Even in the grip of pain his inquisitive nature couldn’t be dampened. If only he were as curious about her as he was about everything else.
Eden started towards one of the hammocks, but Maria directed them to the far end of the room. Come, this way. “Vengan por aquí.”
Eden gasped, as they rounded the narrow corner. A frightening figure appeared out of the shadows. It was a large wooden carving, she realized, part jaguar and part man. Even the fierce expression resembled Bramford’s.
“El Tigre,” Maria said proudly.
“Just as I thought,” Eden said, her worst fears confirmed. “Bramford planned it all along.”
“Point of fact,” her father said. “Using the jaguar as a donor was my idea. Of course, I told him about the legend. But how could we have predicted things would turn out so well?”
“Yeah, just great.”
Maria held up a hand, as her eyes cut nervously to the doorway. Then she slipped past the carved figure and pushed aside a wooden screen. Behind it, Eden spied a small room.
“Vengan,” Maria repeated, ushering them inside.
A cold shadow fell over Eden’s heart, as if she’d seen a ghost. Even the wavering light that streamed through a mesh-covered window seemed anxious not to disturb the room’s unseen occupant.
Against one wall stood a simple but modern bed. In fact, everything in the room reminded Eden of home, from a bedside stand to standard pillows. There was even a silver hand mirror on the stand. Not your usual jungle décor. It might have satisfied someone who felt as alien here as Eden did.
“Whose room is this?” she whispered.
Maria told her not to be afraid. “No tengas miedo.”
Eden looked round, surprised to see two paintings tacked to the thatched wall. The larger one depicted a sleek, black jaguar prowling through a lush landscape. The silhouette of a girl hovered in the brush. Eden couldn’t tell if the jaguar stalked the girl or if they were companions. In the corner of the painted board the artist had signed two initials.
“R.B.?” her father said, stepping beside her. “Ronson Bramford?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eden said, admiring the sensuous images. “Bramford is no artist.”
She took in the second painting, stunned by what she saw. It was a portrait of a young woman, her white skin visible. Eden couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing a Pearl so well represented, a girl just like her. More like her than she could have imagined. The girl’s youthful skin shone with the luster of a sea pearl. Soulful, blue eyes stared back at Eden with familiar longing.
The slender figure and graceful neck also resembled Eden’s, though it shocked her to think of herself in such flattering terms. A rare, velvety red Cattleya orchid adorned the girl’s long, blond hair. She wore an old-fashioned white dress. In fact, except for the flower and clothing, the resemblance to Eden was uncanny.
Eden’s father echoed her thoughts with astonishment. “She could be your clone.”
A shiver traveled up her spine, as she recalled the children’s reactions to her. She pointed at the painting, turning to Maria.
“Rebecca?” she said.
“Sí, Rebecca.” A weary sigh escaped the woman, and Eden considered how their arrival must have upended her peaceful existence.
Eden’s father cleaned his glasses, then peered closer. “If I didn’t know it wasn’t my own daughter, I might be convinced.”
“It must be a self-portrait,” Eden said, noting the same artist’s signature. Again, she looked to Maria for confirmation. “R.B. for Rebecca Bramford?”
This time Maria met her question with a blank stare.
Eden pushed harder, pointing outside for added emphasis. “But where is she?”
Stone-faced, Maria turned to leave.
Eden’s father sank down on the bed, sending a puff of dust into the air. “I assume Bramford doesn’t want us to know,” he said.
“I wonder what he’s hiding?” Eden mused.
“I’m not suggesting he’s hiding anything.”
“Then tell me, Father, why is there a prison here?”
“It’s none of our business.”
“What if Rebecca is in trouble?”
“Now who is being ridiculous, Daught?”
“He locked me up.”
“You were excitable.”
Deserved it, that’s what he meant. Well, Eden was sick of his and Bramford’s grandiose schemes and lack of feeling for anyone’s aching heart. She crossed to the window, staring at the gated hut on the other side of the compound.
