The Testament

by John Grisham

  “You poor man.”

  “I’m sick, okay. I have a disease. I’ve admitted it many times to many counselors.”

  “Have you ever confessed it to God?”

  “I’m sure He knows.”

  “I’m sure He does. But He won’t help unless you ask. He is omnipotent, but you have to go to Him, in prayer, in the spirit of forgiveness.”

  “What happens?”

  “Your sins will be forgiven. Your slate will be wiped clean. Your addictions will be taken away. The Lord will forgive all of your transgressions, and you will become a new believer in Christ.”

  “What about the IRS?”

  “That won’t go away, but you’ll have the strength to deal with it. Through prayer you can overcome any adversity.”

  Nate had been preached at before. He had surrendered to Higher Powers so many times he could almost deliver the sermons. He had been counseled by ministers and therapists and gurus and shrinks of every stripe and variety. Once, during a three-year stretch of sobriety, he actually worked as a counselor for AA, teaching the twelve-point recovery plan to other alcoholics in the basement of an old church in Alexandria. Then he crashed.

  Why shouldn’t she try to save him? Wasn’t it her calling in life to convert the lost?

  “I don’t know how to pray,” he said.

  She took his hand and squeezed it firmly. “Close your eyes, Nate. Repeat after me: Dear God, Forgive me of my sins, and help me to forgive those who have sinned against me.” Nate mumbled the words and squeezed her hand even harder. It sounded vaguely similar to the Lord’s Prayer. “Give me strength to overcome temptations, and addictions, and the trials ahead.” Nate kept mumbling, kept repeating her words, but the little ritual was confusing. Prayer was easy for Rachel because she did so much of it. For him, it was a strange rite.

  “Amen,” she said. They opened their eyes but kept their hands together. They listened to the water as it rushed gently over the rocks. There was an odd sensation as his burdens seemed to be lifted; his shoulders felt lighter, his head clearer, his soul was less troubled. But Nate carried so much baggage he wasn’t certain which loads had been taken away and which remained.

  He was still frightened by the real world. It was easy to be brave deep in the Pantanal where the temptations were few, but he knew what awaited him at home.

  “Your sins are forgiven, Nate,” she said.

  “Which ones? There are so many.”

  “All of them.”

  “It’s too easy. There’s a lot of wreckage back there.”

  “We’ll pray again tonight.”

  “It will take more for me than most folks.”

  “Trust me, Nate. And trust God. He’s seen worse.”

  “I trust you. It’s God who’s got me worried.”

  She squeezed his hand even tighter, and for a long still moment they watched the water bubble around them. Finally, she said, “We need to go.” But they didn’t move.

  “I’ve been thinking about this burial, this little girl,” Nate said.

  “What about it?”

  “Will we see her body?”

  “I suppose. It will be hard to miss.”

  “Then I’d rather not. Jevy and I will go back to the village and wait.”

  “Are you sure, Nate? We could talk for hours.”

  “I don’t want to see a dead child.”

  “Very well. I understand.”

  He helped her to her feet, though she certainly didn’t need assistance. They held hands until she reached for her boots. As usual, Lako materialized from nowhere, and they were off, soon lost in the dark woods.

  He found Jevy asleep under a tree. They picked their way along the trail, watching for snakes with every step, and slowly returned to the village.

  THIRTY-ONE

  _____________

  THE CHIEF wasn’t much of a weatherman. The storm never materialized. It rained twice during the day as Nate and Jevy fought the tedium by napping in their borrowed hammocks. The showers were brief, and after each the sun returned to bake the dampened soil and raise the humidity. Even in the shade, moving only when necessary, the two men sweltered in the heat.

  They watched the Indians whenever there was activity, but the work and play ebbed and flowed with the heat. When the sun was out in full force the Ipicas retreated to their huts or to the shade trees behind them. During the brief showers the children played in the rain. When the sun was blocked by clouds, the women ventured out to do their chores and go to the river.

  After a week in the Pantanal, Nate was numbed by the listless pace of life. Each day appeared to be an exact copy of the one before. Nothing had changed in centuries.

  Rachel returned in mid-afternoon. She and Lako went straight to the chief and reported on events in the other village. She spoke to Nate and Jevy. She was tired and wanted a quick nap before they discussed business.

  What’s another hour to be killed? thought Nate. He watched her walk away. She was lean and tough and could probably run marathons.

  “What are you looking at?” Jevy asked with a grin.

  “Nothing.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Forty-two.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  “Has she been married?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think she’s ever been with a man?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Do you?”

  “I really don’t care.”

  They fell asleep again, sleeping because there was nothing else to do. In a couple of hours the wrestling would start, then dinner, then darkness. Nate dreamed of the Santa Loura, a humble vessel at best, but with each passing hour the boat grew finer. In his dreams it was fast becoming a sleek, elegant yacht.

