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100 pages
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ISBN 0-595-21469-X
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can order it in within a few days.
100 pages
or click here to go to the
ISBN 0-595-21469-X
BARNES AND NOBLE ONLINE BOOKSTORE
where you can order securely
online.
SAMPLE PASSAGES
In the wilderness of the Gran Chaco, the Quebracho trees rose in gaunt
defiance of the hot, dry wind. Under the trees in a high tangled maze were the
quinee pede bushes, “Old Lady’s Skin” as the Ayore Indians call them, thick with
thorns, lying beneath an aging afternoon sun. High overhead in the hot silence
droned the sunlit speck of a light plane through the endless sky.
defiance of the hot, dry wind. Under the trees in a high tangled maze were the
quinee pede bushes, “Old Lady’s Skin” as the Ayore Indians call them, thick with
thorns, lying beneath an aging afternoon sun. High overhead in the hot silence
droned the sunlit speck of a light plane through the endless sky.
. It was only after the funeral and days of mourning, when he and Nancy
tried to settle down again to the routine of life and work, that Paul began to
realize something was very wrong between him and his wife; that she was
becoming to him a silent, cold stranger.
One evening in some exasperation he asked her, “Nancy, is it that you’re
blaming me for what happened?”
She looked up calmly enough from some needlework she was doing, but
her dark eyes were suddenly smouldering. “Why would I blame you?” she
asked. “I’m the one who wasn’t watching him like I should. You’re probably
blaming me!”
“No…!” Paul shook his head vigorously. “For heaven’s sake, I would
never do that. You can’t drive yourself crazy with the ‘what if’s.’”
“Well… whether you’re blaming me or not, as far as I’m concerned there’s
only one person who is really to blame for this – and it isn’t you or me.”
“Nancy…?” The surprise and shock on his face was met with a disgust on
hers which spoke volumes.
“So you must realize who it is too,” she murmured. “I knew you would react
like that.” She returned to her work, pulling the thread with savage jerks, and
refused to say anymore.
As Paul sat watching her, a depression began to creep over him. Did he
really, in the back of his mind, realize that God was the one ultimately to
blame?
tried to settle down again to the routine of life and work, that Paul began to
realize something was very wrong between him and his wife; that she was
becoming to him a silent, cold stranger.
One evening in some exasperation he asked her, “Nancy, is it that you’re
blaming me for what happened?”
She looked up calmly enough from some needlework she was doing, but
her dark eyes were suddenly smouldering. “Why would I blame you?” she
asked. “I’m the one who wasn’t watching him like I should. You’re probably
blaming me!”
“No…!” Paul shook his head vigorously. “For heaven’s sake, I would
never do that. You can’t drive yourself crazy with the ‘what if’s.’”
“Well… whether you’re blaming me or not, as far as I’m concerned there’s
only one person who is really to blame for this – and it isn’t you or me.”
“Nancy…?” The surprise and shock on his face was met with a disgust on
hers which spoke volumes.
“So you must realize who it is too,” she murmured. “I knew you would react
like that.” She returned to her work, pulling the thread with savage jerks, and
refused to say anymore.
As Paul sat watching her, a depression began to creep over him. Did he
really, in the back of his mind, realize that God was the one ultimately to
blame?
“He is lying on the ground…crying out…because I am greater than he. With my club I wound him
in the head. But his spirit, his life, is still in him. He looks at me…” Quite suddenly Jocai stopped
and stood, transfixed. The pride drained from his face and he stared into the fire as if gripped by a
great fear.
The Edigo began to look at one another and murmur; and Fucelli could pick out some of what they
were saying: “The spirit of the man he killed is looking at Jocai from the fire!”
“Nonsense, fool! Jocai isn’t afraid of anyone’s spirit!”
Several seconds later the Chief shook his head as if waking from a trance and began the story
again. But his pantomime was lifeless and tired; and the celebration soon ended among the now
subdued Edigo.
in the head. But his spirit, his life, is still in him. He looks at me…” Quite suddenly Jocai stopped
and stood, transfixed. The pride drained from his face and he stared into the fire as if gripped by a
great fear.
The Edigo began to look at one another and murmur; and Fucelli could pick out some of what they
were saying: “The spirit of the man he killed is looking at Jocai from the fire!”
“Nonsense, fool! Jocai isn’t afraid of anyone’s spirit!”
Several seconds later the Chief shook his head as if waking from a trance and began the story
again. But his pantomime was lifeless and tired; and the celebration soon ended among the now
subdued Edigo.
Paul knew those boiling clouds possessed the kinetic energy of an atomic
bomb. Cells of turbulence, high-speed air currents shearing against each other,
would turn Eighty-six Zulu into a spinning piece of wreckage in seconds. He
was not fooling himself. He would not penetrate that front and commit suicide.
"If we can't make it to Filadelfia, we'll just have to land at Paso Moro and let
Campemai take his chances."