“I bet he’s holding her prisoner over there,” she said. “That’s why it’s off limits.”
Her father sputtered. “What? He’s not a kidnapper.”
“He brought us here against our will, didn’t he?”
“That is not my recollection of events.”
Eden spun around. “Against my will, then.”
“This is pure conjecture, not facts. How can you be prone to such illogic?”
He started to rise but Eden pressed a hand on the crutch.
“Okay, here are the facts, Father: There’s a portrait of a girl named Rebecca. It’s signed by R.B. Rebecca is a Pearl, so obviously, she’s not Bramford’s sister. It’s also clear she wasn’t his mate because arch Coals don’t option Pearls.”
“A false absolute. Such mating has been known to happen.”
“Maybe.” Still, Eden doubted that anyone as status-conscious as Bramford could see past a woman’s color. “But you can’t deny that he’s never been mated—it clearly says so on his profile.”
“Also not a fail-proof test. Those with the means may bribe the authorities. For now, I concede the point, however, as I see no reason for Bramford to have lied about it.”
“So who’s Rebecca? Since her portrait is here, let’s assume this was her room. And yet, it was sealed off. We don’t know where she is. Clearly, Maria is afraid to tell us.”
Eden let her questions settle in the air. She picked up the hand mirror, noting the antique patina and engraved letter “B.” The thought of looking in the mirror tugged at her, but she couldn’t confront her white face. Instead, she showed her father the engraving.
“See this? It’s how Bramford marks his territory. Maybe he mated Rebecca and then regretted it. He had to eliminate his mistake so he killed her.”
The rapid blinking began. “What? Impossible.”
“Perhaps she’s buried in that hut.”
“I insist you stop this line of reasoning, Daught!”
“No, Father. For once, you’re not being objective. We have to get away from Bramford. Why can’t you see that he’s a monster?”
Her father drew in a deep breath, regaining his cool detachment. “Bramford is a predator. Precisely for that reason, your attempts to excite him are dangerous.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eden said, turning abruptly.
“It’s evident that you have a talent for aggravating him. A common female tactic to attract the male’s attention.”
“Are you insane?”
“Perhaps. However, that does not assume a diminished capacity to observe your growing attraction to him.”
“Bramford and I aren’t even the same species.” Thanks to you.
“Quite true. As a matter of fact, his affection might kill you. Therefore, since you are willing to risk life and limb, I can only assume you are desperate to win his favor.”
“In this case, you’re dead wrong, Dr. Newman. I loathe Ronson Bramford.”
“Hmmm.” He pushed to his feet. “Wait and see.”
“There’s nothing to see. You’re investigating a dead end.”
“I’m afraid I’m not the one who lacks objectivity here, Daught.” He took one last look at the mysterious portrait, muttering as he left. “Extraordinary.”
Eden heard him sink into the squeaky hammock in the next room. Weary, she fell onto the feathery mattress and stared up at Rebecca’s image. Sweet Earth, they c
ould have been sisters.
If only she could grasp the mystery of Rebecca, she might also understand the strange yearnings that tugged at her heart. She wondered what her imagined twin would think of Bramford’s transformation. Would she also experience a whirl of sensations at his touch?
Go ahead, Eden told herself as she picked up the mirror. She took a deep breath and, picturing Rebecca gazing into it, studied her own reflection. Her hand trembled with the initial shock. She brushed a strand of hair from her check, startled by her pearly whiteness. And her eyes—the water had washed away the brown caps—were the color of bluebells, just like her mother’s.
Like a punch in the gut, the FFP’s offensive logo flashed into Eden’s mind. She glanced at Rebecca’s portrait, drawing courage from it, then looked in the mirror again. She couldn’t deny the amazing resemblance.
And Rebecca is beautiful, isn’t she, Eden?
AT FIRST Eden thought the odd, rustling sounds belonged in her dream. As they grew louder, scratching at her awareness, she realized someone or something was inside the room. She opened her eyes. Mother Earth.
