She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like technicality. Feel the arms—so good. So kind. Welcoming all—welcoming all to Rio.” She grinned, and suddenly backed into the crowd that had formed behind them. “Hide and seek!” she mouthed.
She disappeared. River tried to smile—to enjoy the game.
But she’d disappeared so easily.
What if he couldn’t find her?
He began to mill through the crowd, seeking her out. He walked the entire circumference of the base. He didn’t see her.
And then, as he rounded a corner one more time …
She was there.
Grinning, laughing, delighted that she had eluded him for so long.
“Now you,” she insisted.
“No, really,” he said.
“But it’s your turn.”
“I’m afraid that you won’t want to find me.”
“But I will, of course. I will always find you,” she told him. “We’re both free—but I’ll always find you.”
He nodded, watching her. “Freedom is good. As long as it’s not used to hurt other people.”
She cast her head at an angle, studying him. “I live to please myself—but never to hurt others,” she told him.
“Let’s get in line for the cog train,” he said. “There is someone I have to pick up—someone we need to be with.”
She hesitated. “I don’t—I don’t wish to meet others. What we have together should just be together.”
“You won’t mind this friend—I know you won’t. It’s my dog, Convict.”
“Dog? And you named him Convict?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “I stole him. But he was being mistreated.”
She smiled and touched his arm. “I would love to see your dog.”
“And I would love for you to meet him.”
She seemed a little tired as they made their way back, quiet, content just to hold his hand or lean against him. When they reached the city, no one seemed to pay any attention as they hopped on the bus to take them to the outskirts and Beluga’s place.
She stopped on the road, pulling back. “You stay here?” she asked him.
“Often.”
She smiled. “I’ll wait for you here. Don’t stay long,” she added softly.
“Beluga is the nicest man and Maria, who tends the place, is lovely too.”
“I believe you.”
“So come with me.”
“No, I’m a little tired. Not my best. I’m happy to meet a dog tonight. Dogs don’t judge. I will meet people at another time,” she assured him.
“As you wish.”
He didn’t understand why she was loath to go with him, but he didn’t push. He believed that if he gave her room, he’d come to know her better.
He saw Beluga—the big man was speaking to a young couple beneath one of the beautiful old trees by the main building. But tonight, River didn’t want to wind up in conversation with his friend, so he slipped by, anxious to avoid him. He found Maria in the kitchen; she greeted him warmly and told him there was room for him that night. He smiled, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and told her that he had an adventure planned that night but promised that he’d see her later—without defining what later might mean. Convict was delighted to see him, and yet, a little hesitant about whether or not he should leave Maria.
“Your master is here!” she told the dog. “Go with River.”
Convict barked happily. He wagged his tail. He was ready to go. River thanked Maria and she told him, “It’s okay. Convict is a good dog. Even Beluga likes Convict. He likes to call him, ‘mangy dog,’ but then he sits with him with his big old hand on his head and they’re both happy, like two old men!”
Convict raced ahead of River and out to the road, pausing and looking back now and then to make sure that River was with him. The dog greeted Natal as if they were long-lost friends, as if they had known one another forever.
Natal laughed and petted the dog and made a fuss over him—delighting the dog.
“He’s a good friend, right?” River asked.
“A very good friend,” Natal agreed.
“And now?”
“Now we wander. We find food. We find a place on a hill where we can look up and see the statue and the stars. But first, let’s picnic somewhere special.”
“And where is that?”
“I will show you. We’ll buy some food first—even if we’re not hungry right away, we now have a good friend to feed,” she said, patting Convict.
He was all for that.
And since they were just heading into evening, there were many vendors on the road. River stopped a truck carrying produce; they went to a local shack of a store and bought meat and bread and a bottle of wine.
Natal led the way.
“We’re going to need another blanket,” he told her.
She grinned. “So we will. But it’s not a bad thing, is it? You pay for the blanket—and you give it away to someone who needs it. That’s a good thing.”
He touched her face and smoothed her hair back. “Yes. Why not? A good thing. Well—do we hitch a ride? Take a bus?”
“We walk. Down an old path.”
River purchased a blanket from a vendor, and then he and Natal took the road to a drive that was barely discernible in the grass and brush that was encroaching on it.
And halfway to their destination, River saw the house.
He paused and whistled softly.
It belonged in the pages of a book for those touring “haunted” places; it also belonged in a book where a digital company could wipe away time and the elements to show one of the most beautiful old Victorian houses ever.
“Abandoned? That’s abandoned?” he asked.
Natal was silent for a moment and then said, “The owner couldn’t pay his mortgage; I believe he angered the lender. He’s not been gone that long—this is Brazil. Greenery grows quickly; rains take their toll.”
“You mean that it went into foreclosure?” he asked.
“You could say that.”
“And no one did anything with a place this beautiful?” River asked.
“Oh, the lender is doing something with it—he’s leaving it as a warning to those who do not pay their bills. Who do not pay homage to those in power. Come—you must see it inside.”
She headed quickly down the path; he followed. Dusk was just beginning to fall; the house with its balconies and beautiful gingerbread porch was cast in mixed tones of violet and gold and orange.
She was up the steps and through the door before River could catch up with her. When he passed through to the foyer and the grand parlor, he paused again. The house had been beautiful. Now, leaves cluttered the floor; there was a broken window right in front. And yet, the grace of the curving stairway, the charm of the fireplace and hearth, remained.
“Come upstairs—we’ll picnic there!” she said.
As usual, she scampered ahead of him.
He caught a glimpse of her as she hurried into a room. He followed.
The shadows of dusk sat over the room, erasing some of the cruelty of time. Large French doors opened to the balcony.