After the Rains (29 page)

She went to him, and he pulled her down onto his lap. “I missed you,” he said, brushing her hair off her forehead.

“I missed you too.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and the irritation she’d felt toward him earlier dissolved. But his kiss didn’t make her forget the dream that had been kindled by her father’s recordings. As they sat, cuddling and talking quietly, she couldn’t stop the plans from forming in her mind, taking on a life of their own. She knew that Evan sensed her preoccupation, but he didn’t press her for an explanation.

It was barely nine o’clock when he gave an exaggerated yawn and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to get done before I can even go to bed tonight, Nattie. I’d better get going.”

She didn’t argue with him, but she walked him to the door and returned his good-night kiss.

“You want to have lunch tomorrow?” he asked from the landing of the stairway outside her door.

“Sure. Meet you in the union at noon? Usual place?”

“Okay. Good night.” He leaned to place one more gentle kiss on her lips.

Natalie wondered if he was sensing the same odd feelings that she was. She couldn’t put a name to it, but something was changing between them.

Classes started for Natalie the following Wednesday, but she attended in body only. Every minute she could, she went back to the apartment and listened to the tapes. As she played tape after tape, for hours on end, she’d found herself in an almost trancelike state while she relived her parents’ early life vicariously. She played the cassettes until she had some of them memorized. She rewound certain sections, delighting in Nathan Camfield’s wry sense of humor and in the musical sound of his laughter. She realized that in the brief periods of time she had spent with her birth father over the years, she had seldom heard him laugh in the unfettered
manner she heard on these tapes. Yet the recordings were marked by frequent expressions of this mirthful side of him. On some of the tapes, Nate had persuaded a reluctant Daria to say a few words. Natalie played those sections, too, over and over again. Her mother’s voice sounded younger and more callow. But what startled Natalie more than anything was the love for Nathan Camfield that—even dimmed by the wear and tear of twenty-five years on the cassettes—came across strikingly. The subtle nuances of her mother’s voice brought yet a deeper understanding of how profoundly the tragic events in her parents’ lives had shaped them—and herself.

She went to the library and searched out everything she could find on Colombia. Though there was almost no information about the village of Timoné, she almost cheered to discover
National Geographic
stories about the Rio Guaviare, and
Newsweek
articles that mentioned San José del Guaviare, the town her father flew into from Bogotá. She made copies of everything she could find and, on a whim, even called her mother and asked her to send the books and tapes they’d used in the Spanish class she’d taken at the junior college a few years ago.

The following Sunday night Natalie sat down at her computer to compose an e-mail to her father. She hoped to convey the new sense of respect and admiration she had for him. She started and deleted half a dozen paragraphs. Nothing she wrote seemed to adequately express the deep emotional chord that had been struck within her.

Finally, she decided just to write honestly what she was feeling and to quit worrying about how he might interpret—or misinterpret—her words.

Dear Dad,

Mom gave me a bunch of cassette tapes you made when you guys were first in Colombia, and I’ve been listening to them ever since I got back to Manhattan. Don’t worry—I’m not neglecting homework or anything.

Dad, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know about your life there in Timoné—and especially the life you and
Mom shared before I was born. I’ve even learned a few Timoné words (which I’d try to cleverly slip into this e-mail if I had the faintest idea how to spell them! How is that guy coming with the translation? Sorry but I forget his name now. David something-or-other, wasn’t it?).

Anyway, I can’t believe everything was so primitive when you lived there twenty years ago. Not even an airstrip nearby! It’s kind of hard to picture Mom living like that. (Or Grammy Haydon letting her!) But at the same time, it explains a lot about the way Mom is. I mean that in a good way, of course. Now I know why she was always after us for wasting stuff! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble we’d get in for throwing out three kernels of corn or half an old brown banana! “That would have been perfectly good in a soup,” she’d say. Or “I was going to make a banana bread with that.” Ha! I guess I probably do take the luxuries we have here in America for granted.

Which brings me to something I want to ask you. I’m almost afraid to put this in writing because I don’t know if it would even be possible, but listening to the tapes makes me realize that I want to come and visit you. I know Aunt Betsy has visited you in Bogotá before, but I want to come all the way to Timoné. Could you send me some information and let me know what it would take for that to happen? I’ve been studying about Colombia, and I’ve even brushed up on my Spanish. I know what I learned in high school probably won’t get me far—and I know they don’t actually speak Spanish in Timoné—but Señor Edmonds always said I had a knack for languages, so I think I could learn Timoné pretty quickly.

Natalie stared at the words she had just typed. Until she saw them on the page in front of her, she hadn’t realized just how strong her longing was. But now, daring to give her yearning voice via the keyboard of her computer, she realized that this was exactly what these days of introspection had culminated in—a deep desire to go visit her father in his village.
There was no way she would ever truly get to know him unless she visited him on his own turf. And her world was far too small, her perspective on everything limited by her myopic view.

