Drake tried to sit up. His head swam, and along with the disorientation the pain returned with a vengeance. Supporting himself on one elbow, he reached up to his head and felt some sort of muck lathered on his skull. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, and gagged at the odor.
The woman stood and approached on bare feet, her bronze legs lithe, no trace of embarrassment at her nearly nude form. She shook her head and pointed to his skull, and then hers. He understood. He wasn’t to mess with whatever they’d put on his head.
The torrent of questions that flooded his awareness brought another wave of nausea and dizziness, and it was all he could do to keep from passing out. The woman made a sign with her hands like someone sleeping and pointed to him. His attempt to nod was ill advised, and he barely got his head back onto the cushioned softness of whatever they’d placed beneath it before he blacked out.
This time when he regained consciousness it was dark out. A small fire by the side of the structure provided the only illumination as its flames licked at the sky, the dim light flickering off the drying poles that supported the roof. The woman was sitting in the same place. When she saw his eyes open, she stood and moved to him with a bowl and a gourd. He pushed himself up on his elbow again and drank greedily, the water in the gourd tasting sweeter than any he could remember. Finished, he eyed the bowl distrustfully. Judging from the smell, it appeared to be some sort of a fish stew. He ate small bites of the pungent mixture, but couldn’t manage much due to the pain that sliced through his skull each time he opened his mouth.
She seemed to understand and removed the bowl from his grasp before pointing at his backpack, which was lying nearby, his knife resting on top of it, his belt rolled up neatly next to it. He grunted and cursed his inability to communicate. He wanted to ask her where he was, how he’d come to be there, why he’d been spared when the young man had seemed an instant away from eviscerating him, but he didn’t know how.
The energy seemed to drain from his limbs from the effort of supporting himself, and his frustration drifted into a dreamless sleep as the fire’s glow faded, the cooking over and the tribe already down for the night.
Morning brought with it the familiar Amazon heat. Drake awoke sweating. The woman knelt by his head, applying more salve to his wound, and he was pleased to discover that the swelling around his eye had receded somewhat during the night and that he could now see through it, albeit with the remaining puffiness causing discomfort when he opened it.
She spoke several words, which he interpreted as instruction to stay still, and he allowed her to press the goop in place, wincing as she did so. When she was done, she moved to the edge of the hut and placed the bowl next to another, and again brought him food and water. This time he was able to choke more of the gruel down, driven by hunger and his body’s efforts to repair itself. The mixture of an unfamiliar fruit and fish wasn’t as unpleasant as the prior night’s concoction, and he finished the bowl to the woman’s smiling approval.
When he was done, the old man appeared at the far end of the hut and approached him on unsteady legs. Drake guessed he was someone of importance within the tribe by his elaborate bone necklace and his ornately carved walking stick, its top sculpted into a likeness of a jaguar head, mouth open to reveal its teeth, the dark stone polished to a bright sheen. He moved slowly and deliberately to the backpack and picked up Drake’s knife, still in its sheath. He slid the blade free and held it up to the light, examining the sharp edge before turning his attention to the scarred leather and studying it for a long time. After a pause, he edged to Drake’s position and sat beside him, the knife clutched in his gnarled hand.
He regarded Drake as if memorizing every detail. After a seeming eternity, he nodded and slid the knife back into the sheath, which he placed by Drake’s side. Drake tried a smile, but only managed a sharp intake of breath from the pain the expression caused. The man’s eyes danced with merriment. He patted Drake’s shoulder reassuringly and pointed at the knife, and then at Drake. Drake nodded, ignoring the lance of discomfort the action brought.
The man pointed at Drake again, and at the knife, and then did a pantomime that left Drake baffled, circling his face with one finger and pointing at Drake, then the knife. Seeing the lack of comprehension, the elder went through the same routine again, this time gesturing to Drake’s chest, then his own, then touching his wrinkles and pointing to Drake again.
A light bulb went off in Drake’s head and his eyes widened in disbelief. “My father? You’re saying me, but older?” Drake pointed to the old man’s face and then himself.
The elder nodded and offered a puckered smile. To be sure Drake understood, he repeated the pantomime a final time and then gestured to the young woman. She approached and sat near him. He patted her head and pointed at her, then at Drake, then touched his own lined face before waving to the girl again and making a swimming motion. Seeing no recognition, he repeated the gestures and added a fair depiction of someone thrashing around. He ended with an arm grasping at air, the fingers waggling while he had a look of distress on his face, and then he pointed to Drake and touched his face with a leathery finger, and then the woman.
A vague recollection stirred in Drake’s memory. Something Jack had said. About his father saving a drowning native girl and the locals leaving them in peace as a result. Was that what the old man was trying to communicate? That this was the child he’d rescued, now grown, in her early twenties? The woman smiled again and patted her chest, then reached out and patted Drake’s, and he couldn’t help but notice that she was attractive when she smiled, her face illuminated with an inner radiance and tranquility that was beautiful.
The old man patted his necklace and then the woman. She did the same, and Drake got it. She was the man’s daughter, and he was the chief. He’d recognized not Drake but his father’s knife, and figured the rest out from their strong resemblance.
They spent the remainder of the morning exchanging primitive signs, struggling through a discussion of sorts. After more water and food, Drake was exhausted and slumbered, this time his dreams filled with visions of his father swimming in rapids to save a young child who would grow up to save his son. In the dream the child transformed into the woman, and he awoke with a start when she stepped out of the water, naked and smiling, her smooth skin golden in the warm sunlight.
The woman was by his side, blotting sweat off his forehead, and when she saw he was awake, offered him more water. He was parched and felt hot, even considering the tropical surroundings — feverish. A chill ran through him and he trembled, and the woman put a soft hand on his cheek before wiping away the perspiration that beaded on his face.
Day merged with evening, and the fever worsened. He faded in and out of consciousness throughout the night and the next afternoon, his skin sizzling to the touch, and during one of the brief lucid periods, he wondered whether the gash in his head had gotten infected and somehow spread to his brain.
When the fever broke on the third day, he was so weak his guardian angel had to steady his head as she poured water into his mouth. The old man made an appearance and ground several types of roots and leaves into a slurry before adding more water and making Drake drink the bitter concoction. When he’d consumed it all, he drifted off again and didn’t wake until the next morning — but stronger, the fever gone.
This time when he tried to sit up he managed, and his head didn’t come off. The ever-present woman and the old man sat in their customary spot near the edge of the hut’s floor, watching him without expression. Drake realized that he was naked. He could see a drizzle coming down outside, and debated trying to stand, but decided against it. The woman stood and brought yet another meal, and he tried to concentrate on eating and ignore his nudity, which wasn’t helped by the young woman’s proximity.