State of Wonder

by Ann Patchett

  If Anders were in fact alive in a tribe down river he had been there for more than three months. Marina would not have him there another night. “Alright,” she said, finally. It only mattered that she left right away. It mattered less who was with her. “Alright.”

  Thomas nodded gratefully, glad that this part of the negotiations was complete. When he told her their next step was to find a gift she told him about the oranges and the peanut butter but didn’t mention the mushrooms.

  “I wish we had more,” he said, looking at the ten lonely oranges with discouragement. “But we will make a good presentation. We will say to them, ‘We have brought gifts’ and ‘Let us have the white man.’ ” Thomas said the two phrases to Benoit in Portuguese and Benoit gave back the closest approximation in Lakashi. Standing on the dock, the three of them repeated the words over and over again. Marina prayed the linguist was correct, that this was an uninteresting language that came off the same predictable root as the languages of all surrounding tribes, though it seemed doubtful the linguist had ever found the Hummocca. The Lakashi interrupted them as they practiced their lines. Benoit tried to explain that the gifts and the white man did not concern them. Marina’s mind clamped down on every syllable, embedded them in her brain—I have brought gifts. Let us have the white man.

  “We should go now,” Thomas said. “Before the others arrive. We can practice when we’re on our way.”

  “I need to get some water,” she said, looking around the boat, “and a hat.”

  Thomas stepped onto the dock. “I will go,” he said, and then he nodded towards the Lakashi. “You keep them off the boat.” He turned back and raised his hand to her and at that moment Marina realized how easily she could lose Thomas on this trip. Suddenly she pictured him dead, an arrow in his chest, his body slipping over the side of the boat. She shuddered, blinked. How could she risk the life of Mrs. Nkomo’s husband while going off to find Mrs. Eckman’s husband? She tapped Easter hard on the shoulder, motioning for him to start the ignition while she untied the line. As they pulled back, Benoit yelled at her, pointing to the place where Thomas Nkomo had so recently stood, and with that she pushed Benoit backwards into the water. Easter seemed to think this was hysterical, Marina pushing his friend into the river, and he gunned the engine so the two of them could get away.

  For hours they saw no one, no men on floating logs, no children in canoes. Occasionally a tree full of monkeys would scream at them or a silvered pack of sparrows would sweep past the bow, but other than that they were alone. Marina opened up one of the oranges and gave half of it to Easter. They had peanut butter and a bushel basket of hallucinogenic mushrooms. Marina kept her eyes trained to the right-hand side of the boat, trying to remember which slight parting of branches marked the turn they were supposed to take. “You see that river there?” Alan Saturn had said to her. “You follow that river to the Hummocca tribe.” When finally she saw it, or saw her vaguest memory of it, she tapped Easter on the shoulder and pointed out the turn.

  The river that went from the Lakashi tribe to the Jintas was itself a tributary of the Rio Negro. It was a modest river, half the width of the Negro and a fraction of the Amazon, but the tributary they had turned on was lesser still, a wide creek really, narrow and nameless. Marina had felt certain about leaving Thomas and Benoit behind until they made that turn and now she was wishing for all of them—the Saturns and Budi and even Dr. Swenson on the deck in a pile of blankets. She wished she had filled every available dugout with Lakashi and had them paddling along behind her. If there was safety in numbers she and Easter were perilously unsafe. The jungle closed over the entrance and after a few minutes she could no longer see the way out. In some places the trees touched leaves from either side and knit together a canopy, cutting the light into leaf-shaped shadows that covered over the water. Marina imagined Barbara Bovender and Mr. Fox standing silently in the back of the boat behind Milton, all three of them wondering if the turn they had taken could possibly have been the right one.

