When he woke again, the sun was just above the horizon. He pulled himself up so he could survey his position; he had come down the ridge and was within a hundred yards of the river below when he fell. The blackened jungle was silent and motionless and Edward felt a chill of horror spread over him: the sunny river’s-edge habitat of the lovely Laelia and their kinsmen the Cattleya and Brassavola now lay in ashes.
Nausea swept over him and a cold sweat broke over his body as he recalled his initial misgivings about Eliot and Vicks. Was Vicks with his contraband Hevea seedlings a part of this scheme as well? How careless of Mr. Albert and Lowe & Company to allow the investors to interfere, though surely they had no idea of the true nature of Mr. Eliot’s mission. Now it was clear: Eliot’s only purpose on the expedition was the fire; the fire had been planned months before by the investors, who wished to make certain they possessed the only specimens of Laelia cinnabarina. They wanted no unpleasant surprises from rivals to drive down the price of the Laelia cinnabarina. Rival hybridizers would be stymied when they sent out their plant collectors now that this Pará River site was destroyed. Habitats for the Laelia and Cattleya had been disappearing rapidly since the early forties. Now orchid hunters would be forced to go even farther up estuaries too overgrown and narrow even for canoes, where only a few specimens might be found.
As he descended the ridge, he lost sight of the canoe on the riverbank. Surely the Frenchman had seen the smoke and escaped the flames. The fire might have driven them away temporarily, but they would return to search for him as soon as possible. He had suspected Eliot was a scoundrel from the start, but he believed he could rely on Mr. Vicks, who, after all, was affiliated with the Kew Gardens.
Anger suffused his body, and the pain receded. This was an outrage! At the very least, Lowe & Company badly misused him by sending him out with that criminal Eliot; at worst, they had betrayed him, and now the criminals had left him for dead! He was used as a decoy in the service of scoundrels, though he did not see Vicks in quite the same light because he smuggled the disease-resistant seedlings for a noble purpose.
The fire burned the dry sunny exposures preferred by the Cattleya and Laelia but burned itself out once it reached the deeply shaded damp foliage. The jungle canopy, untouched by fire, came alive as the sun rose above it; the screeching and calling of the parrots and macaws rose to a crescendo, then gradually receded as the morning got hotter. Surely Mr. Vicks would insist search parties be sent out as soon as it was daylight. Edward knew he had to reach the riverbank or his rescuers would never see him on the hillside or hear his voice over the noise of the rushing water.
Carefully he slit the leather and removed the field boot from the injured limb; the leg seemed as if it was a separate object, not his own, with no relation to the pain that left him sweating and nauseous. He removed the bootlace and his belt, pausing from time to time to let the nausea subside. He gingerly maneuvered the leg until it lay parallel to the tripod, then he lashed the leg to the tripod with the bootlace and belt. He knew it was imperative the leg remain immobile, or bone fragments might sever an artery.
Inch by inch he crawled, pushing aside rocks and debris so the injured limb he dragged would have a clear path. He was soothed by this contact with the earth and her gravity that held him close with no danger of a fall. The limb was numb now and the pain seemed to migrate to his other leg, then to his shoulders and arms. After what seemed like hours, he reached the riverbank, though he still was some distance upriver from the site of the temporary camp where the canoes were tied. He was very thirsty by then; the canteen with safe water and the packet of purification tablets were lost somewhere on the hillside, but he knew that to drink untreated river water invited fever and illness more grave than any broken limb. The sun was high overhead now; his rescuers should be along soon.
He dreamed about the white marble pool and fountain in his sister’s garden; in the dream he drank and drank the cool pure water to satisfy his thirst. Others at the garden party were sipping champagne, and among them, oddly enough, relaxed as if she belonged, was the Negress from the cantina with the little monkey in her arms. One of the guests, an older man he did not recognize, approached and warned him the water was not safe. He offered Edward a glass of champagne, but suddenly the Negress bared one breast to him and the voices of the other guests called out, “Drink! Drink!”
