The Sunflower: A Novel (21 page)

The light in the
comedor
switched off and Paul looked at the glowing hands of his watch. “On that bright note, I better let you get to bed. Do you need anything?”

“No. Thank you for tonight.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and they kissed. “See you in the morning.”

“What are we doing?”

“We’re going on a nature walk. I promise we’ll find you some spiders.”

“Thanks.”

He stepped down from the porch and Christine watched him disappear in the blackness. Then she went inside and climbed under her mosquito netting to sleep.

The jungle absorbs all things in it. Wood rots and earth melts and all dissolves in an unending cycle of life, death and life again. To be in the jungle is to be a part of it.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

Rosana’s pancakes weren’t quite Denny’s but no one was complaining; it was the most normal breakfast they’d had since they arrived in Peru. Christine sat at a table with Mason and Joan, telling them about her nighttime adventure.

Paul entered the
comedor
wearing a Makisapa T-shirt. Maruha the monkey sat on his head, her long arms draped over him like a hunting cap. Paul walked over to their table and they all looked up. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Paul said.

“Do you know you have a monkey on your head?” Joan asked.

“I do. Do you know you have a crocodile hunter in your midst?” He turned to Joan as he cut his pancakes. “We’ll make it three by tonight.”

“In your dreams. So what, besides crocodile hunting, is on today’s agenda?”

“This morning we’re going on a nature walk. Over the summer Leonidas and Gilberto cut a trail through the jungle.”

“What time are we leaving?” Christine asked.

“As soon as everyone finishes.” He shoved a bite into his mouth.

“Do we need anything?” Mason asked.

“Repellent, sunscreen, and your camera.”

A half hour later the group was gathered below at the dock. It was a beautiful day and the first time they could see the lake clearly and the opposite shore. The group divided into two and they filled the boats and began paddling off south of camp where the lake turned in a half crescent.

When they were away from the dock, Paul said, “About six months after they bought the land for the lodge, they discovered giant sea otters in the lake. They’re an endangered species, so this land is now a government-protected reserve.”

“Have you ever seen them?” Christine asked.

“I’ve seen them every time I’ve come, though usually at a distance. But once they came up to the boat. They’re very curious.”

“How do they live in here with all the crocodiles and piranhas?” Mason asked.

“Actually they’re tougher than you’d think. The natives call them
los lobos,
the wolves. They travel in packs and pretty much everything in the lake fears them.”

“I hope we see them,” Christine said.

A half hour later the first boat pulled into a small clearing on the bank. The second canoe slid up next to it. Everyone moved forward and climbed off the bow of the boat through thick vegetation onto the land. Gilberto and Jaime stayed inside the boats. They would row to the pickup point at the trail’s end.

As they moved into the jungle, the sound of chirping grew louder.

“I wonder what kind of birds those are,” Christine said to no one in particular.

“No birds, monkeys,” Leonidas said, which surprised her because she didn’t know he spoke any English. “Come.”

He led them twenty yards into the jungle until they came to a small clearing. There were monkeys everywhere. In the uppermost regions of the canopy there were shadows of larger monkeys that appeared to be four to five feet in length.

Paul pointed up. “Those monkeys up there are kotos. They’re pretty big. The smaller monkeys are rhesus and capuchin. The smallest are tamarins.

At their arrival the smaller monkeys climbed down for a closer look, swinging from the branches and vines as if exhibiting their acrobatic skills. Several of the monkeys came within an arm’s length of Christine.

A hand-sized tamarin climbed out on a bough next to her. Its movements were quick and birdlike.

“Look at her,” Christine said. She stepped toward it. “I’m going to feed her.” She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a granola bar, broke off a piece and held it out. The monkey snatched it from her, then ran up the tree. Christine broke off another piece and held it out to a larger monkey, a black capuchin. Instead of reaching out for it as the tamarin had done, the monkey jumped onto Christine’s shoulder. She screamed. “Paul!”

The monkey reached into Christine’s front pocket and grabbed the entire granola bar, then jumped back onto a nearby bough.

Paul laughed while Christine raised a hand to her chest. “That scared me.”

The capuchin held the bar with its feet, peeling the paper back like a banana. Two other monkeys descended on the capuchin and they began screeching at each other. Then the capuchin pulled the bar up under one arm and scurried up the branch, chased by the other two.

“The show over,” Leonidas said, showing off his English. “We go.”

Unlike the trail they’d crossed through to the lake, the path was dry and new and everyone followed Leonidas closely. In several places spiderwebs as thick as fishing line crossed the path. At one point Paul put his hand on Christine’s shoulder and helped guide her under a web. When he lifted his hand his handprint was still visible on her wet T-shirt. He looked at her quizzically. “Do you feel okay?”