  Easter took down the speed and the boat glided quietly ahead, the trail of purple smoke vanishing ten feet behind them. Marina couldn’t understand how this part of the jungle could be so much worse: those were the same trees; this was the same water. They went along for an hour before the river widened, and then another hour before it narrowed again. Marina stayed close to Easter now. She kept a hand on his back. “I’d like to be out of here before dark,” she said to him, because the sound of a voice, even her own voice, was a comfort, and that was when the arrows came raining down on either side of them, half of them making sharp clicks as they hit the deck while the others parted the water like knife blades and slipped inside. Easter leapt to push the boat ahead but Marina caught his hand. She pulled the throttle down to stop the engine and put her arms around the boy. This, she thought, was the outcome of the letter Mr. Fox had brought into the lab that she and Anders had shared: this moment, these arrows, this heat and jungle. Together she and Easter stared into the matted leaves. There were no more arrows. She opened her mouth and cried out in Lakashi, the series of pitches she sincerely hoped she had remembered correctly. She had a gift. She said it again as loud as she could. “We have brought gifts.” It was ridiculous. They were not words, they were sounds. They were the only sounds she knew.

  The wall of trees sat before her silently. She eased the throttle forward to counteract the current of the river that pulled them back. The arrows had fallen at least three feet away from them and Marina was willing to take this as a good sign. It wouldn’t have been so difficult to hit the target had they meant to. She kept her hands on Easter’s back and counted the seconds by the regular beat of his heart. Minutes passed. She called out to the jungle again, a sentence without meaning, and it echoed through the trees until the birds called back to her. She saw a movement in the leaves and then, slipping out from between the branches, a single man came forth, and then another. They were created wholly from the foliage, one and then one more stepping forward to watch her until a group of thirty or more were assembled on the bank of the river, loincloths and arrows, their foreheads as yellow as canaries. The women came behind the men, holding children, their faces unpainted. Marina thought of her father extolling the virtues of the pontoon boat but while it was steady in the water it was nothing more than a floating stage. She and Easter stood on an open hand offered to the Hummocca, and though she waited for her own fear it did not come. She was finally here. This was the place she had been trying to get to from the very beginning and here she would wait for the rest of her life. She tapped at the throttle to hold her place. They watched her and she watched them. Marina pushed Easter behind her and picked up the basket of Rapps. She tried to throw a few mushrooms as far as the shore but they fluttered into the water like a handful of blue feathers. She put down the basket and very slowly took an orange out of the box, holding it up first as an exhibit and then pretending to throw it and then throwing it so that it landed close to the middle of the group of them. They took a step back from it, making a wide half circle, and watched the orange where it lay in the mud until a man stepped forward from the back of the group and reached over for it. His hair was long and the color of sunlight, his beard ginger and gray. He looked to be thinner by half and yet he was there, still himself. Anders Eckman, just as his wife had speculated in the insanity of her grief, had only been missing. When Marina called his name he flinched as if someone had fired a gun.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  “Marina,” she said.

  He stood there for a long time, the globe of the orange caught between his hands, his shirt filthy and torn, his pants torn. “Marina?”

  “I’ve brought a gift,” she said in English and then said it again in Lakashi.

  There was a low murmuring on the shore and Anders seemed to be listening to it. “What is it?” Anders said.

  “Rapps. I’ve got some peanut butter and some oranges and a very larg
e basket of Rapps.”

  One of the men raised an arrow towards the boat and Anders walked over and stood in front of him until he lowered it again. He was saying something now, and then he pressed his thumbs into the orange and pulled it in half, taking out a piece for himself and holding it up to them before putting it in his mouth. Then he divided up the fruit into sections and handed it out to the men who were standing around him. “Do not under any circumstances give them the Rapps,” he said calmly.

  “It’s what I’ve got,” she said.

  “You’ve got peanut butter. If these people find out about the Rapps they’ll gut every last Lakashi by sundown and clean them out. How did you find me?” he called to her. One by one they cautiously laid the slices on their tongues and as they bit down they turned to Anders in their startled pleasure.

  “I’ll tell you some other time,” she said. It was all she could do not to jump over the side of the boat, to swim to him.

  Anders pointed back at the boat, and after further conference he called to Marina. “The orange is good. They want to know what you want in return.”

