Man of Fire

by Margaret Rome

  She felt ready to weep. The Indians, friendly though they were, frightened her. Everything about them revolted her to the point of physical sickness and the thought of sharing the meal that was being prepared was nauseating; she cast around desperately in her mind for some excuse to avoid this happening. She shrank from the idea of appealing to the señor - he had already expressed in very plain terms his insistence that these people were to be treated with politeness, but how, she wondered, could even he contemplate eating the food which was being handled with such a primitive disregard for hygiene?

  Admittedly, the wild boar roasting on a crude spit over the open fire smelled appetizing, but even as she watched one of the native women held her cupped hands under the sizzling carcase to catch the drops of fat running down its sides, then she proceeded to rub it over her naked body. This seemed to be a favourite pastime, because she was joined by other women of the tribe who, seemingly immune to pain from the blistering fat, gathered all the droplets they could and began rubbing them into their skin with as much attention to detail as any ardent beautician in the salons of London or Paris.

  It was evident by the way in which the women pranced in front of one another, inviting admiration that the glistening suppleness of their dark brown bodies afforded them much satisfaction. But how, Tina dully asked herself, does the stench of rancid fat escape their notice - and their husbands' notice. She had no doubt they did not wash; the occasional too-close contact she had suffered had offered ample proof of that.

  With consternation, she saw that the meal was about to be served. One of the elder women began tearing away at the carcase with her bare hands and to pass sizeable portions to each of the waiting women, presumably so that each might serve her own family. But when the woman who had received the first portion began bearing down upon the chief and his guests, Tina's stomach reacted violently. She could not eat. She most definitely would not! The chief bent forward to receive the huge lump of meat from his giggling wife and Tina sent a swift appeal behind his back to the señor.

  'Please, señor, I couldn't eat! I just couldn't!'

  His narrowed eyes pierced her. 'Are you going to allow squeamishness to jeopardize your chance of meeting the herb doctor? You will offend the chief deeply if you refuse his food, so I suggest you bury your scruples and eat whatever is given to you. Besides,' laughter lines crinkled around his eyes although he did not actually smile, 'there are just enough provisions left in my knapsack for the return journey, and if you do not eat now you'll be ravenous by the time you get back to camp.'

  Furious that he could find amusement in her distress, she rose to leave.

  'Sit down, señorita!' His command demanded instant obedience, but his granite countenance softened slightly as she slowly whitened and dropped back to her seat

  While the chief busied himself tearing the massive portion into three, the señor tersely explained, 'We must follow protocol if we are to succeed in our task. It would be no use demanding to see the herb doctor immediately; we must first of all be entertained and then fed. Afterwards will come the parleying and then, and only then, can I broach a request with any certainty of it being granted. Do you understand?' he clipped. After a second's hesitation, she nodded reluctant acceptance and then was amazed when he smiled and answered, 'Good, I knew I could rely on you.'

  The small, tremulous uplift of happiness she felt at his approval helped her to overcome the misgivings she felt when the chief turned to hand her a piece of the meat. He bared his teeth into a smile while he waited for her to taste the offering and pronounce judgment. Her stomach muscles tightened into knots, but when she looked up and saw the señor, who had been served first, tucking into his share with evident relish, she closed her eyes and sank her teeth into the meat. It was good; surprisingly good. She had not realized how very hungry she was and, after swallowing the first tender mouthful, she was able to give an enthusiastic nod of approval to the waiting chief.

  By the time the meal was finished it was quite dark. Dancing had begun again around the camp fire, accompanied by an unmelodious sound that came from crude instruments made out of hollow bamboo through which the musicians vigorously blew, and by a chanting dirge from the elders of the tribe who sat in an arc around the perimeter of the fire with the chief, the señor and herself completing the circle. A huge moon rose over the roof of the forest and sailed high into the sky, throwing ample light on the gathering. Tina yawned. It had been an eventful, tiring day and her gritty eyes told her that, for her at least, it was time it was over. She tried to catch the señor's eye - he would find her somewhere to sleep - but he was still deep in conversation with the chief and was so absorbed he did not look up even when she gave a loud, meaningful cough. She tried several more futile ploys in the hope that he would notice her, but another interminable hour had passed when they finally stood up to take leave of their hosts.

  By this time she was utterly spent and quite indifferent to the direction in which they were led. All she wanted was a space to lay her aching body and a soft spot to receive her fuddled head. She felt the señor's hand on her arm as he guided her along the path indicated by a native and opened her half-closed eyes wide only when they halted at the door of a small palm-thatched hut and she heard the señor's words of thanks to the departing native. She noted that the floor of the hut was of split bamboo and when her tired eyes took in the complete absence of any kind of bed she groaned inwardly at the thought of the discomfort she was about to suffer. Still, if nothing else, the hut offered peace and solitude, so she turned to the señor to bid him a swift goodnight which she hoped would speed him on his way and enable her to make the most of what sparse comfort was offered.

  'Goodnight, señor.' She passed a weary hand over her brow. 'And thank you for escorting me here.'

  Complete silence was her only answer. 'Señor,' fatigue made her impatient, 'I'm tired, will you please go!'