He woke when he realized the voices in his dream were voices on the river; frantically he called, but from his prone position his cries were muffled by the vegetation and the rush of the river. He must pull himself up now or he was lost. With all his will, with all his remaining strength, he pulled himself up into sitting position and yelled again. Surely the canoes that paddled against the upriver currents could not pass by so quickly; but it was no use; he could see nothing. The rescue party would pass a last time on their return trip downriver. Stand up or die, a voice inside him said. He braced himself against a fallen tree and managed to stand if he leaned back hard against the tree; the trouble was the surrounding foliage would allow rescuers only a glimpse of him as the current of the river sped their canoes past.
Just when he thought he could no longer endure the pain of standing, the canoes came into sight and he began to shout and wave his arms, though each motion caused a blinding pain to shoot up the leg and through his body to his forehead. They were not far away. He could see them clearly; each of the Frenchman’s mestizo sons commanded a canoe manned with Indian paddlers. From the banter and laughter between the canoes, they might have been on a holiday; Edward tried to yell with all his might at the top of his voice but managed only a hoarse croak; all the calling he’d done previously and the dryness of his mouth left him mute. Balanced precariously on his one good leg, Edward waved wildly with one arm and then the other, but it was no use; the laughing men in the canoes were passing bunches of bananas back and forth, eating the fruit and tossing the peels into the water.
His associates thought so little of him they had not even bothered to come along with the search parties, he realized bitterly. The first canoe was nearly out of sight and the other was moving away swiftly, and all he could do was wave helplessly.
He slumped to the ground after he lost sight of the canoes. He was sweating and dizzy from the exertion and from the pain in the limb. Fortunately the leg did not seem to be infected, but he knew time was running out. He regretted he had not broken open the camera, for its shutter mirror he might have used to flash signals to the passing canoes. Surely the search parties would not abandon their task so easily.
He felt so much better when he was lying on the ground; he must get a good rest before he stood up again. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around his face and head to keep off the mosquitoes and flies while he slept. Thirst tormented him with dreams of clear running streams and deep clear pools of fresh water; he had gone nearly twenty-four hours without water. If he was not rescued by late afternoon he knew he must risk dysentary and fever with a swallow of river water or he would die of thirst. He dreamed of crystalline cascading streams as cold as the snow that fed them from the peaks of the Sierra Nevadas where his father took him to fish for trout. He was kneeling along the trout stream about to take a sip of cool water when he heard his father’s voice call him. He wanted a swallow of water so badly he hesitated to stand up and answer his father. Then in his dream he remembered his father died years before, and he thought how odd that a dead man should call him.
He woke from a dream that he had fallen in the river and was choking on the greenish waters, but the water kept flowing into his mouth and splashing over his face. He had to wipe the water from his eyes to squint in the bright sunlight at his rescuers, gathered in a half circle around him. The instant he recognized the faces of the Frenchman’s sons he began to babble his gratitude. Over and over he thanked them, but the handsome young mestizos both shook their heads modestly and looked at their feet; no, the señor should not give his thanks to them because really they had given up the search a
nd were on their way home. They said his friends thought he died in the fire; their father sent them to bury his remains and bring back any valuables. Luckily they brought along a helper, the mestizo brother said with a big grin on his face; thank the helper, not them! At that moment his brother lifted something off his shoulder and set it on the ground. The little monkey nervously fingered its red leather collar and looked up from face to face all around until its gaze fell on Edward.
Apparently, the monkey jumped around in the canoe and looked back toward the riverbank to signal it had seen someone or something unusual. They turned back to investigate but at first they could not see him; but again the little monkey chattered and refused to return to the canoes. Finally they came to catch him and found Edward lying unconscious.
