CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

'There's a very sick man in one of the more isolated villages in the middle of the jungle. The tribe has sent a message asking for a doctor to go and look at him. Carlo says he'll fly me there this morning. Would you like to come?'

Edmund spoke coolly and Delia, who had only just rolled out of her hammock and was searching for a towel and some soap to take to the shower hut with her, stood still for a moment, her back to him, hardly able to believe her ears. He had asked her to go somewhere with him!

Turning, she looked at him curiously. He had obviously showered or had been for a swim, because his hair was damp, coiling close to his head in flat ringlets and corkscrewing about his ears and neck. Freshly shaved, his face looked bronzed and healthy after the two days on the river and his blue eyes gleamed with life, but the shadows under them and in the hollows of his cheeks told their own tale. He hadn't slept well last night. 'Would you like me to come?' she asked hesitantly yet hopefully.

' What do you want me to say ?' he retorted with a touch of exasperation. 'I ask you a simple question and you answer with another. Carlo says the plane will take four of us. Luiz says it will be interesting for you to visit this particular village. The opportunity is there. You take it or you don't. It's up to you.'

His sharpness pricked, and Delia swallowed hard. She had woken with a sick headache and had pains in her stomach.

She would have given anything to have rolled herself into the hammock again to sleep off the feeling of illness, but she also wanted to be with him and prove to him that she could go anywhere that he went.

'I ... I'd like to come with you, please,' she said quickly. 'Who is the fourth person?'

'Dr Mireilles. It will be good experience for her too,' he replied curtly. 'Okay, I'll go and tell Carlos you'll be with us. If you have any presents left which you can give to the villagers bring, them with you. I'll see you at the eating house in about fifteen minutes, then.'

He turned away and left the hut before she could ask him a question concerning his own welfare. How did he feel about going up in a small aircraft after being so recently in a crash? Did he feel nervous? And if he did would he ever admit to it?

She pulled on the inevitable shirt and pants and hurried to the shower hut. Inside there was a place to leave her clothing and a small cubicle with a half door. Over the cubicle was a tank and when she pulled on a rope it tipped warm rain water over her. Although a rather violent way in which to shower it was refreshing and washed away the feeling of nausea, so that she was able to eat some of the excellent breakfast provided by the Indian cook. There were fried eggs, produced, Luiz told her, by the free-ranging hens kept by the tribe, and light golden pancakes made from maize flour.

Carlo greeted her with warmth and seemed delighted that she was going on the flight. With his arm through hers he . marched her off to the airstrip where the small plane was parked, its red and white paint gleaming in the misty morning sunlight. He was wearing sand-coloured trousers tucked into a pair of scuffed flying boots and a pale pink shirt. Round his waist he wore a broad leather belt with a holster into which was tucked a businesslike revolver. In his other hand he carried a rifle.

'I take them as a precaution,' he explained to her as he helped her up into the cockpit of the plane. 'If I have to land somewhere in the jungle I'm well equipped for hunting my own food. Now I'd like you to sit in front with me. You will be more comfortable there and will see more. Also I shall enjoy your company.'

Zanetta and Edmund arrived accompanied by Luiz and a group of Indians. As he climbed up into the cockpit Edmund frowned at Delia.

'Why are you sitting in front?' he asked.

'Because I asked her to, my friend,' replied Carlo with his wide smile. 'Do not worry, she will be quite safe with me. You may sit at the back and talk shop with the other doctor.'

Edmund flicked a glance in the direction of Zanetta, who was already in her seat, then lifted his shoulder in a shrug.

'Okay,' he said, 'just as you like.' And he moved past to take his seat.

The door was closed. The engine sputtered into life. Delia fastened her seat belt and the plane bumped across the grass on to the runway. It gathered speed and lifted smoothly off the ground. Looking down, Delia waved to Luiz and the Indians and then to Rita and Manoel as the plane flew low over the village clearing.

Carlo flew the plane as if he were a part of it. Like a bird gliding on a current of air they drifted low over the river to see crocodiles, dark and sinister-looking, basking on sandbanks, they circled over a patch of savannah where a herd of deer was drinking by a clump of twisted trees. Banking away from the clearing, they sidled above thick trees, a continuous sea of dark green broken only by the silvery gleam of a river or a dark muddy swamp. Just below them flocks of long-tailed macaws flew too, flashes of brilliant red and blue against the somber greens.

'How will you find the village?' asked Delia, raising her voice against the noise of the engine and leaning close. to Carlo so he would hear her. His dark eyes smiled at her when he turned his head to look at her.

'It is a mystery which I have to solve,' he said. 'The jungle is like a maze. First we go this way and then we go that, always with an eye on the compass until we see at last a curl of smoke coming up through the trees, and where there is smoke there is life.' He leaned a little closer to her so he could lower his voice. 'This is Edmund's first flight in a small plane since the crash. I would like to know how he is reacting.'

