The old woman pulled the marake away. “Passed,” she acknowledged regretfully. “Next.”
Maurício looked at Henrique. “See, that was nothing,” Maurício declared. Then he fainted.
* * *
It had taken a week for Maurício to recover from the vicious bites. His only consolation had been the solicitousness with which Kasiri had applied oil to the inflamed areas of his body. Still, he had had to be real careful how he walked until the salves finished their work.
Maurício and Kasiri, arm in arm, strolled down the sandy beach where her people went bathing. They passed a small stand of palm trees and, abruptly, Coqui stepped out in front of them.
They halted. Coqui, his lips compressed, arms akimbo, watched them silently. Maurício waited for Coqui to say something. Kasiri, for once, was also quiet.
Suddenly, Coqui started hopping about, bowlegged, his hands on the inside of his thighs, yelling “ahh, ahh, ahh.” After a minute of this, he exclaimed, “You very funny. You now my friend, Ant-Man.” He walked off, laughing.
* * *
“Wake up, Maurício.” Maurício didn’t stir. Henrique gave the hammock a push, and it started swinging wildly, to and fro, dumping Maurício to the ground.
“What the hell, Henrique!”
“Time to pack. A trading party came back from downriver. Said that they saw three big canoes tied to trees, and many men camped nearby. Best guess is that they’ll be here soon, perhaps tomorrow or the next day.”
“An entrada?” That was the term for an expedition whose principal purpose was purchasing or capturing slaves.
“They did ask whether the Manao had any captives to sell. But what they were most interested in, was whether any white man, alone or accompanied by a black man, had been seen recently.”
“Uh-oh. Did the Indians reveal our presence?”
“They couldn’t; this party had left the village way before we left Belém. But there’s more. They described the leader.”
“And?”
“He’s our old pal, Bento Maciel Parente.”
“I’ll start packing.”
* * *
Maurício broke the news to Kasiri. “So I have to flee at once. I love you, but I don’t want to put you in any danger. So I guess this is goodbye—”
She slapped him. “Don’t be stupid. I’m coming. And you’re letting me come, or I’ll kill you myself.” She squirmed out of his embrace and started ordering her family around, collecting the supplies that would do them the most good.
The plan was to go up the Rio Branco and the Takutu. The latter did a hairpin turn, and then ran parallel to a Guianan river, the Rupununi. The markings on the map suggested that the ground there was relatively flat. In fact, the Manao told him that there was a lake that appeared and disappeared there. It sound a bit improbable, but Henrique was willing to grant the possibility that the land between the two rivers flooded during the rainy season. In any event, Henrique hoped to ride the Rupununi down to the Essequibo, and ultimately to the Dutch settlements near the mouth of that waterway.
Somewhat to everyone’s surprise, Coqui announced that he would join them. “I don’t like any of the local girls. Perhaps I’ll have better luck upriver.”
* * *
The going had been slow. During the rainy season, the water level of the Amazon and its tributaries rose, eroding the banks, and toppling forest giants. When the waters began to recede, the trunks were left behind, hindering navigation.
From time to time, Coqui and Kasiri would leave them and scout their backtrail, to see if they were being pursued.
Henrique and Maurício, left alone once again, held the canoe steady against the current, studying the latest obstruction. They could get out of the canoe, thus lightening its load, and try to push the canoe over or under the log. They could try to shift the log out of their way. Or they could beach the canoe and portage around.
Like the Indians, they didn’t much like the idea of getting into the water. There were caimans, electric eels, stingrays and piranha to worry about. Not all in the same place, of course. And when the waters were high, piranhas usually were a problem only if you were bleeding, or acted as if you were in distress.
On the other hand, the vegetation on shore looked especially nasty, with plenty of long thorns. They would have to cut their way through, and that would be extremely slow and arduous. And a giveaway to anyone following them.
“I guess we’re going to get wet,” Henrique said. They probed the bottom with their paddles, then gingerly lowered themselves into the water. They each grabbed a side of the canoe and started moving forward, shuffling their feet to minimize the stingray hazard. They looked back and forth, studying every ripple to make sure it wasn’t the wake of an inquisitive caiman.