A fungus has infected almost all the trees,” Tom said. “I

doubt many of them will survive.” Howard’s foreman was

a tall, muscular man, who wore a sweat-stained Panama

hat and chewed on a toothpick. “The saplings planted on

the east slope are a total loss.” He wearily lowered himself

into the only other plastic chair in Howard’s small office.

“The clearcut took out the embauba trees that produce a

nectar that attracts ants. The ants attack anything that

comes near the tree.” He shook his head. “The embaubas

would have protected the Heveas we plant.” He lit a

cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Clear-

cutting also destroyed plants whose leaves heat up at night,

releasing a scent that attracts bats. Bats are natural

pollinators." Tom stared at the floor. "Seems we’ve shot

ourselves in the foot with clear-cutting.”

Howard felt dread creeping in. “How’d you learn all this?”

“From the locals. They laugh at us behind our backs.”

“Why didn’t any of them speak up?”

The look Tom gave him was enough of an answer.

“Okay, dumb question, but then why do they work for

us?”

Tom sighed. “Because we pay them.” He took another

drag from his cigarette. “We’ll have a revolt on our hands

if we don’t improve a few things around here.”

“Why, what have you heard?” Howard asked, knowing

Tom was well liked among the workers. He was easy to

talk to. He’d be a perfect spy, Howard thought, lacking a

better term. But he didn’t want to think about any of this

right now. He was tired and wanted to go home.

“The local workers, and most of our workers are locals, if

you hadn’t noticed.” Tom blew cigarette smoke towards

the ceiling as Howard waited for him to continue.

“They’re tired of being forced to live by American

standards that just don’t work here. The eight-hour day

makes no sense to them, and they hate that whistle blaring

from the clock tower twice a day telling them the work day

has either started or ended. It’s offensive. In the jungle and

anywhere else along the river, people live by light and

weather. Get up with the sun, work when it’s cool, then

sleep during the heat of the day. They're used to thriving

on fresh food, but we make them pay for the canned goods

and oatmeal we serve them. They hate all of it, especially

the vice squad checking up on everything they do.”

Howard raised an eyebrow.

“We all hate the vice squad.”

“We’re under orders,” Howard said. “It’s Mr. Ford’s town,

his rules.” He felt under siege just like the rest of them, held

hostage in this godforsaken jungle, unable to openly enjoy

a smoke or any drink. Tom was brazen about smoking. He

had roughed up one of the vice squad men he found

snooping in his house one evening. Howard didn’t

know the details, but watching Tom smoke, seemingly

without a worry, led him to believe Tom had won the

fight.

“You asked me what I hear, and I’m just telling you.” Tom

took another deep drag from his cigarette and leaned

forward with his elbows on his knees. “Two of his

henchmen

are particularly rough," he said. "That Otto fellow. He’s a

downright thug and has no business being here. He

barged in on George’s wife the other day while she was in

the bath. He claimed it was all a mistake, but I don’t trust

him, not for one minute.”

Howard had heard the stories about Otto and his sidekick,

Bobby Bennett. Maybe it was time to take care of the

problem, but how? He didn’t want to incite violence, but

those two very rotten eggs, who answered to Mr. Ford,

who was in Michigan and not here, and never would be

here, were a growing problem.

“Do you think Otto is a threat to anyone here?”

“I wouldn’t say a threat, but . . .”

“Yes, but . . .” Howard paused. “Do you think he’s a real

danger to anyone? You say he entered a private home and

interrupted one of the women in the bath. Do you think

that was a mistake or intended?” He thought of Ruth and

how he would respond if any man, let alone one with a

questionable reputation, barged in on her in the

bathroom.

“I don’t know. When we were hired to work here, we all

signed on the dotted line that we would adhere to the

rules, and to the random inspections. Maybe we should’ve

asked more questions, demanded more personal rights. I

don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t like Otto, but I

don’t know that I’d go so far as to say he’s a threat to our

women.”

“Okay, but let’s keep an eye on him, okay?”

Besides the disappointing report on the rubber trees, Tom

also informed him that one of his men had come down

with yellow fever. At least it’s not smallpox or malaria, he

thought grimly. Just last week, two workers were quickly

buried in the burgeoning graveyard behind the church.

The causes of death were not clear, but the worst was

assumed and no one was prepared to take chances. There

was a habit of burying bodies as quickly as possible to

prevent panic rippling throughout the town.

Worn down by the raft of troublesome news, Howard

headed home looking forward to a hot meal and a quiet

evening with his wife and daughter.

What he found was an empty house.

“Ruth? Hello? I’m home.”

He went from room to room, but neither his wife nor his

daughter answered his call. He went out the back door

and tromped down the path to Maria’s house, thinking

they’d be there, annoyed but also relieved to know they

had somewhere else to go when he wasn’t home.

“No, Ruth isn’t here,” Maria said. “But, of course, Helen

is,” she added cheerfully. “She’s always here.” A look of

satisfaction in her eyes, she pointed to Howard’s daughter

quietly playing with her son, Adao. “Don’t you worry,” she

said, “Helen stays here all the time. Mrs. Tinker, she

knows.”

“But where is Mrs. Tinker?” he asked patiently. “She’s not

at home.”

“No, of course not,” said Maria, still smiling. “It was to be

a two-day trip.”

An alarm snickered on in Howard’s brain. “A two-day

trip? What was to be a two-day trip?”

“To see the jungle,” she said proudly, as if she had become

an exotic trip planner in a country where travel was

forbidden. “Two days isn’t nearly enough.”

“Did she go with someone?”

“Of course, yes, a very nice young man named Paulo. You

know him, right? He said you had given permission for her

to go with him.” She did not see the look in Howard’s

eyes as she continued. “Ruth was so excited. You should

have seen her face. This is her dream come true, no?”

A noise came out of Howard’s throat that startled Maria.

For the first time since he arrived, she looked directly at

him.

“You know this Paulo, right?” Her heart was pounding

now. She heard Howard utter a low “Oh my God.”

“No, I do not know this Paulo,” he said, his breath coming

out in chunks. As he abruptly turned to leave, he said,

“Please keep Helen with you.” The tone of his voice took

the breath out of Maria’s lungs as she leaned against the

door jamb. “Don’t let her know anything is out of the

ordinary, okay?”

Maria nodded, her hands crossed against her heart. “Meu

Deus,” she whispered, “O que eu fiz?” What have I done?