He straightened up and paid attention to his flying once more. Cautiously Delia looked over her shoulder into the back seats of the plane. Edmund wasn't talking to Zanetta and since she wasn't talking either but was staring sullenly out of the window beside her he wasn't listening to her. He wasn't looking out of the window on his side. He was staring straight ahead and the expression in his narrowed eyes as they met her wary glance made Delia feel a little uneasy. They seemed to be blazing with anger.

She turned back and settled herself in her seat. Very much aware that Edmund was still staring at her, she didn't lean towards Carlo but waited until he leaned towards her.

'How is he?' he asked.

'He seems all right.'

'Good. I'm glad. I would not have liked him to have lost his nerve. Look down over there. Do you see smoke? That is our village.'

The little plane seemed to fall downwards. A clearing in the dense green appeared. Carlo circled over the straw-roofed huts and several Indians ran out waving and shouting.

As the plane curved round and flew directly into the sun Delia looked down. Indians were running in one direction along a path which had been hacked through the trees. Even women and children were running and some of the smaller children fell over and were snatched up from the ground by their mothers in the rush to the airstrip.

The runway was very short and Carlo had to turn the plane again to make his approach. It skimmed just above the tops of tall trees, making the smaller branches toss with the wind of its passage and hit the ground with a bump, the brakes squealed as Carlo hauled it to a stop with its propeller almost touching the nearest hut in the village.

As soon as the door was opened large brown hands reached in to help Carlo out. Delia, Edmund and Zanetta were helped down in the same way and soon were being led at a fast sweat-breaking trot through the thick humid heat to the centre of the village. There was no doubt the villagers were very upset about something. They waved dieir hands, rolled their eyes and shouted all the time.

'What are they yelling about?' demanded Edmund, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing, and everyone stopped with him. 'I'm not going any further until I know.'

Heat rose from the beaten and baked earth like a blast from an oven set at roasting temperature. Feeling slightly giddy, Delia swayed a little on her feet and the huts and the faces of the people crowding around Edmund seemed to blur before her eyes. Carlo was listening to an explanation which was being made by a big muscular teak-skinned man who was dressed in rather ragged shirt and shorts and who spoke a rough broken Portuguese.

'They are glad we have come,' Carlo said at last to Edmund. 'This is the chief and he wants you to go to the sick man straight away.'

'Where is he?' asked Edmund.

'In the hut on the other side of the clearing. You go ahead with him,' suggested Carlo.

'I can't understand much of what he says,' Edmund said. 'I'll have to have an interpreter.'

'Dr Mireilles is most willing to do that for you, I'm sure,' said Carlo with a sardonic twist to his mouth. 'Won't you, Zanetta?' he added, turning to the woman doctor and speaking to her in Portuguese.

'But of course,' she answered with a-supercilious lift of her eyebrows.

Edmund's blue glance swerved to Delia. Knowing how observant.he was, she hoped she looked well, even though her head was pounding and her stomach was churning.

'Will you be all right?' he asked softly, and she felt hope leap alive within her. If he cared so much about her welfare surely he could be made to care for her again in other ways.

'I'll be fine, thank you. Maybe I'll take some photographs,' she said, smiling in an effort to show she was well.

'Don't worry,' said Carlo smoothly. 'I shall look after Delia and show her round the village.'

Edmund gave him a strange narrow-eyed glance, then nodded.

'All right,' he agreed. 'I'll be as quick as I can.'

He turned to the chief and said something in Portuguese. The chief patted him on the shoulder, then took him by the arm and led him across die clearing to a hut from which the sound of harsh wailing was coming.

Carlo spoke abruptly and coldly to Zanetta, who hadn't moved. The woman gave him a furious glance, spat a few words at him and then marched off towards the hut into which Edmund had disappeared, clutching her black doctor's bag in her hand.

'We shall wait for a few minutes, here on this bench in the shade,' said Carlo, and with his hand beneath Delia's elbow he' guided her over to a big tree which had been left standing in the middle of the clearing. They sat on a rough bench made from a tree log and Indians crowded around them to stare curiously. Remembering her presents, Delia opened the satchel handbag and brought out packets of toffees and cigarettes to offer them round.

This tribe was different again from the others she had met. Their skin was teak-coloured and many of them were very thickly painted. All the men wore armbands of spotted jaguar skin. They pushed forward to touch her, taking hold of her arms, and her hair, lifting her hand to examine her wedding ring and fingering the gold chain and medallion which she wore around her neck.

She sat patiently, knowing now how important this physical contact was to them. She smiled at them and they smiled back shyly.

Then one of the women issued a sharp order, and a youth ran off to a hut and came back with a handful of nuts to offer them to her. They were soft and sticky. Not liking to show that her stomach was heaving at the sight of them, Delia pressed the nuts in her mouth. They were acid to taste and mouth-drying.