"Take his chances!" Fucelli's jaw shot out. "You mean 'die' don't you?"
"Use your head, Fudd! We can't fly through that front!"
“We can at least try, can’t we?” Fucelli could not believe Paul would give up
without even an attempt. “Paul, if we take Campemai back dead, do you know
what’ll happen?”
“I know,” Paul snapped. “I was there, remember? You should’ve realized
something like this could happen when you let Jocai bring in the Pig People!”
“I can’t tell Jocai what to do, for pete’s sake!” Fucelli rasped. “It’s too late
now for hindsight anyway, isn’t it?”
Yes, it was too late, and the men flew on in wretched silence. Their course,
diagonal to the storms, drew them closer to the majestic clouds looming above
their tiny plane. Paul shrank from the coming decision he must make; and his
hands began to visibly tremble.
bomb. Cells of turbulence, high-speed air currents shearing against each other,
would turn Eighty-six Zulu into a spinning piece of wreckage in seconds. He
was not fooling himself. He would not penetrate that front and commit suicide.
"If we can't make it to Filadelfia, we'll just have to land at Paso Moro and let
Campemai take his chances."
"Take his chances!" Fucelli's jaw shot out. "You mean 'die' don't you?"
"Use your head, Fudd! We can't fly through that front!"
“We can at least try, can’t we?” Fucelli could not believe Paul would give up
without even an attempt. “Paul, if we take Campemai back dead, do you know
what’ll happen?”
“I know,” Paul snapped. “I was there, remember? You should’ve realized
something like this could happen when you let Jocai bring in the Pig People!”
“I can’t tell Jocai what to do, for pete’s sake!” Fucelli rasped. “It’s too late
now for hindsight anyway, isn’t it?”
Yes, it was too late, and the men flew on in wretched silence. Their course,
diagonal to the storms, drew them closer to the majestic clouds looming above
their tiny plane. Paul shrank from the coming decision he must make; and his
hands began to visibly tremble.
After a while Ijomejene, apparently intrigued by Nancy’s long auburn hair, walked over and, taking some
strands between her fingers, turned them back and forth to watch the reddish gold color reflect in the light.
Nancy smiled. Then Ijomejene, with eyes intent, ran her fingers along the skin of Nancy’s arm and felt the
fabric of her blouse. Satisfied, she returned to sit on her clinic bed again.
It was feeding time for the baby. Ijomejene chewed up a pear and spit it into a paper cup. With her own
mouth she forced the watery gruel into her child’s mouth; but the thin baby refused to swallow, letting it trickle
down his cheek instead. He was slightly more interested in the milk though, and smacked his lips as
Ijomejene held him to her breast. Nancy carefully guided the intravenous tube and, hearing the baby’s
gurgles, felt an old ache revive. She had fed Steven in the same way. In a moment, though, the boy
stopped drinking and began to stiffen and wail in pain. Ijomejene’s smile faded. She held the baby
desperately close, cooing to him; and Nancy watched in amazement as tears welled in Ijomejene’s almond
eyes and ran down her cheeks.
For a brief flashback instant Nancy saw herself weeping too, holding Steven's blood-stained body so
desperately close as she wailed and rocked back and forth in anguish beneath the airplane. “Oh, I know!”
she said in English. “I know how you feel!” Oh what she would give to be able to tell this woman about
Steven and the pain in her own heart. Before she was aware of it, Nancy began to weep. With deep sobs
she cried for Steven and herself and Ijomejene. With the tears came a strange release she had not felt for a
long time.
strands between her fingers, turned them back and forth to watch the reddish gold color reflect in the light.
Nancy smiled. Then Ijomejene, with eyes intent, ran her fingers along the skin of Nancy’s arm and felt the
fabric of her blouse. Satisfied, she returned to sit on her clinic bed again.
It was feeding time for the baby. Ijomejene chewed up a pear and spit it into a paper cup. With her own
mouth she forced the watery gruel into her child’s mouth; but the thin baby refused to swallow, letting it trickle
down his cheek instead. He was slightly more interested in the milk though, and smacked his lips as
Ijomejene held him to her breast. Nancy carefully guided the intravenous tube and, hearing the baby’s
gurgles, felt an old ache revive. She had fed Steven in the same way. In a moment, though, the boy
stopped drinking and began to stiffen and wail in pain. Ijomejene’s smile faded. She held the baby
desperately close, cooing to him; and Nancy watched in amazement as tears welled in Ijomejene’s almond
eyes and ran down her cheeks.
For a brief flashback instant Nancy saw herself weeping too, holding Steven's blood-stained body so
desperately close as she wailed and rocked back and forth in anguish beneath the airplane. “Oh, I know!”
she said in English. “I know how you feel!” Oh what she would give to be able to tell this woman about
Steven and the pain in her own heart. Before she was aware of it, Nancy began to weep. With deep sobs
she cried for Steven and herself and Ijomejene. With the tears came a strange release she had not felt for a
long time.