  When the men began to gather to fix their hair and prepare for their games, Nate and Jevy eased away. One of the larger Ipicas yelled at them, and with teeth flashing issued what seemed to be an invitation to come wrestle. Nate scooted away even faster. He had a sudden image of himself getting flung about the village by some squatty little warrior, genitals flying everywhere. Jevy wanted no part of the action either. Rachel rescued them.

  She and Nate left the huts and walked toward the river, to their old spot on the narrow bench under the trees. They sat close, their knees touching again.

  “You were wise not to go,” she said. Her voice was tired. The nap had failed to revive her.

  “Why?”

  “Every village has a doctor. He’s called a shalyun, and he cooks herbs and roots for his remedies. He also calls forth spirits to help with all sorts of problems.”

  “Ah, the old medicine man.”

  “Something like that. More of a witch doctor. There are lots of spirits in the Indian world, and the shalyun supposedly directs their traffic. Anyway, the shalyun are my natural enemies. I am a threat to their religion. They are always on the attack. They persecute the Christian believers. They prey on new converts. They want me to leave and so they are always lobbying the chiefs to run me off. It’s a daily struggle. In the last village down the river, I had a small school where I taught reading and writing. It was for the believers, but it was also open to anyone. A year ago we had a bout of malaria and three people died. The local shalyun convinced the chief down there that the disease was a punishment on the village because of my school. It’s now closed.”

  Nate just listened. Her courage, already admirable, was reaching new heights. The heat and languid pace of life had lured him into the belief that all was at peace among the Ipicas. No visitor would suspect a war was raging over souls.

  “The parents of Ayesh, the girl who died, are Christians, and very strong in their faith. The shalyun spread the word that he could’ve saved the girl, but the parents didn’t call on him. They, of course, wanted me to treat her. The bima snake has been around forever, and there are home remedies that the shalyun brew up. I’ve never seen one work. After she died yesterda
y, and after I left, the shalyun called some spirits forth and held a ceremony in the center of the village. He blamed me for her death. And he blamed God.”

  Her words were pouring forth, faster than normal, as if she wanted to hurry and use her English one more time.

  “During the burial today, the shalyun and a few troublemakers began chanting and dancing nearby. The poor parents were completely overcome with grief and humiliation. I couldn’t finish the service.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, and she bit her lip.

  Nate patted her arm. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

  Crying was not something she could do in front of the Indians. She had to be strong and stoic, filled with faith and courage under all circumstances. But she could cry with Nate, and he would understand. He expected it.

  She wiped her eyes and slowly collected her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Nate said again, anxious to help. The tears of a woman melted the facade of coolness, whether in a bar or sitting by a river.

  There was hollering in the village. The wrestling had started. Nate had a quick thought about Jevy. Surely he had not succumbed to the temptation of playing with the boys.

  “I think you should go now,” she said abruptly, breaking the silence. Her emotions were under control, her voice was back to normal.

  “What?”

  “Yes, now. Very soon.”

  “I’m anxious to go, but what’s the rush? It’ll be dark in three hours.”

  “There is reason to worry.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I think I saw a case of malaria in the other village today. Mosquitoes carry it and it spreads quickly.”

  Nate began scratching and was ready to hop in the boat, then he remembered his pills. “I’m safe. I’m taking chlorosomething.”

  “Chloroquine?”

  “That’s it.”

  “When did you start?”

  “Two days before I left the States.”

  “Where are the pills now?”

  “I left them on the big boat.”

  She shook her head with disapproval. “You’re supposed to take them before, during, and after the trip.” Her tone was medically authoritative, as if death could be imminent.

  “And what about Jevy?” she asked. “Is he taking the pills?”

  “He was in the army. I’m sure he’s okay.”

  “I’m not going to argue, Nate. I’ve already spoken to the chief. He sent two fishermen out this morning before sunrise. The flooded waters are tricky for the first two hours, then the navigation becomes familiar. He will provide three guides in two canoes, and I’ll send Lako to handle the language. Once you’re on the Xeco River, it’s a straight shot to the Paraguay.”

  “How far away is that?”

  “The Xeco is about four hours away. The Paraguay, six. And you’re going with the current.”

  “Whatever. You seem to have everything planned.”

  “Trust me, Nate. I’ve had malaria twice, and you don’t want it. The second time almost killed me.”

  It had never occurred to Nate that she might die. The Phelan estate would be chaotic enough with Rachel hiding in the jungles and rejecting the paperwork. If she died, it would take years to settle things.

  And he admired her greatly. She was everything he wasn’t—strong and brave, grounded in faith, happy with simplicity, certain of her place in the world and the hereafter. “Don’t die, Rachel,” he said.

  “Death is not something I fear. For a Christian, death is a reward. But do pray for me, Nate.”

  “I’m going to pray more, I promise.”

  “You’re a good man. You have a good heart and a good mind. You just need some help.”

