a consequence I’ve never had to give it much thought.”
“I’d put the money in your hands if you didn’t have it.”
He gave me one of his warmest, most tolerant smiles. “I’m old,” he said, “I’m lonely, and something of a fool, as any man must be if he has any wisdom at all. But I’m not poor, thank heaven.”
“So what happened to you in Brazil? How did it begin?”
He started to speak, then fell silent.
“You really mean to remain here? To listen to what I have to say?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Please.” I realized I wanted nothing more in all the world. I had not a single plan or ambition in my heart, not a thought for anything else but being here with him. The simplicity of it stunned me somewhat.
Still he seemed reluctant to confide in me. Then a subtle change came over him, a sort of relaxation, a yielding perhaps.
Finally he began.
“It was after the Second World War,” he said. “The India of my boyhood was gone, simply gone. And besides, I was hungry for new places. I got up a hunting expedition with my friends for the Amazonjungles. I was obsessed with the prospect of the Amazon jungles. We were after the great South American jaguar—” He gestured to the spotted skin of a cat I had not noticed before, mounted upon a stand in a corner of the room. “How I wanted to track that cat.”
“Seems that you did.”
“Not immediately,” he said with a short ironic laugh. “We decided to preface our expedition with a nice luxurious holiday in Rio, a couple of weeks to roam Copacabana Beach, and all the old colonial sites—the monasteries, churches, and so forth. And understand, the center of the city was different in that time, a warren of little narrow streets, and wonderful old architecture! I was so eager for it, for the sheer alien quality of it! That’s what sends us Englishmen into the tropics. We have to get away from all this propriety, this tradition—and immerse ourselves in some seemingly savage culture which we can never tame or really understand.”
His whole manner was changing as he spoke; he was becoming even more vigorous and energetic, eyes brightening and words flowing more quickly in that crisp British accent, which I so loved.
“Well, the city itself surpassed all expectations, of course. Yet it was nothing as entrancing as the people. The people in Brazil are like no people I’ve ever seen. For one thing, they’re exceptionally beautiful, and though everyone agrees on this point, no one knows why. No, I’m quite serious,” he said, when he saw me smile. “Perhaps it’s the blending of Portuguese and African, and then toss in the Indian blood. I honestly can’t say. The fact is, they are extraordinarily attractive and they have extremely sensuous voices. Why, you could fall in love with their voices, you could end up kissing their voices; and the music, the bossa nova, that’s their language all right.”
“You should have stayed there.”
“Oh, no!” he said, taking another quick sip of the Scotch. “Well, to continue. I developed a passion, shall we say, for this boy, Carlos, the very first week. I was absolutely swept away; all we did was drink and make love for days and nights on end in my suite in the Palace Hotel. Quite truly obscene.”
“Your friends waited?”
“No, laid down the law. Come with us now, or we leave you. But it was perfectly fine with them if Carlos came along.” He made a little gesture with his right hand. “Ah, these were all sophisticated gentlemen, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But the decision to take Carlos proved to be a dreadful mistake. His mother was a Candomble priestess, though I hadn’t the slightest idea of it. She didn’t want her boy going off into the Amazon jungles. She wanted him going to school. She sent the spirits after me.”
He paused, looking at me, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction.
“That must have been wonderful fun,” I said.
“They pummeled me in the
“I’d put the money in your hands if you didn’t have it.”
He gave me one of his warmest, most tolerant smiles. “I’m old,” he said, “I’m lonely, and something of a fool, as any man must be if he has any wisdom at all. But I’m not poor, thank heaven.”
“So what happened to you in Brazil? How did it begin?”
He started to speak, then fell silent.
“You really mean to remain here? To listen to what I have to say?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Please.” I realized I wanted nothing more in all the world. I had not a single plan or ambition in my heart, not a thought for anything else but being here with him. The simplicity of it stunned me somewhat.
Still he seemed reluctant to confide in me. Then a subtle change came over him, a sort of relaxation, a yielding perhaps.
Finally he began.
“It was after the Second World War,” he said. “The India of my boyhood was gone, simply gone. And besides, I was hungry for new places. I got up a hunting expedition with my friends for the Amazonjungles. I was obsessed with the prospect of the Amazon jungles. We were after the great South American jaguar—” He gestured to the spotted skin of a cat I had not noticed before, mounted upon a stand in a corner of the room. “How I wanted to track that cat.”
“Seems that you did.”
“Not immediately,” he said with a short ironic laugh. “We decided to preface our expedition with a nice luxurious holiday in Rio, a couple of weeks to roam Copacabana Beach, and all the old colonial sites—the monasteries, churches, and so forth. And understand, the center of the city was different in that time, a warren of little narrow streets, and wonderful old architecture! I was so eager for it, for the sheer alien quality of it! That’s what sends us Englishmen into the tropics. We have to get away from all this propriety, this tradition—and immerse ourselves in some seemingly savage culture which we can never tame or really understand.”
His whole manner was changing as he spoke; he was becoming even more vigorous and energetic, eyes brightening and words flowing more quickly in that crisp British accent, which I so loved.
“Well, the city itself surpassed all expectations, of course. Yet it was nothing as entrancing as the people. The people in Brazil are like no people I’ve ever seen. For one thing, they’re exceptionally beautiful, and though everyone agrees on this point, no one knows why. No, I’m quite serious,” he said, when he saw me smile. “Perhaps it’s the blending of Portuguese and African, and then toss in the Indian blood. I honestly can’t say. The fact is, they are extraordinarily attractive and they have extremely sensuous voices. Why, you could fall in love with their voices, you could end up kissing their voices; and the music, the bossa nova, that’s their language all right.”
“You should have stayed there.”
“Oh, no!” he said, taking another quick sip of the Scotch. “Well, to continue. I developed a passion, shall we say, for this boy, Carlos, the very first week. I was absolutely swept away; all we did was drink and make love for days and nights on end in my suite in the Palace Hotel. Quite truly obscene.”
“Your friends waited?”
“No, laid down the law. Come with us now, or we leave you. But it was perfectly fine with them if Carlos came along.” He made a little gesture with his right hand. “Ah, these were all sophisticated gentlemen, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But the decision to take Carlos proved to be a dreadful mistake. His mother was a Candomble priestess, though I hadn’t the slightest idea of it. She didn’t want her boy going off into the Amazon jungles. She wanted him going to school. She sent the spirits after me.”
He paused, looking at me, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction.
“That must have been wonderful fun,” I said.
“They pummeled me in the
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