Authors: Brynley Bush
By Tuesday Nikki is feeling better so I drop her off at school and then drive to Dr. Black's house. Agnes escorts me into the doctor's office where I find him poring over some papers spread over his desk. His eyes light up when he sees me.
“Emmaline!” he exclaims. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”
“And aren't you the charmer?” I reply with a smile. “Must be a Black family trait.”
“Ah well,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Not so much a trait of Beckett's, I'm afraid. But you certainly bring out a side of him I'm not accustomed to seeing. He's almost playful around you, although I'm not sure I've ever used playful as an adjective to describe Beckett, even when he was little. You're good for him.”
His comment makes me ridiculously happy.
“Don't break his heart,” the old man adds with a wink.
“I have a feeling his heart isn't the one that will get broken,” I say ruefully, and then mentally kick myself for my lack of professionalism.
“He's more vulnerable than he lets on,” Dr. Black says. “Perhaps the part of my story I have to tell you today will help you understand him a bit better.”
Curious now and eager to begin, I turn on my tape recorder and sit back to listen.
“As soon as I earned my PhD from Harvard, I set off for the Amazon,” he begins. “At first, I spent most of my time in Manaus, Brazil, a small city which is at the confluence of the Negro and Solimoes rivers. I hung out at the local bar, hoping to meet someone who would take me into the rainforest. Of course there were guides you could hire to take you on rainforest tours, and I did explore the rainforest with a guide several times, but it became apparent that if I was going to do the kind of research I wanted to do, I would have to find a village where I could live on a long term basis. Most of the knowledge of the plants in the rainforest and their healing properties isn't written down; everything is known by the shamans or medicine men of each village. If I was going to find out what knowledge already existed, it was imperative that I find a village with a shaman, and where the people would accept me.
“Of course finding that village was easier said than done. There are more than 400 indigenous tribes, each with their own culture, language and territories. Those deepest in the rainforest don't have contact at all with the so-called modern world.”
Agnes interrupts to bring us coffee and I sip mine absentmindedly, completely riveted by his story.
“The rainforest is not for the faint hearted. Diseases are problematicâmalaria, yellow fever, typhoid, meningitis, hepatitis, and dengue. They are even more serious in the more remote sections of the jungle that have primitive medical facilities and limited transportation. My big break came when I met a young local guide named Thiago. He was from a remote tribe in the Amazon, but had left his tribe several years before in hopes of making a future for himself in the city as a guide. He sought me out because he'd heard around town that I was a doctor and was willing to go into the rainforest. It turns out his mother was very ill and he had been unable to find a doctor willing to make the long and dangerous journey to treat her. I agreed to go.
“It took us two days to get there. We traveled by boat and then canoe before hiking the rest of the way. It was absolutely amazing. I saw river dolphins, waterfalls, animal life, and flora beyond my wildest imagination.” He smiles at the memory. “We finally arrived at Thiago's village and he took me to see his mother. It was clear to me that she had developed chronic Hepatitis B, which is fairly rare in adults. Typically newborns and children born with Hepatitis B are more likely to develop a chronic condition from Hepatitis B; adults are usually only sick for several weeks and then slowly recover, which is why the shaman in the village did not know what was wrong. I treated her with some Peginterferon I had. It is usually used for Hepatitis C but it was all I had that I thought might help her. Luckily it worked and she recovered completely. I later published my findings, which ultimately led to Peginterferon being approved for the treatment of Hepatitis B.
“Fate was smiling on me. As luck would have it, Thiago's father was the shaman, or medicine man, of the tribe, and he was grateful and curious enough about my ability to heal his wife that he allowed me to stay. I ended up staying for three years, and I learned more during those three years than I had learned in all of my years of Ivy League education put together. The shaman's name was Aleron, and he was rather forward thinking for a shaman, and as interested in what I could teach him as I was in what he could teach me. Luckily, he was more than willing to share his knowledge of the plants and remedies used by the Amazon tribes.”
I listen, rapt, as he tells me about his years in the Amazon and what he learned from the shaman, fantastic stories about botanicals with exotic names like the camu-camu fruit, maca root, and cat's claw that could heal a variety of ailments, pain medicine made from the venom of the poison dart frog, and a rare flower that when chewed could numb mouth pain. He told me how he in turn helped the tribe, teaching them how to avoid the spread of diseases and using American medicines to treat malaria and yellow fever, medicines that were mailed to him in Manaus for him to pick up during the two day journey out of the rainforest that he made every six months.
“I was scheduled to return home in one week's time when a woman from a neighboring tribe brought her infant boy to me. I noticed immediately that she didn't look like the other tribal people. She had pale skin and green eyes. The shaman told me she was one of the wives of the chief of the tribe and had been kidnapped from Peru to be his wife.”
As an aside he adds, “Unfortunately, that was the way many women came to the tribes at that time.” He continues, “The most important males in the tribe have multiple wives, but he apparently had a soft spot for her and had allowed her to bring the child to me when he had heard that I had foreign medicines that could heal.
“The child had a fever, bruised easily, and was clearly in decline. After checking him for the obvious things, I acted on a hunch and did some blood work. Oil had been discovered beneath the rainforest in the early 1960s, and with the excavation of oil over the next few decades there had been a lot of toxic waste. At the time, no one realized the impact that had on the environment. There had been a rather catastrophic spill near the area where we were, and I had recently read that an unusually high number of cancer cases were being reported in those oil-producing areas, including hematological cancers in children. Sure enough, the blood work indicated the baby had leukemia.
“At that time, it's doubtful he would have been able to be cured had he had the best and most modern medical care available. Deep in the rainforest, a two day journey from primitive civilization, he didn't have a chance. I explained to Aleron that the child had a disease for which there was no cure. I gave the mother some morphine to ease the child's pain when the end was near and sent her back to her tribe. I must say, I returned to the states with a heavy heart.
