In Name Only (18 page)

Simon did not speak until they were seated in a small, white two-seater plane which was parked on the runway at Manaus Airport. Jill even kept her surprise to herself when she discovered another thing not known about her husband. He had a pilot's license and his own plane.

Once they were airborne, however, he relaxed almost at once, as if he were in his natural element and nothing could bother him. He banked low over the Rio Negro, and shouting over the engine noise, pointed dead ahead. "You wanted to see the Wedding of the Waters."

Jill nodded. He followed the river's course. Below a flotilla of boats of every size, some still packed with bright produce, made the black river very colorful.

The flat plains and farms that bordered the river, gave way quickly to the jungle, the first sight Jill had of true Amazonia. Dense, dark green curls stretched in every direction, broken only by the river and its
igarapes
, intersecting waterways down which small boats rode.

"The Negro is a more turbulent river than the Amazon," Simon explained. "As a matter of fact, the Amazon drains through amazingly flat land and it never becomes the raging torrent people imagine it to be." He pointed to the confluence of the waters dead ahead. "There, you see it? The famous Wedding of the Waters."

He banked low for her to take a closer look. The yellow Amazon and black Negro did not merge at that point, the waters of the rivers seeming to jostle for position, eddying and whirling at their edges, but not melding.

"Amazing sight, isn't it?" Simon shouted. "Two different rivers jockeying for domination."

Jill raised her voice above the roar of the engine. "Doesn't look like a very good marriage to me."

Simon turned to her. "Oh, it's a wedding all right, and a good one. About fifty miles downstream, the marriage begins to work."

"The mighty Amazon subduing the Negro, I suppose."

"You suppose right. The Negro is quite properly absorbed into the Amazon, and happy about it, I assure you."

"What makes them so different in color, anyway?" Jill asked.

"Everyone has another explanation. Possibly the Negro is black because it picks up decaying vegetation from the banks of reeds it travels through. It's acidic and fairly free of bacteria. Great for swimming and very clear."

"And the Amazon?" Jill asked.

"Picks up silt and soil nutrients on its ride down from Peru."

Jill was fascinated by the river as it coiled through the green jungle. There was an occasional clearing at the river's edge where water lapped at the foot of a house on stilts.

"Water's high now because of the winter rains," Simon told her.

"Who lives in those houses? Indians?"

"
Serinqueiros
, rubber gatherers. And fishermen, farmers and hunters. They trap animals and birds, fish, collect palm oil, nuts, fruit. Everybody has a piece of the jungle."

"But the jungle just keeps renewing itself."

"It's not as simple as it sounds. Certain rare species of insects or birds or animals are doomed as collectors all over the world place orders for them. The ecological balance is being disturbed, all right."

"As a miner and builder, I suppose you're doing your share of disturbing," she said caustically.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

Jill pointed to a wharf coming up on the left. Facing it was a long, low wooden building with a tin roof. "What's that?"

"
Barracaó
. Warehouse where they bring their produce for barter."

"A trading post?" she asked.

"Every two weeks or so they make a trip in with their goods for trade. It's rugged, subsistence living, believe me."

The Amazon basin drained countless smaller estuaries and Jill, from her seat, could see the endless miles of jungle under a cloudless sky, broken by a tracery of rivers leading to the Amazon.

"It all seems exciting and yet extremely peaceful from up here," Simon told her. "Where we're going, it's not a play land."

"I know that," Jill said coolly.

He glanced at her, his face expressionless. "I wonder if you do."

Camp Esmeralda was halfway between the city of Santarem on the Rio Tapajós, a tributary of the Amazon, and the Pacu Indian Reservation, several hundred miles of jungle separating them. Simon landed at the airport in Santarem, where a jeep was waiting for him. The Trans Amazon Highway cut a swathe through the jungle, connecting Santarem with the reservation. A smaller intersecting road would lead them to Esmeralda.

He hesitated before starting the engine. "I don't know. It's nearly dark now. We won't hit the camp until midnight. I've a good idea to park you at the Tropical Hotel in Santarem and go on by myself."