'They like you,' murmured Carlo.. 'And that is a good sign, for this tribe is very shy. It is also one of the more creative tribes, as you will see later. God!' he exclaimed, rising suddenly to his feet. 'She is out already.'

Delia looked across the. clearing. Zanetta was running away from the hut. Carlo went across to intercept her, speaking to her sharply. Zanetta, whose face looked greenish yellow and whose dark eyes were black and staring, answered wildly and turning on her heel with her hand clasped to her mouth ran off behind another hut.

'What is the matter with her?' exclaimed Delia, going over to Carlo.

'She did not like what she saw in there,' he replied with a twist to his mouth. 'Ah, what good is she if she is sick to her stomach when she sees someone who is ill? She should not be a doctor out here in the jungle. She is not dedicated enough, not in the way that Edmund is.' He slanted a glance at Delia. 'You know, I have come to admire him very much. At first I did not like him.' He lifted his shoulders and made an expressive repudiating gesture with his hands. 'I looked at his curly hair, his cold blue eyes, and listened to his soft voice, and I thought, here is just another blasé rich boy, tired of his sophisticated way of life, coming to the jungle for kicks. But after a while I changed my mind. He is a fine man who is concerned about other people and wants to help them. And he is tough, all the way through. To have survived the way he did when he was lost he had to be.'

'He's at the door of the hut,' said Delia. 'He's beckoning to us.'

They walked across the bright clearing to the hut where Edmund was standing. He looked rather pale and sweat was beading his brow, but his eyes and voice were steady.

'Where's Dr Mireilles?' he asked sharply.

'Being sick behind a bush,' sneered Carlo. 'Do you need help?'

'Yes—with the language. I can't make head or tail what they're saying about the boy in there. Something to do with a bird. Delia, you're not to come in.'

'I want to,' she insisted, looking him in the eye.

'It isn't very pleasant.'

'Illness rarely is,' she retorted. 'I want to see inside the hut,

for copy, for my articles,' she added appealingly. 'Okay,' he said resignedly. 'Come in.' Inside was dark and the darkness was full of a harsh crying sound. At last she was able to make out a group of women crouched around a hammock.

They were rocking backwards and forwards as they wailed. In the hammock was a small figure which Delia thought was a child, but when she looked more closely she felt chilled as she saw black eyes staring out of a face which had once been a man's but had shrunk to the size of a child's. 'What's happened?' she gasped.

The chief was speaking, using his hands to imitate time, sleep and hunting, and Carlo translated slowly in terse sentences.

'He is a young man. He went hunting. He lost his weapons. He went to look for water. He lost his way in the jungle. He had no food, no water, so the Ananu bird took him up into the tree tops. Yesterday the Ananu brought him back to the village.'

'What is this Ananu bird?' Edmund whispered, his gaze still on the figure in the hammock.

'When an Indian is lost in the jungle the tribe believes that a beast, half man and half bird, takes him up to its nest and keeps him there. When the Ananu gets bored with him it picks him up in its beak and takes him back to his people.'

'I see. A myth to explain what is inexplicable to the tribe,' muttered Edmund. 'He is of course suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration. We have to get him to Posto Orlando at once if his life is to be saved.' He turned to Carlo with a grin. 'You're going to be the Ananu which takes him away again but brings him back restored to health.'

'That is a good suggestion of yours, my friend,' replied Carlo, grinning back. 'But I cannot take him to Posto

Orlando in that plane with the four of us up as well. It will be too much weight. She is not young, that plane of mine, and the runway is too short here for me to get her of! with an extra load.' He made an expressive gesture with one hand. 'It would be very touch and go and I would not like to crash it.'

'But- that fellow in there hardly weighs anything at all,' protested Edmund.

'I realise that, but you see the chief, his brother, will want to come too, and his mother. They won't let him go alone. After your time with the tribes you must know how they cling to each other, especially in time of illness. And I'd put the chief's weight at about a hundred and fifty kilos,' said Carlo.

Edmund stared at him, his eyes narrowed in thought, then wiped the sweat of his forehead on his forearm.

'Faugh!' he exclaimed with a grimace of disgust. 'Let's get out of this place and discuss it outside. I wonder if we could have something to drink?'

Carlos spoke to the chieftain, who nodded and came outside with them. Zanetta had reappeared and was sitting on the bench under the tree. Edmund went straight to her, sat down beside her and spoke to her gently. Watching, Delia felt jealousy stir in her. She sat on the end of the bench with her back to them.

Directed by the chief, some women came forward shyly and offered them juicy fresh passion-fruit. They took them eagerly and for a while didn't speak as they sucked the pinkish-orange thirst-quenching flesh of the fruit.

'Two of us will have to stay behind,' said Edmund suddenly and authoritatively. 'Only you can fly the plane, Carlo, so you will have to go. It's a case of deciding who will stay.'