The mestizo brothers prepared to administer first aid to prevent infection in the injured limb. They spoke soothingly as they opened knapsacks and removed various implements and a bottle; tribal healing remedies, he thought. The mestizo brothers talked to take his attention from the pain as they cut away the trousers and stocking to expose the injuries. One brother poured kerosene into the wounds on his leg from a glass bottle identical to the bottles Eliot had carried in his knapsack. Edward’s shocked expression as he watched the kerosene pour into the wounds caused the brothers to reassure Edward kerosene would kill everything that might try to infect the wounds. Kerosene was used for everything here; even the old-time tribal medicine people swore by kerosene for injuries, infections, and infestations of lice or ticks. The mestizo brothers were smiling broadly by the time the bottle of kerosene had been emptied over the wounds on his leg. Edward nodded grimly at his jolly physicians and drank more water from the canteen the mestizo brothers gave him. It was not until he emptied the canteen and asked for more water that he saw them casually dip the canteen into the river. His rescuers noticed the odd expression on his face when they gave him the full canteen, so again they tried conversation to soothe their patient.
One Indian had to ride in the other canoe to make way for the injured leg. The little monkey rode on the canoe’s bow, watching the riverbanks ahead. The water revived Edward, and he was able to raise himself up in the canoe with the injured leg straight out ahead of him. The mestizo brothers praised the little monkey; if it had been them alone, they would not have turned back upriver again. This was summer festival week and they were in a hurry to get back for the revelry that night.
The other brother passed Edward the bottle of rum that went back and forth between the canoes; the burning mouthful brought tears to his eyes when he swallowed it. The mestizo brothers and the Indians let out whoops of celebration. Edward was surprised to feel his spirits lift despite the pain. His rescuers were elated to find him alive and broke out another bottle of rum to celebrate. They composed a triumphant song they sang at the tops of their voices.
“We saved the white man,” they sang; “we saved him with the help of the good luck monkey! Otherwise, the white would have died; yes, he would have died.”
His friends had departed that very morning at daybreak on the Louis XV downriver to Pará, the mestizo brothers told him. Edward was not prepared for such news and his face must have registered the shock, because the mestizo brothers became oddly apologetic about the behavior of his colleagues and tried to explain away their abandonment of him: they had to make the departure of a steamer for Havana and they thought he was dead. Yes, they were sorry but they could not wait. They had to go because the authorities were on their way to investigate reports of an English smuggler. With each bit of news, the pain in the leg stabbed harder and he was bathed in sweat. He vomited the river water, then lay back on the bottom of the canoe, shaken by the dry heaves.
When they reached Portal, the Indians carefully lifted him from the canoe and carried him to a hammock hanging on the deck of the Louis XIV. The mestizo brothers splinted the leg with parts of a broken chair wrapped with old silk stockings. They poured more kerosene over the leg and pronounced the wound clean, but they warned the leg might need a long time to mend. The brothers attended to all of his needs. They sponge-bathed him while he lay in the hammock, and found his valise with clean clothing and his own kit with tincture of Merthiolate, bandages and plasters, and, of course, tablets of aspirin and belladonna. They took turns feeding him bowls of hot fish soup and tea with odd leaves floating in the cup; for pain, they explained; the tea would help him sleep.
He closed his eyes but was still aware of the sounds and noise from the barges and riverboats nearby; he heard voices in the cantina and he heard the music box begin to play a waltz. He imagined his furry savior intently turning the crank as the Negress, in a red dress, danced with the elder of the mestizo brothers. Later he woke but could not tell if it was evening or early morning due to the lanterns shining along the decks of the boats and barges. He heard the sounds of hammering but they were not close by and he could see no one moving on the barges with the cantina and dance hall. The effort of lifting and turning his head toward the river left him tired and he lay back and closed his eyes again.
He slept heavily for hours and later recalled his physicians came twice to administer their special hot tea. But when he woke he immediately sensed something was different; the little monkey was tied to his valise under the hammock and the Louis XIII, which had been tied next to them, suddenly was gone. He pulled himself up for a better look and was shocked to see the barges and other river craft that formed the floating town were gone. Only the Louis XIV remained.