  She wondered if he was serious, if he really didn’t know. “You,” she said and then added to that the second sentence she knew, Let us have the white man. She wondered if a syllable of it made sense to them. She could feel Easter’s breath through the fabric of her dress. His mouth was pressed against her back. She was an idiot to have brought him. She knew enough to leave Thomas and Benoit behind and then took Easter with her without a thought, like he was nothing more than her talisman, her good luck. No mother would have brought her child into this even if he was the one who understood the river and the boat.

  On the shore Anders was pointing to his chest, he was pointing to the boat. A single heron skated down the river. After a long discussion he called again to Marina. “They want you to bring in the boat.”

  Once again Marina waited for her fear but somehow it held back. “Should I?”

  “Do it,” Anders said. “They have you anyway. Just give them a little bit, a jar of peanut butter to start.”

  Marina nodded and reached for the throttle, and when she did Easter came around from behind her. He put his hands back on the wheel. She put one hand on his head and pointed for him to go into shore and he nodded.

  “Is that Easter?” Anders said. “I don’t have my glasses anymore.”

  “I made a mistake,” she said.

  It was only fifteen feet and they came in slowly. The men waded out and the women kept to the shore behind them. Anders was very close now and she could see the hollow of his cheeks beneath his beard and she could see his eyes. When the Hummocca came to the boat Marina could see the shape of their heads was in fact slightly different from the Lakashi just as Dr. Swenson had said. They were not as tall as the Lakashi and Anders towered over them. She handed the one who looked like he was in charge the jar of peanut butter and for a moment he struggled with what to do with it, his hands squeezing the jar. He looked up at Marina, maybe he had meant for her to help him or maybe he meant to kill her, but what he saw there on the boat was Easter. The man with the yellow forehead stood there waist deep in the water, his chest against the pontoon, and the look on his face was the same look that had been on her own face a moment before when she first saw Anders, a cross of joy and disbelief, a look that was willing to accept that which was not possible. He turned and called to a woman on the shore who put the child she was holding on the ground and walked out into the water. Once she had seen Easter from a distance, she tried to move faster and the water held her back. She called to him, stretching out her arms, the trembling in her body sending out a ring of small waves into the water. And then she was there, pulling herself onto the boat and Easter shrank back behind Marina, his hands around her waist as tight as a snake.

  Anders was out in the water, and then his hands were on the boat. He was calling out to the Hummocca with two sharp syllables. The woman scrambled up on the deck, her short legs muddied and wet. She knelt behind Easter, her wet arms covering his arms, encircling Marina’s waist. She wailed a single word again and again while Easter stayed perfectly still, holding fiercely to Marina. The woman behind him was rocking. The man with the peanut butter jar was saying something to Anders that was not said in rage.

  “They want Easter,” Anders said. He was holding onto the side of the boat now, his hands on the deck. He was nodding at the other men in the water who were talking faster and faster now, one hand holding up an arrow, the other making circles in the air. Anders looked at Marina. For the first time she could see his eyes very plainly. “Give them Easter and we can go.”

  “No,” she said. That could not be possible. She had brought gifts. She had come for Anders. She put her hands over the woman’s hands, over Easter’s hands. Their arms made a structure that held her up. She shook her head. “We’ll give them the Rapps.”

  “This isn’t a choice. They can keep all of us and the boat. Do it now while they’re confused. We have no bargaining power at all here.” Anders helped himself slowly onto the boat and, bending before Marina, he unlocked the layers of hands. Only then did Easter see him clearly and understand why they had come here at all. He reached for Anders’ neck and made the sound he made in his sleep, a high trenchant cry that stood in place for the words Not dead. You are not dead. The Hummocca looked up from the water and were amazed to see their boy knew this white man and that clearly he loved him so well.

  “Not this,” Marina said. “If we stay with him we’ll all be together.”

  “Go get the oranges and the peanut butter,” he said, one hand on the back of Easter’s head, his face in Easter’s neck. Anders kissed the boy, his hair and ear and eye. They would have less than a minute together. The woman was standing now, her hands on Easter’s back.

