by Bob Nailor
Moema smiled and snatched the leaves from her hand. “We have no vanilla in our forest, Dr. Ana. We have to buy the flavor in little bottles from the supermarket. But, we have so many other things that are much better.” Her eyes twinkled as she pulled a yellowish, egg-shaped fruit from her stores. “Do you know this?” she asked, handing it to her. Ana gingerly raised it to her nose and took a long breath.
“It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“It is cacao, the fruit that gives us chocolate.” With a quick motion she slashed it open. Inside, a thick white pulp floated around clusters of dark seeds. “If you remind me, in the morning I’ll blend this with milk and a little sugar. It’s better than any fast-food milkshake.” Moema reached into a basket of greens to produce a small orange pepper the size of a marble. “And if you like chocolate, you have to try it with a dash of this.” She pursed her lips and closed her eyes in pleasure. “You’ll never go back to Nestlé®.”
Ana shook her head slowly and smiled with a sigh. “All I want is something to put in my tea to help me sleep.” She looked about the group for a suggestion.
Paulo pulled a pint bottle from his rear pocket and jiggled it back and forth, letting the golden liquid splash from one side to the other. “This is a good whiskey, Dr. Ana. Not imported or anything fancy, but it’s still nice and smooth.” He smiled and leaned in close. “It packs a great little punch and is definitely safer than anything from Moema’s little box there.”
He dangled the bottle in front of her face, taunting her. “In fact, you don’t even need to add it to the tea, just drink it straight from the bottle.” He laughed and downed a shot himself.
As he was twisting the cap in place, Ana grabbed the bottle from his hand. “I think I will, thank you,” she said.
Paulo winked and turned to leave. “Enjoy your tea and your dreams, doctor. May they both be pleasant,” he said over his shoulder.
Ana put the bag to soak in an aluminum camp mug which was so hot she grabbed a rag just to be able to carry it. She headed back to her tent, staying as far as possible from the uncut brush surrounding their small clearing. Here and there, she heard the croaks, squeaks, and rustles of the nighttime creatures.
Without warning, the overpowering sensation of being watched which had plagued her all day returned in a rush. She glanced back at the main fire and could see the group had forgotten all about her. They were laughing at some tale told by one of Paulo’s men. The eerie darkness of the jungle caught hold of her. On the river there had been the open area on the wide river surface. Here, there was dense growth above and all around her. She felt swallowed by the vegetation.
She moved cautiously over the rough ground, making sure she didn’t trip over some unseen vine or — Ana hesitated, then softly muttered the single word. “Snakes.” She shuddered at the thought. She wasn’t really scared of them. She just preferred them in books or behind glass at the zoo. She glanced left then right. She was alone and the small fire the men had set near her tent now cast shadows which shifted with the flickering flames. How would I know if something moved? she thought and shook her head nonchalantly. Is it a shadow or something real?
The unsettling feeling plagued Ana all the way back to her tent. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, sure something would leap from the darkness at any moment. She jumped at every breeze that left a branch twisting in the dark. She picked up her pace until she was almost running. She tripped over a root in the ground and the steaming water splashed on her hand. She was sure something real and sinister watched, and there was nothing she could do to flee from its presence.
Ana finally saw the glow from the lantern next to her tent. Just the weak light promised safety from the unknown presence. She dashed ahead, faster and faster until it bathed her in its protection. When she finally sat down on her camp stool, she took a deep breath and couldn’t recall when the last time she had breathed.
She played with the whiskey bottle, debating whether a night’s sleep was worth a morning hangover. Ana unscrewed the cap from the bottle and was about to pour a good dram when a twig snapped. She jerked to look in the direction of the noise.
An older Indian from Paulo’s group moved out of the shadows. He was small and wiry and always wore colored beads around his neck. The accent to his Portuguese was heavier than the others. In the light of her camp lantern, Ana guessed he was easily sixty years old.