'The two women or you and one of them,' said Carlo.

There was a brief silence broken only by the sounds of them eating more fruit and the squawking of macaws and parakeets. Delia decided that the two men were waiting for herself or Zanetta to make some sort of offer.

'I don't mind staying behind,' she said quietly. 'It will be good copy for my articles.'

'Then I'll stay with you,' said Edmund promptly.

At once Zanetta broke into a torrent of speech. Her eyes flashing and her hands gesturing wildly, she was obviously worked up about something.

'What's the matter with her now?' Delia whispered to Carlo, who was sitting beside her.

'She wants you to go in the plane with me and says she'll stay behind with Edmund. What a fool that woman* is,' replied Carlo dryly.

'Oh, tell her I'll go with you and she can stay,' muttered Delia miserably. 'It makes no difference.'

'I'll do nothing of the sort,' retorted JCarlo. 'It is for Edmund to decide.' He turned away and spoke rather viciously to Zanetta in Portuguese, presumably telling her to be quiet. Then he said to Edmund, 'It is up to you, my friend. Perhaps it would be easier if you came with me and left the two women here.' His voice lilted a little with mockery at such an idea.

'No. It will be best if I stay,' replied Edmund coolly. 'I’m the heaviest. Zanetta will go with you because the patient must have someone medical with him on the flight to give him an injection if necessary.'

'And who is going to tell Zanetta that?' asked Carlo, still mocking.

'I will. She'll do what I tell her because I'm the senior doctor,' replied Edmund imperturbably. 'Do you think you'll be able to come back here before nightfall to pick Delia and me up?'

'I doubt it. It would be best if you assume I won't be back until tomorrow. I'll speak to the chief and arrange for you to stay the night here,' said Carlo, rising to his feet.

'Then that's all settled,' said Edmund. 'All we have to do is get the boy from the hut to the plane and make him comfortable. You might ask the chief to make some form of rough stretcher to carry the patient from here to the airstrip.'

'Okay!' Carlo went off to the hut where the sick man was and Edmund turned to Zanetta and began to talk to her quietly in Portuguese.

Wishing she could understand what he was saying, Delia sat hunched at the end of the bench and watched some skinny Indian children playing a rough sort of baseball, wondering where they found the energy to run about in the midday heat.

And slowly she began to see the funny side of the situation. Here was Edmund having to explain to the fierce and obviously very possessive Zanetta why it was necessary for her to go in the plane while he stayed behind with his wife.

Carlo came back with the chief, the chief's wife and a man-who was introduced as his brother and who was a headman of the tribe.

'It is agreed that you both stay the night here,' explained Carlo. 'They have a hut arranged specially for guests and since you are friends of their great friend Luiz Santos they are pleased to have you stay the night with them. Now we go to make die stretcher from some poles cut from trees and a spare hammock.'

'Good.' Edmund stood up, and thinking she might be of some help Delia rose to her feet too. At once he turned to her. 'You stay here in the shade,' he said curtly.

'Can't I help?' she asked, looking up at him.

He stared at her, his eyes hard and bright under the shade of the brim of the old straw hat. He raised a hand, reached out as if to touch her face, then withdrew it sharply and turned on his heel away from her.

'Not right now,' he muttered over his shoulder, and walked off after Carlo and the chief.

Delia sank down on the bench. At the other end of it Zanetta sat in sullen silence watching Edmund go across the clearing. Suddenly she stood up, stepped sideways and plunked herself down beside Delia.

'Why did you have to come here to Brazil?' she said in her gutturally accented English. 'Why did you have to follow Edmund here?'

'I didn't follow him,' Delia said sharply and protestingly, then broke off. This was one time when she was going to be honest about her reason for coming to Brazil. 'I came to be with Edmund because I'm his wife and I love him,' she said quietly, looking Zanetta in the eyes.

The dark eyes widened briefly, then narrowed with scorn. The pretty full-lipped passionate mouth curved in a sneer, as Zanetta looked away across at the hut where the sick man lay.

'He does not love you,' she said, speaking slowly and with emphasis. 'If he did he would have told us about you. He would have talked about you, but the only time he did talk was when he was delirious with fever. Several times he moaned about someone called Delia.' Zanetta shrugged her shoulders. 'As you must know, the subconscious mind behaves peculiarly when one is feverish. It was mostly rubbish he talked, but there were these two names over and over- Delia and Peter. I had the impression Peter was your lover.' She sighed. 'Poor Edmund, he was very ill,' she added. 'If I had not nursed him he would have died.'

Delia's hands clenched on her knees.

