Gardens in the Dunes (23 page)

One night two weeks after their arrival in Portal, the sound of gunshots woke Edward. Heart pounding, he held his breath and listened for more gunfire and for the sounds he imagined at the massacre and burning of old Portal; but he heard only the hum of the jungle. The next morning the cantina and stores were strangely deserted and the hurdy-gurdy was silent. The little monkey was gone. When Edward reached the riverbank, the canoes were gone and the Indians nowhere to be seen; none of the equipment or day's supply of water and provisions were loaded either. Mr. Eliot paced up and down the riverbank, cursing the Indians and the Frenchman. Just then the Frenchman came, panting and red faced, followed by Mr. Vicks, who appeared calm. The Frenchman carried the little monkey tucked under his arm like a parcel as he gesticulated wildly with his free arm and hand. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, the Frenchman repeated. The hundreds
of rubber tree seedlings already collected were safe in their temporary nursery on the riverbank. A gang of thugs sent by the Frenchman's enemies raided the cantina and stores the night before to disrupt his business. Bullet holes in the hull caused the
Louis XIII
to leak a bit, but no one was wounded. The Indians who worked for him fled into the jungle because they feared a raid like the one that destroyed the old village.

Presently two young mestizo men appeared; they loaded the supplies and the machetes and shovels into the canoes. His sons, the Frenchman said proudly, would come along to help complete the collection of
Hevea
seedlings. The Frenchman lifted the monkey into the canoe with Edward and Mr. Eliot.

“Here is your assistant,” he said, grinning broadly as he tied the leash inside the canoe. Point out the plant desired, and the monkey climbed to it and carefully scooped up the orchid bulb, roots and all, in tree moss.

Mr. Eliot laughed but Edward was not amused.

“I can't very well show the monkey the orchid I want when I can't see the tops of trees,” Edward said in an indignant tone.

Clearly the Frenchman thought the
Hevea
seedlings of Mr. Vicks and the prestigious Kew Gardens more worthy of his attention than the orchids. His suggestion that a monkey could gather the orchids was quite insulting really. Fortunately he and Vicks had only four orchid species yet to gather, and of the four, only the
Laelia cinnabarina
specimens were required in any number.

“But you have last week's plants, the
Cattleya, non?”
The Frenchman claimed it was only necessary to show the monkey an orchid of the same species and the little creature would bring back all the orchids he could find. That was nonsense, of course, but Edward knew the only way to quiet the Frenchman was to do as he said. While they finished loading the canoes, Edward returned to his cabin to fetch specimens of
Cattleya
and
Laelia;
these, combined with the field handbook with color plates of wild orchids, would be enough to show to the Frenchman's sons, who might be persuaded to climb the immense trees if they were paid handsomely.

Once he showed Vicks and the boys the rubber tree seedlings to dig from a wild grove, the Frenchman, with the monkey on his arm, joined Mr. Eliot and Edward in a clearing.

“Show him what you want!” The Frenchman nodded at the two specimens Edward brought out of the knapsack. The monkey examined each plant closely, carefully fingering the waxy flowers and leathery leaves of the
pseudobulbs with the tips of his fingers. Then suddenly the little creature darted off and scampered across a mossy log and up a tree fern, where he disappeared into the jungle canopy.

The monkey was gone for nearly an hour; the Frenchman and Mr. Eliot sat in the canoe sipping rum from a bottle while Edward brought out the orchid field guide with the tinted lithographs to refresh his memory of the rare orchid specimens that remained to be gathered after the
Laelia cinnnabarina
. The monkey returned from the opposite direction he departed, with two fine orchid plants in his arms. Edward was dubious, but the little creature extracted the plants without damage except for a flower or two lost from the trailing spikes of blossoms. The Frenchman gave the monkey shelled walnuts each time he brought back orchids.

Once the monkey located the orchids high in the treetops, he moved much faster than any man. A number of the orchids the monkey collected were not needed and as cargo space was limited, those orchid plants were tossed aside. Edward had to admit the monkey did the work of two men. By midafternoon, all that remained to be collected was the small, rare orchids and the
Laelia cinnabarina
, which grew in the same habitat. Vicks collected the last orchid specimens he needed, and the following day, while Vicks and others finished packing the seedlings in burlap, the Frenchman took Mr. Eliot and Edward farther up the river to precipitous granite ridges cut by the river and bathed in the sunshine that gave the
Laelia cinnabarina
her rich colors.

