Page 114 of Beautifully Wild

“I can keep my distance from the people. I have meds and a bottle of alcohol hand wash. I’m not leaving you alone at night.” He walks briskly toward the center of the village.

Twilight never scared me. The dark hours past midnight freaked me out more, and I’m thankful to be in his hut and not alone in the dark at the campsite.

“There’s an immune-boosting tea I’ll have the ladies make you. It’s safe for pregnant mothers. It will also help fight any viruses you may be carrying.” He points to a log at the side of the fire, a good distance from the others as they eat dinner.

Heads turn, curious eyes meet mine, and a whisper spreads through the group. A new person visiting can be unnerving to them, and apart from Samuel, no one returns to the village. Yet after seeing Kaikare’s trinkets, I know people have visited before Samuel’s arrival. My interest is with one particular visitor, and I need to approach the question with sensitivity.

I glance over to Samuel, who is standing away from the ladies cooking over another fire. One hands him a cup, and he drinks it. They give him another, and he holds on to it. Our gaze meets. The fire casts a flickering light, and I catch his expression—a look of relief, joy, and desire. The sight of him takes my breath away. Shadows highlight pectoral and abdominal definition, and I’m already imagining running my fingers along each contour tonight.

Turning away, I’m still smiling when my gaze meets the shaman. His expression is serious and questioning. I nod, lower my gaze, and dip my chin. When our eyes meet again, I sense the probing, like ayahuasca’s fingers in my thoughts. Standing before the fire, his headdress is stunning with long feathers and more beads around his neck than I remember the last time.

Samuel appears beside him. They exchange a few words, and he holds up the cup in his hand. The shaman waves his hands over the top while Kaikare appears on his other side. Samuel speaks to her. Our eyes meet, and Kaikare beams a smile at me.

The shaman hands him the cup, and he walks around the outside of the congregation and slides in beside me.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He hands me the cup. “Drink this before your dinner.”

I take the cup and peer into the dark liquid, hoping it doesn’t come straight back up. I knock it back like a shot and cough at the bitter taste lingering on my tongue. “It tastes like poison,” I groan. He chuckles and speaks to one of the women who places a huge palm with roasted vegetables on the ground in front of me. She bows her head once before walking away.

“What did the shaman say?”

“He envisaged your return and knows you carry a secret.”

I place my hand on his knee and find joy in the way his eyes sparkle. “So, you told him?”

“He already knew, and it’s not the secret he was referring to.”

The shaman’s voice breaks our attention. The shaman raises his arms, holds them wide, encompassing his audience. I never thought of it until now, but he reminds me of the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio—a bigger-than-life protector overlooking his people, arms open wide, embracing every living soul.

“I have something else to show you,” I whisper. “I think you’ll be as curious as I am.”

“Let it wait for tomorrow. Enough surprises for one day.” Samuel’s arm snakes around my back, and I snuggle into his shoulder while he translates our bedtime story.

55

Eden

Afterbathinginthestream, I change into my newly woven grass skirt and take Samuel’s hand to tread through the forest. We stop for him to explain a certain vine or flower or point out the strangest of insects. The passion in his voice is different than my last visit. He’s more relaxed, and it’s like everything is sugarcoated, and he’s not warning me about the dangers.

Smoke from the village fire lingers in the breeze, helping to guide my broken compass. The path to the stream is identified by others where a cut vine or branch guides them. I’m starting to pick up on identifying marks to lead me even though it comes naturally to Samuel and the Ularans. The jungle grows rapidly, even overnight, and I don’t trust my instinct to walk alone until I can rely on my sense of direction.

We arrive at his hut, and I flop into the hammock. Nothing is simple. The walk to the stream is an equal distance from the village to the river only in the opposite direction. I stretch out the kinks in my back since last night wasn’t about sleep. There were times I doubted the strength of the hammock could support us both with Samuel demonstrating how much he had missed me.

Samuel climbs in to lay alongside me. We both need to catch up on rest. Snuggling into his side, I glance up at him wide-eyed.

“I thought you were tired?” I murmur.

“Lying here beside you is restful,” he says, and he takes my hand and squeezes it. “We talked about not keeping secrets. Do you want to tell me what’s in your pack?”

Oh, that. “I can’t be sure…” I roll off the hammock as ungraceful as I was on my last trip here. I open my bag and pull out the waterproof zip-lock bag containing photos and my grandmother’s brush. The diary is packed in a separate compartment and double-wrapped. “I want to explain the story from the beginning.” I climb back in to lie beside him.

First, I explain how my sister and brother have lived under different rules than me and how my father asked me to stay out of the jungle. Then I relay the stories my mother told me about my grandmother, her postnatal depression, and her work as a nurse. When I reach the part where she volunteered, met someone, and lost her baby, I show him the photos. We peruse the image for a while before I bring out the brush. “Kaikare has the mirror to match this. It could be coincidental for that period, but…” His face changes when he understands what I’m telling him.

“You believe the photo was taken here?”

“Kaikare told Asoo she’s had needles when we went to help with the measles outbreak in the small Pemón community. Do you know how old she is? I mean, measles vaccines released in the mid-sixties, right? My father is fifty-nine. Do you think she’s a few years younger than him?”

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