‘What is he praying about?’
Was I mistaken, or was there a slight glint in Mr Ambrose’s eyes as he turned to me and let his gaze rake over me?
‘Right now, Mr Linton, I believe he is praying not to be led into temptation.’
His gaze swept over me again, meaningfully.
‘What? Oh. Oh! You don’t mean he-’
‘In my experience, Mr Linton, devout priests seldom get visits from scantily dressed young ladies.’
‘…E não nos deixeis cair…’
I glared at Mr Ambrose, then at the priest, who was still kneeling, his hands clutched tightly together, his eyes shut even more tightly.
‘Hey, you!’
He ignored me.
‘…em tentação,
Mas livrai-nos do mal,
Amém.
Pai nosso, que estais no céu
Santificado seja o Vosso nome…’
‘Is he starting all over again?’
‘Priests have been known to recite the Lord’s Prayer up to thirty times in a row, especially in situations of carnal temptation.’
‘Carnal temp- I’ll give him carnal temptation!’
Fuming, I marched over to the young man kneeling on the ground.
‘…Venha a nós o Vosso reino,
Seja feita a Vossa vontade…’
‘Hey, you!’
‘…Assim na terra como no céu.
O pão nosso de cada dia nos dai hoje…’
‘I’m talking to you! Open your peepers!’
‘…Perdoai as nossas ofensas,
‘Assim como nós perdoamos a quem nos tem ofendido.
E não nos deixeis cair em tentação…’
‘I’m not going to bloody tempt you! I don’t even want to tempt you! And trust me, you most certainly don’t want to be tempted by me!’
‘Mas livrai-nos do mal,
Amém.
Pai nosso, que estais no céu…’
‘Are your ears corked or something?’
‘…Santificado seja o Vosso nome,
Venha a nós o Vosso reino…’
I decided that extreme measures were necessary. Taking a few determined steps, I positioned myself behind the priest.
‘Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose stepped forward. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting this gentleman’s attention,’ I told him, and booted the priest firmly in the backside. He ended his prayer in a yelp and flew forward, landing face first in the mud. Spitting out dirt and a few surprised bugs, he rolled around to stare up at me with a mixture of horror and incredulity.
‘You…you are real?’
‘As real as it bloody gets!’
The priest’s eyes wandered up and down my figure, cautiously.
‘You are not a figment of my sinful, lust-filled imagination?’
‘Would a figment of your sinful imagination have kicked you in the behind?’
‘Um…probably not.’
‘There you are.’
‘But…but…’ The priest’s eyes didn’t seem to be able to make up their minds whether they wanted to fasten on me or jump out of his head and run away as fast as possible. They flickered back and forth with amazing speed. It wasn’t really as if he wanted to stare. It was more as if he really, really didn’t, but had to, just in order to make sure that what he was seeing was really there. ‘But you’re a senhora, a lady in a…a nightshirt!’
He looked as if he felt sinful even saying the word. I hurried to reassure him.
‘Oh, that’s not a nightshirt. It’s a chemise. You know, it’s what women usually have under all their other clothing during the day. You just don’t usually see it, unless they take everything else off.’
This didn’t seem to reassure him a lot.
‘Pai nosso, que estais no céu
Santificado seja o Vosso nome,
Venha a nós o Vosso reino…’
‘Are you starting with that again? I thought we had established that I am not a satanic vision sent to tempt you.’
‘I would not be so sure about that, if I were you,’ Karim advised the priest.
‘Oh, shut up, you!’
For the first time, the priest noticed the third member of our little band. His jaw dropped in horror. ‘A heathen!’
Karim gave him a hard stare. ‘That’s a matter of opinion, Kafir.’[17]
‘Deus, me ajude!’ The priest’s eyes flickered fearfully from me to Mr Ambrose to Karim, and back to me again. ‘What kind of embassy from the pit has come to tempt me off the path of righteousness?’