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels while he returned her angry look with even calmness. 'I'm afraid it is not quite as simple as that. This is the only empty hut available, and unless you wish to share the communal hut with the natives, I'm afraid you have no alternative but to share this one with me.'

  'I share with you? But this is my hut, it's you who will have to find other accommodation!' she blazed.

  'Our hosts will think it most peculiar if I do not share my hut with my woman,' he mocked with a glint of enjoyment, 'and besides that, as I have already told you, there is no other hut available.'

  He did not mean what he said, of course. Tiredness had slowed down her brain processes and she had misunderstood his words. She took a deep breath and tried to qualify the situation. 'Is it possible that you're seriously suggesting we share this hut, or is this your idea of a joke?'

  He shrugged, walked across to a pile of dried grass and scooped up half of it into his arms. She watched, unbelievingly, while he spread the pile on the floor in the corner of the hut and then recoiled when he jibed conclusively, 'There! My bed is prepared, señorita, so perhaps now you will be convinced that I intend to remain?'

  A sardonic look preceded his next words, spoken so quickly that she was almost disarmed into answering truthfully.

  'You are surely not objecting to my presence here on moral grounds? I refuse to believe that an experienced traveller such as yourself is unaware that, while it is impossible to adhere strictly to convention in the jungle, we travellers do have our own code of conduct - a code, moreover, which would not inconvenience the most narrow-minded members of society!'

  Just in time, she recognized the trap that was set ; he was suspicious of her but could not accuse without proof; his question was aimed at provoking her into an impulsive admittance that she was not experienced and that she had had no idea that sharing a hut with a stranger was a hazard one could expect on expeditions of this kind. He was clever, but luckily she had seen the pitfall in time to avoid it. She decided to prevaricate -to change the course of the conversation a
way from such a dangerous topic. Even now, she was not convinced he intended to remain; it was teasing punishment he was doling out and when he saw she had no intention of being easily agitated he would tire of it and leave her in peace. So, with an adroitness that did not escape him, she quavered,

  'What was the chief's verdict, señor? Will we be allowed to meet the herb doctor tomorrow?' She was certain, during the silent interval that followed, that his deep probing look penetrated her defences and recognized all the turbulent feeling seething beneath the surface - saw it and was amused by it. Nevertheless, he did not force her to return to the abandoned subject, although when he answered his voice held grave mockery.

  'He has promised to send one of his men into the jungle to fetch him. We have timed our arrival well, it seems, because even now the doctor is gathering his herbs ready to mix another batch of the potion he uses to cure the chief of his "creeping stiffness". All being well, he should be here in the camp shortly after dawn.'

  'Oh, that's wonderful news!' Tina's clouded eyes again regained their lustre as revived hope chased other problems from her mind. She could hardly believe she was so near to success. All the heartbreak and worry that had gone before seemed very much worthwhile and now, with the knowledge that her goal was in sight, she felt stripped of all fear. So much so that she decided to call his bluff.

  'In that case, señor, I think we should get some deep. So if you will please leave...'

  She walked to the doorway of the hut with all the aplomb of a hostess seeing out a guest and waited for him to make his departure. But instead of granting her wish, he walked purposefully over to his pile of straw and stretched himself out with an audible sigh of satisfaction. 'I couldn't agree more. We have both had a very tiring day.' He waved towards the pile of straw he had left for her at the opposite end of the hut. 'I strongly advise you to relax now, señorita, when you have the opportunity, because tomorrow's journey back to camp will seem twice as long if you are not rested.'

  She was speechless at his effrontery. A cold hand squeezed her heart when she forced herself to admit that he meant every word he said. In a voice full of choked up fury, she accused, 'And I thought I was in the company of a gentleman!...'

  With one lithe movement he was on his feet, blazing blue scorn down on to her shadowed face. 'But are any of us what we seem? Answer me that!' She flinched from the fury that was only just being contained and her fear flooded back when he hissed, 'Madre de Dios! I don't know why you have the power to arouse in me more angry emotion than any other person I have ever met. From the very first day you have seemed to delight in pitting your puny strength against mine. You have defied me, enraged me, insulted me, and you have even,' his jaw hardened, 'tried to seduce me merely to get even with Doña Inez!'

  Tina recoiled. Swift, scorching colour flooded her cheeks, then ebbed, leaving her paper-white. She was too shocked to verbally reject his charge, but her startled eyes mirrored all the horrified revulsion she felt at his words. Grimly unrepentant, he affirmed,

  'Yes, it sounds cheap and nasty when put into words, señorita, but it applies nevertheless, does it not?'

  She was too humiliated to answer. He shook her ungently and speared, 'But perhaps I overestimated you. Is it possible that you did not intend to allow things to go too far but simply intended to tease, to demonstrate your power for the benefit of the señora?' He gave a hard, humourless laugh and reached towards her. 'But what if I do not wish to leave the episode unfinished, Señorita Donnelly? What if I like to write finis at the end of all my undertakings?'

