“Brazil,” he reminded her softly, “was the last country in the western hemisphere to abolish slavery—that was 1888.”
“Ah, so you aren’t a ‘yes’ man,” she said, pleased. “But, you see, that is the point! The original Portuguese settlers were mostly men, and they looked for companionship among the indigenous people and, yes, the slaves. So we are truly all mixed up—a big mix for many hundreds of years. And we think nothing of it. As a whole, as a society, that is,” she added, sighing a little. “Well, we’ve had our bad. In the thirties the government encouraged workers to come from Europe—but not Asia or Africa. But, that was the thirties. We are a browner society in general—and our constitution prohibits discrimination by the government and by the people!” She shrugged. “Still, sometimes it is hard. Prejudice exists everywhere, but … I will always work against it. Women may not be discriminated against, and yet, for some old men, it’s hard. They think that the woman’s place is, as your people say it, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen. But, we toss our hair at those who carry cultural weight and think they are macho men.” She paused again. “And I think we try here. We love life—and I love to write about all life, the good and the bad—and what makes it special.”
“Life?” he asked her, bemused. “What is it to you that makes life so special?”
“Art, pictures, and music—traveling. Dancing, and meeting people, the people in the streets, little children, pets … everything. The grass, the sun, the mountains and the valleys. Nature’s beauty, all of it. The oceans and lakes and … and rivers.”
He smiled. “Nice. And you make your points beautifully, with words that make people smile and think.”
“Thank you,” she said. A slight frown creased her brow.
“What is it?”
“Here, sadly, sometimes, money talks,” she said. “The color of money—that is what sometimes matters.”
“I believe that’s the whole world,” he told her.
She refused to be down.
“Life is what we make it, right? Come on … let’s hop on the bus.”
“We just gave away all our coins.”
“We’ll slip in the back.”
There was no way he could resist her.
“Come; it will be an adventure,” she persisted.
“I’m into adventure,” he assured her.
“Then follow me; I know how to do this.”
And she did. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along to an overhang on the side of the road where people were waiting. She nodded and smiled as they joined the throng. The roads here were dusty; farmers and women carrying belongings in rolled-up scarves waited.
Then the bus, spewing all kinds of smoke and noxious fumes, pulled up. A horde seemed to step off—and the group they were part of moved on. Natal led him through the back doors, where they were swept up in the sea of people and pushed toward the back.
He wasn’t sure about not paying people—just as he wasn’t sure about stealing coins. But she had left her clothing—probably worth much more!—in lieu of the coins—and, of course, he had set down the dollar bill.
The bus was going where it was going anyway. And if anyone noticed they were not paying, he did have bills in his backpack.
Natal looked at him and smiled as if they were conspirators. She leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry, River, Mr. Water, my friend. I will see to it that I pay double a few times; we aren’t taking anyone … let’s see—as you would say it—for a ride!” She laughed softly.
The sound was like music.
For a while, he held on to Natal and stood next to a man clutching a chicken. Natal smiled at him and spoke to the man—and River patted the chicken on the head. Natal laughed and the man grinned, and River thought that, all around Natal, people seemed to brighten. The man with the chicken left the bus. More people got on and off. At one stop, the driver pulled the bus off the road and came striding down the aisle. He began a rapid explosion at them in Brazilian Portuguese. Natal listened gravely; the driver reached for River but Natal grabbed River’s hand and lifted her chin in the air—and headed for the exit of the bus, pushing them both past the driver.
As they exited, River heard the riders who were still on the bus booing the driver for his actions.
Natal stood by, watching, hands on her hips, grinning and satisfied.
“You know, we could have just paid him,” River pointed out.
“Yes, but what is the adventure in that?” she asked.
“Getting where we were going!” he said, and laughed.
“Did you even know where we were going?”
“I guess I didn’t,” he admitted. “Do you know where we are?”
“In Brazil?” she teased.
“Even I know that!”
“We are close,” she told him.
“Close to where?”
“To where we are going.”
It wasn’t as if he had to be anywhere, River reminded himself.
And it wasn’t as if there was anywhere else he would rather be.
“How do we get there now?” he asked.
She lifted her two hands, presenting both thumbs. “We hitchhike.”
River wasn’t sure any sane person would pick up a scraggly backpacker like himself, but Natal had no doubts.
A car was coming down the dirt road. She did nothing. He thought that maybe he was supposed to be doing the thumbing. He started to step out but she caught hold of him and pulled him back. “Wrong way, silly! Just wave nicely!”
Embarrassed, he stepped back. But as she had encouraged him, he waved.
The farmer waved in return.
They both coughed in the cloud of dust left by the passing vehicle. But another quickly arrived, going the other way. The vehicle was a beat-up old Ford truck. Natal headed for the road before he could stop her—he ran quickly to put himself in front of her.
The truck stopped, and the driver, a friendly-looking white-haired fellow, waved them on back to the bed of the truck, offering them both a grin that showed his few remaining teeth.
River nodded his gratitude profusely; Natal said something in Portuguese.
They hopped into the back of the truck, squeezing between crates of clucking chickens.
“Chickens—it had to be chickens!” he murmured.
“What?”
“Bad joke,” he told her. “There’s an American movie—”
“Indiana Jones!”
“You know it?”
“Of course. He hated snakes—and he encountered snakes. Do you hate chickens?” she asked.
He laughed. “No—we’re just encountering a lot of them!”
She grinned and leaned against him a little. “It’s a bit of a drive,” she warned.
He didn’t care. Her leg brushed against his. The sky was blue above him. A cluck here and there meant nothing.
But they got there—though even when they did, River wasn’t sure where they were.
When they hopped out of the truck, Natal rewarded the driver with a kiss on the top of his white-haired head. They both waved their thanks as the driver drove away.
“Now?” River asked.
“We walk,” she told him.
“Walk where?”