Page 31 of One Summer in Monte Carlo
Early that afternoon, Vanessa left Ralph writing in his journal and reviewing the plans for the next part of their adventure. Making her way towards the hut where the women were working at the far end of the village compound, she listened to the, now familiar, exotic chorus of birdsong from high in the surrounding trees.
She stopped to watch a crowd of yellow crowned Amazon parrots squawking and bickering over some spilt seeds whilst the village pig rooted in some undergrowth just metres away. The small monkey who’d taken her banana the very first day they’d arrived in the village ran towards her, chattering excitedly, weaving in and out of her legs as she approached the hut.
Angela was busy sorting through a haphazard pile of muddy boots and dangerous-looking machetes and smiled her welcome at Vanessa. Standing in the entrance of the hut, Vanessa watched as several of the village women began sorting through the remains of the Brazil nut harvest. She was surprised by how few nuts there were.
‘We have to sell most of the harvest,’ Angela explained. ‘This year was not very productive. I hope next year will be better, but then theaviamentowill have changed too.’ She shrugged. ‘We know already we will be paying a higher price before the next harvest.’
Vanessa looked at her questioningly. ‘Aviamento?’
‘It’s the system that provides these,’ Angela said, gesticulating towards the boots and machetes. ‘We get the stuff necessary to do the harvesting on the understanding that this go-between will buy the nuts from us at a low price. He will sell them on and take any profit we should have had.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Vanessa looked at Angela, shocked. ‘Can’t you sell the nuts direct?’
‘No. We need the equipment to gather them and don’t have the money to buy it.’
‘The government farm where you got the seedlings from – can’t they help?’
Angela shook her head. ‘In the past they talked about helping us to change the system, but nothing happened. Now this foreign guy’s man from Rio has muscled in on the dam as well as the nuts. Apparently, he “helped” a village over to the west dam their river last year and wants to do the same for us.’ She glanced up. ‘Luigi thinks we’ll end up being forced to leave. We don’t need much money to survive here, but we do need land and food. Brazil nuts give us both our flour and oil.’
‘Is there enough there for the villagers until the next harvest?’ Vanessa asked.
Angela shrugged. ‘Depends on how well they keep. It’s difficult to stop them going mouldy in this humidity as we don’t have proper storage.’
There was a short silence as both women looked around, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Vanessa who broke the silence.
‘Do you want a hand cleaning those machetes then? Or is there something else you want me to do?’
‘Be careful how you handle them,’ was all Angela said, as she handed her a piece of rag.
As she carefully cleaned the lethal tools, Vanessa couldn’t stop thinking about the problems the villagers faced. There had to be an answer.
Ambling back through the compound after the work was finished, deep in thought, Vanessa found Ralph waiting for her outside the large communal hut. Pleased to see him outside on his feet she gave him an absent smile.
‘Don’t overdo things,’ she cautioned. ‘You still have to take things easy for a bit.’
‘I will, I promise. You don’t look very happy,’ Ralph said, taking her hand as they walked towards their own hut.
Vanessa sighed. ‘I just feel so sad for this place. Everyone knows the rainforest is dying because of the way agriculture is taking over and clearing the land, but the people are dying too – if not physically, by being forced to move out of their villages, give up their traditional way of life. Even Angela is talking of leaving.’
Ralph was silent as a frustrated Vanessa aimlessly scuffed up some earth with her foot.
‘I’m hoping my film will make people sit up and take notice. Do something about the problems,’ he said quietly.
‘I know you came to film the true story of the Amazonians,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I just hope it isn’t too late and it just serves as archive material for the way it all was.’ There was a short pause before Vanessa deliberately changed the subject. ‘How are you feeling? It’s lovely to have you up and about again, but you mustn’t overdo it. I must ask Angela to show me how to make that ointment before we leave and take some home with us. The twins are always falling over, getting bruises and…’ She stopped in her tracks and pulled Ralph round to face her. ‘That’s it,’ she said excitedly.
‘What?’ Ralph asked, confused.
‘I’ve thought of something wecando to help the villagers and preserve their way of life – if they’ll let us. We could help them form a cooperative to sell their natural remedies and their produce, including the Brazil nuts. With a cooperative, at least the villagers would be in control themselves and not some sleazy middleman.’
21
Sunday morning of Grand Prix weekend and Monaco was buzzing in anticipation of race day. Yesterday had seen thousands of spectators descend on the Principality to watch the qualifying rounds for this morning’s all-important grid positions. As well as in the stands around the harbour, people had gathered early on the steep wooded slope between the port and the Grimaldi palace on the headland, ready to picnic and enjoy the day’s racing against the clock.
Actual race day would be no different. Thousands of spectators were already in town and more were arriving by the minute. Like yesterday, the slope below the palace was filling with eager racegoers and people were finding their seats in the stands. Celebrities taking time off from the Cannes Film Festival were out in force, nonchalantly strolling along the pit lane, there to be seen as much as to watch the race, eager too, for photo opportunities with the drivers.
Mid-morning and Nanette stood for a few moments on the sitting-room balcony, watching the crowds of people making their way to their highly prized seats in the harbourside grandstands. She’d been away for so long, she’d almost forgotten the frenzied excitement Monaco generated on race weekend, both on the track and off, as the jet set indulged themselves with a combination of high-octane living and fast cars. The sound of highly tuned engines being revved was beginning to fill the air – a sign of the frenzied activity that Nanette knew would already be taking place out of sight in the garages at the back of the pit lane.
Looking out across the starting grid, Nanette could see cameramen and journalists milling around with the crowds in the pit lane, eager to get an exclusive early interview with anyone willing to express an opinion on the way they thought the day’s race would go. Who was tipped to win today on the dangerous circuit that was a favourite with the drivers? The one they all wanted the honour of winning.
