Journey to the River Sea

Maia looked at him to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t. Afternoon tea was exactly what Finn now produced. He put on the kettle, warmed the teapot, took down a tea caddy and measured out three spoonfuls of Earl Grey. Then he found a plate, filled it with biscuits – proper ones with sultanas and raisins – put out the sugar tongs and a milk jug; he even handed her a napkin. They might have been in any British drawing room.

The dog waited. ‘He only drinks China tea,’ said Finn, putting down a saucer and adding a spoonful of sugar. ‘If you give him anything else, he looks at you.’

While they ate and drank, he made polite conversation; asking her how she liked Manaus, and whether her friend was still upset about the play.

‘Clovis, do you mean? Yes, he is. But how do you know everything?’

He shrugged. ‘The Indians hear, and they tell me. The cleaner in the theatre is old Lila’s cousin.’

When they had finished and swilled out the cups, he said, ‘Right. I suppose I’d better explain. I think I might need your help, you see.’

Maia looked at him, flushed with pleasure.

‘I’ll do anything.’

‘Just like that?’ he asked. ‘Even though I’m on the run?’

‘Yes.’

Finn grinned. ‘They said you weren’t like the

porkers.’ ‘The porkers?’

‘That’s what the Indians call the twins. You know, little fat pigs that snuffle and eat.’

Maia tried to look shocked and failed.

‘Are they as bad as people say?’ he asked.

Maia sighed and stopped trying to be good. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It would be lovely if they were pigs. One could get really fond of pigs.’

‘We’ll go outside,’ said Finn. ‘The mosquitoes are fairly quiet at this hour.’

So they sat side by side on the wooden deck outside the hut, and Finn told her the story of his father’s marriage.

‘When he came out here my father was just seventeen. He’d been absolutely wretched in England, but as soon as he came out here he knew it was the place for him. At first he had no money or anything, but he found he could live by collecting plants and berries people needed for medicines and selling them to traders in Manaus. He made friends with the Indians and learnt their languages, and they taught him their skills.

‘For nearly ten years he lived like that, exploring the rivers, building his hut. The awful memories of England only bothered him at night, when he was dreaming. He was sure he had got away.’

Finn was silent, looking out over the lake.

‘Then one day he went a very long way – not in the Arabella, in the canoe – and he fell ill with a fever, one of the really awful ones, and he passed out.

‘When he came round he was with the Xanti. He’d heard of them – they were supposed to be special; very gentle and full of knowledge about healing, but they were very shy and mostly stayed hidden. Not many people had seen them.

‘He said waking up there was like waking up in Paradise: the kind, quiet people, the dappled trees. One girl in particular nursed him – her name was Yara – and when he was better the Xanti let her marry him, which was an honour.

‘He brought her back here, but when I was due to be born, the English doctor wouldn’t come out to an Indian woman in the night and she died.’

He paused. ‘After that he didn’t have much to do with his own people. He found Lila to nurse me and we got on all right, though I think he never got over my mother’s death. But we were good friends.’ His voice faltered for a moment. ‘I can stay here and live as he did, finding medicines, selling stuff to museums... oh, lots of things. But he said if anyone came for me from England I was to fight for my life. I was to go back to the Xanti. He never went back himself, but he said the tribe would know me.’ And he turned his wrist to show her the mark she had noticed in the canoe. ‘The trouble is, I’ve got to get away without being seen and the crows seem to be everywhere, and no one knows how long they’re going to stay and hunt around. The Indians won’t give me away, but it’s a big reward they’re offering and there are people in Manaus who are very poor.’

‘You said perhaps I could help you?’

‘Yes. I’ve got an idea but I don’t know if it will work.’ He pulled the dog closer and began to scratch his ear.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll help you anyway.’

‘It isn’t that; it’s just that I haven’t thought out the details yet. And anyway it doesn’t depend only on me. What I’d like you to do now, is tell me about your friend. About Clovis. Where did you meet him? What’s he like?’

So Maia told him about meeting Clovis on the boat, how homesick he was and how upset he’d been about his voice breaking. ‘All he wants is to get back to England. He says he’s going to stow away.’

‘It won’t work. They search the boats with a fine toothcomb. People keep trying to smuggle out rubber seedlings so they can grow them somewhere else, which would kill the rubber trade here. He’s sure to be caught.’

‘That’s what Miss Minton says.’

‘Ah yes, Miss Minton. What does she think of Clovis?’