"If you like. It wasn't very happy."
What a surprise, thought Nate. This poor woman has never had a chance at happiness.
"Did you want to be a lawyer when you grew up?"
"Of course not. No kid in his right mind wants to be a lawyer. I was going to play for the Colts or the Orioles, maybe both."
"Did you go to church?"
"Sure. Every Christmas and Easter."
The trail almost disappeared and they were wading through stiff weeds. Nate walked while watching her boots, and when he couldn't see them, he said, "This snake that killed the girl, what kind is it?"
"It's called a bima, but don't worry."
"Why shouldn't I worry?"
"Because you're wearing boots. It's a small snake that bites below the ankle."
"The big one will find me."
"Relax."
"What about Lako up there? He's never worn shoes."
"Yes, but he sees everything."
"I take it the bima is quite deadly."
"It can be, but there is an antivenin. I've actually had it here before, and if I'd had it yesterday, the little girl wouldn't have died."
"Then if you had lots of money you could buy lots of antivenin. You could stock your shelves with all the medicines you need. You could buy a nice little outboard to take you to Corumba and back. You could build a clinic and a church and a school, and spread the Gospel all over the Pantanal."
She stopped and turned abruptly. They were face to face. "I've done nothing to earn the money, and I didn't know the man who made it. Please don't mention it again." Her words were firm, but her face gave no hint of frustration.
"Give it away. Give it all to charity."
"It's not mine to give."
"It'll be squandered. Millions will go to the lawyers, and what's left will be divided among your siblings. And, believe me, you don't want that. You have no idea of the misery and heartache these people will cause if they get the money. What they don't waste they'll pass down to their kids, and the Phelan money will pollute the next generation."
She took his wrist and squeezed it. Very slowly she said, "I don't care. I'll pray for them."
Then she turned and started walking again. Lako was far ahead. Jevy could barely be seen behind them. They hiked in silence through a field near a stream, then entered a patch of tall thick trees. The limbs and branches were woven together to form a dark canopy. The air was suddenly cool.
"Let's take a break," she said. The stream curved through the woods and the trail crossed it in a bed of blue and orange rocks. She knelt by the water and splashed her face.
"You can drink this," she said. "It comes from the mountains."
Nate squatted near her and felt the water. It was cold and clear.
"This is my favorite spot," she said. "I come here almost every day to bathe, to pray, to meditate."
"It's hard to believe we're in the Pantanal. It's much too cool."
"We're on the very edge of it. The mountains of Bolivia are not far away. The Pantanal begins somewhere near here and stretches east forever."
"I know. We flew over it trying to find you."
"Oh you did?"
"Yes, it was a short flight, but I had a good view of the Pantanal."
"And you didn't find me?"
"No. We flew into a storm and had to make an emergency landing. I got lucky and walked away. I'll never get near another small airplane."
"There's no place to land around here."
They took off their socks and boots and dipped their feet into the stream. They sat on the rocks and listened as the water trickled by. They were alone; neither Lako nor Jevy were within eyesight.
"When I was a little girl in Montana, we lived in a small town where my father, my adoptive father, was a minister. Not far from the edge of town was a little creek, about the size of this. And there was a place, under some tall trees, similar to these, where I would go and put my feet in the water and sit for hours."
"Were you hiding?"
"Sometimes."
"Are you hiding now?"
"No."
"I think you are."
"No, you are wrong. I have perfect peace, Nate. I surrendered my will to Christ many years ago, and I follow wherever He leads. You think I'm lonely-you're wrong. He is with me every step of the way. He knows my thoughts, my needs, and He takes away my fears and worries. I am completely and perfectly at peace in this world."
"I've never heard that before."
"You said last night that you are weak and fragile. What does that mean?"
Confession was good for the soul, Sergio had told him during therapy. If she wanted to know, then he would try and shock her with the truth.
"I'm an alcoholic," he said, almost proudly, the way he'd been trained to admit it during rehab. "I've hit the bottom four times in the past ten years, and I came out of detox to make this trip. I cannot say for sure that I will never drink again. I've kicked cocaine three times, and I think, though I'm not certain, that I will never touch the stuff again. I filed for bankruptcy four months ago, while in rehab. I'm currently under indictment for income tax evasion, and stand a fifty-fifty chance of going to jail and losing my license to practice law. You know about the two divorces. Both women dislike me, and they've poisoned my children. I've done a fine job of wrecking my life."
There was no noticeable pleasure or relief in laying himself bare.
She took it without flinching. "Anything else?" she asked.
"Oh yes. I've tried to kill myself at least twice-twice that I can recall. Once last August that landed me in rehab. Then just a few days ago in Corumba. I think it was Christmas night."
"In Corumba?"
"Yes, in my hotel room. I almost drank myself to death with cheap vodka."
"You poor man."
"I'm sick, okay. I have a disease. I've admitted it many times to many counselors."
"Have you ever confessed it to God?"
"I'm sure He knows."
"I'm sure He does. But He won't help unless you ask. He is omnipotent, but you have to go to Him, in prayer, in the spirit of forgiveness."
"What happens?"
"Your sins will be forgiven. Your slate will be wiped clean. Your addictions will be taken away. The Lord will forgive all of your transgressions, and you will become a new believer in Christ."
"What about the IRS?"
"That won't go away, but you'll have the strength to deal with it. Through prayer you can overcome any adversity."
Nate had been preached at before. He had surrendered to Higher Powers so many times he could almost deliver the sermons. He had been counseled by ministers and therapists and gurus and shrinks of every stripe and variety. Once, during a three-year stretch of sobriety, he actually worked as a counselor for AA, teaching the twelve-point recovery plan to other alcoholics in the basement of an old church in Alexandria. Then he crashed.
Why shouldn't she try to save him? Wasn't it her calling in life to convert the lost?
"I don't know how to pray," he said.
She took his hand and squeezed it firmly. "Close your eyes, Nate. Repeat after me: Dear God, Forgive me of my sins, and help me to forgive those who have sinned against me." Nate mumbled the words and squeezed her hand even harder. It sounded vaguely similar to the Lord's Prayer. "Give me strength to overcome temptations, and addictions, and the trials ahead." Nate kept mumbling, kept repeating her words, but the little ritual was confusing. Prayer was easy for Rachel because she did so much of it. For him, it was a strange rite.