  “I know. I’m not very strong.”

  He had the papers in a folded envelope in his pocket. He pulled them out. “Can we at least discuss these?”

  “Yes, but only as a favor to you. I figure you’ve come this far, the least I can do is have our little law chat.”

  “Thank you.” He handed her the first sheet, a copy of Troy’s one-page will. She read it slowly, struggling with parts of the handwriting. When she finished, she asked, “Is this a legal will?”

  “So far.”

  “But it’s so primitive.”

  “Handwritten wills are valid. Sorry, it’s the law.”

  She read it again. Nate noticed the shadows falling along the tree line. He had become afraid of the dark, both on land and on water. He was anxious to leave.

  “Troy didn’t care for his other offspring, did he?” she said with amusement.

  “You wouldn’t either. But then I doubt if he was much of a father.”

  “I remember the day my mother told me about him. I was seventeen. It was late summer. My father had just died of cancer, and life was pretty bleak. Troy had somehow found me and was bugging my mother to visit. She told me the truth about my biological parents, and it meant nothing to me. I didn’t care about those people. I’d never known them, and had no desire to meet them. I found out later that my birth mother killed herself. How do you figure that, Nate? Both of my real parents killed themselves. Is there something in my genes?”

  “No. You’re much stronger than they were.”

  “I welcome death.”

  “Don’t say that. When did you meet Troy?”

  “A year went by. He and my mother became phone pals. She became convinced his motives were good, and so one day he came to our house. We had cake and tea, then he left. He sent money for college. He began pressuring me to take a job with one of his companies. He started acting like a father, and I grew to dislike him. Then my mother died, and the world caved in around me. I changed my name and went to med school. I prayed for Troy over the years, the same way I pray for all the lost people I know. I assumed he had forgotten about me.”

  “Evidently not,” Nate said. A black mosquito landed on his thigh, and he slapped with enough violence to crack lumber. If it carried malaria, the insect would spread it no further. A red outline of a handprint appeared on his flesh.

  He gave her the waiver and the acknowledgment. She read them carefully and said, “I’m not signing anything. I don’t want the money.”

  “Just keep them, okay? Pray over them.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No. I just don’t know what to do next.”

  “I can’t help you. But I will ask one favor.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Don’t tell anyone where I am. I beg you, Nate. Please protect my privacy.”

  “I promise. But you have to be realistic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The story is irresistible. If you take the money, then you’re probably the richest woman in the world. If you decline it, then the story is even more compelling.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Bless your heart. You’re protected from the media. We have nonstop news now, twenty-four hours of endless coverage of everything. Hours and hours of news programs, news magazines, talking heads, late-breaking stories. It’s all junk. No story is too small to be tracked down and sensationalized.”

  “But how can they find me?”

  “That’s a good question. We got lucky because Troy had picked up your trail. To our knowledge, though, he told no one.”

  “Then I’m safe, right? You can’t tell. The lawyers in your firm can’t tell.”

  “That’s very true.”

  “And you were lost when you arrived here, right?”

  “Very lost.”

  “You have to protect me, Nate. This is my home. These are my people. I don’t want to run again.”

  HUMBLE MISSIONARY IN JUNGLE SAYS NO TO ELEVEN-BILLION-DOLLAR FORTUNE

  What a headline. The vultures would invade the Pantanal with helicopters and amphibious landing craft to get the story. Nate felt sorry for her.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said.

  “Do I have your word?”

  “Ye
s, I promise.”

  The send-off party was led by the chief himself, followed by his wife, then a dozen men, then Jevy, followed by at least ten more men. They snaked along the trail, headed for the river. “It’s time to go,” she said.

  “I guess so. You’re sure we’ll be safe in the dark.”

  “Yes. The chief is sending his best fishermen. God will protect you. Say your prayers.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll pray for you every day, Nate. You’re a good person with a good heart. You’re worth saving.”

  “Thank you. You wanna get married?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll take care of the money, you take care of the Indians. We’ll get a bigger hut and throw away our clothes.”

  They both laughed, and they were still smiling when the chief got to them. Nate stood to say hello or good-bye or something, and for a second his vision was gone. A surge of dizziness rolled from his chest through his head. He caught himself, cleared his vision, and glanced at Rachel to see if she had noticed.

  She had not. His eyelids began to ache. The joints at his elbows were throbbing.

  There was a flourish of grunts in Ipica, and everyone stepped to the river. Food was placed in Jevy’s boat and in the two narrow canoes the guides and Lako would use. Nate thanked Rachel, who in turn thanked the chief, and when all the right farewells were finished it was time to go. Standing ankle-deep in water, Nate hugged her gently, patting her on the back and saying, “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Thanks for creating a fortune in legal fees.”

  She smiled and said, “I like you, Nate, but I couldn’t care less about the money and the lawyers.”

  “I like you too.”

  “Please don’t come back.”