Scofield managed a polite chuckle. “That’s funny, Cisco – that was your name, Cisco? – but I think all of us would appreciate having some idea-”
“I don’t use schedules, man. Schedules don’t work in the jungle.”
“You could be right about that, but they do work aboard a ship. It would help me – help all of us – to plan our other activities – pressing, drying, and so on – if we knew, for example, that on Monday at two there was a plant-collecting expedition, and on Tuesday at nine we were to meet with-”
Cisco interrupted. “What’s your name, buddy?”
“Arden Scofield.”
“Well, Arden” – Gideon saw Scofield’s jaw muscles stiffen – “let me let you in on something. Last time I knew what day it was, or even gave a shit, was probably about 1992. And I don’t wear a watch, so don’t talk to me about Tuesday at nine o’clock, man. And I got news for you. The curanderos don’t wear wristwatches either, so Tuesday at nine don’t mean anything to them either. When it’s time to go, I’ll come get you. Let me worry about it, okay? I mean, it’s not exactly like you’re going to be hard to find, is it?”
Scofield’s face had revealed a momentary flare of anger, but he decided to let it go and held up his hands, palms out. “It’s your show,” he said coldly. “Man.”
“Okay.” Cisco suddenly shuddered, put a hand to his face, and massaged his temples. “Hey, look, Arden, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start off on the wrong foot. I’m not feeling that great today, that’s all. I get these frigging headaches, and this new stuff I’m taking for them, it didn’t agree with me – look, I didn’t mean no offense, okay?”
“None taken, my friend,” said the wonderfully changeable Scofield, now all ruddy cordiality.
“I have a question, Cisco,” Duayne said. “Or rather a request. I’m primarily interested in insect life, especially unusual or rare insect life. So if there are opportunities to see some on some of our treks, I’d appreciate it-”
“You want to see bugs?”
“Well… yes.”
Another whinny from Cisco. “Well, you sure as hell picked the right place to come, Chief. We got bugs up the wazoo.”
EIGHT
A surprisingly good buffet lunch, its service genially overseen and described course by course by the captain, was set out for them in the dining room: Amazon River codfish in tomato sauce (a Peruvian national delicacy, according to Vargas), fried plantains, rice, beans, and cucumber-and-onion salad. There was a bowl of watermelon slices for dessert. Only the coffee service – open jars of Nescafe instant and powdered creamer, each with a crusted teaspoon stuck in it – left something to be desired. Still, considering where they were, thought Gideon, there was nothing to complain about.
Cisco had shakily disappeared down the corridor from which he’d come, but the rest ate at three trestle tables that had been pulled together. The tensions that had shown themselves earlier were no longer apparent, except in the case of Mel Pulaski, who sat as far as possible from Scofield, wolfed down his food without conversation, and left early. Everyone else, in good spirits, made an hour-long meal of it, most, including Gideon, even going back for more of the coffee.
Toward the end, when the general talk had broken down to conversations between two or three people, Maggie Gray and Scofield found themselves quibbling over the biochemical properties of Tynanthus panurensis, a rainforest vine used to treat fevers and rheumatism.
“I have a copy of Duke and Vasquez in my duffel bag,” Scofield said, rising. “If that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will. It’s in that first storage room.”
Tim Loeffler, sitting nearby, leaped to his feet before Scofield was all the way up. “I’ll get it, Professor.”
“Thank you, Tim,” Scofield said, sinking to his seat again. “It’s a blue bag with something about Peru on it. ‘ Peru: un destino privilegiado,’ or something. It’s stuck way in a corner by the back wall.”
Tim returned shortly with the bag and set it on the table in front of Scofield, who unzipped it, reached in, and jumped back with something between a yelp and squeak, a colossal, hairy, brown spider clamped around his hand and halfway up his forearm. When he reacted with a shudder, the thing flopped down to the table with an audible thwack, unharmed, its body held a good three inches off the surface by its jointed, yellow-banded legs. It glared at Scofield with two highly visible red eyes (and probably with the other six as well, Gideon supposed) and reared malevolently up onto its four back legs like a crab ready to do battle.
By now they were all on their own legs, well away from the table. Three of the chairs lay on their backs.
“ Jesus!” a pallid Tim said. “What is that?”
“Whoa,” Phil marveled, “look at that thing. It’s the size of a medium pizza. That’s got to weigh three pounds.”
Duayne, staring at it with something like ecstasy on his face, responded in an awed whisper. “It’s Theraphosa blondi, the Goliath spider. A male, if I’m not mistaken.” He turned to the others. “It’s the biggest spider in the world. It eats birds.” Tears of happiness had formed at the corners of his eyes.
“Did you hear that? The damn thing just hissed at me!” Scofield cried. As, inarguably, it had.
“No, no,” Duayne said, “not really. It’s not a hiss. He does that by rubbing the bristles on his legs together.” He pointed. “See? He’s doing it now. He does that when he feels threatened.”
“ He feels threatened! How do you think I feel?” Like everyone else, Scofield had his eyes fastened on the creature, which was still in its reared-up position, its upper body swaying slightly. “Tim, go get a broom and mash the damn thing.”
“Yuck,” said John.
“Me?” Tim asked woefully.
He was saved by Duayne, “No, you don’t want to frighten him any more than he already is.”
“The hell I don’t,” Scofield growled.
“Believe me, you don’t,” Duayne said, asserting himself. “He’s not particularly poisonous, but he defends himself by using his legs to flick off the hairs on his abdomen. He can send them five or six feet through the air” – everyone other than Duayne moved back another step – “and they’re barbed, you see, more like thorns than hairs, so they’re very irritating, like a nettle rash. And if they happen to get in your nose or mouth, they can swell the mucous membranes enough to choke you. Look, you can see the way his hair is standing on end right now.”
“He’s not the only one,” John muttered.
Osterhout, clearly enchanted, moved gingerly forward for a better look. The spider dropped down on all eight legs and ran with amazing rapidity to the far end of the table, its feet making an unsettling skittering sound. There it turned to face them again.
“Jesus, it’s fast,” marveled Phil.
“It certainly is,” affirmed Duayne. “It eats birds, you know. Did I tell you that? And it doesn’t need a web to catch them. It sneaks up on them, and then… bam! It’s got them.”
“That’s all very fascinating, doctor,” Scofield said. He was beginning to take command again, having largely collected himself by this time. “Now, perhaps you’d like to tell us how we get rid of the thing?”
“Oh, I’ll take care of it. I have to get some equipment. It’ll take just a minute.” He trotted to the door. “Don’t let it get away,” he called over his shoulder.
“Right,” John said to Gideon. “And how are we supposed to stop it again?”
“I didn’t hear that part,” Gideon said.
But the creature cooperated, remaining at the very edge of the table, immobile except for its moving mouth parts. (Were they slavering, or was that just Gideon’s imagination?) Duayne returned with a large, open, plastic jar – it looked like the sort of thing you’d get five gallons of peanut butter in at Costco – which he slowly set down a foot behind the spider.
“If someone would come very slowly back here and hold the jar steady…?”