Suddenly River was balancing his drink, trying not to spill it, as he found himself hopping in rhythm to the music—as Natal was doing.
He was perturbed; the blonde was in front of him, then, and Natal called out to him, “It is just dance; we all dance. Come, River, this is nothing wrong. It is Brazil!”
And so he danced. He thought about the night before and he thought that he loved Carnaval and Brazil. The people could be very religious; they honored their Catholicism. But they seemed to believe truly in the guidance that they should love everyone. They didn’t seem to have any hang-ups; the men danced with one another, laughed, changed partners, and had a good time.
“You will have dinner with us?” the light-haired woman asked him.
He realized that it was growing late; yes, even in Brazil, it was time for dinner.
“No, no, we cannot—we must go back,” Natal said.
“No, but thank you!” River said.
The blonde looked as if she would plead; Natal laughed, and thanked them all again—and dived over the side of the boat.
River did the same.
Natal swam hard for the shore and he followed behind her. She turned to splash him, her laughter ringing lightly on the air.
He splashed in return.
For a while, she played in the water. He caught her to him, treading water, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat. All around him he could hear the sounds of talking and music and the sounds of children playing. Splashing and enjoying the water, as they had.
But all he could see was Natal. Her eyes as he held her close. Her smile, as she looked back at him.
Then, something shifted in the sky; darkness was coming.
“I must go,” she said.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head; he had sworn that he wouldn’t push this. If he did …
She might not agree to see him again.
“As you wish,” he told her, releasing his grip. Natal swam toward shore. He followed.
When they reached his canga, his backpack was right where he had left it. The old woman nodded gravely to him as he thanked her. She smiled. He smiled in return.
Natal had slipped her clothing over her bikini. He swept up his own shirt and put it on and threw his backpack over his shoulders.
“Time to go,” he said.
She placed a hand on his chest. “I leave you here.”
“We can head back toward—”
“No, no, I must go now. From here. But I will see you tomorrow?”
He believed her. She had promised to be here today; she had come. And he had held her, even if just for a moment.
“Yes. Where?”
“A museum?” she suggested. “We have magnificent museums, art—history. Natural treasures.”
“A museum is fine.”
“No,” she said. “I know what you love. The statue. The Christ the Redeemer statue.”
“But where by the statue?” he pressed, remembering where lack of planning had gotten him earlier today, pacing for ages. “The place we sat last time?”
She offered him her most dazzling smile.
“I know how to find you. Don’t worry; I promise you—I will find you.”
She turned and scampered away off the sand.
And he was left alone, looking after her.
Even so, he was happy.
CHAPTER 8
Beluga was sitting in a chair out in the night, smoking a cigar and sipping what appeared to be scotch. He frowned when River came walking up. “You told me you had no schedule and might not be back—but you are. Why are you so late? Now we’re full tonight—I have a troop of Canadian backpackers and their chaperons here, kids on top of kids! I’m sorry—I didn’t think that you were coming back.”
“That is no problem, Beluga,” River told him.
“No? You want to sleep under the stars—with the bugs and the cold damp earth?”
River laughed. “No—I want to sleep under the stars and the velvet of the night sky.”
Beluga sniffed and muttered in his own language beneath his breath.
“The world is what we see it as, right, Beluga?” River asked. “Tonight, I see the beauty of the sky.”
“And the bugs of the earth, eh? Well, sit. Join me for a while.”
River did so.
“Nice night, eh?” Beluga muttered.
Everything in the world is nice—after the day I’ve spent, River thought.
“Yes, beautiful night.”
Except …
“You’re frowning,” Beluga pointed out. “What’s wrong?”
Beluga was right; a dark shadow had slipped over his mood. Of course, he knew why—when he allowed himself to really think. The world was beautiful with Natal. But the world should be … good. When things were wrong, a decent man was supposed to fight them. And to be a truly happy man, he needed to be a decent one.
And one thought haunted his mind far too often. Tio Amato—and the murder River was certain the man had committed.
“What is it?” Beluga asked again, turning to face him.
River was silent another moment before replying. “I saw Tio Amato yesterday at the track,” he said. “Today, I thought that I saw him again.”
The expression on his friend’s face turned grave. “Where?”
“Walking into the Copacabana Palace.”
Beluga groaned. “You didn’t go accuse him of dumping a man off a bridge, did you?”
“No.” River was silent a minute. “He’s a bad man, though, Beluga, a very bad man. And he taints those who are around him.”
“River, I have told you, I have explained what I know. Stay away from him.”
“I’m not a Brazilian peasant. He can’t touch me. I’m sorry; I’m not calling you a peasant. I’m just saying that I’m not native to this area; he can’t threaten me as he must others.”
“I’m not offended; I made my place here, I chose my place here. And no, you are not from here. But don’t deceive yourself; your American citizenship is no protection here. He can hurt those he chooses to hurt. Do you want to be the next body that he tosses off a bridge?”
“There must be a way to stop him.”
“He buys the authorities; leave him be.”
“Surely every policeman can’t be bought. I know there are those out there—from here—who believe in decency, who don’t believe in the innocent disappearing or being killed.”
“Sure. I believe it too. I just don’t know how you tell the good from the bad. Or even those who are good but afraid.” He was quiet for a minute. “You see many blondes in Brazil, my friend. Many your age. And do you know why?”