“Excuse me. Dr. Ana,” he said guardedly. “I heard you ask for something to put into your tea.” Though nervous, he spoke calmly, with authority. “My name is Ibiaci. I am a Ticuna shaman from the state of Pará. I have something which will bring you sleep and powerful dreams.”
The shaman dressed differently in the evenings when he was not working. Over a leather vest, he wore a series of long and colorful necklaces made from dried seeds. From one side hung several feathers, striking in brilliant reds, blues, and greens. His fingers bore rings of silver, leather and ebony. His arms were covered with crude tattoos depicting the sun, the moon, and an array of forest creatures. Both wrists bore copper bracelets, tooled with Indian patterns. On his head was a weather-worn leather hat, shaped to his head by years of rain and sun.
Ibiaci opened the vial and poured a strong stream of the liquid into her tea. The dark, thick drink flowed like oil and reflected a rainbow of colors. The scent of molasses drifted up from the cup.
“You are troubled by what surrounds us, Dr. Ana. I have watched you fighting its presence all day, as you do even now. You will need guidance in the days ahead even more than the sleep you seek.” His gnarled hands offered a small ochre-colored jar, elaborately carved and closed with a lid in the shape of a serpent. “It’s called ayahuasca; the vine of the soul. A drop or two, infused into your tea, will help you to sleep.”
Ana paused, frightened by his offer. Yet the small man radiated a peace that pulsed around them. “Is it safe?” she asked.
He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the dim camp light. “What is safe, Dr. Ana? These shadows? The animals which speak to each other all around us? The spirits of the forest have always given us the vision of life through this cup. Nothing here is safe, Dr. Ana. That is why you are here. Now, drink.” His gnarled hands surrounded hers as he gently guided the cup to her lips.
She sipped and drew the heady ambrosia of the infusion between her lips. It assailed her tongue’s taste buds before it filled her head with pungent vapor. It seemed to rush through her sinuses and invade her senses almost immediately.
“Mmmm,” she murmured and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Ibiaci was gone.
She held the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply the scented aroma of the forest spirits. Her mind reeled and she saw a castle with walls of purest white with golden roofed towers. Ana shook her head to get rid of the nonsense she was thinking, she was not one to live in fairy tales. She frowned as the last of the vision dissipated from her imagination. Did she see jungle vines around the castle? She looked down into her cup, it was barely half full. Where did the tea go? Did I spill it? Ana held the cup with one hand while checking her clothing for any dampness; there was none. Strange, she thought, took the cup in both hands again and drained the tea. Perhaps I’m more tired than I thought.
She glanced about. She was alone. In her other hand she held the container of ayahuasca. She stood, tucked the small jar into her pocket then gently leaned against the outside of her tent. Ana unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and smiled at the memory of Edson. A rush of blood coursed through her face and chest, leaving her unsteady on her feet. She fanned her face before sitting on her stool. Ana could just make out Aaron Theodouros preparing for bed. Definitely not Edson, she thought, but then, Edson’s not here.
She slipped off the small elastic band holding back her long hair. Slowly, very slowly, she shook her head to loosen the strands of dark, raven hair. Ana ran her fingers over the bridge of her nose, up over her forehead to the temple, letting her palm press against the cheek before slipping h
er hand and fingers down to her jaw bone. She hesitated, letting her hand rest there as she contemplated absolutely nothing.
The heat continued to assault her until a tiny wisp of coolness blew across her arm. Ana looked over to the tent, stood, and went in. The solitude of her tent beckoned, it was quiet, cool, and safe in the forest night.
Inside, she doused the camp light and quickly slipped out of her clothes. Father Bora’s golden cross weighed heavily on her chest. It felt oddly out of place on the fine skin of her breasts. For some reason, a sense of relief flooded her when she slipped it off and placed it atop the pile of clothes.
Another rush of breeze left a momentary chill on her steamy body. The heat was thick and humid, almost liquid. There was a burst of chatter from her team and Ana could hear Aaron Theodouros’ deep, resonant laugh. Dr. Aaron Theodouros, she thought. She checked and double-checked all the mosquito screens, then crawled into the elegant but simple hammock.
