Along the Endless River

by Rose Alexander

  The bird dipped its beak in silent reply and then proceeded to trace a circle around her, keeping a watchful eye out for any other tasty titbits that her gown might be harbouring. Katharine observed it in rapt delight; she had seen birds like this before, in the yards and front rooms of several houses. They were a type of miniature heron, nicknamed pavão or peacock, and were a particular favourite amongst the Brazilians, who often adopted them as avian friends.

  ‘Hey, tiny thing,’ she murmured as the bird completed its circumnavigation, ‘I’m going to call you Po-Po. You can be my very own special pet – while I’m here, anyway. I’ll be leaving soon… but until then… would you like that?’

  Po-Po flapped his wings and ruffled his feathers as if in hearty agreement.

  Cheered, Katharine summoned the energy to walk back home, rummaging in her purse for the biscuit she had stored there in case of hunger pangs. Tempted by the treat, the little bird followed her all the way, for all the world like a faithful puppy. Katharine had always wanted an animal, a dog or a cat or a rabbit. But there had never been money, nor space, nor time in London. This little bird would be the first tangible bonus of having come to the Amazon.

  That evening, Po-Po sat on the veranda as if he’d been there all his life, while Bernadette hosted a grand dinner party in honour of Katharine and Anselmo. Katharine wasn’t entirely sure that they were worthy of such entertainment – it made her feel self-conscious; she was just a shop girl, after all – but Bernadette seemed certain. Anselmo, on the other hand, relished the chance to talk about rubber to anyone and everyone, especially such dignitaries as the Spanish consul, who had been invited, and Mr Phee, the corpulent, red-nosed owner of a chain of stores catering to those heading into rubber territory, selling all the paraphernalia necessary for a journey into the forest. Mr Phee, Katharine was given to understand, had already done rather well from Anselmo setting up for their expedition.

  As the courses were delivered one after the other, polished silver cutlery sparkled under the light from the enormous crystal chandelier that hung in the centre of the huge salon. In the corner, a pianist tinkled at a baby grand imported from England. Apart from the intense, unremitting tropical heat, they could have been in any grand salon in Europe.

  Katharine had been placed on one side of Mr Phee and Anselmo on the other. The wine was flowing freely and tongues were loosened.

  ‘So, I hear you’ve done the deal, young man,’ chortled Mr Phee. Katharine pricked up her ears.

  ‘More or less,’ agreed Anselmo, in between mouthfuls of foie gras specially shipped in from Aquitaine.

  ‘You didn’t tell me,’ interjected Katharine mildly, disguising her irritation. ‘Is this something I should know about?’

  Anselmo’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Of course, my darling love.’

  He must have had a lot of the claret, thought Katharine. He never usually spoke to her like that in public.

  ‘I was going to tell you everything tomorrow, after I’ve shaken on the final details.’

  ‘So, what is there to tell?’ Katharine’s voice was quiet but insistent.

  ‘Well, we are now the proud owners of five hundred estradas of prime rubber trees on the Rio Poderoso! It couldn’t be better.’

  Katharine rapidly did the numbers in her head. An estrada was a looping path through the forest along which might be found one to two hundred rubber trees. That made a potential total of 100,000 trees. Katharine gulped, partly in astonishment at the sheer number, partly in consternation at how they would manage such an enterprise – and partly in admiration for Anselmo’s achievement.

  Meanwhile, Anselmo was still explaining the rest of his acquisition.

  ‘There is a small settlement called Norwood already established there,’ he elaborated, ‘left by the previous proprietor, with a largish house for us and outbuildings for the servants. I’ve hired two Indians who can navigate us all the way there, splendid chaps by the names of Jonathan and Santiago, and employed a European clerk and a cook, both coming with their wives. So, you’ll have some company!’

  His gaze on Katharine’s was willing her to agree that what he had achieved was magnificent, perfect. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed doubt aside and rewarded him with her widest smile. Anselmo had come good, as she had known he would, he had sorted everything out and the uncertainty was gone. They had a home and an address which gave them permanence and a future. She pictured a clearing in the forest, in its centre a wooden log cabin like an American prairie house, surrounded by a white picket fence. Sheltering the settlement were the trees of mahogany, kapok and Brazil nut, and beside them a small grove of banana plants, and açai palms dripping with nutritious berries. Orchids, passion flowers and heliconias bloomed in profusion, studding the green with their brilliant, eye-catching colours.