Everything before her, the straw-roofed huts, the dark jungle trees crowding beyond them, seemed rimmed with red as a fury such as she had never known blazed up within her so that she had a longing to turn and strike the Brazilian woman who was sitting beside her, scratch at her face, pull her hair, destroy her. She shook with the force of the primitive feeling of -furious jealousy because this woman had done for Edmund what she was supposed to do. She had cared for him when he had been ill.

The feeling passed suddenly, leaving her exhausted and subdued. Her throat was dry and she longed for more passion-fruit to ease it, and her head throbbed painfully.

'I'm grateful,' she mumbled, 'glad that you were able to nurse him and make him better.'

'Ha!' Zanetta's laugh was a tinkle of mockery. 'I did not do it for you but for me. I had met him twice before, once in Rio where we walked beside the surf under the stars when he visited my parents' home in Ipanema and then later in Brasilia. It is because I admire him so much that I volunteered to come out to Binauros to work for the protection service. I hoped I would meet him again, and I did. I love him much more than you do and he loves me. That is why I should be staying here with him tonight and not you.'

'You can stay, for all I care,' cried Delia, getting to her feet, 'but don't expect me to leave. I'm staying too because I have a right to be with Edmund. You haven't.'

Although she realised she was going against Edmund's orders by moving out of the shade she walked away, unable to bear Zanetta's company any longer. Through the thick hazy heat she walked, not really noticing where she was going as Zanetta's words beat in her brain like the blows of a

hammer. I love him more than you do and he loves me.

It could be true, then, what she had suspected, and Zanetta was the reason why Edmund wanted to stay in Brazil. And was it really surprising? They had so much in common and Zanetta had saved his life when he was ill.

Delia groaned as she stumbled along a narrow path which twisted between tall trees festooned with creepers with huge flat leaves shimmering in shafts of sunlight. Beside her a troop of monkeys swung from branch to branch, chattering cheekily and occasionally letting out heart-freezing howls.

Sweat poured down her back and legs. Her head throbbed and she had no idea where she was going. But did it matter? Did anything matter if Edmund was in love with someone else? If he was it explained everything which had happened since she had come; his rejection of her, his attempt to have her sent back to Brasilia, his violent repudiation of the way they had kissed the other night, his cool aloof behaviour since then.

Not looking where she was going, she tripped over an exposed tree root and fell headlong. At once, or so it seemed, there were a dozen hands laid on her to help her to her feet. Standing once more, she found she was surrounded by several young women, some completely bare, the others dressed in shapeless cotton shifts, all with dark curtains of hair half covering their faces and all staring at her with dark anxious eyes. One of them, who seemed slightly older than the others, touched her on the arm and then pointed through the trees, and looking in that direction, Delia saw the shimmer of sunlight on the water. She looked enquiringly at the woman.

The woman made movements with her arms as if she were swimming, then pointed at Delia and then at the water again. It seemed as if she was asking Delia if she would like to go swimming. To make sure Delia pointed at herself, pointed at the' water and made swimming movements with her arms too. The woman grinned, showing that she had several teeth missing, and nodded. Delia nodded back. To swim in cool water would refresh her in many ways and perhaps rid her of the headache.

The young women led her along the path, which came out at a small beach by a pool where some other women and children were bathing and also washing their clothing. When they saw Delia they crowded round her to admire her clothing and jewellery as usual and then gestured to her to remove her clothing and be as they were, completely bare. A little self-consciously in front of all those curious eyes she stripped off her shirt and stepped out of her pants, thankful that she was wearing her bikini.

But the two strips of cloth which covered her breasts and hips seemed to amuse them very much. Some of them came up to touch the black elasticated material and were fascinated by the straps which snapped back on to her shoulders when they pulled them. Several of them indicated to her by gestures that she should take the bikini off and let them try it on, but she shook her head smilingly, hoping they would understand, and stepped towards the river.

The pool wasn't as big as the one at Posto Orlando, but the water was clear and brown, moving all the time, so she knew it was safe for swimming. And in the water was the best place to be at that time of the day, thought Delia, as she dived and swam, floated and splashed. Above her the sky was molten blue. On the banks the tree foliage was a thick tangle of green shimmering under waves of heat, but the water was soft and cool and for a while she forgot her problems as she played happily with the brown-skinned, shouting children and smiling graceful women.

Coming out of the water, she sat with the group and showed them how to build sand castles and tried by drawing on the flat sand with a twig to show them the world from which she came, feeling quite pleased with her pictures of planes, cars and houses even though her companions seemed to think they were funny and hooted with laughter.

But the heat and glare of the afternoon soon made her conscious of the headache which had bothered her since morning and she returned to the water to swim again, followed by a troup of thin boisterous boys.

