ONE
Against billowing white clouds， the blue Learjet ap-
peared to be but a misplaced speck of sky as it jetted
an arrow-straight line above the forest.
In its sumptuous interior was a single passenger， a
young man who was plainly a branco， one of the
whites， and just as obviously of the moneyed class.
Garbed in a suit of unbleached silk shantung， he was
tall and rather roughhewn， with heavy dark brows，
somewhat unruly dark hair， and blue eyes that could
dark and stormy in anger; his face was both
aristocratic and sensual. He sat close to a window
surveying the vista below.
Viewed from five thousand feet， the world seemed
to be an endless green ocean stretching in every
direction. Beyond imagination， beyond human com-
prehension. The only tangible evidence of solid
ground was a tenuous day-red scratch bisecting the
impenetrable density.
The red scratch vanished suddenly， engulfed by the
forest， and the young man turned and called to the
pilot.
\"Tio， the highway seems to have ended. How much
farther will it have to go to reach my land?\"
The pilot shrugged. \"I would guess about a hun-
dred more kilometers.\"
\"Then it should be only a few more weeks before it
gets there.~
\"It could be many more weeks. Maybe many
months. The jungle is not friendly to civilizados.\"
Baul de Carvalho laughed. \"You re a pessimist， Pio，
llke my old man. Maybe that s why he keeps you
around.\"
Pio， a lean young moreno， half Indian and half
|
内容加载中，请稍后...
商品评论（0条）