The white mesh had been woven and dyed of fibers from the tucum palm tree by Indian artisans in Manaus. It was silky and cool on her sweaty skin, hugging her like an old, well-used glove. Moema had told her she would never go back to sleeping in a bed. She was beginning to believe it.
Ana’s scientist’s mind sorted through the events of the day. The long march had left her body complaining. The strange charge of the passive tapir. The whiz of an arrow to drop the creature at their feet. The sight of the tall, white warrior as she stepped out of the forest vegetation, her eyes glowing red in the shadows. A name long forgotten, she thought and then repeated the phrase out loud, quietly mimicking her accent and intonation.
Ana closed her eyes and felt her body slowly accept the embrace of the warmth. As she let go and became one with the night, a deep contentment permeated her soul. The world had begun like this, lush in its primordial heat. Her breathing slowed and she let it fold her into its primal breast.
The watcher snuggled in the branches above the tent, attentive to every movement Ana made. Her eyes had focused on the carved jar the old shaman offered as the scent of ayahuasca filtered out into the night air. She nodded her head in pleasure when Ana added it to her tea. Soon, she thought. The old Ticuna’s drink works to my advantage. The last few lights in the camp flickered as night embraced the weary strangers. She waited with a patient smile.
As the last flames of the campfire turned into glowing red embers, the hidden warrior’s senses heightened to keen sensitivity. Her eyes darted between the last remaining members of the expedition as they left the fires and headed off to their tents. Paulo’s men climbed into their hammocks strung between trees in the forest. The gringos zipped up their tents and turned in for the night.
She counted two women, tittering in their quiet gossip on their way to their tents. She narrowed her eyes to find the third but still came up short in the darkness. A single sentry leaned against a fallen log, a rifle across his lap as he struggled to keep his head upright.
Her ears picked the slightest movement in the forest, just beyond the camp perimeter. She drew in the scent and smiled when she found the third woman. Her master was on the hunt. He would be pleased.
When the last tent fell into silence, she let out a long, high-pitched squeal she’d learned from her animal cousins. The sentry jerked to attention and glared into the forest canopy where she waited. His eyes were useless in the night. Hers were perfect.
Two flying creatures larger than eagles swooped from the canopy, silent and precise in their path. By the time the sentry could react, he was high above the campsite, aloft on their powerful black wings. They would feast together in the village while the campsite lay defenseless in innocent sleep.
Ana rested in her hammock, her mind floating within the potent infusion she’d sipped. The darkness enveloping her closed eyes glowed with a tinge of blue, then green. An overwhelming sense of connectedness with the forest life grew in her soul. It soon was followed by profound peace, calm and powerful, reaching out to the creatures around her in the night.
Just as sleep drew her into its arms, another impression joined Ana’s expanding senses. She felt someone join her in the swaying hammock. Another being, dark and chilling, stretched beside her. Sleep held Ana captive but the stranger touched her gently on her neck, beneath her ear. In an electrifying instant, she knew who had slipped out of the darkness. A finger, long and graceful, traced a path down her neck toward the tender softness of her throat. Her body leaped to attention, every inch alive with sensation and anticipation.
A long, finely honed fingernail descended the flushed skin of her chest. A strong but gentle hand came to rest between her breasts, cool and smooth against the rivulets of perspiration that poured from the heat. She bit her lower lip to keep still, her eyes clamped tight to push the sensations away. When the fingernail drew long, slow circles on the velvety mound, she could stand it no more. Her head tipped back and Ana let out a throaty moan from somewhere deep in her core. She no longer controlled her reactions and opened her body to the visitor.
The stranger’s torture continued its progress, her nail drawing a sensual line downward. As it passed her navel, Ana’s belly quivered in a desire she had never felt. It swept her up in passion and begged for more and more. Two fingers slipped under the silk of Ana’s panties and softly whisked along the pure white skin below.
Ana’s breathing turned shallow and desperate as her hand reached to find the unseen hips in the darkness. She pulled her close and a powerful leg passed between hers. Cool, moist lips moved to her neck, her tongue tracing a tiny circle inside her ear. Ana moaned in excruciating pleasure and opened her throat for more.
