instantly that something was different. Perhaps she was troubled. He would be patient, keep on with his work, and let her settle in. Maybe today they would talk.
Built on massive stilts, the entire house, including the porch, stood some eight feet off the ground, a measure taken against the coming wet season. In Peru, in the vast jungle province of Loreto, two great rivers, the Maranon and the Ucayali, came together to form the Amazon—unless you were a Brazilian citizen and then the Amazon was said to be formed by a downstream confluence that was, not surprisingly, in Brazil. Between the Maranon and the Ucayali lay the 5-million-acre lowland reserve Pacaya-Samiria. Only 1 percent of the reserve remained terra firma during the wet season. In fact, during the annual high water, from December through June, 80 percent of the Loreto Province (if you didn't count trees and floating grass mats) lay underwater.
To the south of the Ucayali the local people, called the Matses, used stilted huts near the river to weather the wet season. Historically, they had been nomadic and among the most skilled hunters of the Amazon. In modern times they remained among the more remote of the indigenous natives of Peru and Brazil, although they had been influenced by Western missionaries since the 1970s, and they had been exposed to Western culture more than the other tribes across the border in the Brazilian refuge.
Marita was Matses, though she lacked the tattoos or nose piercings common to Matses women. Westerners called the Matses "cat people" because of whiskerlike wooden pieces that the women wore in their noses as a matter of course and that men donned during special celebrations.
Michael wasn't sure what language Marita spoke, but he had heard that she had been away to school. He was fluent in both Spanish, the official language of Peru, and Portuguese, Brazil's dominant tongue.
It had been months since Michael had been with a woman— not since his wife died—but, for him, Marita's seductive light was cast by much more than her sexuality, although that too seemed considerable.
She had come out of the vines and stood on the ground where he could clearly see her, but where she could not see his work. That alone was different.
He felt he should continue with his map, let her decide whether to come closer. The map concerned a group of animals (people thought of them as plants) that he believed were closely related to a saltwater sponge—in this case a previously unknown freshwater species. He'd found them during a ten-day walk, Matses time, through the jungle and across the Yavari, into Brazil, where Matses had led him to another tribe that in turn led him to a quebrada, or small, deep, black-water river. Michael suspected that like some saltwater sponges, these might have anti-inflammatory or immunosuppressant properties. Shamans from this deep jungle tribe in Brazil had used an extract from the animal, mixed with four other plant extracts, to heal what had appeared to be neurological disorders that seemed to Michael like MS. Most noteworthy, however, was the fact that such cures were an apparent medical impossibility using conventional therapy. In his own mind there was most definitely some rational explanation for this anecdotal information because the laws of nature were the laws of science, and the laws of science were ultimately the laws of the universe. It was up to the scientist to make the reconciliation between seeming conflicts. Some of this animal and plant material had been submitted to the pharmaceutical company and they were begging for more, though he had no idea why.
Returning to the site of a prior discovery was easy these days, thanks to the handheld GPS. Still, he wanted a good hand-drawn map, if not for actual use, then for his forthcoming book. A map would make the tale of the discovery of the sponges more vivid and exciting for the readers. Since the reserve was strictly regulated
Built on massive stilts, the entire house, including the porch, stood some eight feet off the ground, a measure taken against the coming wet season. In Peru, in the vast jungle province of Loreto, two great rivers, the Maranon and the Ucayali, came together to form the Amazon—unless you were a Brazilian citizen and then the Amazon was said to be formed by a downstream confluence that was, not surprisingly, in Brazil. Between the Maranon and the Ucayali lay the 5-million-acre lowland reserve Pacaya-Samiria. Only 1 percent of the reserve remained terra firma during the wet season. In fact, during the annual high water, from December through June, 80 percent of the Loreto Province (if you didn't count trees and floating grass mats) lay underwater.
To the south of the Ucayali the local people, called the Matses, used stilted huts near the river to weather the wet season. Historically, they had been nomadic and among the most skilled hunters of the Amazon. In modern times they remained among the more remote of the indigenous natives of Peru and Brazil, although they had been influenced by Western missionaries since the 1970s, and they had been exposed to Western culture more than the other tribes across the border in the Brazilian refuge.
Marita was Matses, though she lacked the tattoos or nose piercings common to Matses women. Westerners called the Matses "cat people" because of whiskerlike wooden pieces that the women wore in their noses as a matter of course and that men donned during special celebrations.
Michael wasn't sure what language Marita spoke, but he had heard that she had been away to school. He was fluent in both Spanish, the official language of Peru, and Portuguese, Brazil's dominant tongue.
It had been months since Michael had been with a woman— not since his wife died—but, for him, Marita's seductive light was cast by much more than her sexuality, although that too seemed considerable.
She had come out of the vines and stood on the ground where he could clearly see her, but where she could not see his work. That alone was different.
He felt he should continue with his map, let her decide whether to come closer. The map concerned a group of animals (people thought of them as plants) that he believed were closely related to a saltwater sponge—in this case a previously unknown freshwater species. He'd found them during a ten-day walk, Matses time, through the jungle and across the Yavari, into Brazil, where Matses had led him to another tribe that in turn led him to a quebrada, or small, deep, black-water river. Michael suspected that like some saltwater sponges, these might have anti-inflammatory or immunosuppressant properties. Shamans from this deep jungle tribe in Brazil had used an extract from the animal, mixed with four other plant extracts, to heal what had appeared to be neurological disorders that seemed to Michael like MS. Most noteworthy, however, was the fact that such cures were an apparent medical impossibility using conventional therapy. In his own mind there was most definitely some rational explanation for this anecdotal information because the laws of nature were the laws of science, and the laws of science were ultimately the laws of the universe. It was up to the scientist to make the reconciliation between seeming conflicts. Some of this animal and plant material had been submitted to the pharmaceutical company and they were begging for more, though he had no idea why.
Returning to the site of a prior discovery was easy these days, thanks to the handheld GPS. Still, he wanted a good hand-drawn map, if not for actual use, then for his forthcoming book. A map would make the tale of the discovery of the sponges more vivid and exciting for the readers. Since the reserve was strictly regulated
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