‘A very busy one.’ Mr Ambrose stepped forward. ‘So, if you’ll just give us what I told you we want, father, we’ll be out of your hair.’ He eyed the priest’s receding hairline. ‘Inasmuch as you still have any.’
Grabbing the doorframe of his little hut, the priest pulled himself up on his feet again. His gaze went from me to Mr Ambrose once more, and he seemed to realise that we were not about to try and tempt him into satanic rituals.
‘Ehem.’ He did his best to rally. ‘You should not seek what you want, my son. For, as the Evangelist Timothy says, the desire of money is the root of all evils; which some coveting have erred from the faith, and have entangled themselves in…’
‘Why don’t you just get on with your praying and we’ll get on with our coveting?’ Mr Ambrose cut him off. ‘We won’t take up much of your time. We only need directions.’
‘Directions? Um…I see. Well.’ The priest seemed to be floundering, abruptly cut off in his delivery. But he caught himself tolerably well. ‘Err…certainly. As you wish. Who am I to deny you help in finding your way? For, as the good book says Show, O Lord, thy ways to me, and teach me thy paths. Direct me in thy truth, and teach me; for thou art God my Saviour; and on thee have I…’
‘Yes, quite, quite. Can we get on with it, father?’
‘Err…yes. Certainly, yes. Please, come into my humble abode, and we will discuss everything like civilised men.’
‘And women!’ I added sharply.
The priest’s eyes slid over me in my ragged, stained chemise, rather doubtfully. ‘Um…yes. Civilised women. Of course. Please, follow me.’
*~*~**~*~*
We followed Father Marcos, for that was his name, into the little two-room cabin, where he served us a meal of corn bread, water and biblical quotations. Except for the fact that he repeatedly tried to foist clothes on me which, really, in this hot weather, were completely unnecessary, he was a model host. I had figured out by now that Father Marcos was not our final destination. It hadn’t really been hard. I remembered Mr Ambrose’s words exactly.
We’ll be going deep into potential enemy territory, giving ourselves into the power of people we don’t know and cannot trust.
Father Marcos looked as hostile as Baby Jesus and as untrustworthy as St Peter waiting for you with a smile at the gates of Heaven. Whoever we must be headed towards, it was not Father Marcos. Oh no, he was just supposed to point us in the right direction - a fact that puzzled me exceedingly. How could anyone as harmless and as peaceful as this little priest know anyone dangerous and wily enough to make Mr Rikkard Ambrose hesitate?
I wasn’t going to find out any time soon. After the meal, when I was ready to start pelting Mr Ambrose and the priest with questions, Mr Ambrose rose abruptly and tugged him off into the next room. Father Marcos looked only too happy to be dragged out of sight of female temptation. The moment the door shut behind them, I sprang up and ran over to it, pressing my ear against the rough wooden planks.
‘Have you no shame?’ demanded Karim’s outraged voice from behind me.
‘Psht!’ I waved him away. ‘I’m trying to listen!’
Karim grumbled a bit more, but finally shut up when I sent him a glare. However, even when he was silent, I couldn’t hear what was said on the other side. The wood was surprisingly thick, and both men kept their voices down. When the priest’s cassock rustled, announcing their return, I moved with heavenly swiftness, and by
the time they re-entered the room, I was sitting at the table, smiling like an angel. Or maybe like an Ifrit with experience as a con artist, depending on your view of things. Who cared?
‘We’re leaving,’ Mr Ambrose announced. ‘Now. Father Marcos will show us the way.’
I noticed that, even under his tan, Father Marcos paled at the words. But he didn’t object either. It seemed that whatever he was afraid of at the end of our journey, Mr Ambrose was more than a match in the fear department.
‘Y-yes,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll be showing you the way.’ He brightened a little. ‘And maybe I can convince you to search your souls, and help you find not only the path to what you are seeking, but also the path to righteousn-’
Mr Ambrose’s hard stare made him cut off in mid-sentence.
‘You will show us the way,’ my dear employer repeated. ‘In a literal, non-biblical sense.’
‘Of course, Sir. Certainly, Sir.’
