The Last Place God Made - Jack Higgins [44]
'Exactly,' I said. 'And if Sister Maria Teresa insists on behaving like Florence Nightingale, the least we can do is go back to the house and get that bag for her.'
*
On the way back through Landro, a rather unusual incident took place which gave me a glimpse of another side of her character.
As we came abreast of a dilapidated house on the corner of a narrow street, a young Indian girl of perhaps sixteen or seventeen rushed out of the entrance on to the veranda. She wore an old calico dress and was barefoot, obviously frightened to death. She glanced around her hurriedly as if debating which way to run, started down the steps, missed her footing and went sprawling. A moment later Avila rushed out of the house, a whip in one hand. He came down the steps on the run and started to belabour her.
I didn't care for Avila and certainly didn't like what he was doing to the girl, but I'd learned to move cautiously in such cases for this was still a country where most women took the occasional beating as a matter of course.
Joanna Martin was not so prudent, however. She went in like a battleship under full sail and lashed out at him with her handbag. He backed away, a look of bewilderment on his face. I got there as quickly as I could and grabbed her arm as she was about to strike him again.
'What's she done?' I asked Avila and pulled the girl up from the ground.
'She's been selling herself round the town while I've been away,' he said. 'God knows what she might have picked up.'
'She's yours?'
He nodded. 'A Huna girl. I bought her just over a year ago.'
We'd spoken in Portuguese and I turned to give Joanna a translation. 'There's nothing to be done. The girl belongs to him.'
'What do you mean, belongs to him?'
'He bought her, probably when her parents died. It's common enough up-river and legal.'
'Bought her?' First there was incredulity in her eyes, then a kind of white-hot rage. 'Well, I'm damn well buying her back,' she said. 'How much will this big ape take?'
'Actually he speaks excellent English,' I said. 'Why not ask him yourself.'
She was really angry by then, scrabbled in her handbag and produced a hundred cruzeiro note which she thrust at Avila. 'Will this do?'
He accepted it with alacrity and bowed politely. 'A pleasure to do business with you, senhorita,' he said and made off rapidly up the street in the direction of the hotel.
The girl waited quietly for whatever new blow fate had in store for her, that impassive Indian face giving nothing away. I questioned her in Portuguese which she seemed to understand reasonably well.
I said to Joanna. 'She's a Huna all right. Her name is Christina and she's sixteen. Her father was a wild rubber tapper. He and the mother died from small-pox three years ago. Some woman took her in then sold her to Avila last year. What do you intend to do with her?'
'God knows,' she said. 'A shower wouldn't be a bad idea to start with, but it's more Sister Maria Teresa's department than mine. How much did I pay for her, by the way?'
'About fifty dollars - a hundred cruzeiros. Avila can take his pick of girls like her for ten which leaves him ninety for booze.'
'My God, what a country,' she said, and taking Christina by the hand, started down the street towards the airstrip.
*
I spent the afternoon helping Mannie do an engine check on the Bristol. Hannah arrived back just after six and was in excellent spirits. I lay in my hammock and watched him shave while Mannie prepared the evening meal.
Hannah was humming gaily to himself and looked years younger. When Mannie asked him if he wanted anything to eat he shook his head and pulled on a clean shirt.
I said, 'You're wasting your time, Mannie. His appetite runs to other things tonight.'
Hannah grinned. 'Why don't you give in, kid? I mean that's a real woman. She's been there and back and that kind need a man.'
He turned his back and went off whistling as I swung my legs to the floor. Mannie grabbed me by the arm. 'Let it go, Neil.'
I stood up, walked to the edge of the hangar and leaned against a post