"No you won't," Jill said, surprising herself with her firmness.

"Damn you." In the lengthening twilight, she could not read his eyes, but the anger in his voice seemed to contain a conciliatory note, as if he were tired of the battle. He put the engine into gear. "We'll both stay at the Tropical. We'll get some sleep and an early start."

Jill kept silent. She turned and looked at the deepening jungle. She tried not to smile. The thought of having her husband so close for the entire evening, was almost more than she could bear.

They registered at the Tropical Hotel and were given a large, airy room with a double bed.

"Don't look so perplexed, my darling," Simon said in a light tone. "I'll draw a line down the middle of it."

The moment was awkward, and Jill, unlocking her suitcase, grabbed her robe. "I think I'll take a shower," she told him.

"Would you like me to scrub your back?" His eyes mocked her as he stood with his arms crossed. She retreated quickly into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She remained leaning against the door for a moment, to still her shaking. What man with what woman in what remote paradise, could keep from making love, no matter how he felt about her? She hadn't counted on staying with him overnight in a beautiful, seductive hotel room. She had imagined they would sleep in hammocks in a mosquito infested hut. The mosquitoes would be infinitely less trouble than the position she now found herself in. She stripped and stepped into the shower, and let the cooling water run over her for five minutes. Lightly toweling her wet hair, she passed back into the bedroom, her light robe clinging to her still damp body. Simon was still fully dressed, standing where she had left him.

"I'm hungry," she told him imploringly, unable to change his mood. "I've only my jeans and a couple of changes of shirts, though. Will that be all right?"

He looked at her, his eyes following the curves of her body outlined by the thin robe. Then he took several rapid strides over to her to put his arms around her, his mouth grinding hers, before she had a chance to react. His tongue, gliding through her parted teeth, seemed to open her up, to expose in the most sensual way, every nerve of her body. She fell against him, his hard body rubbing hers, gripping her, crushing her. Had she breath left, she would have cried out that she wanted him more than anything in the world, his way, without his love, if it had to be. She mixed her tongue with his as he began to explore her body with his hands. Then, suddenly, he lifted her swiftly in his arms, his mouth still on hers, and carried her to the bed. She was glad that the robe had fallen away, that seeing her naked, he would know that she was his unequivocally. She opened her arms to gather him in.

"It's what you planned, isn't it?" he growled, looking down at her.

"What did you say?" She stared at him, unable to make sense out of what was happening.

"You heard me quite clearly."

Jill sat up quickly, and pulled her robe close about her.

"What are you talking about?" Her words came out in a whisper.

He spat out his answer. "We've been through it before. You insist upon weaving your little web, don't you?"

"That's a very cruel thing to say." She did not dare look at him. She was wound up, racked with his lovemaking and very angry. "You just want to prove to yourself that you can have me anytime you want, and any way. You want to be certain I'm like every other woman you've ever had. There's only one problem. You've had to marry me. That makes things very different." She was on her feet now, walking rapidly to the window, through which she could see a handsome swimming pool lit by spots and surrounded by palm trees. The night was black, the stars huge. Her heart was beating rapidly now, and she had trouble catching her breath. She waited a few seconds, but when Simon did not answer, she went on. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "It's true. Every bit of it. I wanted to be with you. Just to be with you, anywhere and everywhere. Is that so wrong? I'm glad we're alone. I want you to make love to me, do you understand? I don't even ask for your love. I've enough to give for the both of us. Are you satisfied, Simon? I love you," she finished lamely, his silence unbearable. She turned around to face him, but he was no longer in the room.

"Simon?" She knew the question would remain unanswered. His luggage was gone, and for a moment she remained very still, trying to suppress her panic.

Take it easy, she told herself, grabbing great gulps of air in an effort to steady her nerves. He had simply tried to make things easy by registering in another room. After a while, however, the truth dawned. He had already left for Camp Esmeralda. She was alone in Santarem; alone until he came back for her.

