Page 59 of Factory Controller

Idid it. I took the leap and moved down to Brazil with Trent. I haven’t looked back once, not one single time in the six months since our return.

We rejoined the Awa people, and, to my surprise and delight, Aberto’s family now resides among them. Trent and I spend most of our time in the village by the river, the place which has come to be our home.

Once or twice weekly, we make the trip to Ipixuna and deal with the clerical work regarding our charitable investments in the area. Ipixuna has a new free clinic, and a school is on the way. The simple fact is, money alone won’t fix this place, even millions of it.

Even if all Trent and I can really accomplish is damage control, it’s still worth the effort. We may not be able to affect large scale change, but we can see our efforts bear fruit on the small scale, locally.

Trent and I have developed a tradition. When we return from Ipixuna, we load up the boat with gifts for the villagers. Certain luxuries, like upholstered furnishings, just won’t last in the jungle. We more than make up for this, though, at least in my opinion. Simple three-legged stools we brought back from Ipixuna last time proved so popular the tribe has begun crafting their own.

We navigate the serpentine conduits of the Amazon, which I’ve come to think of as a collection of rivers rather than just one. It’s the rainy season, so the rivers and tributaries have swollen well past their banks. Some of the trees we motor past are half submerged, evidence of a particularly wet season.

I have a special treat for the village children today, a book I think they will enjoy. The chief has decided he wants the new generation to learn to read and write English and Portuguese. It’s fallen on me to help, and it’s far more rewarding—if more taxing—than auditing work.

Trent and I motor up to the banks near the village. Aberto comes jogging out of the rainforest, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.

“Here,” he says, face beaming a smile. He thrusts the flowers into my hand and takes off running again. Trent laughs.

“Should I be worried about him horning in on my territory?”

I almost fall over laughing as I struggle with the boxes of miniature toys I plan to bribe the children into studying with.

After our goods are distributed, Trent heads off to speak with the shaman about something, and I show off my new book.

“This book is calledThe Cat in the Hat.Can you all say it?”

“What cat, H’eater?” asks a girl of about six.

“It’s like a jaguar, but smaller, and it lives in your house with you,” I respond in their tongue. I’ve grown quite proficient these last six months, though my accent makes people laugh sometimes.

“A jaguar in your hut?” The children gape in astonishment and cluster around for the lesson. Looks like today I won’t need bribes after all.

I’m on the last page of the book when I realize something; the entire village is watching me, not just the children.

I close the book and frown in dismay. Do they all want to learn? Should I have been paying more attention?

Gradually the villagers part, and I see Trent coming up through them. Everyone seems to be smiling.

“Trent, what’s going on?”

Trent reaches me and abruptly goes down on one knee. He takes my hand in his own and smiles up at me.

“Heather Duncan, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re brave, courageous, and you always do the right thing even when it’s hard. All you seem to want out of life is to help make things better for the people around you. Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”

My heart catches in my throat. I hadn’t even thought of marriage before now, except in the vaguest of terms. We’ve just been so busy with the charity and learning to adapt to life among the Awa tribe, I guess it slipped my mind.

It’s only right and natural that we get married, I decide.

“Yes, Trent. You’re the strongest, sweetest man I know. I’d be honored to be your wife.”

The village cheers as he slips a golden ring on my finger, with a red ruby as the gemstone. It’s not traditional, but then again, neither is our life.

I look around at the people celebrating our happiness, and realize this is my home now, and I couldn’t be happier.

The Awa are glad to have an excuse to have a celebration. Food, hallucinogenic drinks, and the modern-made snacks I brought back are dispensed generously among all. Flutes and drums create a merry atmosphere, which seems all the more potent for its nonchalance. Nothing like the parties I attended in Manhattan, where most everyone was too busy preening or trying to get themselves over to have a good time.

Trent tugs me to my feet and leads me toward our hut. I balk, staring back at the celebration.

“We can’t leave yet, we’re the guests of honor.”

---