Curse of the Condor (5 page)

Chapter 5

Jetta hadn't slept much that night at all, and was glad when morning finally came. The sounds of the jungle were louder than she'd ever thought they'd be. The croaking of frogs, chirping of crickets, and the general chorus of things she couldn't identify sung away, echoing through the trees and through her mind as well. A tapping noise came from somewhere beneath the hut and she felt her body stiffen, wondering what it was.

A woodpecker, she thought, but knew she was only fooling herself. She kept thinking something was going to crawl through the open entranceway or the hole in the floor. She'd curled up into her blanket and hid her head beneath the lumpy pillow when she heard the sound of a woman screaming last night. Panic had surged through her. But when she’d heard it the second time, she realized it was some sort of night animal on the prowl. Still, it was enough to make her cry out softly.

The tapping stopped momentarily, and she held her breath, hoping no animal would decide to investigate. Then the noise started up again. She shivered, fear coursing through her body.

The hairy face of Conrado flashed through her brain. She was in the jungle with a strange man, in a hut without a door, and with a huge hole in the floor. Why had she ever decided to come into the jungle with Conrado in the first place? It was only her true exhaustion last night that finally kept her eyes from remaining open, though she'd willed them to stay alert through the night.

Now, she rolled over, losing her bearings in the narrow hammock, and went crashing to the floor. She screamed, something she wished she'd never done when she heard Conrado's weight creaking the ladder as he came to her rescue.

"What is it? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She got to her knees and brushed off her hands without looking at him. She wasn't in a hurry to see the man whose shirt she now wore. If she hadn't been so chilled last night, she would have just slept in her own clothes.

She felt the warmth of his hands as he came up behind her and encompassed her waist, helping her to her feet.

"I said I'm . . . fine." She turned to face him and was surprised to see the handsome man standing before her. His hands still rested upon her waist.

"Conrado?" she asked, and peered at him from the corner of her eye. Could this be the same hairy, dirty, smelly man who'd brought her into the jungle? This man was clean shaven. His hair was cut to shoulder-length and tied back, no longer a mass of tangled knots hanging down his back. Now it was clean and shiny, and actually smelled good. It was still wet, and a water droplet ran down his neck. She let her eyes follow it down his muscular, hairless chest.

"Where's your snake?" she asked in surprise, noticing the tattoo on his chest missing.

"My snake?"

His gaze met hers and she couldn't help but notice the humor that glistened in his mocha eyes. His smile was intoxicating, as well as the fresh scent of his body.

"Your tattoo," she corrected herself, suddenly feeling the weight of his hands slip down to her hips. She felt as intoxicated by his presence as she was by his cleanliness.

"Oh, that." He released her, tied up the mosquito netting and collapsed into the hammock. She watched the make-shift bed swing back and forth, creaking under his weight. He crossed his arms behind his head, causing his biceps to bulge. He lay there virtually naked, as the only thing he wore was a short pair of frayed cut-offs which hugged him like a second skin.

"My snake slithered off in the shower this morning."

"What?" She marveled at the way he maneuvered the hammock to do what he wanted without falling out.
She'd struggled with the uncomfortable thing all night, trying not to make a false move so she wouldn't end up falling through the hole in the floor he called a bathroom.

"It washed off," he added, closing his eyes with a sigh as he spoke. So he hadn't had a good night's sleep either.

"Since when do tattoos wash off?"

"They're not etched into my skin, but put on with paints made from roots and weeds. It's something I learned from the Jivaro."

She surveyed the front of his body and noticed the rest of the tattoos were gone as well. All but the condor upon his upper arm.

"So why is that one still there?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and sat up in the hammock, bringing his feet over the edge to the floor. His fingers glided over the markings on his arm. His face turned solemn.

“This one is permanent,” he said in a low voice.

“I see. So you like condors enough that you wanted one on your body forever?”

He stood slowly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. Her comment had distressed him somehow.

“I hate condors,” he growled.

“Then why did you have one tattooed on your arm?”

“It was put there against my will when I was only tens years old. The Jivaro saw the condor sitting on a rock above me one day, and decided I was some kind of savior that was mentioned in their tribal prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” she asked. “What prophecy?”

Unspoken pain washed over his face, and he turned toward the door. She didn’t think he was going to answer.

“Please, I’d really like to know.”

He seemed to consider it, then nodded slightly. She heard a slight waver to his voice as he continued his story.

“My parents were bringing antibiotics to the sick Jivaro tribe when they suddenly both died.”

“Oh!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I was left alone in the jungle when a storm shook the cave. The Jivaro saw me emerge, and the condor swoop down past me, and that’s why the chief decided I was special. When I gave them the antibiotics in our supplies and their people were healed, they’d decided I was their savior. The chief declared me his son. He had a son my age named Hoatzin whom I befriended easily. He was like a true brother to me. But Motmot, the chief’s eldest son had no use for me. He liked to cause me trouble, as he was jealous from that day on.

“I had no idea,” she said, shocked to hear of his devastating childhood. She’d heard from Ryder he’d been raised by the natives, but she never imagined he’d gone through such troubled times. “I am so sorry about your parents.”

He turned his head slightly, his face stonelike. “Don’t be. They got what they deserved.”

“How can you say that?” she gasped. “No one deserves to die. You are just bitter at your ill luck and I don’t blame you.” She reached out to touch him, as she knew he needed it desperately, but withdrew her hand when she saw his muscles tighten in anticipation.

“Life is cheap in the jungle. Most kids don’t make it through infancy. You learn to survive, or you die. Simple as that.”

