Naomi is trying to get a reaction from Timothy and Maggie. Even a slight sniff of disapproval would do. But they are impervious. So very disappointing.
The beetroot salad is followed by soup with a fried egg in it, tasty highly spiced chicken with poor fried rice, and a fruit salad. With so few people there the meal is finished in under an hour. Never mind. That will give them all the more time to enjoy the promised traditional local cabaret in the bar.
The cabaret is an embarrassed Basilio with a guitar. He plays quite nicely. Timothy holds Maggie’s hand. Not to be outdone, Naomi holds Simon’s hand as if they are walking down the Ramblas in Barcelona and it’s her wallet. The poor travel agent tries to look as if he is delighted to have no hand to hold.
Basilio doesn’t play all that long, to be honest, and the four English visitors can’t blame him, but the German whispers, ‘Short measure. Always short measure.’
Basilio now has a few words to say to them.
‘Tomorrow we will visit an Indian village. They do not use money. They have nice things to buy, and you will need to barter. The best thing to use is cigarettes. They like cigarettes. If you want to buy things tomorrow, get some cigarettes at the bar tonight.’
Simon fetches more drinks – beer for him and the German, red wine for Naomi, bottled water for Timothy and Maggie. He also buys cigarettes.
‘I will not spread this noxious weed,’ says the German. ‘I have fish hooks with me. Many fish hooks. I will barter with fish hooks.’
Timothy and Maggie also refuse to buy cigarettes. The travel agent offers to sell them some of his fish hooks.
‘I don’t think so, thank you very much,’ says Timothy loftily. ‘I don’t honestly anticipate that there’ll be anything we want to buy.’
By the time they have finished their drinks, the barman is asleep. It’s almost ten o’clock.
Naomi has been wondering about Timothy’s sex life. Maggie doesn’t look sexy. Not that they will be likely to be having sex tonight. The chalets have single beds underneath mosquito nets. It’s not conducive.
‘I love your breasts,’ whispers Simon from his single bed. ‘I wish I was fondling and kissing them now. Imagine kissing hers. He’s got a job on. They’re enormous.’
‘I must say they did remind me of some old English burial mounds I saw once in Dorset,’ says Naomi.
‘You’re a terrible woman,’ says Simon affectionately.
In the morning they’re scheduled to walk to a village of the Yagua Indians. Basilio meets them outside the lodge. He bangs a big drum five times with a gong, explaining that this is an Indian method of communicating.
Their walk takes them about an hour. Animals seen amount to a slightly disappointing total of one iguana.
The German astounds them by saying, ‘I know a German joke about the British.’
‘Oh, do tell us,’ says Naomi.
‘There were two Englishmen who met at work.’
They wait to enjoy the rest of his joke, then realise, to their horror, that he has finished. They don’t get it.
‘They work at the same place, but they have never met, because one or the other of them was always on strike,’ he explains. ‘German jokes are subtle.’
After about three-quarters of an hour the little party cross a creek on a high bridge. They find themselves in a small village of thatched houses on stilts. There are two houses filled with people hiding. They can dimly see that they are wearing jeans and T-shirts. Basilio hurries them past these houses.
Waiting for them on a bench are four Yagua Indians, three men in grass skirts and a woman in a large green kerchief that doesn’t quite hide her breasts, which look two decades past their suck-by date. It’s difficult to say which group seems the more embarrassed by this travesty of tourism.
In front of them, on a wire, are rows of beads, necklaces adorned with alligator heads, and other delights.
The German decides to buy something, and the bartering begins, translated by Basilio.
‘I give you two fish hooks.’
‘Packet of cigarettes.’
‘Four fish hooks.’
‘Packet of cigarettes.’
It’s the only currency they want, and they only want whole packets so they can sell them in town. Of course they use money. The German buys a packet off Simon, says, ‘I can’t think why they want this noxious weed,’ and with the packet settles on a bracelet of alligator teeth. Who is it for? wonders Naomi.
Nobody else buys anything.
Naomi wonders if bartering with cigarettes is the derivation of the phrase, ‘It costs a packet.’ She must remember to find out when she gets home.
Home. Why does the word send a shiver through her? Is she no longer looking forward to home life with Simon?
There’s some embarrassing fooling around with blow darts, and the charade is over. The travel agent, in generous mood, offers the villagers all his fish hooks. They don’t want them. They use nets. He shows for the first time a softer side. He seems genuinely disappointed. Not hurt, just sad. Naomi wonders if there is a woman in his life, or if the alligator teeth are for his mother.
The walk back is slow, as the heat and humidity rise. Naomi and Timothy find themselves walking side by side. Whether they have planned this or whether it’s chance is not obvious even to them.
‘I want to thank you for having the courage to come and tell me that dreadful day,’ says Timothy. ‘I think it really made a difference. Left me with a bit of self-respect.’
‘I hope you got over it quickly.’ But not too quickly, perhaps.
‘I didn’t. It took months.’
‘How long after…me, did you meet Maggie?’
‘Best part of two years.’
‘And how are you now? Really happy? You seem it.’
‘Oh, yes. Maggie’s lovely. You? Everything all right?’
‘Absolutely. Can’t you tell?’
‘Er…yes.’ He hesitates. He wants to confess something. Naomi isn’t sure if she wants to hear it. ‘The…er…not everything is…I mean, it’s different from you and me. It’s…’ His dark face colours slightly, and seems to swell with embarrassment. ‘I mean, we do have sex. I mean, it is our honeymoon. But not…’
‘Everything we did?’
‘No. That was actually a bit special, Naomi.’
‘Well, thank you, but…it was one night.’
‘I know, but still it was a bit…you know. In fact, I can’t believe what I did. I don’t expect I’ll ever do it again. It seems, somehow, with Maggie, you know, something we just wouldn’t do.’
She wants to blurt out, ‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ but keeps it to herself.
‘…Anyway, I suppose our relationship is more…spiritual.’
Why on earth is he telling her all this? He obviously needs to. She finds that very encouraging. This worries her. Why should she be encouraged by it?
‘Talking about spirituality, how about you? Are you…do you still not believe?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t not believe or you do not believe?
‘I don’t believe.’
‘I’m