Homeward Blows the Wind

John Lane

Description

Romance, adventure, adversity and success - such is the panoramic sweep of this compelling story that starts and finishes in the little-known heart of the Amazon rain forest. A story that reaches out from the New World to the Old and back again to the jungle city of Iquitos and the headwaters of the mighty Amazon, king of rivers - this is a triumphal and joyous celebration of love and creation that sings in the heart like a great symphony.

Informations

• Publié par: New World Books/johnlanebooks
• Date de parution: 26 janvier 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783016259
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

The Author

John Lane is the author of two other books on Peru: John Murray best seller A Very Peruvian Practice and Iquitos - Gateway to Amazonia (now in its Fifth Edition). He first went to South America in 1959; his wife comes from the Peruvian rain forest, where they have travelled extensively together, including living in Iquitos. Their project for creating a 50 hectare botanical garden in the village of Santa Rita on the River Itaya has been interrupted by the discovery of oil on their land. When he is not travelling, John Lane lives in London and has a chacra on the banks of the River Wandle. For further information and details of all his other books see www.johnlanebooks.com

For Bellita
Text Copyright John Lane
( www.johnlanebooks.com )
First Published 2014 by New World Books
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, including photocopying, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-9566622-7-9
eBook ISBN 978-1-78301-625-9
Typeset in Palatino
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Witley Press, Hunstanton, Norfolk
Cover design: From an original painting by Lala Bruno from Germany
Contents
1. The Wedding Day
2. The Inferno
3. The Stars in the Bright Sky
4. Pastoral
5. Ripples on the River
6. Rain falls on the Forest
7. Reflections on the River
8. The Rains of the New Moon
9. In the Dark of the Forest
10. Mauricio s Story
11. Ad os
12. An End and a Beginning
13. The Sacha- Shaman
14. From the Shadows of the Forest
15. Bondage
16. Uncle Reynaldo
17. Swept onwards by the Tide
18. The Invitation
19. New World Old World
20. Success
21. An Engagement in Venice
22. The Best Man
23. Another Wedding Day
24. The Great River Calls
25. Whispers in the Trees
26. Interlude
27. Raindrops on the River
28. Bienvenido
29. To the Shadows of the Forest
30. The Artist s Story
31. The Third Wedding Day
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
The Wedding Day
You are my love, so loved by me for I know love, I am loved by thee.
T he canoes sped with the stream, the beat of the tambors echoed by the splash of the paddles.
Today I feel like a Princess, said Zaphira, floating on the waters of the Amazon. I always dreamt that my wedding might be like this. These people who fill these boats laughing and singing, these are my family and friends. This is my Bridal Party, journeying on our Great River for the most important day of my life.
Such was the excitement in the bridal boat and the accompanying canoes that no one looked ahead to the dark line of the far horizon. And no one noticed the ribbon of smoke spiralling lazily from the green of the distant trees.
The voyage was almost over. Soon they would reach the remote and solitary dwelling that was the home of Amadeo the groom. With Miguel and Juan Carlos in one canoe, and with Oscar and Jorge in another, the brothers of the bride had escorted the central lancha - the long wooden river craft with the decorated canopy to shade the bride and her attendants - since dawn on that sunny morning.
Yet for Zaphira the time had swept past as rapidly as the vivid flash that marks the flight of a forest kingfisher over the water.
Last night I dreamt again, she told her mother. Always the same dream, the little house here in the quiet of the forest with our family - I m never sure how many - and we live happily ever after. Nothing else. All that I have ever wished for.
And still the smoke in the distant sky went unobserved.
Zaphirita , her mother s precious jewel. Seventeen, now in the long skirt of paja grass and aguaje palm fibre, armlets and anklets of vines with sweet scented summer jasmine; twists of the brightest shells and forest seeds around the amber of her shoulders. The woodland tiara for the bride - the garland of pink and cream frangipani interlaced with scarlet passion flowers: that was yet to come.
It was cousin Shaluco, Aunt Teresita s boy, who was first to see the smoke. Sitting at the front of the advancing lancha - Don Felipe s pamacari river boat - legs over the bow, he squinted into the sun at the ragged, blue-grey line rising gently through the branches of the trees that stood over the house of Amadeo on the far bank of the wide waters. He looked over his shoulder, back to Don Felipe the boatman. But there was no response. Don Felipe had not yet seen the smoke.