The pale granite cliff with its cascades of wild orchid blossoms above the river mist was so lovely Edward knew he must photograph it. He brought along his tripod and camera despite the bulk for just this sort of location. The dimness of the light under the jungle canopy had precluded photography up until then.

Edward noticed his companions also were preoccupied these last days of the expedition. Mr. Vicks spent much of his time at the temporary nursery where the rubber tree seedlings in their burlap sacks were being carefully concealed inside rolls of woven straw matting for the long voyage. There were reasons for making haste. The Frenchman claimed to receive tips on plots against him by his enemies; he said very soon these criminals might force him to untie his barges and boats and relocate the town downriver. His spies reported growing suspicion among government officials in Belém, who heard rumors of foreigners in possession of
Hevea
seedlings.

On the last morning they went to collect the
Laelia cinnabarina
, Mr. Eliot was late and they were forced to wait for him in the canoe. The
Frenchman brought along the monkey for any orchids they might find on inaccessible rock ledges. Fortunately the weather continued to be dry so the mosquitoes were scarce while they waited for their colleague. How odd that Mr. Eliot should be late on the morning they set out for the
Laelia cinnabarina
. Mr. Eliot showed little knowledge or interest in orchids except for the
Laelia cinnabarina
. He seemed to be aware of the latest developments by orchid hybridizers who sought to create a fragrant bright red orchid to rival the English rose.

What could be the delay? When Eliot came, he was sweating and short of breath from the burden of the bulging knapsack's contents. As Eliot set it on the floor of the canoe, Edward felt the craft list with the weight of the knapsack and he heard the clink of glass bottles against one another inside the knapsack. Bottles of rum, Edward assumed, though he learned later Mr. Eliot brought along something more volatile than rum.

The monkey was not as fleet gathering the
Laelia cinnabarina
from the granite crags and ledges, so the Frenchman helped Mr. Eliot and Edward gather specimens of
cinnabarina
all morning, and by three o'clock they had more than the two hundred robust specimens requested by the consortium of orchid hybridizers. While the monkey watched them carefully wrap the specimens in damp moss and burlap, Edward hiked up the ridge with his camera.

Edward had a clear view of the river and riverbank for a mile in either direction as he climbed. He carried his camera case and tripod up the ledges and over the boulders to make photographs of the amazing granite hillside where hundreds of
Cattleya
and
Laelia
sent out long pendulous flower spikes. Because of the steep incline and the weight of his equipment he stopped periodically to catch his breath and to survey the endless expanses of jungle and the great Pará River as it snaked to the sea.

He stopped and attached the close-up lens so he could photograph a particularly profuse spike of red-orange blossoms of a
Laelia cinnabarina
that appeared to grow out of solid granite on the side of the ridge. He was glad the monkey had not found this specimen. As he viewed the orchid flower through the close-up lens, he savored the sublime, luminous glow from the profuse orange-red blossoms that resembled shooting stars. He made exposures of each subject, careful to double-check the lens setting for perfect photographs.

They had agreed they must start back at five; Edward checked his watch and glanced back down at his companions, white specks far below. He had another hour to make photographs and he wanted to make the most of the
opportunity because he had not made as many photographs of the wild orchids as he originally hoped. Here the light was lovely, but the steep terrain required numerous adjustments to each leg of the tripod before the camera was level. After the exposure he carefully repacked each glass plate in its padded slot in the camera box. He was so immersed in making photographs he lost sight of the antlike figures of his companions on the riverbank.

He was near the top of the granite ledge with the river hundreds of yards below when he stopped to change lenses for a wide-angle view of the granite cliff face with hundreds of wild orchids in flower. The subtle fragrance of hundreds of orchid blossoms wafted in the cool air rising off the mist from the river. As he attempted to focus the image on the camera's ground glass, he noticed the first gray feather of smoke, followed by another and another. He stepped back from the camera, unable to believe what he saw, when suddenly a greasy black ball of smoke rolled into the sky followed by spidery blossoms of red-orange flame.