The palm-thatched wall creaked as Eden shied back in the bed. Immediately, the noise stopped. Breathless, she squinted into the shadows. The peachy light of dawn folded through the window mesh. Beside it, she sensed the intruder staring back at her.
Eden fumbled for the small mirror and threw it across the room. “Go away!”
The mirror bounced off the mesh and fell to the floor with a loud crack. She heard an animal shriek. She screamed as the creature scurried past her towards the main room.
“Father!”
The animal’s footsteps were light on the wooden floor. It must be small and harmless, Eden decided. So she ran after it, pounding her feet to sound threatening.
“Watch out, Father!”
Wheeling around the carved jaguar statue, she glimpsed the creature, as it cut through the doorway. She noted its small, upright frame and dark body. Possibly, a black spider monkey. They often walked upright on the ground with their tails stiff against their backs.
She rushed after it onto the front steps, but it had fled. Arms akimbo, she caught her breath. She’d scared off an Ateles paniscus all by herself. Maybe she wasn’t as helpless as she thought.
Eden doubted the monkey would return to find itself trapped indoors again. Why did she find comfort in stark boundaries when they confused a creature of simple intelligence? The Huaorani also lived in a seamless way. Was that why they seemed so happy?
Her eyes darted across the compound, searching the avocado tree for a sign of her backpack. It was gone. Anything might have dragged it off, even the adventurous spider monkey. Hope was so close, and yet, so far away, once again. Would she ever be able to count on anything or anyone?
The woods cranked to life with a sputtering of mysterious sounds. A dark sky groaned with its heavy load of storm clouds. Even the lighthearted, chatty warble of an Aramides cajanea, or wood-rail, couldn’t dispel the gloom that pressed in on Eden.
She scanned the forest just in case the backpack lay nearby. But she knew she really hoped to see Bramford. If only she could talk him out of his foolhardy decision to accelerate his adaptation. For his sake, really.
“Daught?” her father called.
“Here I am, Father,” she said, hurrying to his side.
The hammock threatened to tip over as he sat up. Eden rushed forward to steady it. He glanced up at her with dull, lifeless eyes. His coating, which had worn off in large patches, revealed a sallow, greasy complexion. Each day, his condition worsened.
How devastated her mother would have been to see him nearly as ill as she’d been. The guilt of Eden’s betrayal weighed heavily on her. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, to explain how she felt and, possibly, make him understand.
But all she said was, “Why not wash the coating off your face, Father?”
“Impossible,” he said, with a withering look.
“Do I look that bad?”
“Bad?” He looked puzzled. “That would require a subjective opinion.”
“Forget it.” He would never understand.
Maria appeared in the entryway without a sound. Eden marveled at how little her solid frame disturbed the world around her. Like water, she seemed to move along with the earth rather than against it. A warm smile lit her face.
She set down her supplies beside the hammock, including a bowl of pungent, yellowish paste. Her daughters trailed behind her. To Eden’s surprise, Carmen approached her with tentative steps, offering chicha, sprinkled with açaí berries. Etelvina handed another bowl to Eden’s father, then smirked at her sister, as if to say, Loser.
Eden wondered if Carmen had lost a contest in which the loser had to serve her. She smiled at the girls, hoping to dispel their fright, but her smile felt tight and fake.
“Gracias,” she said, as she accepted the food.
The sisters froze. Ah, the monster speaks.
Their mother signaled them to leave and they couldn’t run away fast enough. Eden shrank within herself, trying to disappear. She hardly realized she had begun to sip the chicha, more from nervousness than anything else.
“Not bad, eh?” her father said.
Eden shrugged. Actually, it wasn’t as revolting as she had thought. At least her father was right about one thing. When you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat almost anything.
Squatting on the floor, Maria began to clean his wound. A sickening odor filled the air as she removed the old poultice. Eden tried not to gag. And yet, Maria never reacted. She delicately layered on a fresh coat of paste with a handmade brush of soft bristles and fur. Eden knew the woman meant well. But then, the road to Earth’s destruction also had been paved with good intentions.