Edward saw and heard no one on board except for his rescuer, the monkey, who seemed happy to see him awaken. While he slept the entire town floated off to a new location, free of raids and tax authorities. The long sleep was a healing agent, just as the mestizo brothers said. Edward felt much better and was able to maneuver himself and the injured leg out of the hammock to reach the pair of crutches cleverly carved from branches of mahogany.
He untied the monkey and the little creature danced gaily about, chattering with what Edward imagined was gratitude. Together they sat on the shady side of the boat to share the cache of canned goods and fresh mangoes and guavas left by the mestizo brothers.
At night he allowed himself the luxury of a pot of hot tea, though the little kerosene cookstove was low on fuel. The monkey quickly learned to bring him a mango, then to toss the fruit peelings and pit into the river when he was finished. The floating town of Portal was gone. For six days he and the little monkey were the only occupants of the Louis XIV; the leg was much improved so long as he did not move about too much. There was ample water and food, but Edward agonized over the unknown fate of his remaining two boxes of orchid specimens. His “friends,” Eliot and Vicks, had taken all of his boxes along with them, the mestizo brothers assured him, except for the two boxes they overlooked. Edward was relieved to see the boxes contained Laelia cinnabarina specimens he collected the day before the accident.
The limb seemed to be healing safely as the mestizo brothers promised, although the healing required he sleep a great deal. He no longer bothered to tie the monkey, who curled up under the hammock while he slept. As each day passed he thought less and less about the past, even the immediate past, and focused only on this place and this time. When a rainstorm and wind threatened to flood the boxes of orchid specimens, he was able to balance himself on the crutches well enough to maneuver the boxes to safety without a thought of the future of the specimens or himself. Although he knew it was only six days, he felt as if he had been alone with the monkey for six months. He felt as if years had passed since his fateful introduction to Vicks and Eliot in the offices of Lowe & Company. Now when he recalled the preceding weeks of fieldwork with Eliot and even Vicks, he felt as if another person, not himself, had lived those weeks.
As he began to feel stronger, Edward passed the time reading; most of the books he brought were botanical texts about orchids and bromeliads—nothing he wanted to read now. He brought a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but oddly the sonnets stirred
up anxious feelings that left his heart pounding, so he set it aside for a delightful book about ornamental ponds.
On the eighth day, the monkey woke him with excited chattering, and he heard the chug-chug of a boat coming upriver. He expected to see the Louis XV round the bend in the river, but it was a Brazilian government boat with uniformed officers at the bow. Edward greeted them warmly and asked which of them was the doctor. They looked blankly at one another and then at the injured limb. They knew nothing about his companions or the accident; they were acting on information received weeks before. The officer was disappointed Edward was not the reported Englishman.
Once Edward identified himself, the senior officer wasted no time; he informed Edward he was under arrest for suspicion of smuggling forbidden plant material. They were quite polite and did not use the handcuffs; they helped him out of the hammock and the three of them assisted him on board their boat. They loaded his boxes and luggage into the police boat. He was so stunned by his arrest and the dizziness and nausea that followed his short trek to their boat, he failed to notice the error made by the police. Just as they reached Pará, Edward noticed the Frenchman’s little monkey tied to a handle on his big steamer trunk. The officers permitted Edward to bring the monkey along with him to the jail, and later the monkey accompanied him and the senior officer to the telegraph office across the street from the jail. Lowe & Company responded promptly with a generous advance to cover his medical expenses and all fines and legal fees. Ever discreet, Mr. Albert’s cablegram made no mention at all of Vicks or that scoundrel Eliot.
The local magistrate counted the money twice and ordered Edward’s immediate deportation; early the following morning, deckhands lifted his stretcher aboard the steamship bound for Miami by way of Havana. Edward tipped the captain and first mate handsomely to keep his two remaining crates of orchids away from the customs inspectors. The little monkey was safely hidden in a compartment of the steamer trunk until they were in open water.