shells. We don’t need to die for a bit, anyhow.”
Paula obediently took the coffee. He watched her anxiously as she drank.
“Now some soup,” he urged, “and the rest of this condensed stuff. And I’ve found some maps and there’s a radio receiving outfit if—”
Paula managed to smile.
“You want to know,” she said, “if I can endure listening to it. Yes. I—I should not have given way just now. But I can endure anything.”
Bell still hesitated, regarding her soberly.
“I’ve heard,” he said awkwardly, “that in Brazil the conventions.…”
She waited, looking at him with her large eyes.
“I hoped,” said Bell, still more unhappily, “to find this place Moradores, where you said you had some relatives. I hoped to find it before dark. But before I landed I knew I’d missed it and couldn’t hope to locate it tonight. I thought—”
“You thought,” said Paula, smiling suddenly, “that my reputation would be jeopardized. And you were about to offer—”
Bell winced.
“Of course I don’t mean to act like an ass,” he said apologetically, “but some people.…”
“You forget,” said Paula, with the same faint smile, “what the newspapers will say of us, Senhor. You forget what news of us the cables have carried about the world. I think that we had better forget about the conventions. As the daughter of a Brazilian, that remark is heresy. But did you know that my mother came from Maryland?”
“Thank God!” said Bell relievedly. “Then you can believe that I’m not thinking exclusively of you, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.”
Paula put out her hand. He grasped it firmly.
“Right!” he said, more cheerfully than ever before. “Now we’ll turn on the radio and see what news we get.”
* * * *
Into the deep dark jungle night, then, a strange incongruity was thrust. Tall trees loomed up toward the stars. A nameless little stream flowed placidly through the night and, beached where impenetrable undergrowth crowded to the water’s edge, a big amphibian plane lay slightly askew, while a light glowed brightly in its cabin. More, from that cabin there presently emerged the incredible sound of music, played in Rio for os gentes of the distinctly upper strata of society by a bored but beautifully trained orchestra.
The jabiru stork heard it, and craned its featherless neck to stare downward through beady eyes. But it was not frightened. Presently, instead of music, there was a man’s voice booming in the disconnected sounds of human speech. And still the jabiru was unalarmed. Like most of the birds whose necks are bald, the jabiru is a useful scavenger, and so is tolerated in the haunts of men. And if man’s gratitude is not enough for safety, the jabiru smells very, very badly, and no man hunts his tribe.
Bell had been listening impatiently, when a sudden whining, whistling noise broke into the program of very elevated music, played utterly without rest. The sound came from the speaker, of course.
He frowned thoughtfully. The whistling changed in timbre and became flutelike, then changed again, nearly to its original pitch and tone.
Paula was not listening. Her mind seemed very far away, and on subjects the reverse of pleasurable.
“Listen!” said Bell suddenly. “You hear that whistle? It came on all at once!”
Paula waited. The whistling noise went on. It was vaguely discordant, and it was monotonous, and it was more than a little irritating. Again it changed timbre, going up to the shrillest of squealings, and back nearly to its original sound an instant later.
Bell began to paw over maps. The plane had been intended for flight over the vast distances of Brazil, and there was a small supply of condensed food and a sporting rifle and shells included in its equipment. Emergency landing fields are not exactly common in the back country of South America.
“Here,” said Bell sharply. “Here is where we are. It must be where we are! No towns of any size nearby.
Paula obediently took the coffee. He watched her anxiously as she drank.
“Now some soup,” he urged, “and the rest of this condensed stuff. And I’ve found some maps and there’s a radio receiving outfit if—”
Paula managed to smile.
“You want to know,” she said, “if I can endure listening to it. Yes. I—I should not have given way just now. But I can endure anything.”
Bell still hesitated, regarding her soberly.
“I’ve heard,” he said awkwardly, “that in Brazil the conventions.…”
She waited, looking at him with her large eyes.
“I hoped,” said Bell, still more unhappily, “to find this place Moradores, where you said you had some relatives. I hoped to find it before dark. But before I landed I knew I’d missed it and couldn’t hope to locate it tonight. I thought—”
“You thought,” said Paula, smiling suddenly, “that my reputation would be jeopardized. And you were about to offer—”
Bell winced.
“Of course I don’t mean to act like an ass,” he said apologetically, “but some people.…”
“You forget,” said Paula, with the same faint smile, “what the newspapers will say of us, Senhor. You forget what news of us the cables have carried about the world. I think that we had better forget about the conventions. As the daughter of a Brazilian, that remark is heresy. But did you know that my mother came from Maryland?”
“Thank God!” said Bell relievedly. “Then you can believe that I’m not thinking exclusively of you, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.”
Paula put out her hand. He grasped it firmly.
“Right!” he said, more cheerfully than ever before. “Now we’ll turn on the radio and see what news we get.”
* * * *
Into the deep dark jungle night, then, a strange incongruity was thrust. Tall trees loomed up toward the stars. A nameless little stream flowed placidly through the night and, beached where impenetrable undergrowth crowded to the water’s edge, a big amphibian plane lay slightly askew, while a light glowed brightly in its cabin. More, from that cabin there presently emerged the incredible sound of music, played in Rio for os gentes of the distinctly upper strata of society by a bored but beautifully trained orchestra.
The jabiru stork heard it, and craned its featherless neck to stare downward through beady eyes. But it was not frightened. Presently, instead of music, there was a man’s voice booming in the disconnected sounds of human speech. And still the jabiru was unalarmed. Like most of the birds whose necks are bald, the jabiru is a useful scavenger, and so is tolerated in the haunts of men. And if man’s gratitude is not enough for safety, the jabiru smells very, very badly, and no man hunts his tribe.
Bell had been listening impatiently, when a sudden whining, whistling noise broke into the program of very elevated music, played utterly without rest. The sound came from the speaker, of course.
He frowned thoughtfully. The whistling changed in timbre and became flutelike, then changed again, nearly to its original pitch and tone.
Paula was not listening. Her mind seemed very far away, and on subjects the reverse of pleasurable.
“Listen!” said Bell suddenly. “You hear that whistle? It came on all at once!”
Paula waited. The whistling noise went on. It was vaguely discordant, and it was monotonous, and it was more than a little irritating. Again it changed timbre, going up to the shrillest of squealings, and back nearly to its original sound an instant later.
Bell began to paw over maps. The plane had been intended for flight over the vast distances of Brazil, and there was a small supply of condensed food and a sporting rifle and shells included in its equipment. Emergency landing fields are not exactly common in the back country of South America.
“Here,” said Bell sharply. “Here is where we are. It must be where we are! No towns of any size nearby.
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