Before she could chicken out, Natalie clicked the
send
icon in her email program.

And thus began the wait. She knew that it was sometimes weeks before her father could get to San José del Guaviare, where they were able to receive e-mail and letters. But that didn’t keep her from anxiously checking her e-mail the minute she got back to the apartment after classes each day.

And though there was a twinge of fear in the waiting—fear that he would deny her—the predominant emotion was still that shadowy anticipation that something, something big, was about to change in her life.

Nathan Camfield turned up the flame in the lamp that sat on the crude table in the mission office. It was late, and the rest of the village was asleep. He read Natalie’s e-mail one more time, and a sinking feeling roosted in the pit of his stomach. What had he done? It had never been his intention to influence Natalie to come to Colombia. That had been the furthest thing from his mind in all the time he had been writing to her, telling her of his life here in Timoné. Yes, he was delighted to be corresponding with his daughter more frequently. It had been wonderful to finally feel he had a connection to this child he’d never been privileged to parent. But he had never meant to encourage her to want to come here.

He heard a sound on the stoop outside the door and called out, “Who’s there?”

The door opened, and David Chambers stuck his head in. “I thought I saw a light. You’re still here?”

Nate sighed. “Oh, I’m just reading my mail—and praying.”

David looked at him, a question in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s nothing serious. Natalie seems to think she wants to come and visit me.”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“I take it you don’t think that’s a good idea?”

“No. Of course not … not with the political situation the way it is. I think she has this image of some tropical paradise vacation spot. I don’t think she has a clue about what things are really like here. It … it just wouldn’t even make sense for her to come. This place isn’t set up for a woman …” He knew he was rambling, but he also knew that David would listen patiently and perhaps help him sort through his emotions. “I don’t know what her motive is for coming, but there are a million reasons why this isn’t a good idea. And if something happened to her while she was here, or on the way, I would never forgive myself. She’s not even twenty-two, Dave.”

David cocked his head. “How old were you when you came to Timoné, Nate?”

Nate rubbed his brow sheepishly. “Okay … not a whole lot older than that.”

“And your wife?”

“Okay, okay … I get your point. But it seems like Natalie wants to come for all the wrong reasons.”

“What are her reasons?”

He flung out a hand in frustration. “Oh, I don’t even know exactly. Maybe I’m making more of this than I should. I think maybe she has this desire to connect with the father she’s never gotten to know.”

“Would that be so bad … if she got to know her father better?”

He looked hard at his friend and shook his head. “Don’t tempt me, David. I haven’t even dared to imagine that I might get a chance to … to know Natalie like that. I’m afraid her mother will think I’ve put her up to this … or persuaded her in some way. I think that’s what’s bothering me the most about this whole thing. I gave up my rights to my daughter a long time ago. I’ve trusted Daria and her husband to do right by her. And I don’t mind telling you that it wasn’t easy when this whole thing with the accident happened. But I didn’t make waves then, and I sure don’t intend to start now.”

“So you’re going to tell her no?”

“What else could I say, David? I don’t know …” He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Maybe if I just ignore it, this will all blow over.” He blew out his cheeks in frustration. “I’m probably making too much of it. She hasn’t even graduated from college yet. She surely didn’t intend to come before that. I’m probably getting all worked up over nothing.”

“Well, don’t just dismiss the idea out of hand, Nate. I don’t think it’s all that impossible. For all you know it’s just a little vacation.” David reached out and gripped Nate’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thanks, Dave. Go on to bed. I won’t be much longer.”

“Okay. Good night.”

David latched the door behind him. Nate thought about the things he’d said. The truth was, his heart beat with excitement at the possibility of Natalie coming to Timoné, of getting to know her better, of finally being able to share his life with his daughter. He hadn’t dared to even imagine that he might someday have a relationship with her, and now the opportunity was staring him in the face. All he had to do was say yes, offer a little encouragement.

He reminded himself that, as David pointed out, Natalie was not a child anymore. He could tell from the thoughtful letters she wrote that she had grown—both spiritually and emotionally—in the years since the tragic accident that had taken her friend’s life. But this couldn’t be his decision. He didn’t want the responsibility of having said yes, if anything should go wrong.

He rose from the table, feeling a heaviness in his spirit that he hadn’t felt for many months. He closed the laptop and straightened his desk, then put the copy of Natalie’s e-mail in a folder for safekeeping.

He locked up the office, and holding the lamp high, he walked through the village to his hut. He undressed and crawled onto his sleeping mat, arranging the mosquito netting over him. Reaching underneath the net, he turned the knob to extinguish the lamp. The flame inside the glass chimney sputtered and faded. But he lay awake for many minutes, staring into the blackness, composing replies to his daughter’s request—none of which seemed right.

For—he realized with clarity as he finally drifted off to sleep—the
answer he wanted to give with all his heart was,
Yes, daughter! Yes, please come
.