Chapter 2
Moira
I’m exhausted.
Letting out a tired breath, I lean my temple against the backseat
window of the cab. Zach sits quietly beside me, taking in the Chicago
skyline as we make our way past the Windy City, en route to Evanston,
about fifteen miles away.
To my home…
where Zach will be staying with me for a while before making a trip
to Atlanta to meet Randall. I’m on a summer break from my
teaching post in the Anthropology Department at Northwestern
University. I also took an extended leave of absence, at least for
the upcoming fall semester, as Randall and I felt that Zach could
possibly need my help for several months. But in truth… I’m
flying by the seat of my pants at this point because Zach is not
making anything easy on me.
Our plane flight
from Brasilia into Chicago was relatively calm, considering how
difficult it was for me to make it out of the rainforest with a
reluctant travel mate. I had fought the heat, humidity, dehydration,
the never-ending supply of gnats and mosquitos, a near-death
experience with a bushmaster snake, and yet none of that was as hard
as dealing with Zach’s antipathy during the trip.
The man clearly did
not want to leave his home with the Caraicans. After having spent
eighteen years immersed in their culture… after having been
adopted into their tribe and revered as a member, he had absolutely
no desire to return to the States with me.
This was something I
had expected was a possibility since he had lost his parents so very
long ago. I had a feeling that Zach might not remember much of his
prior life, and here I was… taking him away from the comfort
and security of what he knew best. I had even told Randall, Zach’s
godfather who had arranged this entire rescue mission, that Zach may
not want to return to his American roots. Randall was far more
positive on that than I was, just telling me to do the best that I
could.
Ultimately, I had
nothing to do with Zach’s capitulation to come. I stayed in his
village for two days after my arrival, while his adoptive father
argued with him mercilessly. He was very eager for Zach to take this
opportunity to learn more about his own heritage. I’m not sure
what Paraila finally said to his adopted son, but on my second
evening there, Zach approached me and said, “We’re
leaving tomorrow.”
Those were his first
words to me. Despite the fact that we had shared a highly intimate
experience that first night over the blaze of the campfire, when he
fucked another woman while holding my gaze, he had not spoken a word
to me until he informed me of our departure. His next words were no
friendlier.
After saving me from
a bushmaster that was perilously close to my leg, he had sneered at
me, “You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama
de cabelos . Next time, I let the serpent strike.”
Then he turned his
back on me and started walking away, taking the lead and hacking his
way through the jungle once more.
I imagined what
chama de cabelos might mean in Portuguese. I was thinking
something along the lines of idiot, dumbass, moron, or even bonehead.
Father Gaul told me later when I asked him that it mean flame-haired .
I ended up taking
that as a compliment, despite the fact that Zach looked like he
wanted to strangle me whenever we made eye contact.
Zach didn’t
speak another word to me until later in the day when he was forced
to, because once we reached the Jutai, we split up from Father Gaul
and Ramon. His words were short and simple. He told me to get into
the dugout canoe that Father Gaul had arranged for us at the small
trading village on the river and to paddle hard.
Which I did…
and within just an hour, my arms were shot and useless. He muttered
something in Portuguese, and I suffered his glare the rest of the day
as we traveled up the Jutai toward the Amazon River.
He gave me nothing
further but silence on our second day on the water, despite my
efforts to talk to him. I knew his English was still in fine form, as
Father Gaul continued to speak it to him over the years, but he would
only respond to me in Portuguese when I would try to ask him
something, and I think half the time he was cursing at me.
Finally, something
changed as we ported the canoe at the end of the second day.
Something that started out with a few words, but then ended with soft
moans and exquisite release.
I shudder now even
thinking about the moment we had together.
After pulling the
canoe up onto the bank, Zach silently took his machete and hacked
away at some low-lying vegetation between two young Kapok trees that
bordered the riverbank. When he was done, he merely pointed at the
trees and said, “For your hammock,” then turned around
and disappeared into the jungle.
He was gone for
less than an hour, returning with a small spider monkey he prepared
over the fire that he efficiently built, but he didn’t offer
any to me. That was fine… I nibbled on my dehydrated rations
and tried to talk to him about Randall, because Zach had not bothered
to show one single bit of curiosity as to where I was leading him and
what would happen when we returned to the States.
