Page 65 of Girl in the Water
He shut off that line of thinking and examined the city below them instead as they came in for landing.
Manaus spread on the side of the Rio Negro, surreal in every way. You didn’t expect to see a metropolis of almost two million people, bigger than Philadelphia, in the middle of the Amazonian rain forest, in a region with the population density half of Mongolia’s.
As they left the airport, stepping into the noise of a group of boys playing drums on the sidewalk, Ian watched Daniela slow and take a sniff. Even here, in the city, the earthy smells of the rain forest were in the air, mixing with the smell of fish from the river, and the harsher smells of civilization like car exhaust. But you could tell, just from the smell, that you were in the Amazon.
A disturbing thought that hadn’t occurred to Ian before gripped him.
Daniela said last night that this was no longer home for her. But maybe she’d feel different now that she was here. She could take a boat back up the river. She could stay, be anything—a teacher or start a business. She’d always been a river goddess.
What if the Içana calls her back?
She turned and smiled at him. “On the way home, I want to pick up some souvenirs for my friends at the airport before we leave.”
And something Ian hadn’t even known was knotted inside him slowly relaxed.
Cabs lined up by the curb. The cab driver at the head of the line opened the back door for them. Daniela gave the address for See-Love-Aid’s Manaus headquarters in Portuguese and chatted with the man as they got in.
She watched the city as they passed through. Ian watched her.
They didn’t go all that far. Less than half an hour later, the cab stopped in front of a building that might have been a shipping warehouse once but had been converted into See-Love-Aid’s sanctuary for displaced girls.
Mrs. Frieseke, a fifty-something American woman with softly graying hair and warm brown eyes, showed them around. She was the site manager. She reminded Ian of the director of the organization in Manaus, both women brisk, confident, competent, like distant sisters.
“The older girls make sisal rugs, placemats, flip-flops, bags, and baskets.” Pride bloomed in the woman’s voice like a flower as she led them to a workroom filled with teenagers. “Basically everything and anything that can be made from sisal. Then See-Love-Aid sells what we can through the Internet via fair trade channels. It pays for the children’s housing and education. And we’re able to set aside enough money for them to get started in life once they graduate out at eighteen. At that age, they’re mostly too old to be dragged into the sex trade.”
Ian raised an eyebrow, thinking he misheard.
But Mrs. Frieseke said, “Unfortunately, sex tourism is a booming industry here. People come from North America, Europe, all over the world. But they mostly want what they can’t get at home. Children.”
Ian glanced at Daniela. Sadness sat in her eyes. Obviously, this was no news to her.
Ian must have looked ready for murder, because Mrs. Frieseke patted his arm. “We’re working on it. Giving girls a safe place is one aspect. We’re also working on changing politics. Politicians, in general, don’t care. Sex tourism brings money into the region. The better the economy, the more likely a politician is to be reelected. And the girls are too young to vote, so they’re of no use to the men in government. But we will change it somehow.” She stuck her chin out. “I know we will.”
Ian had seen army drill sergeants with less determination.
They crossed the largest workroom as Mrs. Frieseke explained more about how the See-Love-Aid shelter in Manaus worked. The girls followed their every move, dark-haired, dark-eyed for the most, but a handful of blondes among them, skin every beautiful shade that God created.Safe.Ian liked that thought very much.
He glanced at Daniela and caught her watching the teens with a suspicious sheen in her eyes.
What is she thinking?
He didn’t want to ask in front of Mrs. Frieseke.
Maybe Daniela was thinking about how different her life might have been if she’d ended up in a place like this instead of Rosa’s. The thought slammed like a fist into Ian’s stomach. He stepped toward her… To do what? He stopped a foot from her, held back.
He suddenly understood that bringing her herehadbeen a mistake, but not for all the reasons he’d thought. Not because any investigation could turn dangerous. Daniela’s presence here was a mistake, because being back, even a hundred miles away from her village, was hurting her.
He knew her well enough to know that she was struggling with her emotions, her face just a little too impassive. And the fact that she had to struggle made Ian’s chest feel hollow, like the drums those boys had played outside the airport for tourists.
“Could we talk to the Heyerdahls?” he asked Mrs. Frieseke, to get them moving.
“They had to fly to Rio this morning. Their visas are expiring, so they need to renew them. They should be back tomorrow, or the day after, at the latest.”
That would work too. Ian and Daniela could lay the groundwork, get a good idea for what they were facing, before the parents and their emotions were brought into the mix.
He followed Mrs. Frieseke up the stairs, Daniela close behind them.
The dormitories were upstairs, for both the kids and the volunteers. Two separate staircases led up—one to the kids’ dorms, the other to a smaller area that belonged to the permanent staff and the visiting volunteers. The two areas were sealed off from each other, connected by a single steel door, to which, Mrs. Frieseke told them, she held the only key.
