He didn’t know what to say next.
“I see you’re having a bit of trouble,” she told him, a nod of her chin indicating the older woman who had spoken so roughly to him.
He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend her.”
“Hmph!” Natal said. “She was being offensive to you.” She moved closer to him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I say we snatch her coins and run away. Teach her to be rude!”
Stealing wasn’t something River did—but he glanced at the coins. They didn’t equal one American dollar.
It didn’t matter. Natal didn’t give him time to protest. “Get them!” she urged.
“But—that’s stealing!”
“Less than an American dollar!” she said.
River couldn’t help it. He set down a dollar—but then snatched up the coins as she had commanded. She was lightning out the door.
He followed her and looked back—the old woman hadn’t noticed.
Natal was gone.
He pushed onward, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, suddenly much more worried about losing Natal than he was about the morality of taking the coins.
He caught up with her in the street; she was laughing as she waited for him.
“So,” he said. “We have coins—what about your clothes?”
She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Ah, well, they were old. Maybe the old woman will find them and take them—a fine trade for her coins, don’t you think?”
River laughed. “Yes, I imagine she’ll have the better deal with that.”
“And you left her more.” Natal started forward, leaving River to scramble after her. “So now we have coins,” she said. “What will we do with them?”
“Not much; they’d hardly buy a few cups of coffee.”
A ball bounced toward them, and a boy ran up to retrieve it, thanking River when he tossed the ball back.
“Poor thing,” Natal said, some of the light leaving her eyes. “The children here … they have so much promise.”
She cared about the children on the streets, he thought. Little urchins, most of them shoeless as they played.
Dirt poor.
Her face was filled with expression, her movements full of grace. He thought that the sculpted lines of her profile could rival the finest Greek or Roman face ever sculpted in marble. Her eyes were dark with a streak of wickedly beautiful mischief—and compassion.
And yet …
For a moment, even as he watched her, the street scene seemed to fade before his eyes. He didn’t see the children here.
Instead he saw a little girl with a cherubic face and great blue eyes. She stood before him in a pinafore dress, white socks, and black patent leather shoes. She held a bottle of bubbles, and she blew one, laughing delightedly as they drifted off into the sky.
The little girl turned and smiled at him with glee, then—
“Mister! Senhor! Mister!”
The vision of the little girl faded, and his memory returned. He was on the street on the outskirts of Rio; children played and shoppers moved about, buying fresh meat and vegetables for their dinners. A pair of lovers walked by; a man with a guitar hurried on, probably to join up with his group for a Carnaval celebration.
A little boy tugged at his shirt.
“You have change, senhor? Any change?”
He smiled at the child and dug in his pocket, producing a coin. The child smiled at him.
He trembled inwardly, and then shook off the feeling.
Natal was observing him silently.
They were in an older, poorer section of the city. Shops were worn and needed paint. The people also appeared to be worn—and in need of paint as well.
Ahead, there was a rustic arcade, filled with old machines.
He touched Natal’s shoulder. “I know what to do with the coins we have,” he said. “Come on!”
Catching her hand, he ran ahead for the arcade. There were a number of children gathered, looking longingly at the machines.
“Here.” River looked at Natal and gestured to the coins. When she saw his intent, her eyes lit up.
She handed out all the coins they had taken. River reached into his own pockets, drawing out what coins he had. Within a matter of minutes, the kids were laughing and chatting with one another, careful as they determined the merits of each game they might play.
“Worth leaving the old crone my old clothing, don’t you think?” Natal asked quietly. She studied him for another moment. “Tell me your name.”
“River.”
“River,” she repeated, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “In English, you are water!”
“My parents liked the name,” he said with a shrug.
“I like it too,” she assured him, seeming to reach a decision. “I’m Natal.”
“I know. I know your name. I know that you write.”
She drew her arms across her chest. “How do you know my name? And that I like to write?”
He flushed. “I’ve seen you. In a picture. It was with an article you wrote for the tourist magazine.” Her eyebrows shot up. “It was wonderful—and so true,” he continued. “The article I read. You wrote so well about America.”
The small smile returned. “I was not insulting your country. It is a melting pot—but sometimes, they don’t seem to want the contents to melt, right? But here,” she said, lifting her arms to encompass her surroundings, “we enslaved people, yes. The New World was all about sugar and, in your country, tobacco and cotton. But here, when the wars for independence began, all fought, and all were free. Oh, I’m not saying there aren’t people here who are still prejudiced—against the native populations, against this one or that one for a color or religion or sex or sexual choice—but not our society at large. Everyone is here—gay, straight, black, white, Indian—and we tend to just love one another in the streets. We’re happy!” She laughed. “We dance—we samba. We live for music and … life!”
He smiled—the last thing he wanted to do was argue with her. And yet, he was fascinated by her mind and equally certain that she might be testing him.