Revealing Eden (20 page)

Go ahead, Eden told herself as she picked up the mirror. She took a deep breath and, picturing Rebecca gazing into it, studied her own reflection. Her hand trembled with the initial shock. She brushed a strand of hair from her check, startled by her pearly whiteness. And her eyes—the water had washed away the brown caps—were the color of bluebells, just like her mother’s.

Like a punch in the gut, the FFP’s offensive logo flashed into Eden’s mind. She glanced at Rebecca’s portrait, drawing courage from it, then looked in the mirror again. She couldn’t deny the amazing resemblance.

And Rebecca is beautiful, isn’t she, Eden?

A
T FIRST Eden thought the odd, rustling sounds belonged in her dream. As they grew louder, scratching at her awareness, she realized someone or something was inside the room. She opened her eyes.
Mother Earth
.

The palm-thatched wall creaked as Eden shied back in the bed. Immediately, the noise stopped. Breathless, she squinted into the shadows. The peachy light of dawn folded through the window mesh. Beside it, she sensed the intruder staring back at her.

Eden fumbled for the small mirror and threw it across the room. “Go away!”

The mirror bounced off the mesh and fell to the floor with a loud crack. She heard an animal shriek. She screamed as the creature scurried past her towards the main room.

“Father!”

The animal’s footsteps were light on the wooden floor. It must be small and harmless, Eden decided. So she ran after it, pounding her feet to sound threatening.

“Watch out, Father!”

Wheeling around the carved jaguar statue, she glimpsed the creature, as it cut through the doorway. She noted its small, upright frame and dark body. Possibly, a black spider
monkey. They often walked upright on the ground with their tails stiff against their backs.

She rushed after it onto the front steps, but it had fled. Arms akimbo, she caught her breath. She’d scared off an
Ateles paniscus
all by herself. Maybe she wasn’t as helpless as she thought.

Eden doubted the monkey would return to find itself trapped indoors again. Why did she find comfort in stark boundaries when they confused a creature of simple intelligence? The Huaorani also lived in a seamless way. Was that why they seemed so happy?

Her eyes darted across the compound, searching the avocado tree for a sign of her backpack. It was gone. Anything might have dragged it off, even the adventurous spider monkey. Hope was so close, and yet, so far away, once again. Would she ever be able to count on anything or anyone?

The woods cranked to life with a sputtering of mysterious sounds. A dark sky groaned with its heavy load of storm clouds. Even the lighthearted, chatty warble of an
Aramides cajanea
, or wood-rail, couldn’t dispel the gloom that pressed in on Eden.

She scanned the forest just in case the backpack lay nearby. But she knew she really hoped to see Bramford. If only she could talk him out of his foolhardy decision to accelerate his adaptation.
For his sake, really
.

“Daught?” her father called.

“Here I am, Father,” she said, hurrying to his side.

The hammock threatened to tip over as he sat up. Eden rushed forward to steady it. He glanced up at her with dull, lifeless eyes. His coating, which had worn off in large patches,
revealed a sallow, greasy complexion. Each day, his condition worsened.

How devastated her mother would have been to see him nearly as ill as she’d been. The guilt of Eden’s betrayal weighed heavily on her. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, to explain how she felt and, possibly, make him understand.

But all she said was, “Why not wash the coating off your face, Father?”

“Impossible,” he said, with a withering look.

“Do I look that bad?”

“Bad?” He looked puzzled. “That would require a subjective opinion.”

“Forget it.” He would never understand.

Maria appeared in the entryway without a sound. Eden marveled at how little her solid frame disturbed the world around her. Like water, she seemed to move along with the earth rather than against it. A warm smile lit her face.

She set down her supplies beside the hammock, including a bowl of pungent, yellowish paste. Her daughters trailed behind her. To Eden’s surprise, Carmen approached her with tentative steps, offering
chicha
, sprinkled with açaí berries. Etelvina handed another bowl to Eden’s father, then smirked at her sister, as if to say,
Loser
.

Eden wondered if Carmen had lost a contest in which the loser had to serve her. She smiled at the girls, hoping to dispel their fright, but her smile felt tight and fake.

“Gracias,”
she said, as she accepted the food.

The sisters froze.
Ah, the monster speaks
.

Their mother signaled them to leave and they couldn’t
run away fast enough. Eden shrank within herself, trying to disappear. She hardly realized she had begun to sip the
chicha
, more from nervousness than anything else.

“Not bad, eh?” her father said.

Eden shrugged. Actually, it wasn’t as revolting as she had thought. At least her father was right about one thing. When you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat almost anything.

Squatting on the floor, Maria began to clean his wound. A sickening odor filled the air as she removed the old poultice. Eden tried not to gag. And yet, Maria never reacted. She delicately layered on a fresh coat of paste with a handmade brush of soft bristles and fur. Eden knew the woman meant well. But then, the road to Earth’s destruction also had been paved with good intentions.