  Immediately she sensed his intention she shied away with the timidness of a nervous child. She glimpsed the open doorway behind her and ran towards it to make her escape, but in two catlike strides he passed her and blocked her way. She shuddered when his hands clasped her shoulders to pull her forward. His glittering eyes would not allow her to shelter behind lowered lashes, but demanded that she meet his glance. With tightly compressed lips, he stared down at her small, heart-shaped face, with its vivid crown of burnished hair, that was only just visible in the gloom of the hut. 'You are as artful as a young monkey,' he grated, 'but did you really think I would allow you to escape me twice? A cruel urge to banish the quiver from her mouth sent his head lowering towards hers and a soft gasp of appeal was forced from her.

  'No, please, no ...!' She twisted her head to escape his kiss, but knew even as she did so that it was hopeless - he meant to have his revenge. She suffered the cold, passionless chastisement without a murmur, but her throat ached with unshed tears of regret. She was beyond words. His cruel tongue had ripped apart the lovely fabric of her love for him and not for one moment could she ever contemplate sullying the fragments that were left by exposing them to his scorn. Days - even hours - ago she would have welcomed the chance to explain the wonderful thing that had happened to her in his arms that night, but now, under the scourge of his condemning kiss, she knew it would be useless to try to explain. He distrusted her, and every word she attempted would be greeted with suspicion.

  As the pressure of his hard mouth increased, she wondered, tortured, if hearts really did break, and then knew, as she remembered the tenderness of his first kisses, that they did. She could hardly believe that the soft caressing words he had whispered during those fragile moments had come from the same lips as those that had just spoken such searing indictments. Bitterly, she renounced him his title 'Man of Fire'. He was steel all through; cold, rigid, unbending steel.

  Suddenly she was pushed away from him and held at arms' length while he sought for her reaction. Her green eyes, dazed with pain, did not condemn, but his colour rose slightly and his arms dropped quickly to his side. He took a couple of swift paces back so that she could not see his expression in the surrounding gloom, but his voice seemed charged with self-anger when he taunted savagely, 'You have much to learn about seduction, señorita. Your charms are those of an unawakened child!'

  She turned away, utterly defeated, and made towards the pile of straw that was to be her bed. As she lay there battling with scalding tears that were so near spilling over she dared not so much as blink, he strode across to look down at her.

  'Ah-h,' it was too harsh a sound to be registering satisfaction, 'I see that, at last, the situation between us is clarified. You are now assured that sharing this hut with me constitutes no danger to yourself. Good! I am pleased to know that some benefit has been derived from our interchange!' He turned on his heel and she sensed rather than saw him sketch a curt salute. 'Buenas noches, señorita, hasta mañana!'

  Until tomorrow! She rolled on her side to stifle the harsh sobs that racked her body, lest the sound should bring more of his sarcasm upon her throbbing head. For long hours she stared blankly into the darkness, unaware of the hard discomfort of her bed and caring less than nothing for the strangeness of her surroundings. The hut was filled with the sound of the señor's deep breathing - his anger had been overruled by sleep - but still she felt terribly solitary and alone. A sense of desertion such as she had felt so many years ago when her childish fears had first begun filled her so gradually that it was not until her heart began thumping with the same revived fear that she became conscious that her hands were tightly clenched and that beads of cold sweat dampened her brow.

  Eventually she fell into a sleep full of tortuous dreams in which the long-forgotten spider with its baleful glare returned to haunt her. She heard herself shouting her father's name, pleading with him to take her away from the jungle and, miraculously, this time he came. It was such a relief to babble out her fears and to plead with him to allow her to return to England -to school, if she must - but anywhere away from the jungle. She heard his soft assurances and felt his hand soothing her brow, then she fell into an easy slumber with the comforting feel of his hand under her wet cheek and with the vague remembrance of his fleeting kiss feathering her brow.

  7

  THE herb doctor had eyes a thousand years old. Through the skin stretched over his sparse frame
every rib and vertebra was visible, giving him the appearance of fragile senility, but his movements were quick and agile and when he spoke his voice held the eager vibrancy of a much younger man.

  For at least half an hour, Tina waited patiently for the outcome of his conversation with the señor. It was just after sunrise, and the clearing was empty of all but themselves. They had been roused at first light by a messenger with the news that the herb doctor was waiting in the clearing to speak with them and, as he wanted to return to his work as soon as possible, he would consider it a favour if they would see him immediately.

  The conversation did not seem to be going too well. The doctor was vehemently shaking his head as if what the señor asked was impossible, and, judging from the number of times he glanced towards her before each negative response, Tina concluded that for some reason she was the bone of contention between them. When the señor gave a final shrug and turned away, she waited anxiously for his verdict.

  'It's hopeless, I'm afraid,' he told her with such unexpected sympathy that she was startled. She backed away with instinctive mistrust from the soft inflection in his voice, his words only half registering as every nerve tingled the warning: beware! She did not want his sympathy, would not allow herself to be disarmed into accepting at face value his seeming change of heart when she knew without doubt that his ultimate aim was revenge.

  'Hopeless?' she forced out the question. 'But why? Did he give a reason?' She avoided his eyes. One quick glimpse had been enough to show her that the hard blue glitter she was so accustomed to seeing had gone and she could not bear the thought of the havoc his new attitude would cause her heart if she were to allow herself to be deceived by it.