“I spent several years back home lobbying for money to continue my research and writing papers about the mind-boggling possibility of cures for diseases in the Amazon. Along the way I met and fell in love with a beautiful, blue-eyed anthropologist named Sylvia, who agreed to be my wife. After we were married, we decided to return to the Amazon.
“It was as if I had never left. Thiago transported us back to the village where we were greeted by the villagers as if we were honored long lost family members. My make-shift clinic had been kept clean and maintained as if they anticipated my return, and I picked up life in the Amazon as I had left it, while Sylvia got to know the natives and do research of her own. We had been there about a month when I asked Aleron about the child with leukemia that I had seen just before I had left.
“'You must see for yourself,' he said, and two days later we set off for the neighboring village. When we arrived I met the boy, who had not only survived but had thrived and was now a strapping four-year-old boy. Unfortunately, his mother had died of malaria several years before, but he had an older brother who was about seven, and whose main mission in life was clearly to take care of his little brother.”
I feel a shiver of premonition crawl up my spine. “Go on,” I say.
Dr. Black nods. “We spent five days there and I got to know the older boy, who spoke some English. He and his brother had been mostly left to themselves after the death of their mother. It seemed that several other children in his tribe and other tribes nearby had exhibited similar symptoms and had either died or recovered much more slowly. The indigenous tribes are a very superstitious people, and the boy child with the unusual greenish brown eyes who had seemed to almost instantly defy death was looked upon with a little fear. They seemed to believe that the small boy had been saved when the other children were not because he was favored by the dark spirits. The boys followed us back to our camp, and once we realized it, we sent a message to their father advising him of their safety and asking for his permission for them to stay with us for awhile.”
He mouth tightens. “The chief sent back a message saying the boys were dead to him. When Sylvia became pregnant a few months later and we decided to return to the States, we found a lawyer in Manaus who drew up the appropriate papers to adopt the boys and we brought them home with us.”
“Beckett and Griffin,” I breathe.
“Yes,” Dr. Black confirms. “They are my sons in every way but blood, but I can see the effect of their heritage on them. Theirs is a culture dominated by powerful males, and they come from a line of aggressive and tough warriors. Griffin channels his by being a bad ass for his adopted country. I sometimes wonder when the alpha male will come out in Beckett. Sometimes I worry that he has no outlet for what I believe are his genetic tendencies.” He shakes his head. “But Beckett has always been serious, a born healer and caretaker. He spent his childhood taking care of his brother and now he spends his career taking care of others. I'm glad he has finally found someone to take care of him.”
Beckett is out of town so I don't see him for the next two days, and the knowledge of the secret he has kept about his childhood eats away at me. I'm filled with doubt, wondering if I have imagined that our connection goes deeper than fantastic sex, because if we really are in a relationship surely he should have told me that he had lived in the Amazon rainforest until he was seven and is in fact the adopted son of Dr. Black. I remember him telling me his mother had died; surely he could have mentioned it then. But he hadn't. Yet he had to have known his dad would tell me. I can't make sense of it.
In some ways, Dr. Black's revelation helps me understand Beckett in a way I couldn't before. I am amazed as I realize he has found the perfect way to blend the two opposing forces of his personality. As a doctor, he can channel the powerful authority that is his personality into healing and caring for people. Even his sexual predilection allows him to be the dominant warrior he's genetically programmed to be while still letting him be a caretaker, always conscious of the woman he commands and her needs. I think of how he is always so attuned to my pleasure, and the way he gets his satisfaction from mine.
I sigh. The problem is that I want more than to just be taken care of. He wants me bared to him in every way, physically and emotionally, but he withholds parts of himself from me. But dammit, I want all of him too.
On Thursday, I spend the morning with Dr. Black and he talks about what his life was like back in the United States with two young South American boys who had never been out of the rainforest, and the joys of becoming a father to not two but three sons when Sylvia gave birth to Drake. When we stop at noon, I leave and pick Nikki and her friend Madison up from school and take them out for a celebratory end of the school year lunch before heading back to Dr. Black's house.
Agnes greets Nikki and Madison with her usual enthusiasm and gets them set up out on the terrace, where they ooh and aah over the pool before settling in for some serious sun-bathing. I spend a few more hours with Dr. Black in his office until he says, “Let's call it a day and go join the young people.”
I smile at him, realizing how much I've grown to like him. “You're the boss,” I say teasingly.
I pack up my things and follow him outside to introduce him to the girls.
“We should go soon,” I remind them.
“What? Nonsense!” the old man replies. “Beckett just got back from San Antonio and is going to join us. I know the only reason he agreed to come is because I told him you're here,” he adds with a sly smile. “You can't leave now. Stay for dinner.”
“Can we mom? Please?” Nikki begs.
Since Nikki's friend Madison is spending the night and we don't have other plans, I agree, much to the girls' delight.
Beckett arrives half an hour later, looking impossibly sexy in tailored dress pants, a white button-down, and a tie. After saying hello to his dad, he crosses the veranda and catches me up in a bear hug, lifting me off my feet before setting me back down and kissing me thoroughly.
Madison and Nikki clap and cheer.
“I've missed you,” he murmurs.
“It's only been a couple of days,” I say, but I feel the same, like I can finally breathe again. I can't help but think about the lost little boy who had such a chaotic childhood and the amazing man he has turned into, and I decide I just need to give him time to open up to me.
“Even an hour is too long to be without you,” he says, pressing his lips softly to mine. “I'm going to go change. Are you going to swim?”
“I didn't bring my suit.”
Madison, who has just gotten out of the pool to refill her glass of lemonade says, “I have an extra in my bag, Mrs. Hart. I bet it would fit you.”