Having control of her money, however, could not make Jill greedy. She had lived simply for so long that an orgy of spending did not interest her. She was about to hail a cab to return to Las Flores, without having purchased anything, when some beautifully printed blouses in a store window caught her eye. An unpretentious sign informed her that it was the Manaus Clothing Cooperative. The prints were of bright tropical flowers and birds splashed tastefully on solid colors, either as trim or borders. She hesitated before going into the store for a moment, but the idea of it being a cooperative interested her. Then, at last, she pushed the screen door to and walked in. The saleswoman, plump, her own age, with large black eyes and an eager smile, came toward her. "Come in, please, even if it's only to look around."
"I was just admiring the blouses in the window."
"Well, thank you. They're made right here in Manaus."
"Is that what the word cooperative means?"
"Just about. Local people silk-screen the fabrics, design them and sew them. And share the profits when we sell them."
Jill glanced around the attractive store. Its walls, painted a pale, cool blue, complemented the racks of bright clothes on display. Baskets of hanging plants were everywhere, some in flower; the few pieces of furniture on a floor of blue and white tile, were natural wicker.
"Is there anything you'd like to see especially?" The saleswoman gave her an anxious smile. Jill felt her depressed mood lift slightly. Simon was right. All she had to do was purchase something to make someone happy. The power of money. She walked over to a row of long gowns printed in bright colored cotton and pulled one out. "This is very pretty."
"Yes, it is, it's one of my favorites."
"Have you been in business long?" Jill asked.
"About three months." She frowned and fell silent. Jill, wondering what was wrong, turned back to the clothes.
Some were loose with slight shaping at the waist, others caftans, and still others, slim with belting. The colors seemed made of tropical fruits, mango, cherry, banana and orange. The prints were beautifully executed, and the sewing detailing exquisite.
"They're all so beautiful," Jill said cheerfully, "that I can't make up my mind."
"You're an American, aren't you?" the saleslady asked. "I can tell by your accent."
"Yes. But I've moved here permanently."
"You speak Portuguese very well."
Jill was pleased at the pretty compliment, and she thrust her hand out. "I'm Jill Todd."
They shook hands, as the saleslady, smiling, introduced herself. "I'm Edna Pinheiro."
"Do you design the clothes? They're very chic."
Edna shook her head. "My partner is the clever one. Actually we run the cooperative as a sideline. We both support ourselves with other jobs. I'm a schoolteacher and I have the afternoon shift. My partner is a designer, but she sells her things free-lance, so she comes in during the morning and early afternoon."
Jill looked at her a little enviously. It seemed a wonderful thing to have two jobs, when you don't know at all what to do with your life.
Edna sighed. "It's a little complicated. You see we started the co-op because I found many of my students came from poor families with mothers who couldn't go out to work. We got help in the beginning from some charitable businessmen, but it's tough going. At first wealthy women came to us, but when the novelty of a co-op wore off, they were back buying French and American clothes."
Jill picked out a few garments. "I'd like to try these on," she said, looking around for a dressing room.
Later, as she was paying for her selection, Jill realized that no one else had come into the store, although she had been there for almost an hour.
"I guess you're busier on weekends," she suggested.
"A new line is always hard to introduce," Edna said in an apologetic tone.
Jill paid the bill with fresh new banknotes. "I suppose you're right." She hesitated asking the question. "You seem a little worried. I hope you're not in financial difficulties."
Edna smiled reassuringly. "No, no, not at all. Perhaps you'll send your friends around. We just need a lot of publicity among the sort of people who like fresh, original things."
Jill smiled. "I'm afraid I'm so new in Manaus that I haven't made any friends yet. You can count on me though."
Edna carefully wrapped her package for her. "We've lots of pretty things coming in soon."
Jill was reluctant to leave. She knew she had found a friend in this soft, pretty woman, and for a while she wanted simply to sit and talk. But it wouldn't do. Simon might disapprove. She was a customer and that was that.
"I'll be back soon," she sang gaily. "I didn't bring enough summer things with me. When it's cold in Chicago, you can't guess at how hot hot can be."
"Well, we'll be here, I hope. At least until the end of next month."
Once outside the shop, Jill turned back before hailing a cab. Edna Pinheiro stood at the window watching her, without the trace of a smile on her lips.
Jill worried all the way back to Las Flores. She had thought it wonderful that a co-op had been formed to use native talent. She wanted to learn more about it. There must be plenty to do in Manaus in the way of charity, she thought. People with problems, people needing help. As the wife of a successful businessman, it was probably expected of her to become involved with some charity. It would keep her occupied. She would have to find something to do soon. But what, she asked herself.
Simon. For a while, in the store, she had been able to forget their problems. Now they came back at her full-blown. A marriage of convenience. Picking out clothes she had felt like any young bride on a fresh, adventurous voyage, in love and loved. As the cab made its way through the crowded, noisy streets, she wondered what could stop her from running away now that she had money of her own? But the truth was, she did not want to run away, although she wondered whether, when Simon gave her access to her inheritance, he did not mean for her to leave. She felt sick with longing for him, and angry over her stupidity at mentioning Angela Branco.
When she arrived back at Las Flores, tired and hot, the housekeeper met her with a message.
"Senhor Todd has been calling wondering where you are. He's going out to the mining camp. He asked me to pack a bag for him. Claudio will bring it to the office. He said he'd call you when he got there."
"Where's there?" Jill had trouble suppressing her anger, even though he had warned her that he spent a lot of his time traveling.
"Camp Esmeralda on the Rio Tapajós. That's near Santarem."
"Senhora Cordero, have Claudio wait. I'm going with Simon. It'll just take me a few minutes to change."
The housekeeper shook her head. "It's the jungle, senhora. No place for a woman. Senhor Todd would object."
"Never mind," Jill insisted. "Just have Claudio wait. And please, I don't want either of you telling Senhor Todd ahead of time. I'm going with him, and that's that."
She bathed and changed into a T-shirt and jeans within twenty minutes. She packed a small bag with some light clothing and grabbing her raincoat and handbag, presented herself to the chauffeur who was waiting with a clearly upset Senhora Cordero.
Simon, however, had indeed been warned by the housekeeper, and Jill couldn't blame her in the least. He climbed in next to her when the limousine stopped in front of his office, and exploded at once. "Are you out of your mind? Esmeralda is no place for you. We're taking you home at once. Have you any idea what a mining camp is like?"
"It's no picnic, I'm sure of that. It doesn't matter. If you go without me, I won't be here when you return."
He shook his head at her, his eyes hard and angry. "Is that a threat?"
She returned his look boldly. She really had nothing to lose. "Yes, it is."
"Any reason why you feel you have to follow me around?"
"Perhaps I'd like to know that you're going where you say you're going."
He reached out and grabbed her arms, holding them in a tight grip. "You don
't own me, do you understand?"
"I don't own you," she said in quiet, even tones, although her heart was pounding. "Equally, I'm a free agent. At the moment, I choose to visit Camp Esmeralda."
His grip on her arms tightened, as if by mere concentration, he could break her will. Jill struggled to get free.
"You're hurting me," she said in a fierce whisper. Claudio, in the front seat, could not hear them through the glass partition, yet he sat rigidly at attention, clearly aware of the battle going on.
Simon released his grip and tapped on the glass, motioning to the chauffeur to get going. He leaned back in his seat. "What the devil's gotten into you?" he asked. "Are you trying to muscle in on a man's game when you know nothing about it?"
She sat very still and stared straight ahead. "I'm going with you." She had no idea where her strength came from. If this were love, she told herself, heaven help her.
Chapter Ten
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.
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