They
We left about five minutes later. The priest seemed very eager to show us the path to wherever the heck it was we were going, whether righteous or not.
Not that there were any paths that I could see. No, where we were going now the jungle became denser and more difficult with every yard. It wasn’t just that the trees were closer together and underbrush thicker. The heat shot up like bullets in a funeral salute, and I felt about ready to be stuffed in a coffin. At least it would have kept the mosquitos away. Oh yes…the mosquitos. Apparently, I had only become acquainted with the more civilised members of that particular species up to this point. Now, however, their cousins were introducing themselves to me, and they weren’t being shy about it.
‘Ouch!’
‘Silence, Mr Linton.’
‘You try being silent when some bloody great beast bites you in the kettledrums[18]!’
There was a moment of silence.
‘That, I believe, would be anatomically impossible, Mr Linton.’
No need to tell me that. However brief my looks at Mr Ambrose’s bare chest had been so far, they had been thorough enough to make clear to me he was all man, with an extra dose of alpha male. If only I could take a closer look! But my seductive skills were slightly squashed by the fact that we had a priest with us. Plus, there were the-
‘Ouch!’
Slap!
‘Ha! Take that, you bloody beast!’
-mosquitos.
After a few days of this, I was ready to scream! How were you supposed to tempt a man into sin with a priest looking over your shoulder and mosquitos biting your behind? And the worst thing was: Mr Ambrose didn’t seem to be bothered by either. He marched along as if the mosquitos around him didn’t exist, and the only time he acknowledged Father Marcos’ existence was when he glared at the priest to keep him on track.
Father Marcos, for his part, followed Karim’s example and did his very best not to look at me. In fact, he did his very best not to look at any of us, or exist at all. If he could have vanished into empty air, I was sure he would have jumped at the chance. He didn’t actually try to preach morals to me, or to lead me to the path of righteousness, but I only had to take one look at his poor little face to know I couldn’t throw myself at Mr Ambrose in front of him. It would scar the poor man for life. Damn!
But, apart from the fact that he thought I was a succubus from hell and that he was inhibiting my insidious attempts at seduction, Father Marcos was actually a pretty decent fellow. He was polite, obliging, and not once did he mention anything about women having to keep their mouth shut, which the vicar back home was prone to do every other Sunday.[19]
‘Why did you tell me he was crazy?’ I whispered to Mr Ambrose, after we’d been marching a few days and a particularly nasty mosquito had just bitten me on the nose, leaving me with an urgent need to distract myself. ‘I mean…he’s a bit shy, and apt to see satanic temptations where there aren’t any, but crazy?’
Mr Ambrose gave me a level look. ‘He lives alone out here in the jungle to teach a useless doctrine to a couple of half-naked primitives. Of course he is crazy. But that does not mean he cannot still be useful to us.’
I couldn’t help but agree. Living out here wouldn’t be my idea of a sane, healthy life. If I tried to imagine living without my friends, my sister, my whole world back home in London - I couldn’t even finish the thought! There was no one else out here in the jungle to distract you from the heat and the rain and the ravenous mosquitos. Not a single soul you could ask for shelter or help. Except, maybe…
Oh no.
That couldn’t be, could it? Surely, not even my granite-head of an employer would risk going to them for help, would he? No, surely not!
Really?
It wasn’t long before I got an answer to my question. Only a few hours later, Father Marcos stopped next to a small tree. With a small shiver I noticed that it had a tiny, red feather attached to it.
‘Here we are.’ He glanced around nervously. ‘This is how far I dare to go. I’ve tried to talk to them in the past, but they, um…don’t seem very interested in hearing the Lord’s word.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Karim growled.
‘Just continue in that direction,’ the priest continued, pointing, ‘and you’ll find them sooner or later. Or rather, they’ll find you.’
Mr Ambrose gave the priest a cool look and a nod - his version of a ‘Thank you’.
‘Adequate, priest. You can leave now.’
