Silence is Golden

36. They

We left about five minutes later. The priest seemed very eager to show us the path to wherever the heck it was we were going, whether righteous or not.

Not that there were any paths that I could see. No, where we were going now the jungle became denser and more difficult with every yard. It wasn't just that the trees were closer together and underbrush thicker. The heat shot up like bullets in a funeral salute, and I felt about ready to be stuffed in a coffin. At least it would have kept the mosquitos away. Oh yes...the mosquitos. Apparently, I had only become acquainted with the more civilised members of that particular species up to this point. Now, however, their cousins were introducing themselves to me, and they weren't being shy about it.

'Ouch!'

'Silence, Mr Linton.'

'You try being silent when some bloody great beast bites you in the kettledrums!'

There was a moment of silence.

'That, I believe, would be anatomically impossible, Mr Linton.'

No need to tell me that. However brief my looks at Mr Ambrose's bare chest had been so far, they had been thorough enough to make clear to me he was all man, with an extra-dose of alpha male. If only I could take a closer look! But my seductive skills were slightly squashed by the fact that we had a priest with us. Plus, there were the–

'Ouch!'

Slap!

'Ha! Take that, you bloody beast!'

–mosquitos.

After a few days of this, I was ready to scream! How were you supposed to tempt a man into sin with a priest looking over your shoulder, and mosquitos biting your behind? And the worst thing was: Mr Ambrose didn't seem to be bothered by either. He marched along as if the mosquitos around him didn't exist, and the only time he acknowledged Father Marcos' existence was when he glared at the priest to keep him on track.

Father Marcos, for his part, followed Karim's example and did his very best not to look at me. In fact, he did his very best not to look at any of us, or exist at all. If he could have vanished into empty air, I was sure he would have jumped at the chance. He didn't actually try to preach morals to me, or to lead me to the path of righteousness, but I only had to take one look at his poor little face to know I couldn't throw myself at Mr Ambrose in front of him. It would scar the poor man for life. Damn!

But apart from the fact that he thought I was a succubus from hell and that he was inhibiting my insidious attempts at seduction, Father Marcos was actually a pretty decent fellow. He was polite, obliging, and not once did he mention anything about women having to keep their mouth shut, which the vicar back home was prone to do every other Sunday.

'Why did you tell me he was crazy?' I whispered to Mr Ambrose, after we'd been marching a few days, and a particularly nasty mosquito had just bitten me on the nose, leaving me with an urgent need to distract myself. 'I mean...He's a bit shy, and apt to see satanic temptations where there aren't any, but crazy?'

Mr Ambrose gave me a level look. 'He lives alone out here in the jungle to teach a useless doctrine to a couple of half-naked primitives. Of course he is crazy. But that does not mean he cannot still be useful to us.'

I couldn't help but agree. Living out here wouldn't be my idea of a sane, healthy life. If I tried to imagine living without my friends, my sister, my whole world back home in London – I couldn't even finish the thought! There was no one else out here in the jungle to distract you from the heat and the rain and the ravenous mosquitos. Not a single soul you could ask for shelter or help. Except, maybe...