It was while she was swimming that she heard some shouting coming from the shore, and glancing across, she noticed that some of the men of the tribe had come down to the beach and that there was an argument going on between them and the women. Deciding it was no business of hers, Delia dived under the surface and struck out for the far bank of the pool. She would touch it and then swim back. After that she had better start to find her way back to the clearing. Swimming along, she found she was being accompanied by some of the boys and that they were laughing and shouting and pointing at her and then at the water. Stopping in mid-stroke, she trod water and looked around. Ahead of her there was a ring of ripples and under them a vague wavering shape. It looked as if there was a big fish just under the surface.

By now the boys were beside themselves with laughter, throwing themselves backwards into the water and sinking spectacularly. As she stared in bewilderment the water erupted near her and Edmund appeared, shaking his head and snorting to clear his eyes and nose of water, his bare chest heaving as he gulped in breaths of the steamy air.

'What are you doing here?' Delia exclaimed.

'Looking for you,' he retorted, treading water beside her

'You must be crazy, going off like that without telling any of us where you'd gone. I've been looking everywhere for you. Why did you leave the village?'

'I ... I ... couldn't stand listening to Zanetta any longer,' she muttered. 'Edmund, I'll go back to Posto Orlando in the plane and she can stay with you, if that's what you want.'

He stared at her, frowning in puzzlement.

'What the hell are you on about now?' he exclaimed. 'The plane has gone, left about an hour ago". Carlo daren't risk waiting any longer while we searched for you. It's a long flight to the post from here and he'll only just make it before twilight.' His eyes narrowed and he gave her a curious glance. 'What did Zanetta say to you?'

'She said she should be staying here with you instead o£ me, that's all. I told her she could. Has she?'

'No, of course not. She knew better than to argue,' he said grimly. 'I'd told her what she had to do and, unlike you, she knows how to obey orders. She's gone, and for the past hour I've been thinking you'd gone too, were lost somewhere in that jungle.' He broke off and glared at her with something like hate in his eyes. 'Don't ever do that to me again, do you hear?' he said in a low fierce voice.

'Oh, I suppose it was all right for you to disappear for weeks, months, over a year without letting me know where you were, but I have only to walk out of sight for a short while for you to get all worked up,'' she retorted, and promptly sank beneath the surface because in her attempt to defend herself she had forgotten to tread water. She came up spluttering to find him still beside her, but the expression in his eyes had changed. He was looking at her with a sort of tender mockery.

'You do choose the most awkward places to have an argument,' he jeered.

'I didn't choose it, you did. You swam out here after me,' she countered. 'And I wasn't arguing, only stating my point of view. Now you know how I felt when I didn't know where you were, how anxious and worried I was, not for an hour but for nearly sixteen months.'

'Peter knew where I was. You had only to ask him,' he said quietly, and spread his arms out sideways so that he could float on his back.

'I did, several times. He said you'd asked him not to tell me where you'd gone, and later he said that my guess as to where you were was as good as his,' she said flatly, and rolling over in the water she began to swim for the shore.

Edmund caught up with her and they swam side by side, touching the bottom at the same time and wading towards

the beach together. The women, who were all dressed now either in cotton

shifts or sarongs made from cloth, home-spun from wild

cotton, came down to the edge of the water to meet her.

Chattering and gesturing, they took her hands and led her away from Edmund into the trees. There one of them offered her a strip of the woven cotton and by various gestures indicated that she should take it and wear it.

. Touched by this gesture of friendship, Delia nodded and while the women stood round her in a circle she wound the cloth round her body sarong-style, leaving her shoulders

bare.

The women all clapped their hands and laughed. One of them took the scarlet banana flower she. was wearing in her hair and tucked it behind Delia's ear. Again they all clapped and laughed,- pointing to the flowers they were wearing and to their sarongs as if to suggest that at last she was like them. Then the leader took her by the hand and led her back to Edmund, who had just pulled on his shirt and pants.

The woman took one of his hands and pressed Delia's into it as if to link them together, and suddenly everyone, even the children, were silent. Slowly Edmund drew Delia towards him.

'I've a feeling they're expecting me to show some approval of the way they've dressed you,' he drawled.

'I feel quite out of it in my old jeans and shirt.'

'Perhaps you should be wearing an armband, black and red paint and a few feathers in your hair,' she teased softly.

'Would you like me any better if I did?' he challenged, much to her surprise.

'No,' she whispered, feeling her heart beating loudly in her ears. 'I like you as you are and I always have.'

He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips, and after that the rest of the day took on an enchanted, dreamlike quality for Delia. Escorted by the excited, chattering women and children, she walked with Edmund through the green, sun-shafted gloom of the forest back to the village where they were taken on a conducted tour of the huts by one of the headmen who could speak a little Portuguese and in whose care the chief had left them.

