Page 43 of Factory Controller

“You should see if they need any help around the village,” Trent says. “Not only will it be considered good manners, it’ll give you something to do.”

“I do want to express my gratitude for saving you; well, both of us, really.” I nod. “Now get back in bed. You’re walking better every day, but the medicine man says you’re still making new blood to replace what you lost. No pushing it too far.”

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You’re not fine, Tarzan. Get in bed or I’ll get a couple of the burlier village girls to tie you to the bunk.”

“That could be fun,” he says with a chuckle. He eases himself back into the bed and I kiss his forehead.

“Sleep well.” I leave him to his rest and venture out into the open. I look around at the villagers busying themselves with the labors needed to maintain their settlement. Men and boys clustered in one part of the village, weaving cords into fishing nets. The work looks complicated, and when I venture too close for their comfort, I’m the victim of dark glares.

Okay, so my help is not wanted in making fishing nets. Maybe I’ll have better luck with the women? I look around and see that some of them are watching the youngest of children. Given that I don’t speak more than a couple of words and phrases of their language, I don’t think I’d make a very good babysitter.

I come across a group of women sitting before wide wicker baskets. Peering inside the baskets, I see they contain longish yellow tubers of some sort. Manioc, I think Trent called it. The women work the manioc with flint or steel knives, and in some cases their fingernails. They shred the tough outer layer away, exposing the softer, moist inside.

One of the women looks up, and I see it’s the bride from the recent wedding ceremony. She smiles and waves, clearly enjoying using the western expression. I smile back and kneel down beside her.

“Um, I want to help,” I say. She cocks her head to the side. How can I explain it to her?

I pick up one of the tubers and make brushing motions with my fingers, simulating removing the bark. The girl laughs and starts talking rapidly in her tongue. I can’t get what she’s saying, but I recognize the act she’s pantomiming well enough.

I definitely need to brush up on my miming skills…she thinks I was asking for advice on trying to give a hand job.

The other women all laugh, even the old ones, and I feel my cheeks flushing red. I swiftly pick up one of the tubers in an effort to regain my dignity and start trying to shuck the skin with my nails as some of the women do.

The bride understands at last and lends me a flint knife for the job. We trim away the skins until we have a basket full of the shaved tubers. When that’s done, we take our baskets to a small pavilion near the edge of the village. Here, a team of young boys stoke a fire burning beneath a wide stone bowl, almost three feet across.

Following suit to the village women, I dump my basket of shaven manioc into the bowl, and the boys use long forked sticks to rake it about. A starchy smell fills the green, akin to potatoes roasting.

The women go to the water and refresh themselves, then we go back and shuck more of the manioc. It turns out they don’t often eat the root by itself, but make it into breads, tapioca, and porridge.

It’s certainly not the life I left behind in New York. There’s no hustle and bustle, no endless rat race or a need to be at a certain place at a certain time. This isn’t to say the women don’t work hard. They work their asses off. It’s just that there’s no clock chopping the day into little pieces.

I start to wonder if maybe I could get used to this kind of life. Maybe I could stay in the rainforest.

Stay in the rainforest with Trent, I mean. Could we make a life together? Here? I’ve got to be out of my mind! But there’s only one way to know, and now I’m curious to find out if that’s even a possibility.

TRENT

Recovering from my wounds is a frustrating experience. It takes days before I can lift my left arm to waist height. A week before I can get it over my head. The medicine man has me doped up on a cocktail of drugs trying to stave off infections from the jaguar’s filthy claws and mouth.

Heather is fantastic during this time. She helps me with just about everything. I still need plenty of sleep, so it’s not like she hangs by my side the entire time, but, whenever I’m awake and need something, I don’t have to wait long.

The medicine man leaves me to my own devices one morning, and I gingerly rise from the mattress. Even though my body is still knitting itself back together, and I’m doped up on natural medication, I’m tired of sleep. I need to get up and move around, see something besides the walls of this hut, or I’m going to go crazy.

I step out into the bright sunlight. It’s not as hot outside. The sun feels good on my skin. I can almost feel its warmth spreading through my scarred flesh, aiding the healing process.

Around me, the village life continues unabated. I move past a team of boys hauling sacks of manioc flour bound for a trading outpost. Fishermen talk and laugh as they swap unlikely stories of river monsters. It’s not so bad, being around people. I suppose I could get used to it again, if I really had to.

I hear Heather’s laugh emanating from the direction of the bathing grotto. I venture there and see her in the water, helping the village women in bathing the children. Like the village women she assists, Heather wears not a stitch of clothing. She occasionally says a few snippets of their tongue, and seems to understand more than she can speak. Heather certainly didn’t take long to get used to this way of life, that’s for certain.

I admire her from afar, enjoying the way the sun plays off her skin. Heather isn’t so pale anymore, having spent much of my recovery time outside working in the sun. Even if she’s no longer my white-white-white girl, she’s still my girl…

Or is she? I feel a stab in my chest as I consider what will happen now that I’ve recovered. We’ll travel to the small settlement, secure transportation back to Macapá, and then she’ll fly home to New York. Leaving me all alone, just like I’ve been for the last ten years.

A light panic threads its way into my blood. I don’t want to lose Heather. As much as I thought I didn’t want anyone around, the thought of her returning home and leaving me behind is more terrifying than an entire legion of mercenaries.

“Trent?”

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