She pointed out the obvious. “Father, do you really think this jungle medicine is working?”
“Precisely.” His tired face brightened. “The poultice contains bark from the slippery elm, you see. Its antibacterial properties are known to be an excellent treatment for gangrenous sores.”
For Earth’s sake, his life was at stake, not some hypothetical subject’s.
“Yes, but is it working?” she repeated.
Maria pointed towards the mountains. “Más fuerte.”
“I believe she’s telling us that something stronger exists in the mountains,” Eden’s father said.
Maria nodded. “La Puerta del Cielo.”
“Heaven’s Gate.”
“We’ll never make it there,” Eden said.
“El Tigre go.”
“But isn’t he busy chasing predators?” The selfish beast.
“A pity so little remains of the rainforest,” her father mused. “Miracle cures, valuable information—all destroyed.”
Maybe it was better if he didn’t face the facts. Denial had its advantages, after all.
“You can imagine the pressure on Bramford to sell this land,” he continued. “Instead, he’s invested a great deal of money here in research on plant life, with no guarantee of return, I might add. And another thing—he believes in the Huaorani. If he sells the land, their way of life will end. I suppose you could say he’s a purist.”
Eden scoffed. “Trust me, Father, you don’t understand his greedy motives.”
“You misjudge him. I can think of no one finer to be the Jaguar Man.”
Maria referred to El Tigre as a shaman, adding, “El habla con los espíritus.” She waved a hand in the air, probably to indicate that he talked to the spirit world.
“Spirits?” Eden said. “That’s impossible.”
Maria mimicked drinking something. “El bejuco de oro.”
“Oro that’s gold, isn’t it? What’s bejuco?”
“Gold, indeed,” her father said. “Bejuco refers to filaments or vines. In this case, a woody vine, Banisteriopsis caapi, is used along with a companion plant to prepare the shaman’s drink. Therefore, bejuco de oro is an herbal medicine as precious as gold.
; “It lifts the shaman to another level of reality, what we call the Fourth Dimension. You may recall that Albert Einstein said, ‘Time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live.’
“Of course, long before him, the shamans understood this. How else to explain their encyclopedic knowledge of plants—healing properties, poisonous traits? They even foretold the white man’s destruction of their world.”
“I’d like some bejuco de oro,” Eden said. “Maybe then I could figure out how to get us out of here.”
Maria gave her a warning look. “Bejuco de oro muy fuerte.”
“Yes, it’s more powerful than any modern medicine, in fact,” Eden’s father said.
“If it’s so strong, why don’t you take it, Father?”
“I expect it would kill me.”
Eden considered what it would be like to be as fearless as El Tigre. Her reactions to the harmless black spider monkey seemed silly in comparison.
“What’s El Tigre afraid of?” she asked Maria.
“Coatlicue.”
At their puzzled looks, Maria searched the thatched ceiling, as if the translation hung there. Then she set aside her work and lay on the ground, playing dead.
“Charades,” Eden said.
Maria’s eyes blinked open with a dreamy look. She stood up and pretended to climb up several steps. Then she came to an abrupt halt, stricken with fear and awe. Something or someone seemed to block her path. She opened her arms wide, three times, to indicate the size of the obstacle. She gave them an encouraging look as she twisted her arms and body in a serpentine fashion.
“A snake,” Eden guessed.
“Or a snake god, more likely,” her father said.
“Coatlicue,” Maria repeated.
When she tried to step over the imaginary snake it bit her. She fell down and crouched into a little ball. Then, with a sweet chirping sound, she spread her arms like wings.
“Hmmm,” Eden’s father murmured. “I don’t recognize that particular birdcall.”
“I get it,” Eden said, perking up. “If the Big Snake in the Sky bites you, then you return to earth as a bird.”
“Or anything at all,” her father said. “For example, a Tapirus terrestris, a common jungle animal also called a tapir. You might appear as the pig-like creature with a short snout and splayed, hoofed toes.”