The mountain on the far side of the river directly opposite was laden with conifers all the way up, except for deep scars of raw earth where she supposed water ran and pushed the loose rocky soil down the hill. When she got to the bottom and the cable car, it felt like a full-blown storm, the clouds wrapping madly around the mountain peaks.
Grady wondered how long she would have to sit under her poncho, staring across the chasm at the little car on the other side. Smoke still curled cheerily up from the log house.
As they pulled her across, they watched the opposite hill side with guns at the ready. Nobody showed and the crossing was uneventful.
Grady hopped off the cable car, scarcely looking like her self. Her face was shadowed under the hoods of the poncho and overcoat. From beneath the hoods her blond hair hung sopping wet, and was surprising brunette. Amazingly, the blue eyes had turned brown. Her face had its usual life, but at the same time she seemed tentative. Nervous maybe.
Her lips were curved in a soft but sensuous smile; Michael wanted to kiss them, and nearly did so before catch ing himself.
He hugged her instead.
"You probably didn't expect to see me so soon." Grady gave him a smile that made him stand a little straighter without meaning to. She was shaking a bit from the cold, but she seemed to find something amusing in her own plight. "I needed to borrow some detergent. And I needed a lot, so I brought my suitcase."
They began the walk to the cabin, Yodo lagging behind.
"You look great. Different, though, I think."
"Natural hair color. For some reason I wanted it natural."
"Then previously you did an amazing job of dying it. I'd have never known. I don't get the eyes."
"I wore colored contacts to turn them blue."
In the log house they hung their ponchos in a vestibule. Under her poncho Grady had worn a distinctive long brown coat that was apparently made of softened cowhide. She unbuttoned it and hung the drenched garment on a hook, where it could drip harmlessly onto some plastic. With her hood off, Michael could see that she wore earrings and a matching choker, the choker having a wooden emblem about the size of a quarter; it looked Native American. He liked the style and mood of the jewelry and of the leather coat, and now he definitely felt a different side of Grady emerging, a side even more pleasing than any he'd seen so far.
The next layer of her clothing was a sweater, which was suds white, and had the look of something made by hand. She seemed content to leave it on.
He reminded himself of her figure and how it pleased him-slender and solid, with a little muscle on her frame. They stood gazing at one another long enough to be noticeable, and intensely enough that Yodo remained absolutely still.
"Maybe you would like to unpack your bag and freshen up. I could show you to your room."
Michael picked up her suitcase and directed her ahead to the hallway at the far end of the great room. The hall was about six feet wide and twenty feet long, with replica medieval tapestries and gargoyles left over from the prior owner. On a pine table lay an old bear skull. Michael cringed. He'd been meaning to remove it.
"This stuff's not mine," he said. "Last guy left it."
"Likely story," she teased.
They turned to the right, where the hallway formed a T. There were two bedrooms to the right and two to the left.
"I'm sure you'll want to take a shower and warm up. We have a power plant on the Wintoon that gives us electricity. But we also have a wood-fired boiler that makes very hot water, so we have great showers. You can soak in it as long as you want."
"Sounds good," she said.
"Turn right through that door and we're at your room."
"Great. I came for a little laundry detergent and now I have a room." As they walked through the door of what was to be her room, he glanced around, hoping that it was in order, and he was reassured. There was handmade wood fur niture: a couch made of an oak frame, with cushions in greens and browns, a coffee table, two chairs matching the sofa in design and materials, and a small writing desk with a wooden chair. When she was about five feet inside the door, she turned and looked down at her clothing, the black jeans, the handmade sweater, and the soggy tennis shoes.
"I guess you noticed my clothes. No time to pack and frankly I thought rural was like the Dixie Chicks. Out here is like… you know
… National Geographic. I understood that we were leaving the civilized world when we went to the Amazon, but across this river, man, this place is right out of Edgar Rice Burroughs. GORE-TEX would have…"
"Don't worry about it."
She had a half smile that was delicious and it asked all sorts of questions that only a poet could define, and in the smile was mischief and secret knowledge and sexual stirrings too deep to describe. Michael's throat caught and he knew she was made for him. It was in the sound of her voice, in the bow of her lips before she laughed, the quiet mirth in her eyes, the way she took a small breath before she started a sentence. It was found in the way her body was formed to fit some strange hollowness that was a need he couldn't put in words, the way her eyebrows curved, the way her lips formed words and the way her mind strung them together. It dwelled in her sense of humor, her essence, the things that formed her soul. He wanted to inhale her through every pore. Her eyes looked larger than before, but also delicate, and he knew her intent could be easily dissuaded if he returned passion with uncertainty, and so he took great care to meet her stare with equal boldness, daring her to continue.
She glanced away, then back at his eyes, as if testing him. He tried not to waver.
"What are you thinking?"
"Sometimes in the jungle, where there is a very dark canopy, a single tree falls to make a perfect hole. Right after a heavy rain, when the sun first breaks out and shines down through that hole, it pours in and lights the droplets all around and there are rainbow colors everywhere, and it gives you a feeling like you are in a magic place made for just that moment. Right now I feel like I'm in one of those moments." Michael could be devastatingly poetic.
She stepped forward and took his hand. He kissed the back of it and moved into her.
"Uhm, I would like to say that just as a for instance, I wouldn't mind going to the Amazon sometimes. I mean to visit you."
Michael knew that she was getting at something more than the Amazon. He tried to think over the top of his desire. Then it struck him.
"You know I would not have to be in the Amazon all the time."
"Like if you had kids or something?"
"Yes. That is a good example. But I would have to make a lot of trips to Peru and Brazil."
"Sure, and I imagine that kids with the proper shots and everything could go to the Amazon."
"You know, I have been told that I could get a position at a university."
"You have? Just as a for instance, do you think you could fall in love again?"
"I think I already have. Is it the custom to talk about everything? Do we need to go out for dinner or something? The nearest restaurant-"
"No. No, Michael, are you joking?"
"Will you ever stop planning world history before it hap pens?"
"Okay. Okay. But there is one more thing that is impor tant."
"Yes?"
"I was what some people call a stripper. I did it for a liv ing."
"In Brazil there is lots of sex like that."
"Not sex. Basically you take off your clothes and get naked while men watch, and then you dance for them and you touch them. They have their clothes on, but you tease them."
"Why did you strip?"
"For money."
"Ah." His mind sought to focus. "You did not have sex with them for money?"