State of Wonder - Ann Patchett [34]
“Dr. Swenson não lhes diria nada,” Rodrigo said. He could follow the conversation well enough in English but did not speak it. He brought out a hooded rain poncho folded into a clear plastic sack and a small umbrella. He handed them to Marina and nodded at her with a gravity that insisted she add them to her purchases.
“You have another idea?” Milton asked his brother-in-law in English.
“The Bovenders,” Marina said.
“They are the young couple who stay in her apartment. No doubt you’ll meet them. They are very hard to miss. They are travelers.” Milton closed his eyes. “What is the word?”
“Boêmio,” Rodrigo said disapprovingly.
Milton opened his eyes. “They are young bohemians.”
Rodrigo was making a list of everything Marina was taking, writing down the prices with a pencil. She held a single yellow flip-flop against the sole of her shoe, then she put it back to try another. She picked up a prepaid phone card. Anders would have found the Bovenders easily enough if they were living in Dr. Swenson’s apartment. He had the address where her mail was delivered, he would have gone there first. In the store there was an irregular clicking sound, a tapping that wasn’t coming from the people who were taking turns trying to force open the door. It sounded like someone was hitting the edge of a watch against a counter. She looked up to the ceiling to see some hard-shelled insects dashing themselves against the fluorescent tubing. From where she stood they didn’t appear to have wings.
“Estoque!” Milton called out to the people clustered on the other side of the glass. He continued to shout at them in Portuguese. Rodrigo shut off the light again. In the dark he put her purchases into tissue thin plastic bags.
“What do they want?” Marina asked.
Milton turned and looked at her. “They don’t want anything,” he said, pointing out the way in which their situation was different. “They’re just looking to pass the night.”
When Rodrigo finally did open the door to let Milton and Marina out it became clear that the crowd wasn’t as large as it had appeared when viewed through a pane of glass, maybe twenty people, and some of them were children. They looked dissipated standing there in the open street, as if there had never really been the energy needed to push their way inside. Still, they waited around to voice their disappointment, which they did in a half-hearted manner.
When Rodrigo opened the car door for Marina she suddenly realized she hadn’t paid for anything. The featherweight sacks containing everything she had taken were looped over her fingers and she held them up to the two men. “I haven’t paid,” she said to Milton. The members of the dwindling crowd who hadn’t wandered home leaned in towards her, hoping to make out the contents of her bags.
He shook his head. “It all goes on account, yes?”
“Whose account?”
“Vogel,” Rodrigo said. He reached into one of the bags and showed her the carbon of the bill, a neatly printed record of everything she was leaving with.
Marina started to say something and then let it go. If it seemed odd to her that a general store in Manaus had direct billing with an American pharmaceutical company, it did not seem odd to the two men. She thanked them both and said good night to Rodrigo, who, under Milton’s translation, wished her luggage a safe return. Because he opened the back door of the car for her that was where she sat for the very short ride to her hotel. When they reached their destination, Milton gathered up the few things she had and walked her inside.
She had a room at The Hotel Indira. She could not imagine that whoever booked it had known enough to mean it as a joke. From the grand exterior she entered a lobby of palm plants and tired brown sofas that slumped together as if they had come as far as they could and then given up. Milton checked her in and then came back to give her the key. After a pleasant wish for a good night he left her there,