He explained that his tribe was known as the Pot-makers and took them to the hut of the most experienced potter, an elderly man who sat on the floor in the middle of his hut working a piece of clay between his hands. All around him, gleaming like jewels, in the darkness of the hut, were specimens of his art—huge shallow bowls for serving manioc and maize, smaller bowls shaped like animals such as armadillos and turtles and several bulbous urns. Many of them were painted black on the outside and striped with shining red paint on the inside. The care and skill with which they had been made fascinated Delia. 'Don't admire too many of them,' Edmund whispered to

her, 'or you'll find yourself having to take them all home with you and you'll have a devil of a time explaining to the Customs.'

In spite of his warning they were both carrying gifts of pottery when they left the hut and stepped out into the clearing in time to see the last of a brilliant scarlet, orange and gold sunset.

They ate their evening meal in the hut of the headman, succulent pieces of fish smoked over wood-fires and bowls of -wild rice and beans, and all followed by more delicious thirst-quenching passion-fruit.

When it was over they went outside to watch the dancing as the yellow moon, slightly lopsided because it had begun to wane, peeped above the dark rim of the trees.

Six men dressed in skirts of yellow grass, wearing tall headdresses made of red and yellow feathers, and wings made from fresh, bright green' leaves, leapt and stamped in the middle of the clearing to music with a strong throbbing beat which was. played on lengths of hollow wood to the accompaniment of drums. A little boy joined in the dancing, catching at the men's swirling skirts and making the audience laugh until his mother ran into the middle of the clear-ing and caught him up in her arms.

The beat of the drums, the stamping of the dancers' feet, the shimmer of the moonlight on the feathered headdresses and on bare skin stirred the senses. Sitting beside Edmund on a log, Delia became suddenly aware of his closeness, of the brushing of his bare forearm against her arm when he moved, of the pressure of his thigh against hers. When she felt his arm go around her back and his fingers touch her waist lightly she wasn't surprised, but her heart began to beat in time to the deep seductive throbbing of the drums. His fingers pressed suggestively against her waist and she

relaxed, allowing him to pull her against him. His breath tickled her ear tantalisingly as he whispered,

'Let's go to bed.'

'Where?' she asked, turning her head to look- at him, and her cheek came in contact with his bristly jaw.

'In the hut they've offered us.'

'Do you know where it is?'

'Yes, over there, behind the chief's hut.'

'Hadn't we better tell someone we're going? They might be offended if we leave before the dance is over.'

'I don't think so. I told the headman we might slip away before the end.' .He chuckled softly and again she felt a delicious shivery feeling as his breath tickled her ear. 'He was very understanding. Come on.'

Taking her hand, he led her through the long grasses into the purple shadows between two huts and out again into the golden radiance of the honey-coloured moon. The air was warm and heavy with the scents of the jungle and Delia felt a sensual excitement throbbing through her body in time to the beat of the drums and the high-pitched whistling of the pipe's.

. Inside the small beehive-shaped hut black shadows danced upon die curving walls cast there by the flickering flame of the usual kerosene lamp which was attached to the central roof-supporting post.

'Oh, there's only one hammock,' exclaimed Delia, coming to a dead stop and staring at the wide woven bed with its veil of white mosquito netting. 'We'd better go and tell the headman we need another one.'

'But we don't,' replied Edmund coolly as he pulled his shirt off. 'This one is big enough for the two of us.'

While she stood there half fearful and half hopeful, absorbing the implication which lay behind the suggestion that

they should share the hammock, he unbelted his jeans, stepped out of them, rolled them up with his shirt, buckled his belt round the lot and hung the bundle from the strings of the hammock. The clothing she had taken off when she had gone swimming was already hanging there, she noticed with a jolt of surprise.

Edmund stepped towards her, the bare skin of his shoulders gleaming golden in the lamplight. His eyes glinted deeply blue and his mouth curved in a tantalising smile.

'Are you going to bed in that sarong thing or shall I help you to take it off?'he asked softly.

Her hands went to her breast to pull out the corner of the material which was tucked in there.

'Are you sure?' she whispered, staring up at him. 'Am I sure of what?' he answered.

'Are you sure you want me to sleep with you in the same hammock?' she asked shakily, unwinding the strip of cloth from her body. 'The other night when we went camping you. didn't seem to want. . .'

'Forget the other night,' he ordered brusquely, taking the strip of cloth from her and going across the hammock to hang it over the strings. 'The biggest difficulty as usual will be getting into and under the netting without these damned pests joining us.'

He slapped a hand against the side of his neck and then against his thigh to kill two mosquitoes which were biting him and turned to her again. 'Are you ready to get in?'

He held out his hand to her. Hesitantly Delia placed her hand in his and went with him to the hammock. His call matter-of-fact attitude in such a romantic setting with the sound of jungle music throbbing in the background bewil-dered her, but suddenly she seemed to have no will of her own. Completely submissive, she obeyed his instructions and managed to get into the hammock and under the netting, finding that there were two soft blankets made from wild cotton there, one to lie on and one for a covering.

'Take your boots off and hand them to me.' Edmund ordered, and again she obeyed automatically.

