“I love my country too,” River told her. “But loving it doesn’t mean that I believe we have always been right. After all, we massacred much of our native population.”
“Conquerors conquer,” she said. “Anyway, the dictatorship was defeated by a vote in 1985. Then we had terrible economic times, but since then, we’ve had a few good men and now, today, we try very hard for a stable government and to be a part of the world that is equal and humane and growing and we … we are a good people, really, living in a beautiful land! We’re different, very different. We were colonized by the Portuguese—not the Spanish, English, or Dutch. Our men were, hmm, I think the term is ‘hard up,’ but it led to good things—a real mix of people! We celebrate our European heritage, our native heritage, and our African heritage all at once.”
He laughed. “You don’t have to sell me—I’ve told you. I love Brazil very much.”
Toward the end of the meal she grew somber. “So. Will you just wander forever?”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll live here.”
“Why do you hate your own country?”
“I don’t hate my own country,” he told her. “I—I told you, I love my country.”
She sat back straight in her chair as if she were a stuffy doctor. “Yet you have … issues.”
“Everyone has issues,” he told her.
“You don’t talk about war.”
Had he mentioned his occupation as a soldier? “No one should talk about war,” he said.
The air seemed to be filled with smoke.
There was no smoke in the place. None at all.
River tried to sit still; he tried not to duck, not to appear a fool. But he could hear the whistling again—the whistling that meant a bomb was coming.
And through it all that weird scent, not of fire now—but of pancakes.
She set her hand on his. “I’m sorry. We’ll not talk of war. We’ll talk of the goodness of man.”
He forced a small smile and wagged a stern finger at her. “When we’re good, we don’t steal coins.”
She pouted. “I left her all my clothes.”
He shrugged. “What if she didn’t want clothes?”
“She did—my clothes were much better than hers.”
“Okay, but we pay from now on.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think … I didn’t think you had much money. I wanted to do things with you—it seemed best.”
“I have money,” he told her.
She tossed her hair back with a lazy hand. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I like this word—okay. Easy. Nice.”
“It became popular in America when Van Buren was running for president,” he told her. “He was nicknamed ‘Old Kinderhook’ and his supporters formed the OK Club. But some say it’s from the Scots—och aye—and some say it’s from the French—Aux Cayes—which was a port in Haiti with excellent rum. I don’t know—but it is a good word.”
She stared at him, her surprise obvious.
“Hey, I read.” He grinned. “I like obrigado.”
“Thank you,” she translated. “And you just like that word because you use it often. You’re nice.” Her gaze flickered to his mouth. “Too nice, really.” She traced River’s hand with her own, sending a shiver down his spine.
The wandering musician appeared suddenly at their table. Natal leaned closer to River. “Robert Carlos—a song from the early 1970s. Very beautiful. ‘Detalhes.’ It is a love song,” she added, her eyes twinkling.
The strumming musician sang a little off-key. But what he lacked in vocal grace he made up for with enthusiasm and drama. He seemed a little old and a little worn, just like the restaurant, and yet he was perfect.
When he was done, he stood there grinning at them—waiting. River tipped him handsomely, and the man moved on.
Natal squeezed River’s hands. “Let’s get our bill—we haven’t taken the cog train yet and you said that we would do that.”
“Yes, yes, of course, let’s do that.”
They did, enjoying every minute on the cog train that took them up to the Christ the Redeemer statue.
When they were close, the statue was even more immense than he remembered. Getting off the train, Natal wanted to take the 220 steps that led to the base of the statue rather than the escalators. He tried to keep up with her—she was fast, but he caught her as they reached the base. She laughed. “It’s one of the new Seven Wonders of the World, you know,” she told him. “It’s damaged—and it’s fixed. Now, it means Rio!”
“It’s immense, it’s majestic, it’s wonderful—and I’ve never seen it as I’m seeing it now, because of you,” River told her. “My friend.”
They were close, so close he could have taken her in his arms and kissed her. She would have fallen into them, held him in return, kissed him back.
And yet, suddenly, she backed away, looking at the ground. “We—we are friends. I tease too much.”
“No.”
“I am a free spirit. You are a free spirit.”
“Of course.”
“Let’s just … have fun. Have fun with me. Let’s enjoy our time.”
He’d pushed too hard. River took a step back, though he wanted nothing more than to draw her to him and demand to know what was going on with her life, what caused these sudden moments of gravity.
He knew that he couldn’t. If she walked away …
“Just fun,” he said, though it pained him to do so.
She grinned and seemed easier. “I will write about this,” she told him. “I will write about that little girl—the one craning her neck. I will write about the wonder in her eyes. I will write about the statue—how beautiful it is, and how it has become the icon of Rio.”
“Will you write about the government too?” he asked.
“The government has always seen to it that the statue is cared for.”
He nodded. “But the government doesn’t always see laws as being the same for all men.”
“In any government there are those who serve—and those who wish to be served.”
“And there are corrupt police who are blind to the antics of some men.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Here—and everywhere.”
“But we can’t let them get away with what they do,” he pressed.
“What are you getting at?” she asked sharply, crossing her arms tightly.
“You’ve heard of Tio Amato?”
Something flashed in her eyes, gone before River could interpret it. “I don’t want to write about people like him. I prefer to write about the people.” Her voice changed. “The farmers. The men with their fields and their trucks and the women who raise their children and bake and create families. I like to know how they think and feel. They are real—not those who posture and … never mind. Let’s not think of anything bad or evil now. We are almost in the arms of the Redeemer.”
For a moment, he was tempted to argue back, to make her understand that evil couldn’t be so easily dismissed. Yet, wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing? Using Natal to distract him from his darker thoughts?
What sort of man did that make him?
“Well, technically, we’re nowhere near the arms,” he said at last, not ready to reveal himself as a hypocrite. “They’re way above the ground!”