“How can you be so cold? It must have been horrible. How did they die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His jaw twitched, and she knew he was biting the inside of his cheek. Maybe she’d pried too far into his past. He obviously was still shaken by the incident.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly. “I understand how you feel. I couldn’t even imagine what I’d do in such a situation if I ever lost Ryder.”

He closed his eyes briefly, his lips turning down in a frown. Then he opened them and once again looked away.

“Your clothes are clean and dry,” he told her. “And you’re welcome to the shower if you’d like to freshen up.”

It was all she could do not to ask him more, but she knew he’d tell her nothing more that day. Neither would she ask.

"Thank you, but I don't think I'll be taking a shower. I'll just come get my clothes."

He looked at her now, with pain burning in his eyes. If only she could reach the hurt he hid away, and help him like he’d helped her.

"Suit yourself,” he answered softly. “But if you change your mind, there's still water in the shower bag. It's still warm."

He made his way to the entrance and only stopped when she called his name. The sunlight illuminated him from behind, and she really noticed how handsome he was now that he’d showered and shaved.

"Conrado, thank you. For the use of the night shirt."

He didn’t even acknowledge her gratitude before he disappeared from sight.

She plopped down in the wooden chair, feeling emotion wrack her body. She kept thinking of the way Conrado’s hands felt on her hips, and the way he cleaned up so nicely. And also that pain he held inside all these years. She wanted to reach out and pull him to her bosom and bury him in a hug. Her brother was right in befriending this man. She changed her mind about him. She didn’t need to fear him any longer, she decided. She would put her trust in him the way Ryder had done. Conrado would be her jungle protector on this journey.

Chatter decided to use that moment to drop in from nowhere, and landed on the dresser. Startled, she jumped and then put a hand over her chest to still her racing heart. He looked at her with his dark face that reminded her of a mask, and extended his lips into an 'o' as he did a bit of monkey talk.

"Stop sneaking up on me," she told the little monkey. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

The monkey hung his head and even seemed to pout a little. It reminded her of one of her students when she made them sit in the corner for throwing paper airplanes in class.

"Oh, stop it you big baby. Come here.” She ran her hand over its head gently.

The monkey took that advantage to scurry up her arm and sit on her shoulder just the way it did with Conrado. It tickled and she laughed, never having had a monkey on her shoulder before. Conrado said Chatter liked her. That was a good sign.

Maybe she wasn't such an outcast in the jungles of Peru after all. Besides, if her brother, Ryder, could get used to living in the wild, then maybe she'd give it a shot as well. At least for a few days until they met up with him.

She felt honored the monkey sat on her shoulder, and got to her feet and walked slowly toward the ladder. Chatter’s long tail swished back and forth as he balanced himself. She wanted Conrado to see that the monkey accepted her. She also wanted him to see how at ease she was becoming with jungle life only after one night.

She started down the ladder, noticing Conrado cooking something over the fire. Before she got to the last rung, he was there at her side, reaching out a helping hand.

"You don't have to run to my side every step I take," she told him. "I'm managing to get along just fine out here."

He looked at the monkey on her shoulder and nodded his head. The animal chattered away as it took to inspecting her hair.

"I see that," he told her. "Chatter, stop that," he scolded the monkey.

"He's all right. He's just playing," she told him.

"No, he's not."

"Then what's he doing?" she asked bewildered.

“It doesn’t matter. Now come on, I’ve got breakfast just about ready.”

“No,” she said, petting the monkey’s foot on her shoulder as he continued to explore her hair. “I really want to know. What is Chatter doing?”

Conrado cleared his throat and looked the other way briefly. Then he licked his lips and tried to hide his smile. “Well, if you must know, he’s looking for cooties.”

“What!” She shook the monkey off of her as fast as she could. “I don’t have cooties.”

Conrado disappeared toward the fire, chuckling. She then noticed something that hadn't been there the night before. The shower stall below the hut was enclosed with a dark plastic drop cloth that was held up by sticks and vines connected to the hut above.

Had that been the tapping noise she'd heard last night? Did Conrado enclose the shower just for her? She walked closer to inspect it, all the while making sure he didn't notice what she did. He didn't. His nose was in the boxes he was still unpacking from yesterday. Chatter was pulling out things as well, and Conrado was telling the monkey to go play with someone his own size.

She reached out and pulled back the curtain, the smell of deodorant soap filling her nostrils. There was even a bottle of rain-scented shampoo sitting on the small table that held the soap. A clean, dry rag rested beside it. Next to that was a can of shaving foam and a disposable razor.

"No one's going to accuse me of having cooties," she mumbled to herself and stepped inside to try it out.

Conrado knew his comment about the cooties would force Jetta to try the shower. And he was glad, after the work he put into enclosing it late last night. Her own comments the day before had made him realize he hadn’t cared what he’d looked or smelled like. Hell, he hadn’t been around such a beautiful woman in such a long time that he’d actually forgotten how good it felt to shower and shave. He felt so good, he only wanted her to try the shower so she could feel the same way.

Jetta Fitzgerald had caused him to question the way he’d been living from the moment she stepped foot into his boat. Well, his beard and mustache were gone now, and he had nothing to hide behind any longer. Nothing but his reluctance to tell the poor girl the truth about her brother. She had a right to know, and that's why they would set out straight this morning after breakfast to find Ryder's grave.

He'd marked it with a homemade cross and buried the man deep in the jungle so no one would ever find him. He'd gone to great extremes to hide any trace of his horrid crime, and now all sense was leaving him, and all because of a woman.