“Maybe, but you may be happier elsewhere,” he said with a much stronger voice than I had heard from him in a while. “What kind of life is this… struggling day in and day out for survival? Father Gaul says that where you are going, you will have food overflowing and many opportunities laid before you. What do you have here? An old man and his shrew of a wife.”
“I have Tukaba,” I said with a wink. “She makes me plenty happy.”
“Yes, you have Tukaba, but she has many friends,” he said with a sly smirk.
I grinned back at him because Paraila and I always shared the same type of humor. Tukaba was, indeed, a woman that shared the pleasures of all the single men in the tribe.
“You deserve more than this meager life you lead, and I want to see you have a chance at real happiness before I die.”
“But Paraila—” I started to say, but he cut me off.
“No, Zacharias… son not of my loins but of my heart. I am begging you to go. For me… I am begging you. Give it a year and, if you wish, you may return. But for me… give it a chance and go with this new fortune.”
I stared at him, noting the sheen of tears in his eyes and the surety of his voice. It crashed all around me that I could not deny this man anything… not the man who had raised, protected, and even given me love when my parents died. I owed him my life. I would do anything he asked.
So I agreed to go.
Chapter 2
Moira
I’m exhausted. Letting out a tired breath, I lean my temple against the backseat window of the cab. Zach sits quietly beside me, taking in the Chicago skyline as we make our way past the Windy City, en route to Evanston, about fifteen miles away.
To my home… where Zach will be staying with me for a while before making a trip to Atlanta to meet Randall. I’m on a summer break from my teaching post in the Anthropology Department at Northwestern University. I also took an extended leave of absence, at least for the upcoming fall semester, as Randall and I felt that Zach could possibly need my help for several months. But in truth… I’m flying by the seat of my pants at this point because Zach is not making anything easy on me.
Our plane flight from Brasilia into Chicago was relatively calm, considering how difficult it was for me to make it out of the rainforest with a reluctant travel mate. I had fought the heat, humidity, dehydration, the never-ending supply of gnats and mosquitos, a near-death experience with a bushmaster snake, and yet none of that was as hard as dealing with Zach’s antipathy during the trip.
The man clearly did not want to leave his home with the Caraicans. After having spent eighteen years immersed in their culture… after having been adopted into their tribe and revered as a member, he had absolutely no desire to return to the States with me.
This was something I had expected was a possibility since he had lost his parents so very long ago. I had a feeling that Zach might not remember much of his prior life, and here I was… taking him away from the comfort and security of what he knew best. I had even told Randall, Zach’s godfather who had arranged this entire rescue mission, that Zach may not want to return to his American roots. Randall was far more positive on that than I was, just telling me to do the best that I could.
Ultimately, I had nothing to do with Zach’s capitulation to come. I stayed in his village for two days after my arrival, while his adoptive father argued with him mercilessly. He was very eager for Zach to take this opportunity to learn more about his own heritage. I’m not sure what Paraila finally said to his adopted son, but on my second evening there, Zach approached me and said, “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Those were his first words to me. Despite the fact that we had shared a highly intimate experience that first night over the blaze of the campfire, when he fucked another woman while holding my gaze, he had not spoken a word to me until he informed me of our departure. His next words were no friendlier.
After saving me from a bushmaster that was perilously close to my leg, he had sneered at me, “You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama de cabelos. Next time, I let the serpent strike.”
Then he turned his back on me and started walking away, taking the lead and hacking his way through the jungle once more.
I imagined what chama de cabelos might mean in Portuguese. I was thinking something along the lines of idiot, dumbass, moron, or even bonehead. Father Gaul told me later when I asked him that it mean flame-haired.
I ended up taking that as a compliment, despite the fact that Zach looked like he wanted to strangle me whenever we made eye contact.
Zach didn’t speak another word to me until later in the day when he was forced to, because once we reached the Jutai, we split up from Father Gaul and Ramon. His words were short and simple. He told me to get into the dugout canoe that Father Gaul had arranged for us at the small trading village on the river and to paddle hard.