  Marina got the fruit and the peanut butter and handed it over the edge, filling up every hand that was raised to her. Then Anders held Easter out by the waist. The boy’s feet were bare and he was wearing dirty yellow shorts and a blue T-shirt that read “JazzFest 2003.” Marina made a note of all of it, as if there was someone she could describe him to later on, an agency that went to look for missing children. Anders handed Easter to the up-reached hands of the man in the water and the woman slipped over the side of the boat to stand with him. The look on the boy’s face as his eyes went from Marina and Anders and back to her again was one of terrified misunderstanding. It was something worse than she had seen when the snake had him because the snake he had understood. He stretched out his hands to her and Marina closed her eyes. She left him there. She let him go.

  The boat was turned around now and Anders was driving. In a minute they were full speed down the narrow turns of the river and Marina kept her eyes closed, one hand fixed to the pole that held the ragged cover over the center of the boat. She had accounted for her own death, and certainly she had accounted for Anders’, but she had not been ready for this.

  “They would have taken him,” Anders said. “If they killed us, if they didn’t kill us, Easter would have stayed with them.”

  He took a turn too fast and the basket of Rapps bounced twice and then sailed off the back of the boat and spread out over the water, an offering of little blue corks. Marina just caught the edge of the nightgown before it flew away and she tied it in a knot around her waist. She wished she had eaten a handful of the mushrooms herself. She would have been glad to have lost her mind. She would have been grateful to see God. There were so many things to say to Anders that she said none of them. She wanted to know what had happened to him all this time, and how he had gotten there, if he was still sick, but Easter stood in front of every question. She had not lost him or killed him. She had taken him into the jungle and given him away and there was nothing that anyone could say in the face of that. Once they were far enough away Marina drove the boat and Anders lay at the front of the deck with his eyes closed and his hands folded across his ch
est. When she looked at him sleeping she remembered that he had been dead for months now and that in order to bring him back she had given up everything she had known in the world. Anders who she had worked with every day, Anders who she knew very well and not at all, was once again alive. He slept as if he had stayed awake the entire time he had been gone and there were moments she wondered if he were dead again but she wouldn’t stop the boat to see. From time to time it rained and when it didn’t rain the light thinned in the tops of the trees and the bats began to loop out across the water. It wasn’t hard to drive the boat. Why had she ever thought she needed Easter to come with her? Marina wrapped the nightgown around her head and face and squinted through the insects of early evening.

  When Anders finally woke up hours later it was from a nightmare. His hands shot up into the air and he gave one short cry and then sat. It was pitch dark by then and Marina drove slowly, shining the light of the boat onto shore. She was worried she would drive past the Lakashi, that she would turn up some tributary and be lost all over again. Anders looked at the river and then the boat, he looked at Marina. From a distance they could just make out some small spots of fire down the river. “I had a lot of time to imagine my rescue,” he said. “Army Rangers, soldiers of fortune, even the Lakashi. Mostly I thought it would be Karen.”

  “It should have been Karen. She wanted to be the one but I told her she had to stay home with the boys.”

  Anders closed his eyes so that he could see them more clearly. “How are the boys?”

  “Everyone is fine.”

  “In all the times I dreamed of this, I never once saw you as the one coming to get me.”

  “I thought you were dead,” she said to him.

  “I was dead,” Anders said.

  It wasn’t long before the voices of the Lakashi spread over the water and pulled them in. Marina was grateful for their fire, their enormous noise. For the first time in weeks she wondered what time it was. There were men swimming out to the boat and then men pulling themselves on board and as soon as they stood on the deck they were silent. Two unimaginable things had happened: Anders was with her and Easter was gone. Marina killed the engine, afraid she would run over someone in the dark, and the swimmers pulled the boat up to the dock. The men leaned in towards Anders, the burning branches high above their heads. They did not slap him but set their branches in the water where the fire hissed out. One by one slipped over the edge. Voice by voice the singing ceased. In the darkness Anders caught hold of Marina’s hand.