‘I can’t persuade you to turn around?’ the priest enquired, tentatively. ‘They’re not fond of visitors in general, and a group like yours might-’
‘No.’
‘Please, Sir, reconsider! For the young lady’s sake if not for your own. These are dangerous people you are getting mixed up with and-’
‘No.’
The priest blinked. ‘No? You don’t think that they are dangerous?’
Mr Ambrose slid his hand along his belt until it came to rest at the holster of his gun. ‘Not in comparison.’
The priest swallowed. ‘Ah. Um…I see. Well, in that case…’ Hurriedly, he took a few steps away from Mr Ambrose and then turned to me. His eyes flicked timidly along the edges of my figure, finally landing on my face as the only part of me that was moderately decent. ‘And you, Senhora, can I not persuade you to turn back?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Well, then, for pity’s sake, will you at least put on some more, um…covering garment before I leave you? A gentle lady such as you should not…I mean I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you…’
He broke off, hopelessly, and just held out his cloak to me.
I shook my head, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Thank you very much, father, but I like myself just the way I am.’
As if he hadn’t expected any other answer, Father Marcos’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, well.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just as well. You won’t need many clothes where you are going.’
And with that encouraging comment, he turned away and hurried off into the forest, back towards his little cabin.
I stared after him.
‘You won’t need many clothes where you are going? What’s that supposed to mean?’
Mr Ambrose gave me a calculating look. ‘You’ll understand soon enough.’
And with that, he turned away and marched off into the direction the priest had pointed out. I followed, walking more cautiously than before. I didn’t know why, exactly, but I felt…nervous. When I reached the tree with the feather, I hesitated for some reason.
‘Come on, Mr Linton!’ Mr Ambrose’s voice came from farther ahead. ‘We haven’t got all day!’
With a shrug, I shook off the strange feeling and stepped past the tree. Bah! What was a measly little feather? I wasn’t going to let myself be intimidated by that! It probably had no significance anyway.
Or that, at least, was what I thought for the first five minutes of marching. Then, I began to feel them: the eyes on me. And I don’t mean the eyes of Mr Ambrose or some lo
ve-struck little monkey. Oh no. These eyes were far more secretive. I never actually saw them. I heard a rustling here, saw a branch twitch there - but no glimpse of any curious eyes. They stayed out of sight, hidden in the shadows of the trees. But they were there. They were.
Are they? Or are you just hallucinating, Lilly? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.
No. That couldn’t be. I could feel them. I knew I could.
Snap!
I whirled around. ‘What was that? Did you hear that? What was it?’
‘A snapping branch,’ Mr Ambrose answered without bothering to stop or turn around. ‘Calm down, Mr Linton.’
‘Calm down? You want me to calm down? We’re stuck in the middle of the Amazonian jungle, with no help for miles around, surrounded by God only knows who and you want me to calm down?’
‘Yes.’
‘We could be killed!’
‘They won’t kill us.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because they’re too curious to know what we want. They won’t kill us until they’ve found out.’
‘Oh, thank you, Sir! That makes me feel so much better!’
‘You’re welcome.’
Gah! I would really have loved to strangle him right then and there. Only, I knew if I got that close to him, even with mosquito bites all over me and anger boiling up inside, I would go for his mouth instead of his throat.
‘I am gratified to hear that you have such a high opinion of our survival chances,’ I said in the sweetest voice I could manage. ‘Who are these mysterious “they” you are taking us to?’
No answer.
‘Tell me! Now!’
No answer.
I was just about to reach for my gun, when my question was suddenly answered for me - but not by Mr Ambrose. It was answered by a man dropping out of a tree only a few yards ahead, blocking our path. More men followed, dropping from trees and appearing from behind bushes all around, their eyes narrowed and as sharp as the spears in their hands. All the men were dark-skinned, with strange, flat faces and slitted eyes. And, oh yes, one tiny little detail…They were all stark-naked.
‘Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose said, raising his hand, ‘let me introduce you to “they”. “They”, meet Mr Victor Linton.’