, and she looked up and smiled when Alexandra appeared. She was an Indian girl of indeterminate age, although Alexandra suspected she was no older than herself. Indian women aged more quickly and Alexandra had seen the way Santos treated her. She was pretty sure he kept the girl for other reasons than cooking, but Maria didn’t seem to mind. There was a certain acceptance of her lot about her, and Alexandra wondered rather grimly how Women’s Lib would make out here.
Santos appeared as Alexandra was drinking her second cup of coffee. Of all things the coffee here was excellent, and she felt quite sure that without it she would have found it difficult to remain resolute.
Santos was not very tall, but he was immensely fat, and Alexandra could never completely quell the surge of disgust she felt at the idea of he and Maria together. He had a long moustache, and thinning black hair which he combed across his bald pate. He was invariably smoking a cigar, and this morning was no exception.
‘Ah, good morning, Mees Tempest!’ he greeted her blandly, scratching the hairs on his chest visible between the open buttons of his shirt. ‘Is a lovely morning, yes?’
‘Lovely,’ agreed Alexandra without enthusiam.
‘The river—she is subsiding, yes? Yes,’ he nodded.
Alexandra’s head jerked up. ‘You think so?’
He shrugged in typically Mexican fashion. ‘I think.’ He chuckled. ‘We will get that lazy—good-for-nothing moving, yes?’
‘Oh, I hope so.’ Alexandra was fervent. She put down her coffee cup. ‘How long will it take us to get to Paradiablo?’
‘You ask this many times, Mees Tempest. I cannot say.’ He shrugged again. ‘Two days—–’ He spread his hands. ‘Three days.’
‘So long?’ Alexandra tried not to feel perturbed. Two nights alone with Vasco were not absolutely acceptable to her. It wasn’t that she was prudish; in other circumstances the idea of feeling any alarm at the prospect would not have occurred to her. But here—with nowhere to escape to except the jungle—that was something else. And there were still the rapids …
Santos was studying her expressive face and now he said: ‘You are worried about Vasco?’ He shook his head. ‘You will not be alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I will send two Indian bearers with you.’
‘Bearers?’ Alexandra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
Santos lowered his bulk on to one of the cane chairs and Alexandra watched the narrow legs buckle a little. It always amazed her that they didn’t snap altogether beneath his weight.
‘The rapids, Mees Tempest.’ He raised his eyebrows and at her look of incomprehension, he went on: ‘Not all rapids are—how do you say it?—negociavel?’
‘Negotiable?’ offered Alexandra, and he nodded.
‘Sim, negotiable.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘We leave the boat and walk around—yes?’
‘Leave the boat?’ Alexandra’s mouth felt dry. ‘And—walk through the jungle?’
‘For short distance only.’
‘I see.’
‘You will need these men to carry your cases.’
‘And—and the boat?’
‘It is hauled along the river-bank above the rapids.’
‘I—didn’t realise.’ Another anxiety, Alexandra thought sickly, contemplating in imagination the scores of insects and snakes they might encounter in the forest. She had an intense and cowardly desire to turn back.
‘And—we sleep in the boat, is that right?’
‘Safest,’ nodded Santos, chewing at the end of his cigar, and while she pondered this he turned and shouted: ‘Maria!’ at the top of his voice. When the Indian girl appeared, he grasped her familiarly about her hips, dragging her close against him and saying: ‘You tell that inutil Vasco I want to see him, yes?’
Maria pulled away and went to do his bidding while Alexandra poured herself another cup of coffee. She wished she smoked. Right now she would have appreciated something to calm her nerves. On her first evening she had sampled some of Santos’s spirit alcohol in an impulsive effort to appear sophisticated, but she had spent several hours afterwards being violently sick and she had not repeated the experience. Indeed, she had avoided almost everything, food as well as drink, that did not come out of a tin and in consequence she had avoided any further gastric disturbances.
But now she could have done with some stimulating brew to dispel the sense of chilling apprehension she was feeling.
Vasco arrived with Maria, looking more than ever like a monkey as he loped along beside her. He had long arms and a short body, and a shaggy mat of black hair which Alexandra supposed he must comb but which never looked as though he had. She felt an hysterical sense of the ridiculous overwhelming her. To think—she had left the comfort of an exclusive boarding school, or the equally exclusive luxury of her father’s house in a fashionable square in London, to live in a mud hut in the heart of the Amazonian rain forest. She must be mad!
Santos’s conversation with Vasco was conducted in Portuguese and Alexandra understood little of it. But what did emerge was that Santos had accused the other man of delaying here because he was paid by the day and the longer he took to deliver Alexandra to her destination the more money he made. Until then Alexandra had hardly considered that aspect of it, and somehow just talking about money made everything seem a little more normal.
The wrangle continued, but Alexandra turned her attention to the river. In truth, it looked very little different today than it had done the day before, but for all his obesity and his disgusting affair with Maria, she trusted Santos more than the wizened Vasco. She half wished it was he, and not the other man, who was to escort her on the final leg of her journey.
Eventually Vasco went away muttering to himself but apparently persuaded that the waters were subsiding. Santos sat, smiling and nodding, and when Alexandra looked at him, he said:
‘You will go now, Mees Tempest. Santos will see you on your way.’
‘You mean—we’re leaving today?’ Alexandra was surprised to find how little enthusiasm this aroused in her now that the moment had actually come. Although perhaps after her anxiety earlier she could be forgiven for losing the determination with which she had initially begun this journey.
‘Is right,’ agreed Santos, lighting another cigar from the stub of the first. ‘Santos will see that you have everything you need.’
Alexandra got to her feet. ‘I’d better get my things—–’
Santos yelled for Maria, and when she came he told her to go and collect the senhorita’s cases from her hut. Alexandra began to protest that she was perfectly capable of getting her own things, but Santos interrupted her, saying:
‘Maria will do it. Leave her. The Indians like to serve. Hadn’t you noticed?’