“Sure. I’m just a little winded.”

“You’re really sweating.”

“Of course. It’s hot.”

A hundred yards further they came to a large peculiar-looking tree. Its roots rose a meter above the ground, straight up.

“This tree is called a walking palm,” Paul said. “It actually moves.”

“How?” someone asked.

“When nutrients get scarce in one area, it grows new roots on one side and abandons the old. It doesn’t move fast but it does move.”

“This place is Jurassic Park,” Mason said.

They continued their hike. Every now and then they would stop and examine the tracks of some animal that had crossed the path. Then Leonidas led them off the trail to a slim, white-barked tree, standing alone like a misplaced quaking aspen.

“This is the tangarana tree,” Paul said. “You’ll notice nothing is growing around it.”

Everyone looked. There was no vegetation for four feet in any direction.

“That’s weird,” Christine said.

“Las otras plantas le tienen miedo,”
Leonidas said.

Paul translated. “The other plants are afraid of it.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes,” Paul said, “for two reasons. First, the tangarana secretes an acid that is deadly to other plants. The other reason is because of the ant that lives in it. The tangarana ant.” Paul tapped the tree with the broad side of his machete. A stream of small red and black ants poured out from the base of the tree, climbing up its bark.

“The ant protects the tree. The bite from that ant is about seven times more painful than a wasp’s sting.”

A teenage boy who was leaning against the tree quickly jumped back.

“And they can jump.”

He stepped back further.

“Have you ever been bitten by one?” Joan asked.

“No. But Gilberto was. He said it was
‘inolvidable.’ Unforgettable.
This tree has an interesting history. If a woman was found to be unfaithful, the tribe would tie her to the tree and let the ants eat her.”

“That’s awful,” Christine said.

“What about the man?” Joan asked angrily.

“They didn’t say,” Paul said.

They went back to the trail.

“Why does everything here bite, sting or want to eat you?” Christine asked.

“Not everything,” Paul said. “There are things to heal as well. For instance”—he took a few steps to where a tangle of vines grew down from a tree—“this vine is an antitoxin for the guajave viper. Guajave is one of the few vipers that’s not brightly colored, so it’s hard to see. And, unfortunately, it’s not only aggressive, but its venom is highly toxic. If you’re bitten, you’d never make it out of the jungle alive.”

“Last year Leonidas was bitten by one of them. He found these vines and began chewing them. Then he cut more and brought them back to camp. He boiled them into tea and drank it. As you can see, he lived. Every bad thing in nature has its opposite. There’s a tree out here that can cure kidney problems. There are more than two hundred plants proven to be anticarcinogenic.”

As they started off again, Paul looked at Christine. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“No, I don’t feel too good.”

“What do you feel like?”

“Kind of crummy. Like I’m coming down with the flu.”

Paul put his hand on her forehead. “You’re a little warm. But it is pretty hot.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said.

A few minutes later they were paddling back toward the lodge.

Christine is sick. I have found it useful to remain as clinically detached as possible, as the depth of my fear would do neither of us any good.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

Lunch was a salad made mostly from fruits that no one had seen before and a fish-and-rice concoction made from a large piranha that Marcos had caught that morning.

Paul had gone back to his bungalow for a short nap and came back to the
comedor
to eat lunch. Most of the group had already eaten and a few of the teenagers had set up a Monopoly game on one of the tables. Neither Christine nor Joan was there.

“Hey, Paul,” one of the boys said. “Want to play?”

“Have you started?”

“Just about to.”

“Sure. I’m the terrier.”

“I’m already the dog,” a girl said. “You can be the wheel-barrow.”

“All right. Let me get my lunch.”

Rosana heaped two large paddles of rice on his plate and he joined the teenagers at the table.

Paul had just passed
GO
when Joan walked into the
comedor.
She walked directly to him. “Paul, Christine’s not doing well.”

He looked up from the game. “What’s wrong?”

“I think she has a fever. She was moaning and saying strange things.”

Paul stood. “Hate to do this to you guys, but I’ve got to go.”

As they walked to the bungalow, Paul asked, “Have you given her anything?”

“I gave her some Tylenol. And I put a wet cloth on her forehead.”

Inside the room, Christine was lying on her back under the mosquito netting. Her skin was pale and the sides of her face were beaded with perspiration. Paul sat down next to her.

“Hey. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m not going, Paul.” Her speech was slow and slurred.

“Where
aren’t you going?”

“I don’t want to see any more crocodiles. They scare me.”

“You don’t have to.”

Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing.

“Joan says you’re not feeling well.” He pulled up the mosquito netting, tying it above her. Then he lifted the cloth from her forehead and felt the damp skin beneath. “You’re hot.”

“I feel…sunburned.”

