“I have already married once and have been a widow for several years. I have become accustomed to making my own decisions. And the good women of Grantville have taught me that I need be in no rush to remarry.
“Which isn’t to say that I don’t like you . . .
“Now then. Back to business. And Henrique, flowery compliments and all, is strictly business. He has run a rubber tapping operation. We could use him to do so for us, up at Marshall’s Creek, and at the same time keep a closer eye on Captain Marshall and his men.”
Heyndrick nodded slowly. The thought occurred to him that if Henrique were in residence at Marshall’s Creek, then Maria wouldn’t have to travel there so frequently. And he would be mostly out of Maria’s sight and hence out of Maria’s mind. Or so Heyndrick hoped.
But suddenly he realized that Maria was still speaking. “And if he was able to cross over a thousand miles of rainforest, he must have impressive survival skills . . . and no doubt an impressive knowledge of the plants and animals. Some of that knowledge will doubtless be relevant here in the Guianas, too. In fact, I have a question or two to put to him right away.”
“Greenheart?”
“Greenheart.”
* * *
“Senhor Henrique, I am looking for trees with a particular wood, called ‘greenheart,’ because it is of a dark green color. It grows”—she stopped to consult her notes—“seventy to one hundred thirty feet high, and three feet or more in diameter. It is very strong and heavy, heavier than water. And I think I found some lumber cut from it, in a ship’s hull, but of that I am not sure. Here is a sample piece.”
Henrique examined Maria’s mystery futtock. “It was used in a ship? And it is strong, but too heavy to float? Perhaps it is like the ‘stone tree,’ itauba, which we have on the Amazon. Coqui had a dugout canoe made from that tree. It is good for running rapids, but if the canoe fills with water, it sinks.”
Maurício coughed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what the native word is for this ‘greenheart’ of yours?”
“Actually, I do. At least if the encyclopedias in Grantville are right. They said that it was called ‘bibiru’ or ‘bebeeru’ in one language. And ‘sipiri’ in another. But I don’t know which language.”
“Bibiru,” Henrique muttered. “Sounds like a word from the language of the Indians who live just north of the Amazon delta. They call themselves Aroo-waks, I think. Are there Aroo-waks, here? ‘Bibi’ is ‘mother,’ I think. Or maybe it’s just ‘woman.’ But I don’t recognize ‘bibiru.’ Do you, Maurício?”
Maurício shook his head. “Not ‘sipiri,’ either. Do the ‘encyclopedias’ say what the Indians use the tree for?”
Maria wiped sweat from her brow. Guiana was warm even in December. “Not clearly. But the wood is used in the construction of ships and docks, and the bark to make some sort of febrifuge. Probably tastes vile.”
“Isn’t that something that the physicians insist on?” asked Maurício. “Don’t they figure that the worse a medicine tastes, the better it is?”
Henrique laughed. “Presumably on the theory that the patient will get better so he doesn’t have to keep drinking the medicine.”
Maurício shifted his weight. “Excuse me, Henrique, I have to go,” he said. “Kasiri is waiting for me.”
Henrique waved him off. “And if the lovely and learned Maria is through questioning me, I have some business with the commander.” Maria inclined her head, and he and Maurício both took their leave of her.
“I wonder if Lolly knows any nice Jewish girls I can match him up with?” Maria pondered.
* * *
The local tribe was called the Lokono, which of course just meant “the people” or something like that. Henrique, Maurício, Kasiri and Coqui introduced Maria to their Lokono Arawak friends, and helped her with her inquiry. They knew the tree, or at least they knew of some tree they called “bibeera,” which sounded close enough. At least, the tree was tall enough, and its wood didn’t float. Some young Lokono women led her up the hilly banks of the Essequibo river, and pointed out several “bibeera” trees to her. They had the growing pattern common to many rainforest canopy trees; that is, branching only near the summit. Maria judged these specimens to be a good eighty feet tall.
The Lokono showed her how to remove the cinnamon-brown bark; it had to be beaten before it could be peeled off. The yellowish infusion they made from the bark tasted just as horrible as Maria had expected. It made up for this by smelling nasty, too.