  Mr Phee, who was busy stuffing a buttered asparagus stalk into his thick-lipped mouth, noisily interjected before Katharine had a chance to congratulate Anselmo, immediately shattering the charming mental picture that she had created.

  ‘You’ll be negotiating terms with McNamara, then, if it’s the Poderoso,’ he stated rather than questioned, grease making his lips glisten. ‘Good luck with that.’

  Anselmo barely seemed to acknowledge the implied warning. ‘Nothing two gentlemen can’t come to an amicable agreement on,’ he responded, unabashed.

  Mr Phee raised his glass and drank his wine with an air that doubted it would be quite that simple. Katharine’s emotions, on a constant rollercoaster, plummeted anew, and the house with the picket fence evaporated completely.

  ‘He’s not going to be happy that you’ve snatched prime, virgin rubber territory from under his nose,’ continued Mr Phee, in an ominous tone. ‘He’s been after that land himself for a long time. Can’t say as I understand myself how you’ve managed it.’

  Anselmo smiled with barely disguised glee. ‘I am a master businessman,’ he replied, as irrepressible as ever. ‘It’s easy when you know how.’

  He turned to Katharine and whispered under his breath, ‘Becoming English was definitely a good move. Opens all sorts of doors.’

  Anselmo had taken the time to become a British citizen before coming to the Amazon, where anything British carried extra cachet. Half of the region was backed by the City of London, many of its businesses floated on the Stock Exchange and powered by British banks. Katharine felt a warm glow of pride in her husband for his forethought and good planning. He had sorted all this out himself, taken the initiative, worked tirelessly for what he had set his heart on. She was glad that Mr Phee was surprised at and, she was sure, secretly impressed with what Anselmo had achieved.

  But she still didn’t quite understand.

  ‘What terms are you referring to?’ she asked Mr Phee, innocently.

  ‘Over the isthmus, my dear,’ he responded, his double chins wobbling as he spoke. Little bits of spittle formed in the corner of his mouth and a quick, pointed tongue whisked them away. Katharine shivered in repulsion. She really did not like this man. ‘McNamara discovered, and now owns, the land passage that links the Largo with the Poderoso. It takes weeks off your journey, as well as being the safest way to go.’

  ‘But surely it can make no difference to him to allow others to use the route?’ questioned Katharine, keeping her gaze wide-eyed. ‘And if he doesn’t allow it – well, we just take the longer way.’

  Mr Phee choked with laughter, spluttering wine onto the pristine white tablecloth. Washed in Lisbon, I’ll be bound, thought Katharine. Those poor Portuguese laundry women will have a devil of a job getting these stains out.

  ‘The other options are a long detour through the forest, full of wretched savages who’ll kill a white man soon as look at him, scalp him and put his head upon a totem pole,’ chuckled Mr Phee, seeming to rather enjoy the thought. ‘Or you portage all your worldly goods over fourteen deadly waterfalls. You can more or less guarantee to lose a significant portion of your equipment and luggage and at least one India
n per fall.’

  The sinking feeling came back with a vengeance, and Katharine was momentarily silenced So too, unusually, was Anselmo. Perhaps he didn’t know this, thought Katharine. Perhaps all this is news to him. Perhaps he’s put money down on property that we can’t even get to. A searing flush of panic flooded through her. Anselmo’s savings had been fairly sparse and Katharine was surprised that they had stretched far enough to get them such promising rubber land. But however good it was, it was no use to them if it was impossible to reach.

  Anselmo must have seen her stricken look.

  ‘It will all be fine, my sweet one,’ he soothed, and then picked up his glass and drained it.

  At the other end of the table, Bernadette’s attention was on one of the servants, issuing long-winded and strident instructions about the bringing of the cheese course. Mr Phee glanced towards her and then motioned Katharine and Anselmo to come closer. Both leant in towards him, and Katharine got a whiff of bad breath and stale sweat. Forcing herself not to recoil in disgust, she strained her ears to hear his whispered warning.

