This was about four miles down the Javary River and
was a lonely, half-submerged spot.
There was nothing for me to do but submit and make the best of it. All
night the mourners went on, the women drinking black coffee, while the
men gambled and drank whiskey in great quantities, the empty bottles
being employed immediately as additional candlesticks. Towards morning,
due to their heroic efforts, a multitude of bottles totally obliterated
the "_lit de parade_" from view. I managed to fall asleep completely
exhausted when the guests finally went off at nine o'clock. The
doctor diagnosed the case of the dead child as chronic indigestion,
the result of the mother's feeding a three-months-old infant on jerked
beef and black beans.
Life in the hotel during the rainy season is variegated. I have spoken
of having eaten a meal with water up to my knees. That happened often
during the weeks when the river was at its highest level. Once when
we were having our noon-day meal during the extreme high-water period
a man came paddling his canoe in at the open door, sailed past us,
splashing a little water on the table as he did so, and navigated
through to the back room where he delivered some supplies.
During this feat everybody displayed the cheerful and courteous
disposition usual to the Brazilians.
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