Quite apart from her grief, Hazel was torn in half by loyalty to her marriage vows on the one hand, and by a vengeful resentment, a lack of respect for him, on the other; she would leave him if she had the courage, if she didn’t feel that search for happiness on earth must be immoral. He would leave her too, as perhaps Andy might leave Leslie, but

Aeore, shipping his paddle, addressed the eagle reverently in low orisons, while the monkey stared downward sadly, as if reproaching them for the moment of inattention that would cost its life. It still clung to its fig, and even as the eagle cocked an eye to peer at it, raised the fruit vaguely toward its mouth.

The missionaries’ tension grew like fever. Their suspense and fear were made still worse by Hazel, who spoke wildly of the jungle and could talk of nothing else, describing obscenely the obscenity of the flowering and rot, the pale phallic trunks and dark soft caverns, the rampant hair, the slime and infestations. Once she ran naked from the hut at

“I’m surprised you holy people talk to me,” Wolfie said suddenly, “after what I done.” He swayed there a moment, frowning. “As a Catholic priest, I must accept men’s frailty. And as a European I am too old and tired to expend emotion upon matters I can do nothing about.”

Disregarding this, Padre Xantes said, “Is it true that Moon is still alive? Amazing! Do you know, I was certain that this man must die even before he disappeared”—he puckered his thin mouth, musing—“because he makes bold to fly into the sun, into the face of God, one might almost say! What a fellow!” He laughed with admiration. “His friend, the

“I’m not really afraid of anything that may happen.” Quarrier raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by this realization. “I’ve made such a disaster of my life that I’m not afraid of anything—that is, any change is welcome. Maybe you’ve never reached that point.” “I’ve been there, all right. My trouble is, I never left it. I even like it.” He turned

The weakest and most opportunistic people in a wild tribe were those who prospered under the white man—a fact no less true because Lewis Moon, in their conversation that night in Madre de Dios, had made this point.

The flooded forest, combining unnaturally the forces of earth and water, was a common ground where all creatures moved in quiet, with respect.

“I’m at play in the fields of the Lord,” Moon said; he removed his earphones. “Repeat, at play in the fields of the Lord.”