Gideon pulled the carved wooden box out of his drysack, opened the lid, and took out the lotus. “Give her this!”
This suggestion was greeted with a cry of instant approbation. The chief leapt up and fetched some boiling water from the fire, while iPhone whipped out his machete and began mashing and chopping the pod into tiny pieces, then crushing them with the flat of the blade. A foul scent rose from the crushed plant and Gideon had a bad moment, thinking it might be poisonous. But they didn’t look like poisoners and were clearly concerned with her illness. When iPhone had reduced it almost to a powder, it went into the pot of boiling water.
Amy screamed one last time, and then — with a final rolling of the eyes — flopped out, unconscious.
The chief and iPhone worked frantically, boiling the lotus in the water, then straining it through a piece of pounded bark. A bad-smelling rose-colored liquid resulted, which they cooled with some fresh water. Talking rapidly, they gestured to Gideon to prop Amy up so she could drink. Gideon managed to get her up, her head lolling back, spittle drooling from her lips. He couldn’t believe what a good actress she was.
The chief, carrying a coconut cup with the foul beverage, knelt in front of her and gave her a couple of hard slaps. Her eyes flew open. He put the cup to her mouth. Making a face, she drank down the concoction.
She fell back, once again unconscious. Gideon eased her down.
A minute passed while she lay motionless. The tension and anxiety from the chief and iPhone were palpable. They stood over her, wringing their hands, their faces distorted with worry.
And then, suddenly, Amy opened her eyes and looked around a little groggily.
A great cry went up from the chief and iPhone. The others who had retreated to the edge of the jungle now shuffled forward to see what was happening.
Amy raised herself onto her elbows and glanced up at the onlookers, blinking.
More hubbub and excitement. People were still hanging back, but the relief was tremendous.
Slowly, gingerly, Amy rose to her feet. The retching and convulsions had passed. She thanked first the chief, then iPhone. People began to crowd around. Amy looked awfully tired, swaying slightly on her feet, but nobody seemed to notice as they came back out of the bush, eyes wide in wonderment at the miracle, making a great noise of thankfulness, gesturing to the sky as if praising the gods.
And then the chief seized Gideon’s hand and raised it in triumph. He gave another incomprehensible speech that seemed to be full of praise for Gideon and his wisdom. At least, that’s what Gideon hoped it meant — since that had been his intention all along.
Clapping his hands, the chief began calling out instructions. The village children began chasing around a goat, finally capturing it and tying it up. iPhone came over with his machete and, to the sound of much horrible bleating, cut its throat.
The chief was beaming. He clapped again. “Fiesta!” he said.
“Fiesta,” murmured Amy, as if from a long way away. “Fiesta.”
As they prepared the feast, Gideon took Amy down to the beach to clean off the dirt and flecks of vomit. That evening, at the feast around the fire, they consumed barbecued goat. The chief made what seemed like an important announcement, greeted with applause. After much questioning, Gideon was able to decode it. It was exactly what he’d hoped: The next morning, they would be making the journey to the island of Tawaia, apparently to give thanks to the gods of healing and to the spirit of the lotus.
After the feast, late that night, Gideon and Amy finally were able to retreat to the darkness of their hut. Gideon lay down on his mat, his hands behind his head. For a while they lay in silence, Gideon listening to the distant sound of the surf and the murmuring of voices around the fire.
“Amy, your performance was amazing.”
A quiet snore. Amy, it seemed, was still under the influence of the lotus flower. It had seemed to take her every effort to remain awake during the feast.
“Amy?”
“Mmm?”
“You were horrifyingly effective. It scared the shit out of everyone — including me.”
A long pause before the bleary response came. “Long ago, at a very foolish time in my life, I studied Method acting.”
“Ah! A clue to the real Amy finally emerges. You put it to good use.”
“Your idea.” And Amy began to breathe softly again.
Gideon looked over. Every other time he’d seen Amy asleep, there had been a frown on her face. It was as if she was forever struggling with something — what, he could not imagine. Now, however, there was a smile on her sleeping face: a smile that practically radiated serenity and bliss.
44
They put Gideon in the bottom of one of the canoes and Amy in the other. Gideon made sure to bring their drysacks with them. The men ran them into the water, leapt in, and began paddling like mad as the canoes shot out into the surf, bashing through the breaking waves. Gideon was instantly soaked and thoroughly terrified by the time they reached calmer water beyond the break.
Even beyond the breakers it was a nerve-racking journey. The sea was running high, the long canoe riding up and down the great swells while the men, their bare, muscled backs glistening with drops of water, paddled in unison to a rhythmic chant. The wind blew straight into their faces but the canoes moved fast, cutting through the water at five miles an hour. The early-morning sun rose over the distant islands, throwing a brilliant golden light over the sea, limning the mountain peaks in purple.
The landforms slowly rose up as they approached. Gideon could make out three of them. A massive, initial island thrust steeply out of the sea, rising more than a thousand feet into the clouds. A smaller but even steeper and taller island lay beyond it. Right in front of them was the twisted place: a volcanic sea stack or eroded plug that stuck up like a witch’s finger, a black, bent spire of rock.
They headed for the closer island, just behind the twisted stack. As they approached, Gideon could see the white cream of surf, and beyond it a narrow beach of black sand, ending in steep volcanic cliffs hung with vegetation and pierced by caves.
The two canoes raced into the surf and were carried through the breakers and into the calm water beyond before grounding on the sand. The men leapt out and hauled the canoes up beyond the high-water mark.
They had arrived. Gideon watched as Amy came over. The men were busy securing the canoes.
“Feels like the lost world,” said Amy, looking around.
The others approached, led by a strange, wizened old man whom Gideon hadn’t seen prior to the canoe journey. He was wearing only traditional garb, not the Western clothing of the others, and he carried a tall staff topped by a carved eagle and other, fanciful creatures. His fingers had multiple rings; a dozen heavy necklaces circled his neck. The other men treated him with great deference, casting their eyes to the ground as he walked past.
Now the man walked up to them and stopped, looking at them both. His wrinkled, craggy face, pendulous lips, and gleaming black eyes gave him the air of a man of mystery and power. This man, Gideon thought, must be a spiritual leader or head shaman.
After examining them intently, in dead silence, he gestured to iPhone, who seemed to have become their companion and general factotum. iPhone bustled over, and the man spoke to him.
iPhone turned toward Amy. Gesturing and pointing, and offering the odd Spanish word or two, he communicated that she was to stay with him — she would be separated from the rest. The ceremony was not for her.
Amy began to protest, but Gideon made a calming gesture. “Go with the flow,” he said. “We’ll have our chance to explore later.”