“ Zach…
do you have any questions about Randall Cannon, your godfather?”
I was met with
silence as he poked at the dying fire.
“ He’s
a nice man,” I told him simply. “I think you’ll
like him a lot.”
Zach ignored me
at first, then stood up and went down to the river where he splashed
water on his face. When he returned, he said, “I won’t
like him but tell me how he knows me… why he has the right to
ask me to come to him.”
I took the
opportunity and poured out everything in a rush. “He was very
good friends with your parents. He was your father’s best
friend. In fact, your father saved Randall’s life once, and it
created a very deep bond between them. I’ve seen a lot of
pictures of you and Randall together. Your parents came on a few
mission trips when you were very young, and you stayed with Randall
each time. He cared for you then, and he cares for you a great deal
now.”
I heard a faint
snort come out of Zach as he resumed sitting by the fire. “What
is this word you have been using… ‘godfather’?”
“ It’s
a symbolic title. He was chosen by your parents to have a hand in
guiding and directing you in life. It can have spiritual meaning,
which I’m sure it did since your parents were very religious.
Randall wasn’t, so I think there was also an element where your
parents chose Randall to be a secondary guardian to you. Someone that
would look out for your well-being.”
“ He’s
not my father,” Zach said defensively.
“ Of course
not,” I assured him. “It’s just a title. You make
whatever relationship you want with Randall.”
“ I don’t
want any relationship with him,” Zach sneered. “I just
want to go back to my home.”
Then he stood up
again and walked into the jungle. He didn’t come back for
almost two hours. I laid in my hammock, wondering where he was and if
I would be eaten by a jaguar that night.
But he did
return, saying not a word to me. He merely laid down on the ground
beside the fire and closed his eyes. I swayed in my hammock, looking
up at the stars in the swatch of jungle that had been carved out by
the river. The sounds of the night forest lulled me… birds and
monkeys calling to each other, frogs croaking out love songs, and
crickets merrily chirping. Some people thought it was too loud, but I
loved it. It was like a soothing, white noise to me, and I was
starting to get drowsy.
Before my eyes
drifted closed for the night, I turned my head slightly and looked
over at Zach. I glanced at his face first and saw that he was still
awake and staring up at the same stars I had been looking at. My gaze
traveled down his chest, and I was stunned to find he had his hand
between his legs. His cock was fully erect, and he silently stroked
it with his right hand, his other hand casually tucked under his head
while he peered at the night sky.
He didn’t
make a sound and had it not been from the impressive erection sliding
along his palm, I would have wondered if he were even enjoying
himself.
I knew I should
have averted my eyes and given him privacy while he masturbated, but
damn… there he was under the broad, starry sky, wearing
nothing but his hand around what I estimated was an amazing
eight-to-nine inches of steel and velvet.
Zach’s
chest was moving up and down in tiny spurts, increasing in tempo with
the beat of his hand, but no sounds of pleasure came out of his full
lips. His cock was moist and, in the firelight, I could see pre-cum
leaking from the tip. Everything else about him though was utterly
still and silent, and I came to understand the fact that Zach had
amazing control over his body and his feelings.
As I watched Zach
pleasure himself, I couldn’t help but imagine it was my own
hand on him… then I imagined it was my mouth… then I
imagined he was lodged deep inside of me. I’d never been with
someone that large before, and I thought to myself… the
stretch and burn would hurt in just the right way.
I felt moisture
soak my underwear, and my body felt twitchy and frustrated. My
breasts ached, and my stomach tightened. Rolling my body to the side,
I winced slightly when the hammock strings groaned, but Zach didn’t
notice. He just kept stroking his cock and staring at the stars.
Pressure built
quickly between my legs, and I swear I could feel my blood pumping
through my clit, making an uncomfortable throbbing sensation. I
couldn’t stand it… I needed the same type of relief that
Zach was rushing toward.
I craved it more
than I had craved water in the heat of the jungle.
Common sense
seemed to be dispossessed of my brain, and I moved without thought.
Slowly lowering my hand to my stomach, I worked my fingers at the
button on my pants and undid it. I tugged my zipper down, thankful