There seemed to be more music, pouring from every venue.
There were performers in the streets.
There was dancing, and women in colorful costumes with bare midriffs.
The city itself was incredible; it had a life of its own.
And from each peak that surrounded it, he knew, the view was spectacular.
But it was time to get to the statue—to find Natal.
He felt someone standing close behind him and turned. To his astonishment, it was Natal.
In a city so insanely large and crowded!
He smiled and cast his head at an angle. “Were you following me?”
“I don’t follow any man!” she said, laughing to keep any sting from her words.
“How did you find me here?”
“Well, maybe I followed you. A little.”
She was beautiful and as light as a summer day in a white embroidered peasant dress with a white flower in her hair. His heart beat faster.
“So … here we are. In a city that truly never sleeps. So many neighborhoods, so many museums, shopping … dining.” She threw out her arms as if offering the beauty of Rio to the world. “What shall we do today? I know! Rob a bank!”
He laughed. “We are not robbing any banks.”
“Then we should hop the metr? and see where it takes us.”
“I thought we were going to the Christ the Redeemer statue. I was about to head that way and try to find you.”
“But I found you.”
“Yes, you did. How?”
She ignored his question. “So—we do both love the statue. We can go there. Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes and sighing softly with a teasing lilt to her voice. “I will act like a tourist.”
“You know,” he reminded her, “I am a tourist.”
“Ah, yes. But you come here for a long time, right? There’s no place you have to be? You’re staying in Brazil.”
He shrugged. For a moment, something seemed to tear at his memory, but he dismissed it.
Yes, he was staying in Brazil. He wanted to see wonders with her here in Rio—and he wanted to travel the country with her. He walked to her, took her hand, and looked into her eyes. First, he had to really win her. Earn her trust. Make her feel for him …
That absolute need he had for her.
“Want to indulge me?” he asked. “You’ve shown me Rio as a native might see it. Let me show you Rio as a tourist might see it.”
She groaned softly. “I will not walk around with a city map and stare up at tall buildings.”
“I don’t expect that,” he assured her. “But—I won at the track the other day. Let’s take a tour. Let’s take the cable car up Sugar Loaf Mountain. Stop and see all the views. We can look down on Copacabana Beach and I’ll imagine the swimsuit I saw you in when we were there ourselves. We can view the Rio-Niterói Bridge and see Corcovado mountain. Then we can take the cog train all the way up to the Christ the Redeemer statue … stop in the little chapel and act like tourists.”
She dipped her head at an angle, offering him a half smile as she mulled over his proposition.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes—you will be the tour guide today.”
He caught her hand. “Come, then, we’ll catch the subway to the cable car.”
He was oblivious to the people around him—people of many different nationalities—as they hurried through the busy business district to catch the subway.
Natal, however, pulled back. There were stiltwalkers in the street. There were clowns and regal women dressed in colonial clothing, throwing candy to children. They were led by a vehicle playing music for them as they walked about and stooped here or there or paused for pictures.
“I love Carnaval,” Natal murmured. River had to lean close to hear her. “We’ve not yet come to Fat Tuesday, and already, the city is so alive.”
He paused with her and realized that half of what intrigued him so much about her was her ability to see all around her, to appreciate everything that she saw.
“Stop to smell the roses,” he replied.
“What?”
He smiled. “You. It’s a saying. Never become so embroiled with what you’re doing and where you’re going that you forget all that is beautiful.”
“Well, that would just be stupid, eh?” she asked, knocking his shoulder.
“Indeed.”
The stiltwalkers passed on by.
“You see, we were just like tourists, distracted by what is going on. But now—ready for the next adventure.”
He caught her hand, thinking that his face might freeze in the silly smile he always felt when he was with her.
“Onward,” he agreed.
CHAPTER 10
At the station, he produced his card—which, he realized, he could have used on the bus with Natal—and slid in with her close behind him. He was afraid he’d lose her if they stopped for another car.
She seemed amused. “Ah, so we are robbing the subway.”
“If you wish.”
They were jostled between others. But each time the subway car weaved and waved, he caught sight of her face and the smile she gave him—and the way she rolled her eyes.
Before following a line of tourists who seemed to be composed of Americans, Canadians, and an Italian family, they paused for dark, rich coffee. The Italians argued with the others about the size of their mountains. The Canadians reminded them all about the Canadian Rockies. Natal and River laughed with the others.
“You’re traveling Brazil alone with a backpack?” a Canadian woman asked.
The question was jarring; it seemed to take River from time and space. And then he saw the twinkle in Natal’s eyes.
“Ah, not really,” he said. “I have Brazilian friends.”
“Indeed, he does!” Natal said.
“And where are you from?” the woman asked.
“I’m an American,” River said. “Seeing the sights. Making my way around the world—with friends.”
“Lovely,” she said.
The cable car rose to the first height—seven hundred feet above sea level. Everyone rushed to the glass windows to look out. From there they could see the city with its teeming life, Guanabara Bay, Corcovado mountain, and the Rio-Niterói Bridge. And, of course, rising high on Corcovado, the Christ the Redeemer statue. From their vantage point, the magnificent mountains seemed touchable; the water in the bay was sparkling as if a thousand diamonds rested upon it, and the heights and valleys and water were all remarkable.
“This land—so beautiful!” Natal whispered.
“Nothing here is more beautiful than my friends,” he teased.
She flushed and grinned.
Soon, the cable car began to rise again. River found himself sitting next to an American man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties or perhaps sixty. He told River he was there with his wife, his son and his son’s wife, and their teenaged girls.
“The trip of a lifetime for the wife and me,” he said.
River nodded. “For me too.”
The man studied him briefly.
“You served in Afghanistan?” he asked.
“Iraq,” River replied, turning away. He didn’t want to be asked about his service; he didn’t want to answer questions about it. There was always something painful about it that seemed to burn in his gut. He’d see the flashes of fire, hear the screams of men.