Chapter 2: Morning On the Rio Ciora II

The still excited woman finally lifted her head and looked at her mate. His eyes had rolled back and he had drifted off to sleep. It was 7 A.M. and the light of the day was struggling to break through the heavy, beige curtains of the hotel room. This was their last full day in Cotabaya, and Marjorie wanted to make the most of it. They had a tour of the old, Spanish chapel at 10:30 and an excursion to a vast arboretum containing, it was said, one hundred different varieties of jungle flowers at one. It was going to be a full day. There was a little shop down by the waterfront that she wanted to go back to. They had been there yesterday and she hadn’t been able to make up her mind about a cute, little statue that she had seen there. It was of a broad shouldered, muscular, native man with strange, piercing eyes. It was carved out of some kind of hardwood from the jungle and had been painted a peculiar green, almost like jade. She had been fascinated by it. She had felt a strange tingling in her hands when she picked it up, like it had some magical property.

The woman who ran the store told her it was Guarito, the Emerald God. She told her that he was a fierce god of the Indian tribes of the south and that legend had it that every month, on the night of a full moon, a beautiful woman had to be sacrificed to him or he would rain destruction on them. Margie shivered at the thought of ancient, human sacrifices. She wondered how many women had lost their lives to the superstition and how many wars and raids had been conducted to obtain victims for the horrible deity. She could feel its evil power as she looked at it.

The statute was priced at 400,000 bolivars, about 200 dollars in American currency. She believed that the shop owner, an older, plump, black haired Indian woman with a faint, black moustache and long, black hair braided behind her head, would go lower, maybe down to about 150,000 bolivars. It wasn’t unreasonable for the expertly hand carved wood. The face’s features were well defined, almost like an actual person had been the model for it, but a good looking, strong featured man, an Aztec or something like that. As an anthropologist she knew that the Aztecs never extended their reach this far south, but that’s what it reminded her of. Its personality just struck her, especially the eyes which had seemed to pierce her and beckon her. But they had spent a lot of money on this trip and she hadn’t wanted to seem extravagant to Tom. She had thought about it all night, though, and she was determined to go back this morning and get it.

Slipping off the bed, Marjorie went to the large picture window and drew the curtains open. Liberated at last, the sun poured into the room bringing out the gay oranges, reds, blues and yellows of the walls and rug. She could feel its heat on her naked body. The view was a panorama of the mountains to the west of the city and the deep, dark, largely uninhabited jungles to the south. The river, on which they were to leave tomorrow to go back to the coast, was wide and meandering. The Ciora ran from deep in the jungles to the south, skirted the mountains to the west and joined the great Orinoco about 200 miles downstream from Cotabaya. It was a two day trip by local paddle boat leaving at ten tonight. The trip upstream had taken most of four.

Margie heard Tom stirring on the broad, disheveled bed as the morning light drew him from slumber. “Mmmmmmmmm,” he murmured, shielding his eyes from the light. “That’s bright.”

“You don’t want to waste the day, do you, Tom?” Marjorie asked impishly. “Have I worn you out?”

Her new husband rolled over and looked at her pale, svelte, nude body glimmering with the reflected sun. Marjorie had thin, pale lips and a nose just a tad longer than would be called perfect. Her crystalline, blue eyes were set deeply, giving her a face a mysterious appearance. Her breasts were round and full with delicate, smooth, pinkish areolas and thick, flat nipples. Her hips were narrow and her thighs graceful. Her hair, which went down to the middle of her back was straight and thick and the color of ripened wheat. She considered her derrière to be too plump, but Tom would have given her an argument on that.

“Welllllll…,” Tom answered in a slow, animated drawl, “if you give me a little time I might be able to reach deep down into my reserves and go for another round.”

“That’s okay, honey,” Marjorie replied. “I was going to go down to that shop and buy that statue we saw yesterday. I think it would go great in our foyer. And if not, we really haven’t gotten anything for my mother. She’d just love it.”

Tom had not been that impressed with the primitive green colored carving. He didn’t want to say no to his new bride but he would be damned if the practically naked, male figurine would sit in their foyer, the first thing that people would see when they came in. “Maybe for your office,” he suggested weakly. “You do realize,” he added, changing the subject diplomatically, “that you’re standing naked in front of the window. Half of Venezuela will be knocking on our door within the hour.”

Marjorie laughed. Their room was on the twelfth floor of the hotel and the shops and other buildings looked like something from a monopoly game from up here. Off in the distance she could see the haphazardly constructed huts where most of the people lived, sprawling away from the town center. She imagined the little, brown men holding their hands across the tops of their eyes and peering up at the naked, lovely gringa blonde, their hearts yearning with adoration. Margie didn’t often get the chance anymore, but she liked to display her body to men. She liked to see their eyes consume her with their lustful looks. In her younger days, she had always worn the smallest, most revealing bikini that she could find when she went to the pool or the lake. She liked the fact that Tom was looking at her now and that he was exhibiting a little jealousy at what others might see.

“Oh, come off it, Tom. So what? You’d need a pair of binoculars to see me way up here and even if someone did, all they’d have to do is turn on their TV and they’d get to see a lot more. Did you see some of those TV stations last night? I almost blushed.”

“But you’re my wife, now, Margie,” Tom retorted, half joking, “and all those other guys will have to get their own, beautiful, alluring, naked American university professors to look at.”

Pleased at Tom’s reaction, Marjorie stepped from the window. “I’m gonna get dressed, honey,” she said. “You just take a rest and when I come back I’ll give you another test of your stamina.”

“No,” Tom answered. “I’ll go with you. This is a pretty rough town and I don’t think that you should be out there walking by yourself.”

“Don’t be silly, Tom,” Marjorie answered, a little piqued. She had handled herself pretty well in half a dozen towns just like this one before. She was a firm believer in the principle that you had to establish the ground rules pretty early in a marriage. She had led a very independent life and she wasn’t going to stop now.

Tom, seeing her determination gave in. “Okay, sweetheart, but be careful.”