She pointed out the obvious. “Father, do you really think this jungle medicine is working?”

“Precisely.” His tired face brightened. “The poultice contains bark from the slippery elm, you see. Its antibacterial properties are known to be an excellent treatment for gangrenous sores.”

For Earth’s sake, his life was at stake, not some hypothetical subject’s.

“Yes, but is it working?” she repeated.

Maria pointed towards the mountains.
“Más fuerte.”

“I believe she’s telling us that something stronger exists in the mountains,” Eden’s father said.

Maria nodded.
“La Puerta del Cielo.”

“Heaven’s Gate.”

“We’ll never make it there,” Eden said.

“El Tigre
go.”

“But isn’t he busy chasing predators?”
The selfish beast
.

“A pity so little remains of the rainforest,” her father mused. “Miracle cures, valuable information—all destroyed.”

Maybe it was better if he didn’t face the facts. Denial had its advantages, after all.

“You can imagine the pressure on Bramford to sell this land,” he continued. “Instead, he’s invested a great deal of money here in research on plant life, with no guarantee of return, I might add. And another thing—he believes in the Huaorani. If he sells the land, their way of life will end. I suppose you could say he’s a purist.”

Eden scoffed. “Trust me, Father, you don’t understand his greedy motives.”

“You misjudge him. I can think of no one finer to be the Jaguar Man.”

Maria referred to
El Tigre
as a shaman, adding,
“El habla con los espíritus.”
She waved a hand in the air, probably to indicate that he talked to the spirit world.

“Spirits?” Eden said. “That’s impossible.”

Maria mimicked drinking something.
“El bejuco de oro.”

“
Oro
that’s gold, isn’t it? What’s
bejuco
?”

“Gold, indeed,” her father said. “
Bejuco
refers to filaments or vines. In this case, a woody vine,
Banisteriopsis caapi
, is used along with a companion plant to prepare the shaman’s drink. Therefore,
bejuco de oro
is an herbal medicine as precious as gold.

“It lifts the shaman to another level of reality, what we call the Fourth Dimension. You may recall that Albert Einstein said, ‘Time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live.’

“Of course, long before him, the shamans understood this. How else to explain their encyclopedic knowledge of plants—healing properties, poisonous traits? They even foretold the white man’s destruction of their world.”

“I’d like some
bejuco de oro
,” Eden said. “Maybe then I could figure out how to get us out of here.”

Maria gave her a warning look.
“Bejuco de oro muy fuerte.”

“Yes, it’s more powerful than any modern medicine, in fact,” Eden’s father said.

“If it’s so strong, why don’t you take it, Father?”

“I expect it would kill me.”

Eden considered what it would be like to be as fearless as
El Tigre
. Her reactions to the harmless black spider monkey seemed silly in comparison.

“What’s
El Tigre
afraid of?” she asked Maria.

“Coatlicue.”

At their puzzled looks, Maria searched the thatched ceiling, as if the translation hung there. Then she set aside her work and lay on the ground, playing dead.

“Charades,” Eden said.

Maria’s eyes blinked open with a dreamy look. She stood up and pretended to climb up several steps. Then she came to an abrupt halt, stricken with fear and awe. Something or someone seemed to block her path. She opened her arms wide, three times, to indicate the size of the obstacle. She gave them an encouraging look as she twisted her arms and body in a serpentine fashion.

“A snake,” Eden guessed.

“Or a snake god, more likely,” her father said.

“Coatlicue,”
Maria repeated.

When she tried to step over the imaginary snake it bit her. She fell down and crouched into a little ball. Then, with a sweet chirping sound, she spread her arms like wings.

“Hmmm,” Eden’s father murmured. “I don’t recognize that particular birdcall.”

“I get it,” Eden said, perking up. “If the Big Snake in the Sky bites you, then you return to earth as a bird.”

“Or anything at all,” her father said. “For example, a
Tapirus terrestris
, a common jungle animal also called a tapir. You might appear as the pig-like creature with a short snout and splayed, hoofed toes.”

“That’s disgusting.”
Sort of like how Bramford must feel
. Suddenly, his temper didn’t seem so outrageous.

Maria returned to the starting point. This time she vaulted over the imaginary snake to the other side. She smiled happily as she greeted dead relatives and friends.

“A nice fairy tale,” Eden said, pleased at how well she had understood without a Life-Band. “Make it past the snake god and you live happily ever after. Fail, and you come back to earth as an animal. I guess killing animals is like killing your friends.”

“It certainly explains why it was so difficult to obtain the DNA of an anaconda,” her father said. “Killing an animal like
Coatlicue
must be the worst sin of all.”

Satisfied with their understanding, Maria bent down to finish her tasks. Eden’s father moaned as she began to lay thin strips of bark over the paste. His bloodshot eyes seemed to beg Eden to do something. If she failed him again, she feared he soon would meet
Coatlicue
.