She pointed to a small footpath that led upward. It was largely obscured by bracken, but she knew where she was going. He followed her.
He loved so much of the landscape in Brazil. The rainforest here was geologically ancient—way older than the Amazonian rainforest. When explorers had first come to the coast, they had seen nothing but green, the forest so rich it eclipsed all else. It had been called Mata Atlantica, or Atlantic Forest, and in places, it had stretched inland for 125 miles. But that had been then, and now, civilization—and the twelve million plus people who currently lived on the coast—had changed it. Only special, wonderful places were left where the flora and fauna—as uniquely diverse as the people—reigned supreme. In these wilds, a man could catch a glimpse of a woolly spider monkey, a lion tamarind, or a sloth. Not always, since the animals were wary of human beings. But the monkeys could sometimes be seen up in the trees; their cries to one another could occasionally be heard. It was truly a wonder—like stepping back in time.
“I feel like I’m on safari in Africa!” he called to her, getting smacked in the face by another branch.
“And wouldn’t you like to be on safari in Africa?” she asked. “I would.”
He laughed. “Okay, so yes, but, I don’t think I’m prepared to run into a lion.”
“Some beautiful birds, a few wild dogs—no lions in this stretch. Monkeys!” she added, grinning. “We are not so in the wild here, really. Or, at least, if we are in the wild, it is a wild that others have found too.”
He was surprised when they broke into a clearing, where a few vendors were selling cheese, fruit, bread, and some dried fruit.
“Now,” she said.
“Now?”
“Dig into your backpack for some bills for these people!”
He did. He walked behind her as she pointed out her selections and at the end, she must have argued about the price of the items because the old vendor continued to haggle with River.
He just grinned and paid the man, and then followed her over to where he was certain she was haggling over the price of a blanket with another old man.
He simply paid what was asked, grinning all the while. She shook her head and rolled her eyes; haggling was an art, he realized.
He shrugged and tried not to smile too stupidly. He was with her. They were having a picnic.
They headed off again, climbing. There were clear patches, areas of rock, and stretches of scruff and even heavy brush.
“We are about to find the treasure!” she called back to him.
A moment later, he followed her out into another clearing. They had climbed fairly high, but nowhere near as high as Corcovado mountain, which they could see in the distance. The Christ the Redeemer statue, in the late-afternoon sunlight, seemed to glisten and gleam and look down at them with a holy light.
“Christ the Redeemer,” Natal said. “A magnificent sight, yes—and from here, far from the crowds that throng around it every day.”
He turned to her. “This is breathtaking,” he said. “Truly beautiful.”
She smiled and flushed. “Set out the blanket, please.”
He quickly did so, doffing his backpack. Natal set to opening their little containers of food. “This place is good. You can see the statue. You can feel love and forgiveness—but you don’t have to see the tourists.”
“Are we in the national park now?” River asked her. The statue was in Tijuca National Park, he knew. He’d been to it before.
He’d never seen the statue as he was seeing it now.
She shook her head. “No, but we are near. There is a chapel under the statue and there are so many tourists, but … I will tell you a little secret. There is a pass—an old mountain pass—and it will take you there when you wish. I prefer it here.”
“Where we’re alone?” he murmured.
She rolled her eyes. “We are not alone. See there—by the gnarled old tree? Right beyond, there is an old couple, gnarled like the tree. But they come here for their lunch. Maybe they come to remember when they were young. When they had adventures, yes?”
“Maybe.”
“And over there,” she said. “There is a young couple—escaping a harsh papa, perhaps!”
She was right. They weren’t alone. But that, of course, was why the vendors were in the clearing: they sold their wares to those who liked to escape to this quiet place where they looked up and into the distance and saw the giant Christ—His arms outstretched to encompass all and, perhaps, forgive all.
Natal looked up at the sky. “Eat, you must eat. Enjoy what you see. We can’t stay long.”
He rolled over on the blanket and looked at her. “Why?”
“Because I must be back.”
“Why must you be back?”
She wagged a finger at him. “I am a free spirit—I don’t answer questions. Adventurers make no promises, and they give no explanations or excuses.”
He reminded himself that he had never really expected to meet her, much less spend an afternoon with her.
“No questions,” he said. “You need give me no explanations.”
She smiled at that. “So! I will tell you the story of the very old couple. She was a child in Germany—a Jewish child. He was an American soldier. When the Americans and Russians rolled into Brazil, he found her hiding in a field. She was terrified because she was Jewish; she was afraid to say so. But he showed her his Star of David and said, ‘But, fr?ulein, I am Juden too.’ They kept in touch; when he was twenty-eight and she was twenty-one, they married. That’s beautiful, yes?”
“Very.”
“Now you. The young couple.”
“Me?”
“Yes, now it is your turn. You must tell their story.”
River stared at them thoughtfully. “Hmm. Every man and woman has a story, and in beautiful tales, their stories combine—and they become one tale to tell. Let’s see. I will tell you their story. Their fathers are at odds with one another. They were business partners when the children were young. They had a huge fight. The mothers were friends too, but they were no longer allowed to talk. The children found one another at a football game. He is a star player. They met and flirted and teased and at a dance, they fell in love. But then they realized who they were—who their fathers were—and they knew they had to meet secretly.”
Natal clapped her hands in delight. “That is their story?”
“Okay, so it’s kind of a Romeo and Juliet rip-off,” he admitted.
“It’s a lovely story about the couple meeting in the rainforest beneath a canopy of trees and nature. Yes. Or, we could go back.”
“Back?” he said, swallowing his disappointment. She’d said that she couldn’t stay, but he hadn’t thought to lose her quite so quickly.
“For the story, we can go back to the days when the Portuguese came here.” She rolled toward him, mischief in her eyes.