Ann Patchett - State of Wonder

All sound stopped, the Lakashi startled into a brief silence by the intensity in Marina’s voice, even the frogs and insects for an instant held their breath. She wasn’t used to it herself, the power of her own voice, and so in the new silence she called again, “Stop the boat!” And the boat, which was past them now, stopped. It turned and slowly came towards the dock, its spotlight sweeping the crowd on the shore slowly, left to right.

“Correspondência!” Marina called. She had been reading a Portuguese dictionary at night along with the Dickens. “Obrigado, obrigado.” She came out of the water and ran down the planks of the dock, the letters in one hand, the burning branch in the other, and the light from the boat leapt across her and then returned. It hit her squarely in the face and froze her in mid-step. In her own defense she closed her eyes.

“Marina?” a voice asked.

“Yes?” she said. Why did this not seem strange, someone calling her name? It was because of the light she could not make sense of what was happening.

“Marina!” The voice was happy now. She did not know the voice, and then she did. The second it came to her he spoke his name. “It’s Milton!”

The enormity of Marina’s happiness was caught in that light. Of all the tributaries in all of the Amazon he had wandered onto hers. Milton her protector, Milton who would know exactly how to set everything to right. She threw her branch into the water and let out a scream of joy which took the shape of his name, “Milton!” But the scream that met hers was high and entirely female and there bounding over the edge of the boat and into her arms came Barbara Bovender wearing a short khaki colored dress with a stunning number of pockets. Milton was driving the boat for Barbara Bovender! The light of every Lakashi torch was caught in the reflective sheet of her wind-tangled hair. Marina embraced the narrow back of her friend who clung to her neck and whispered in her ear too softly to be heard above the cries of the Lakashi. She smelled of lime blossom perfume.

“How are you here?” Marina said. There was no sensible way to say it — how did you find us and why did you come and how long can you stay and will you take me with you when you leave? Easter bounded down the dock on a wave of childlike glee and straight into Barbara’s arms, burying his face in her hair. Marina felt the smallest ping of something — jealousy? That couldn’t be right. It was so much to take in and it was all too wonderful and confusing. The Lakashi were continuing to sing and the smoke from all the fires was as blinding as the spotlight from the boat. Marina was climbing over the edge of the boat to throw her arms around Milton, her feet bare, her dress torn at the left side seam, her hair neatly combed and braided because she had been sitting for a long time watching the sunset. She put out her arms to Milton and he took her hands, his arms out straight, and turned her entire body so that she could see there was in fact a third person there, and because that person was not catching the light it took her a moment to understand. It should have been Jackie and it was not Jackie.

“Marina,” said Mr. Fox.

It was just that one word, her name, and suddenly she was certain of nothing. Could she embrace him? Did they kiss? In the torch light she could make out that all three of the visitors wore a similar expression, a look that was hollowed out and exhausted, possibly terrified, a look that Marina no doubt must have had on her own face that first night she came down the river to see the burning Lakashi torches. The other doctors would be walking down from the lab by now. They would have heard all the ruckus and come to see why this night was different from all other nights. Could she kiss Mr. Fox in front of Dr. Swenson? In front of Barbara Bovender? She had never mentioned that part to any of them, that Mr. Fox was the person in all the world she kissed. “I’ve been writing to you,” she said, and held out the letters to him like a defense. He was wearing a white cotton shirt like Milton’s and she wondered if he had come down in a wool suit. Had Milton taken him to Rodrigo’s late at night to buy him clothes? “I was flagging down the boat to see if it would take my letters to you.” He took the letters. He took her hand.

“I haven’t had any letters,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I haven’t heard from you.” The time she had been gone had aged him, the boat trip had aged him. How long had he been in Brazil? How long had it taken him to wear the Bovenders down? “I didn’t know what had happened to you. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Marina said.

“There’s blood all over your dress.”

Marina looked down and sure enough there was, but she couldn’t remember who it once belonged to or how much of it was just a stain she hadn’t been able to scrub out. The Lakashi were coming on board now and they grinned as they slapped Mr. Fox who flinched at first and then raised his hand in what appeared to be self-defense. Marina pulled him back. They were slapping Milton and Barbara Bovender, pounding out their particular and aggressive form of welcome. Already two women had their hands deep in the white gold of Barbara’s hair and she struggled hopelessly to get away. A suitcase was held aloft and then passed overhead and Marina leapt up to grab it. “Milton!” she called out, “don’t let them take the bags!”

Milton managed to wrestle the remaining duffels and totes away from the natives. He waved to Easter, who came on board and gave Milton a hearty slap at the waist and then began to loop his arms through the various handles of bags.

Marina took Mr. Fox’s hand and held it tightly. “We have to keep an eye on Barbara. She won’t be able to manage this.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Mrs. Bovender,” he said in a flat voice. This was not the reunion they were supposed to have. She wished he would have waited in the Minneapolis airport for her to come back. It wouldn’t have been too much longer. Once they were on the dock he let go of her hand. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing the boat had come at all. There was no aligning Minnesota to Amazonia. There was no explaining one world to the other. Dr. Swenson was walking towards them.

“Enough of that,” she said, clapping her hands. “Leave her alone now.” The two Lakashi women who fought over Barbara’s hair had settled their differences, leaving her in under a minute with two long braids already tied off at the ends with pieces of thread pulled from their own dresses. Dr. Swenson walked by Barbara with barely a glance. “We’ll be talking about this,” she said as she passed, and Barbara dropped her head. When she got to the end of the dock her full attention turned to Milton. “Whose boat is this?”

“It belongs to a friend of Rodrigo’s,” Milton said.

“Rodrigo’s friends don’t have money like this.”

“One of them does,” Milton said. “The man who bottles Inca Cola. Rodrigo sells it in the store.”

Dr. Swenson nodded. “Did you bring supplies or only guests?”

“Rodrigo put together a list of what you must need by now, plus some things you’ll like. He had just gotten in a full case of oranges and he sent them all to you. I think he did a very good job.”

Having dealt with two of the travelers, she turned to the third. “You no doubt moved heaven and earth for this, Mr. Fox.”

Mr. Fox stood on the dock and stared at Dr. Swenson and stared at the entire flaming tableau that spread behind her. A bat spun down perilously close to the top of his head and he did not flinch. “We have had a difficult trip. There is clearly a great deal to discuss, including the heaven and earth I have moved, but for now you should tell us where we will be sleeping.”