Part 1 (2/2)
”Thanks,” said N'Lykli, and the driver put the Jeep in gear.
”Hey,” said Maria as they started to pull away. ”What's a Hiller Project?”
Another cultural rescue group, she figured, but the black guy gave her a different funny look. She didn't recognize it and he didn't answer. The Jeep pulled away, jouncing down the rutted access road.
Maria groped in her pocket for another cigarette, took one out of the pack, then stuck it back in. Instead of heading for the A/V trailer, she followed them down the hill to Intake.
She found N'Lykli and the driver inside with Horace, arguing in Portuguese while four of Xingu's tribal staffers stood around listening, impa.s.sive in their various face paint, Xingu T-s.h.i.+rts, and khaki shorts.
”These people have to be isolated,” the driver was saying. ”They have to be isolated or we'll lose half of them to measles and the other half to the flu.”
He seemed overly focused on this issue, even though Horace was nodding. Horace turned to one of thestaffers and started to give instructions in the man's native Arawak. ”Drive them down to Area C. Take the long way so you don't go past the Waura camp.”
”No,” said N'Lykli. ”We'll drive them. You just show us where they can stay for the night.”
Horace raised an eyebrow. ”For thenight? ”
”We'll be gone in the morning,” said N'Lykli. ”We have permanent quarters set up for them south of here, in Xavantina.”
Horace drew himself up. ”Once they're on Xingu property, they're our responsibility. You can't just drop in and then take them somewhere else. This isn't a f.u.c.king motel.”
The driver pulled a sheaf of papers out of his jacket and spread them on the table. Everything was stamped with official-looking seals andHiller Project in red letters over the top of every page. ”I have authorization.”
”So do I,” said Horace. ”And mine's part of a big fat grant fromPlano de Desenvolvimento Economico e Social in Brasilia.”
The driver glanced at his Hiller companion.
”Let me make a phone call,” said N'Lykli. ”We'll get this straightened out.”
Horace snorted and waved him toward Maria. ”She'll show you where it is.”
”This way,” said Maria.
It wasn't that Horace would kick the Indians out if they didn't have authorization. He'd kick out the Hiller whatever-the-f.u.c.k-that-was Project first, and hold on to the Indians until he knew where they were from and what they were doing on the back of a truck. Indians were s.h.i.+pped out of settlements all over Brazil as an act of mercy before the last of the tribe was gunned down by cattle ranchers, rubber tappers, or gold miners. Xingu's big fat grant was a sugar pill that thePlano de Desenvolvimento gave out with one hand while stripping away thousands of years of culture with the other. Horace knew it. Everyone knew it.
N'Lykli followed her across the compound, between swirls of floodlit mosquitoes, through the evening din of cicadas. The phone was on the other side of the reserve, and Maria slowed down to make him walk beside her.
”So what's a Hiller Project?” she said.
”Oh,” he said, ”we're part of a preservation coalition.”
”Which one?” asked Maria. ”Rainforest Agencies?”
”Something like that.”
”You should be a little more specific.” Maria jerked a thumb in Horace's direction. ”Horace thinks Rainforest Agencies is a front for the World Bank, and they're not interested in preservinganything . If he finds out that's who you work for, you'll never get your little Indian friends out of here.”
N'Lykli hesitated. ”Okay. You've heard of International Pharmaceuticals?”
”They send biologists out with the shamans to collect medicinal plants.””Right,” he said. ”IP underwrites part of our mission.”
”You mean rain forest as medical resource?” Maria stopped. ”So why're you taking Indians from Ipiranga to Xavantina? They won't know anything about the medicinal plants down there. Ipiranga's in an entirely different ecological zone.”
He made a motion with his shoulders, a shrug, she thought, but it was more of a shudder. ”There's a dam going up at Ipiranga,” he said. ”We had to relocate them.”
”To Xavantina?” She couldn't think of anything down there except abandoned gold mines, maybe a rubber plantation or two. ”Why can't you leave them with us?”
”Because they're . . . unique.”
He was being so vague, so unforthcoming, she would have guessed that the entire tribe was going to be sold into gold-mining slavery, except something in his tone said that he really cared about what happened to them.
”Unique?” said Maria. ”You mean linguistically? Culturally?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. He licked his lips. After a while he said, ”Genetically.”
That was a first. ”Oh yeah?” said Maria. ”How's that?”
”Ipiranga's an extremely isolated valley. If it wasn't for the dam, these people might not have been discovered for another century. The other tribes in the area told us they were just a fairy tale.” He glanced at her. ”We don't think there's been any new blood in the Ipiranga population for five hundred years.”
Maria let out a doubtful laugh. ”They must be completely inbred. And sterile.”
”You'd think so,” said N'Lykli. ”But they've been very careful.”
A whole slew of genetic consequences rose up in her mind. Mutants. Family insanities and nightmarish physical defects pa.s.sed down the generations. She knew them all. ”They'd have to have written records to keep so-and-so's nephew from marrying his mother's grandniece.”
”They have an oral tradition you wouldn't believe. Their children memorize family histories back two hundred generations. Theyknow who they're not supposed to marry.”
Maria blinked in the insect-laden night. ”But they must have a few mistakes. Someone lies to their husband. Someone's got a girlfriend on the side-they can't be a hundred percent accurate.”
”If they've made mistakes, none of them have survived. We haven't found any autism, or Down's.” He finally gave her that three-armed sideshow freak look again. ”Or Lucknow's.”
Maria clenched her teeth, clenched her fists. ”Excuse me?”
”Lucknow's Syndrome. Your albinism. That's what it is. Isn't it?”
She just stood there. She couldn't decide whether to sock him or start screaming. Not even Horace knew what.i.t was called. No one was supposed to mentionit . It was supposed to be as invisible as she was.
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