Shaluco let the cool spray brush against his feet as the boat pushed forward, the water sparkling upwards and falling back in a shower of silver. His wedding shoes lay on the bottom boards at the mercy of the water in the bilge. It was almost time for them. The river was high, the current under the keel was strong.
Further down the lancha under the palm-frond awning the family were talking, no one listening. In the middle, maid-of-honour Lety Luz was busy with her duties, arranging the long black hair that reached down the length of her best friend s back, shaping wind-blown disorder into tidy twists and symmetrical turns.
Unless you keep still, my fidgeting charapita gordita of the river, how can I do this properly? Lety Luz protested, giving an extra sharp tug to catch the bride s attention. Beautiful as you are, if you are not rapidly re-arranged then just in time, Amadeo will see that you are really quite ugly, worse than a whiskery carachama fish. He will surely run away with fright before the Priest can catch him, and there you will be, abandoned at the altar with nothing but memories and your hair in a mess like an old coconut.
Except it made no difference. Zaphira s thoughts were far away as she watched the water running into Don Felipe s boat, that battered leaky launch she had known all her life. While in her hands she turned the engagement handkerchief knotted by Amadeo.
Now talkative Teresita, her not-so-maiden aunt, was hoping that when the moment came for her own wedding (unplanned as yet), it too might be a grand fiesta, while younger sister Deysita - second maid-of-honour with no responsibilities - was wondering how many nephews and nieces she might expect. For a joyful home and to grace your table, have as many as you are able, advised Great Uncle Alberto, poet laureate of Village Vespa, before returning to consideration of the poem he was at that very moment composing, having been honoured as Village Elder with the privilege of giving a recitation for the Second Reading.
Uncle Alberto s pencil moved over the scrap of paper on his knee: The nobly arching head, that long-stemmed lilt of beauty , he scribbled. He looked up at the bride. Perfectly phrased, he decided, as neatly formed as the nest of an ayamama night bird. Then the parish poet frowned. He was still several lines short of a sonnet. In a couple of hours they would be gathered in the church, with he himself, Old Alberto, proceeding up the aisle to say his piece from the lectern. He licked the tip of his pencil, shutting his mind to the chatter. Now, what was that bit about be to my virtues very kind, be to my faults a little blind ? Never mind where it came from, Alberto, he told himself, just work it in
It was then that Don Felipe followed Shaluco s eyes, and saw the smoke, dead ahead like a homing beacon, thick and white now, rolling skywards.
Don Felipe eyed the chickens tied along the rail of the boat. He counted them, pointing with his finger to ensure accuracy as he went down the row. The chickens cocked their heads, lifting first one leg, then the other. Mother-of-the-bride Do a Yolanda was hoping that nine would be enough for the feast, nine being all she had. Don Felipe said it was not as though anyone was starving. Now he was thinking those birds would cook in double quick time in the generous fire all too clearly prepared by the family of the groom.
Abuelita Beatita - Zaphira s Granny - declared that today the bride was to be without care. This day was to be taken step by joyous step so she would remember her wedding for always, even if it rained. And be sure, she added, wherever the wind of fate may chance to blow you, always walk in your own shoes.
Do a Yolanda hoped it would rain, a shower as an omen from above for long life and prosperity. And she half-listened for the far-off deep-throated chorus of the howler monkeys, portent of rain to come. Early that morning, lying awake waiting for the dawn (as daily did the forest toucan), watching first light chinking through the roof, she had heard the rumble of the howlers calling, that resonating outpouring of power that filled the forest. But she had heard nothing since. The monkeys had been silent.
Just then a tongue of flame leapt up through the smoke that lay ahead. Something was wrong. The smoke billowed black in confirmation.
Zaphira remained with her dreams. The little things, the details caught in her mind like river silt in a fingernail. Aunt Teresita s hat, purple, like her dress. The new patch on Don Felipe s trousers as he stood there steering in the stern, freshly stitched, bright as a blue morpho butterfly on a mango. And the way water slid into the boat through gaps in the planking like forest leeches easing through the eyelets of a boot.
She put her feet clear of the water, and Lety Luz lifted the hem of her skirt, while Shuka Luca - Don Felipe s half-pint nephew - scooped with his two-litre cut-in-half plastic bottle and tipped the contents back in the river where they belonged.
Zaphira marked all these things on her wedding day. But she did not look beyond the boat, and she did not see what lay ahead.
Don C sar, father of the bride, tu