This was the dry season, but the forest floor and the lianas and mosses were still moist and green. How could a wildfire break out? He felt the hair on his neck bristle as the plumes of smoke rose higher. Where were Eliot and the Frenchman? Edward quickly removed the lens board and film holder; he shut the camera and replaced it in its box. He slipped the carrying strap over his right shoulder and carried the folded tripod over his left shoulder. He made his way down the slope as quickly as he could. He still did not see his companions, but he saw the canoe safe on the riverbank.

The fire spread quickly and he could hear the birds and parrots screech out alarms. He was beginning to feel winded but he pushed himself on because he feared the flames might cut off his path to the canoe. He regretted the bulk of the camera box and the tripod on the steep slope of rotting granite where the footing was treacherous. The ridge was formed by folds of rock that made terraces and ledges, so the path down to the river, though steep, was not difficult to follow. He stopped again to search, in vain, for a glimpse of his companions.

Edward made his way down the granite ridge cautiously despite his fear of the fire. He was more than two-thirds of the way down the slope when he paused to catch his breath and adjust the camera box and tripod. It was then he saw a strange sight: Mr. Eliot was running madly along the riverbank with his knapsack in one hand, spilling the contents of a bottle over the shrubbery with the other hand. When one bottle was emptied he threw it down and reached into the knapsack for another. For an instant, Edward
was confused; he thought Eliot was dumping his precious rum; but when he saw the greasy black flames rise into the trees behind his companion, Edward realized the liquid Eliot splashed over the ground and shrubs was lamp oil, not rum.

Edward began to shout at Eliot, who was too far away to hear; the flames were spreading, and Edward realized the fire had cut off his only path to the canoe. He shouted, but the roar of the fire drowned out everything; he gamely held on to the camera box and used the tripod as a walking stick, but suddenly he lost his footing and fell. He did not lose consciousness during the fall, and he never forgot the odd sensation of weightlessness as he fell—quite strange but not unpleasant. He might have escaped this misadventure with only minor cuts and bruises, but the camera box fell against the leg on the rock with a terrible crunching sound. Shattered bone pierced the skin; blood soaked the leg of his trousers, but he felt only the great weight of the numb limb pulling him down as he leaned on the camera box to call out again and again for Eliot and for the Frenchman. Surely they would come to find him when he did not return to the canoe.

Now the fire, fueled by the natural oils of the jungle trees and shrubs, exploded ahead of the flames and sent geysers of fire into the sky. He managed to drag himself into a rock cranny between two boulders just before the wall of flames flashed up the ridge.

The pain woke him from a dream that his leg was burning; in the fading darkness before dawn, bright orange coals still glowed and occasionally flames flared behind the thin veils of white smoke that rose from the legions of blackened tree trunks and the gray skeletons of tree ferns and shrubs. He listened for some sound that might indicate his companions were nearby. He called out their names again and again until the pain in his leg made him feel nauseous and faint.

When he woke again, the sun was just above the horizon. He pulled himself up so he could survey his position; he had come down the ridge and was within a hundred yards of the river below when he fell. The blackened jungle was silent and motionless and Edward felt a chill of horror spread over him: the sunny river's-edge habitat of the lovely
Laelia
and their kinsmen the
Cattleya
and
Brassavola
now lay in ashes.

Nausea swept over him and a cold sweat broke over his body as he recalled his initial misgivings about Eliot and Vicks. Was Vicks with his contraband
Hevea
seedlings a part of this scheme as well? How careless of Mr. Albert and Lowe & Company to allow the investors to interfere, though surely they had no idea of the true nature of Mr. Eliot's mission. Now it was
clear: Eliot's only purpose on the expedition was the fire; the fire had been planned months before by the investors, who wished to make certain they possessed the only specimens of
Laelia cinnabarina
. They wanted no unpleasant surprises from rivals to drive down the price of the
Laelia cinnabarina
. Rival hybridizers would be stymied when they sent out their plant collectors now that this Pará River site was destroyed. Habitats for the
Laelia
and
Cattleya
had been disappearing rapidly since the early forties. Now orchid hunters would be forced to go even farther up estuaries too overgrown and narrow even for canoes, where only a few specimens might be found.