"Oh, I could scream," she cried out loud, kicking a chair with her bare foot, and then almost welcoming the pain, she began to laugh. It was all so stupid, and she had asked for it. He was right, of course. She had followed him into the jungle in order to corner him. After all, there were such things as corners in the jungle, were there not? Her laughter was too hysterical and she had to wait for it to subside, like a pain. She was close to tears, and these came in welcoming gushes. When she was all used up, Jill washed her face carefully, put on some makeup and wearing a denim shirt with her jeans, went down to the hotel restaurant to eat. She did not want to remain alone. She had some heavy thinking to do, but she was afraid to be alone.

Her husband expected Jill to remain in Santarem until he returned to fetch her on Saturday, that much was clear. She discovered his intent the following morning when she went to settle her hotel bill. It had been paid until the weekend, she was assured.

Jill spent the morning walking about the unpaved streets of the colorful town, visiting its cathedral and the marketplace and then wandering down to the docks to watch the riverboats. Santarem seemed more her idea of what a river town in the jungle should look like, sleepy, as if it had not yet entered the twentieth century.

On her way back to the hotel, Jill spotted yet another Wedding of the Waters, this time the Rio Tapajós, green with algae, bumping against the pale Amazon. And as at Manaus, the waters met and did not meld. Perhaps they were both significant of her marriage; perhaps that was why Simon particularly wanted her to see the Wedding in his company.

She had lunch at the Tropical Hotel, out on the veranda, her view over the thatched and tiled roofs of the town to the wide river in the distance. Jungle birds strutted freely on the grounds of the hotel, and in the attractive, calming atmosphere, she found herself coolly assessing her troubles.

There was a freighter at the dock on its way up-river from Belem on the Atlantic coast. It would stop in Manaus four hundred eighty miles away. Jill determined to take it, although it had no accommodations for passengers. She would be given a hammock to string up in the small salon, and would have her meals with the captain, and that was all. She booked passage when she found that the hotel would cash her check.

The freighter docked in Manaus on Friday after a calm, uneventful trip upriver. Jill took a cab back to Las Flores and let herself into the villa with her key. It was only after she changed into one of the gowns she had purchased at the Manaus co-op, that Jill let the housekeeper know she was back.

Senhora Cordero was sitting in the kitchen with the cook, tiny cups of coffee on the table between them. Both women stood up abruptly when they saw her, their chairs scraping noisily on the tile floor.

"Sit down, please," Jill told them. "I could use some coffee myself."

"Is Senhor Todd back also?" The housekeeper refused to sit, and the cook, with a few muttered apologies, left the room altogether.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jill said. She poured herself a cup of coffee. "No, he isn't here. I came back myself."

Senhora Cordero shook her head, clearly confused.

"I took a freighter from Santarem. Simon objected to my going to Camp Esmeralda, and I guess he won out." Jill grinned, to prove she wasn't upset in the least.

The housekeeper gave her a sympathetic smile, as if to say it all could have been avoided, had Jill listened to her in the first place.

"I really enjoyed the trip," Jill explained hastily. "I slept in a hammock stretched between two posts in the salon. It took a bit of getting used to, but I managed. And then the river is so still, so beautiful, I might have been on land. The captain gave me a couple of books to read, and I had my meals with him. It was all very safe and reassuring." And calming, she reminded herself proudly. She had had a chance to take stock, to consider her future carefully and to know that she was going to stick by her plans.

She could not see Simon again, that much was certain. Or, if she saw him, it would have to be in the company of other people. She could not trust herself to be alone with him. That she loved him she was also certain. The feeling, however, was not mutual and would never be. She had felt it, sitting in the shade of the ship's deck, the river breezes blowing away all the confusion that seemed to grip her when she was near her husband. It would be better if they were apart, if she were to leave Las Flores, strike out on her own. She would remain in Manaus, although she did not want Simon to know where she was. Not at first, anyway, not until she had settled on work of some kind, a life of her own.

As a duty free zone, there had to be any number of export-importers who could use an English speaking person with a command of Portuguese. There was something waiting for her, something wonderful, although she had no idea what it was, or how she would go about finding it. She had even had her story prepared for the housekeeper.