  ‘Take a bit of advice from me, who has seen so many would-be’s disappear up this damn river, never to be seen nor heard of again. You would be wise to be careful of McNamara.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Katharine saw Bernadette dismissing the servant and, as she did so, resting her eyes on the three of them, huddled conspiratorially together. She had the sense that Bernadette was listening in, keen to hear what they were discussing.

  ‘Find favour with him,’ continued Mr Phee, bestowing a sickly smile upon Katharine. ‘Which I’m sure, Mrs Ferrandis, won’t be too difficult for a woman of your, er, finesse – and he will be the most powerful ally you could possibly have on the Amazon.’

  Mrs McNamara tore her gaze away and fired a volley of further commands and reprimands at the hapless servant girl who had just appeared by her side.

  Mr Phee looked slowly at Katharine, and then Anselmo.

  ‘If you play your cards right, all will be well,’ he concluded. ‘But if you don’t – who can say?’

  Chapter Four

  The Amazon, 1890

  The odious Mr Phee’s words rang in Katharine’s ears as, two days later, she followed Anselmo down to the quay, picking her way between the litter of cans and bottles, piles of excrement, both animal and human, and the flotsam and jetsam of logs and branches and foliage thrown up by the volatile motions of a capricious river. She was glad to be leaving this opulent, degraded city where sleaze and corruption were a way of life, and decadence prevailed. However frightening the forest, however daunting to be waving goodbye to the last vestiges of civilisation, at least, she thought, the air there would be pure, fresh and free from the stench of obscene wealth.

  At the top of the gangplank their progress was impeded by a commotion caused by a man who seemed unhappy with his class of ticket. As they waited, Katharine felt something sharp pressing against her calf. Anxiously, she glanced behind her, expecting to find a hideous bloodsucking insect enjoying a feast of her blood.

  Instead, a bright eye gazed adoringly up at her, the head that it belonged to cocked invitingly to one side.

  ‘Po-Po! What on earth are you doing here?’

  Katharine burst out laughing as she bent forward to pet the little bird’s crown. He probed his beak up towards her hand.

  ‘I don’t have anything for you,’ she told him regretfully. ‘And you shouldn’t be on this boat – you haven’t got a ticket.’

  Po-Po darted his head back and forth in ardent disagreement.

  Katharine looked around to seek Anselmo’s advice. He had moved up the gangplank and seemed to be getting involved in the fracas occurring there. She looked back down to Po-Po and shrugged.

  ‘Well, now you’re here – I suppose there’s nothing for it but for you to come too.’ The bird could always fly away if he changed his mind, she reasoned to herself, and perhaps Po-Po was exactly the good luck charm they needed for the challenges of the future.

  The first of which the captain was soon explaining.

  ‘The facilities for Madam and the other ladies in first class,’ he proudly pronounced, pulling a hessian curtain across a roughly assembled rail, ‘are here.’

  Katharine stared in dismay at the chamber pot and bucket of water that stood on the deck. They expected to be on this boat for four to six weeks, travelling to Lagona, McNamara’s settlement on the isthmus, where they would stay while negotiating their onward journey. Was this to be her apology for a WC for the entire duration?

  ‘Where… what are the, um, arrangements, for the rest of the passengers?’ she asked, suppressing her innate reluctance to discuss such matters. It simply wasn’t a topic that women ever broached in public, to a complete stranger. Her mother would be horrified.

  ‘Oh, for most it is fine that they sit on the railings,’ replied the captain, breezily. ‘We rarely have females on board, though the more people set off up the Amazon, the more are taking their wives with them.’ He paused, seemingly lost in contemplation of a future filled with troublesome demands for toilet facilities. ‘So, I suppose we will have to come up with something more – er, more permanent before too long.’

  Katharine, baulking at the very idea of what he had suggested, thought that he probably would have to rethink the arrangements – and soon. But she didn’t say anything. There was no point in making a fuss about something that clearly couldn’t be changed. And equally, there was no way Anselmo would agree to put off their voyage and wait for a more suitable vessel, even supposing such a thing existed; he was champing at the bit, desperate to get underway.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘on behalf of myself, Laure and Clara. I’m sure we are most grateful to you for taking so much care to make us comfortable.’