After handing him the boots she lay back. It seemed to her that the noise of her quickly beating heart filled the whole hut and she felt a return of the sickly headache which had bothered her earlier in the day.

It was true the hammock was wider than others she had slept in, wide enough for two people to lie close together in each other's arms. The thought of lying in Edmund's arms made the beat of her heart increase wildly and she felt desire flare through her suddenly from a hard core somewhere near the lower part of her stomach.

The kerosene lamp went out and the acrid smell of its smoke tingled her nose and made her sneeze. Edmund laughed as he sat on the edge of the hammock and lifted the mosquito netting.

'Now for it,' he whispered. 'Let's hope the whole thing doesn't collapse under our weight!'

The strings of the hammock creaked a little as they slipped slightly on the poles to which it was attached and it swayed as Edmund shuffled in beside her. Delia felt the warmth of his legs and bare feet against hers. He pushed an arm under her shoulder and then she was lying against him with her head on his chest just above his heart, which she could hear pounding away steadily and not at all wildly as hers was.

It began slowly and delicately, as they lay close together in their cotton cocoon, with a few whispered words.

'Are you comfortable?' he asked, and she felt the movement of his jaw against her head.

'Yes, thank you,' she said, and felt the rumble of his laugh in his chest under her ear.

'Yes, thank you,' he mocked the way she spoke. 'You're always so polite with your thank yous and pleases.'

'I can't help it,' she mumbled. 'To be polite was drilled into me at school. And by Aunt Marsha.'

'Have you seen her lately?'

'No. She wrote me off as a bad loss when I took no notice of her warnings about you.'

'She warned you against me? When?' he exclaimed, obviously surprised.

'The evening of the day we met at Southleigh. She said I shouldn't get involved with you and when I refused to do as she said she told me I was a fool.'

There was a short silence, then he said in a low voice,

'Perhaps she was right. You'd be better off married to someone like Peter. He'd cosset you, stay with you, make a home for you—and I still can't understand why you didn't go through with a divorce.'

'I couldn't, not without seeing you first.' 'Pete said that wouldn't be necessary once I'd told him as my lawyer that I agreed to be divorced. He said he'd let me know how things turned out, but I never heard from him,

not once.'

'Did you write to him?' she asked.

'A couple of times, but you know me—I'm not the world's best correspondent.'

'Why didn't you write to me?'

Again there was a short silence, then she felt his fingers in a tress of her hair, twining it round and round.

'I didn't think you'd want to hear from me after what happened,' he murmured. 'God, if you knew how badly I felt!' The words sounded as if they were wrenched out of

him and the desire to comfort him was strong within her. Raising a hand, she touched his cheek with her fingers, stroking it gently at first, then laying her palm against it.

'It was my fault,' she whispered, and felt an immediate lightening of her spirits as she admitted at last to him that she had made a mistake. 'I shouldn't have behaved as I did. I was frightened and I didn't understand you. We knew so little about each other and Peter had just said that you probably weren't faithful to me while you were away . . .'

'Peter, Peter, Peter!' he interrupted her fiercely. 'It all seems to revolve about him and what he said to me and what he said to you. We were communicating through him instead of directly with each other.'

'I know. He'd come between us. I tried to communicate with you. I went back that night when I'd calmed down to tell you I was sorry, but you weren't there. I waited up all night for you, but you didn't come. I hoped you'd be there the next day when I came home from work, but . . . but . . . you'd gone. Oh, Edmund, it was awful!'

Tears spurted from her eyes, ran down her face on to the bare skin of his chest. His arms tightened about her and he murmured soft words of comfort. He stroked her hair tenderly, tilted her chin with his fingers and licked the teardrops from her eyes. He kissed her quivering mouth gently, his lips warm and soft. Her lips pursed beneath his, returning the kiss, and she slid her hand round his neck, pressing it against the nape to show she didn't want him to move away. She could feel the hard thrust of his hips against hers and the tingling touch of his fingers against her breast as they slid under the edge of her bikini bodice.

They were close in the warmth and darkness of their airborne bed and there was only one way in which they could he closer. Edmund stopped kissing to speak, his voice a soft

seductive sound, his breath warm and smelling ot tobacco smoke as it drifted across her face.

'Delia, you know what I want, but is it what you want?' he said. 'I wouldn't like to frighten you again.'

She pressed against him, feeling a sensuous delight in the touching of their warm bodies.

'Oh yes, please, Edmund, make love to me now. I've wanted you so much for so long. That's why I came to Brazil when I found out where you were. I wanted to be with

you.'

He didn't hesitate any longer. His lips found hers again and drew from her an immediate passionate response. The hammock swayed a little and its strings creaked. Through the opening in the roof of the hut stray moonbeams slanted in as if to bless the simple natural reunion, and outside the rhythmic beating of jungle drums came to an abrupt stop.

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