She felt a slight nip on her earlobe, mixed with a heady mixture of pain and pleasure. Her visitor watched in the near darkness as a shining, red drop of arterial blood bubbled up like a dark pearl. Ana felt her earlobe being suckled.
For the longest time, they lay still. The stranger’s tongue traced the outline of Ana’s ear. Ecstasy consumed her as her breathing stopped and her being focused on the sensations. Ana pulled her closer, the heat of their hips joining in craving.
Ana reached up to stroke the smooth skin of her visitor’s cheek. “I can’t,” Ana whispered in her ear. “Not yet.”
The stranger moved closer to bury her face in Ana’s throat. In another instant, she slipped out of the hammock and stood next to Ana, her fingers resting on her hip.
“Another night, then,” the visitor said and was gone.
Alone, the ayahuasca continued its work. Ice blue eyes, the deep mountain lakes of Aaron’s eyes filled her being. He approached, his shirt unbuttoned, the wind revealing his bare chest glistening in the sun. His dark features, strong build, and moody eyes… Ana frowned in her dream. The dark brown eyes of Edson completed the picture and she reveled in the warmth of his embrace. She inhaled deeply at his touch as his lips caressed…
She awoke.
The brightest moon she’d ever seen had stationed itself directly over Megan’s head. Soft beams filtered through the few open spaces in the lofty forest canopy and glimmered on damp vegetation all around her. The Milky Way had always been her companion on the nights she spent in the wide open American fields. Before she was ten, she’d learned the constellations with her father on clear nights like this one, rattling them off like the names of the Presidents. But, she had never seen this half of the galaxy, led by its principal stellar citizen, the Southern Cross.
Across the forest floor, intense light cast deep shadows as if the Moon were the Sun of the night. Megan let her fingers trace humid paths over leaves bigger than she. From a cluster of trees grew orchids glowing in brilliant white and purple. They jutted from cracks in the bark and moss, breathtaking in the dull glow.
The forest was far from hushed and sleepy. Here and there she caught the silent slither of tree snakes slipping through the vegetation. Myriads of frogs croaked in alarm as predators stalked their dinners. Megan felt spectacularly alive and connected with the cycle of forest life teami
ng around her.
Her eye caught a tiny movement on the branch of a primordial fern. A lizard, the size of her thumb was frozen on a leaf which bore the exact same color. Only the glint of moonlight on its bulbous eyes betrayed its presence to her. As she moved closer, she caught sight of the other half of the drama as a spider half the reptile’s size ambled over the same leaf. Megan froze, her breathing nearly stopped. After two more steps of the arachnid’s long legs, the lizard’s tongue zipped from its mouth at lightning speed, and the spider was gone. It simply vanished from one instant to another. The brilliant green creature scurried to another branch, ready to repeat its hunt.
Megan perceived how long it had been since she’d taken a breath and sucked in a good measure of the heavy forest air. Every millimeter of her body tingled with the feeling she was alive and part of the nightly drama. She raised her arms straight out from her sides and looked toward the moon above her, the brilliant goddess of the lush night forest life. She took a breath, deep and slow, and closed her eyes to let the smells and sounds flood her senses.
She snapped to attention when she heard the flap of wings very near to her head. As quickly as they’d appeared, they vanished and were replaced by the energy of a powerful presence. She whirled around but found nothing behind her. She spun around again toward the energy which reached out to draw her in.
It was on the same spot Megan awoke to find the moon replaced by the orange rays of dawn. She was stiff from a night on the forest floor, her clothes damp and cold. A weakness encompassed her like molasses, thick and potent. She lay where she awoke for what seemed to be hours, her eyes open but her body unable to move. The last thing she remembered from the night was the flick of a reptilian tongue and the vanishing spider. She played the scene over and over in her head until, finally, she felt able to move. Another half-hour passed before her legs obeyed and she headed toward the camp’s morning sounds.