  Laure was the wife of Charles, the experienced Belgian clerk whom Anselmo was delighted to have secured to take charge of administration, and Clara the wife of Philippe, the French chef. Katharine had briefly met them both the day before; in appearance, they were complete opposites. Laure was older, comely and buxom, petite but well rounded, exuding a quiet competence. Clara was also small, but wiry with it and bearing an air of being pent-up like a coiled spring waiting to unwind. She was much younger than Laure, only a bit older than herself, Katharine reckoned, and despite her diminutive size, or perhaps because of it, it was clear to see that she was pregnant. Katharine guessed, having often seen her mother in the same condition, that she was quite far along. She hoped they would get to Lagona before the baby arrived.

  Beneath, crammed like sardines on the lower decks alongside other second and third class passengers, were the labourers that Anselmo had employed – one hundred migrants from Spain, Portugal and Brazil’s arid interior where periodic droughts sent entire families flocking to the Amazon in the hope of a better life, or at the very least survival. It wasn’t nearly enough of a workforce, but it was all he had been able to recruit. Labour was in short supply and fiercely contested and Anselmo, as a novice, had to make do with the slim pickings left behind by greater masters. His coup had been to nab the two Indians, Jonathan and Santiago, who knew the river and all its many tributaries all the way to the mountains, and Katharine took as much comfort from their presence as she did from that of Laure and Clara.

  As they pushed on upriver, towering red sandstone cliffs rose up beside them, topped by colossal trees that reached ever upwards towards the cloud-ridden sky. Branches over the water were hung with scores of the long, elaborate nests of the oropendola bird, a local species of blackbird. The forest grew thicker and more impenetrable with every mile covered, a tangle of lianas, creepers and vines, leafy green palms sprouting in every possible spare space between the mighty trunks, while in the river islands of aquatic grasses floated freely around them.

  Every now and again they passed an Indian village, some poor and wretched with slovenly, broken-down huts and listless men and women swinging idly in hammocks, some much more lively, prosperous
and thriving, with houses on stilts, livestock and sawmills and busy, energetic inhabitants. All along the way they were passed by canoes going up and down, loaded with anything and everything: turtle oil and Brazil nuts, pineapples and vanilla, great bunches of green bananas and bizarre collections of stuffed birds. It was as if the Amazon was the biggest, busiest, most prolific High Street on earth. Katharine thought of her mother Mary, who went out every day to buy such ordinary items as a penny loaf and a pound of carrots, and wondered what she would make of it all.

  At least once a day, the steamer would pull into a trading post to unload supplies and deliver the mail, and there was always a small queue of people eagerly awaiting its arrival. Katharine watched as, at one such stop, a white man appeared, trailed by an Indian woman heavy with child, naked apart from a small skirt around her waist.

  ‘Bush wife,’ commented Charles, who had joined Katharine on deck. Charles’ twenty years in the region made him an Amazonian veteran, and Katharine was profoundly glad of his calm common sense, his level-headed approach to everything.

  ‘Some whites have twenty or thirty of them. Concubines, I suppose they should more accurately be called.’

  Katharine blushed while Charles shook his head in silent disapproval but said no more. His discretion was absolute; Katharine had already noticed that he avoided saying anything overtly negative.

  ‘Never speak ill of anyone on the Amazon,’ he had counselled her at dinner the night before. ‘This is not a place to make enemies – no more than already exist in the savage tribes deep in the forest, or in the lethal wildlife the jungle is full of. It’s as well to remember that the law means very little here. And those you meet while you’re on the way up – well, who’s to say you won’t come across them again on your way down?’

  This was sound advice which Katharine took immediately to heart.

  They continued up river, travelling through territory which was a battleground for numerous barons vying for supremacy. It was only now that Katharine had a chance to view the commodity they had come to harvest up close. Ranged along the riverbanks were countless seringueiro, or rubber tapper, encampments. In front of them teetered piles of fine, dry Pará, the best quality rubber in the world, waiting for whatever means of transportation had been arranged to ship them to the markets downriver.