He turned to Joan. “Go to my room. I’m in Vampiro, it’s the second bungalow on the other side of the
comedor.
Next to my bed there’s a purple vinyl bag. You can’t miss it. Please get it for me.”

“Okay.” She left. Paul turned back to Christine and gently pulled the hair back from her face.

“How else do you feel?”

She hesitated. “I don’t feel…
right.”

“Can you describe it?”

“I feel…fuzzy. Like my head’s floating.”

“Do you have any rashes?”

Pause. “I don’t know.”

Her head fell to one side and Paul let her rest there. Joan returned, breathing heavily from jogging across the compound. She gave the bag to Paul. He set it on the ground, opened it and took out a thermometer.

“Chris, I’m going to take your temperature. I need to put something in your mouth. Can you open a little for me?”

Her lips slowly parted. He slid the thermometer under her tongue and her mouth shut around it. Joan looked at him anxiously.

He kept time on his watch. After two minutes he pulled the thermometer out and held it up to the window. He frowned. “How long ago did you give her the Tylenol?”

“Maybe a half hour.”

“She’s at a hundred and three.” He returned the thermometer to its case and turned back to her. “Chris, do your joints ache?”

Her voice was weaker. “My eyes hurt.”

“How about your joints? Your elbows, shoulders, knees…”

“I don’t know.”

He looked at her quietly for a moment. “Have you had any mosquito bites?”

“She has,” Joan said. “We talked about them last night.”

“When did she get them?”

“Back in Puerto Maldonado.”

“Chris, what shots did you have before you came?”

Her answer came in short puffs. “Tetanus. Hepatitis.”

“Did you have a malaria or yellow fever shot?”

“They said we didn’t need it.”

He slowly exhaled. “I wish they wouldn’t tell everyone that.”

Joan bit her lip. Paul stood, his hand still on Christine’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He walked outside and signaled Joan to follow him. Her face was tight with concern.

“What does she have?” Joan asked.

“I can’t be certain yet, but I’m pretty sure that it’s one of three things—malaria, yellow fever or dengue fever. My best guess is dengue fever.”

“What’s dengue fever?”

“It’s another disease carried by mosquitoes. There’s been an epidemic around here.”

“Is it fatal?”

“It can be. But I’d take it over malaria or yellow fever.”

Joan began wringing her hands. “Shouldn’t we get her to a hospital?”

“She’s not up to the travel. Besides, there’s nothing a hospital within a thousand miles of here could do that I can’t.”

“When will we know what she has for sure?”

“Within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If she really starts complaining of joint pain, we’ll know it’s dengue. Whatever it is, she’s going to be pretty miserable for the next week.”

“…But we’re leaving the jungle tomorrow.”

“She’s not. When was the last time she ate or drank anything?”

“I don’t know. Not since we came back this morning.”

“We need to keep her hydrated. Go to the
comedor
and get a couple bottles of water. Do you know who Jaime is?”

“The little guy from the orphanage?”

“Right. Find him and tell him I need to talk to him.”

“But I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Just say my name. He’ll figure out the rest.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She ran off. Paul went back inside. He reached into his bag and brought out a container of Vaseline. He rubbed some across Christine’s parched lips. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Five minutes later Joan returned with the water and Jaime, who looked at Paul anxiously.

“Jaime. Christine está muy enferma. No puedo salir de la jungla con el grupo. Tu tendrás que llevarlos sin mí.” Christine’s very sick. I won’t be able to leave the jungle with the group. You’ll have to take them out without me.

He nodded.

“Necesitas llamar a Jim y decirlelo que ha pasado. Ellos necesitan llamar a la madre de Christine. Díganle que no se preocupe. Después regresa a El Girasol y mira cómo están las cosas. Gilberto y Marcos te llevarán a Puerto.” You will need to call Jim and tell him what’s happened. They need to call Christine’s mother. Tell her not to worry. Then go back to El Girasol and keep an eye on things. Gilberto and Marcos will go with you to Puerto.

“Sí,”
Jaime said, and left the bungalow.

Paul took a pillow from another bed and pushed it under Christine’s head. Then he unscrewed the cap from the bottle and placed its rim against her lips. “Christine, you need to drink.” Her lips slightly parted and he poured the water in her mouth, occasionally stopping so she could swallow. When half the bottle was gone, he let her head back down.

“Good job.” He took the washcloth from her head and poured the cool water onto it. He wrung it out over the floor then put the cloth back over her eyes.

“Paul?”

“Yes?”

“I want my mother.”

“I wish she were here,” he said.

She didn’t speak for a while. “Am I going to die?”

“No. But you’re very sick.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“Men always leave.” A tear ran down the side of her face. “I’m afraid.”

“I won’t leave you,” Paul said. He wiped her tear with his finger. Then he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I promise.”