The Descent From Truth Read Online Free PDF Page B

back and turned it to show that it was empty. “Yummy.” He smacked his lips.
     
    Childish laughter filled the kitchen.
     
    Zigging and zagging, the refilled spoon approached the baby’s mouth. He latched on to gulp the sugary oatmeal, and his face registered pleasant surprise.
     
    Over and over Alex repeated the game. Each time, he moved the spoon in a seemingly aimless path that ended at the baby’s mouth.
     
    “He likes you,” Pia said. “He does not usually take to people.”
     
    “I have no trouble with kids. It’s their mothers who can’t stand me.”
     
    “I do not believe that.” She beamed him a high-wattage smile.
     
    Lunging forward, the baby dipped his hand into the oatmeal. He extended it to her. “Pee,” he shouted. “Pee.”
     
    “Your turn,” Alex said. He mimed spooning oatmeal into Pia’s mouth. When he saw how hilarious the baby found this, he began alternating between mother and child with the gyrating spoon. “So you’re from Colombia,” he said as he coaxed more oatmeal into the baby’s mouth. “What part?”
     
    “Amazonas Province.”
     
    “You grew up in the Amazon rain forest?
     
    “I did not grow up there. It is merely where I was born. My mother died when I was very young, and we—my father and I—moved to Belén, a small town in Peru. It is only a short distance from Iquitos.”
     
    Alex remembered Iquitos from his time in Peru. He’d been told it was the world’s largest city that could not be reached by road. “Was your father Peruvian?”
     
    “He was British, trained as an Army officer. He was wounded early in his career and separated from the Army. A group of rebel fighters along the border between Colombia and Peru hired him to manage their supplies.”
     
    “What about your mother?”
     
    “She was an Amazonian aborigine.”
     
    “You’re Colombian by birth, British by parentage, and Peruvian by residence?”
     
    Another smile. “I am not a citizen of any country. My birth was never registered.”
     
    Three mysteries solved: her unusual facial features, her command of English, and her intriguing accent. “Without a birth record, how’d you get a passport and visa?”
     
    A moment of pursed-lip silence. “My employer has influence.”
     
    “You say your father ran a depot. He no longer does that?”
     
    “He died. A little over three years ago.” She stood and hefted the baby onto her hip. “He will nap now.” She headed for the bedroom.
     
    Alex carried the battery outside and reconnected it to the generator. He started the engine, let it warm up, and switched the power on-line. Back inside, he fiddled with the television’s channel selector, experimenting until shadowy images appeared on the screen and solidified.
     
    Pia walked in from the bedroom and paused, looking startled. “The television works?”
     
    “Yeah, place has its own generator. Thought I’d check the weather.” Alex clicked the channel selector button until The Weather Channel appeared. An announcer described national conditions while a script along the screen’s bottom promised a local report on the quarter-hour, another five minutes. Alex switched to CNN.
     
    Pia walked between him and the set, blocking his view. “May we watch something else?”
     
    “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”
     
    “We have enough problems of our own. No need to hear those of other people.”
     
    “I’ve been out here a while. I’d like to know what kind of world I’m going back to.”
     
    She circled him to stand behind the couch, outside of his field of vision. “Alex,” she said.
     
    Twisting around, he faced away from the television to look at her.
     
    “I haven’t properly thanked you for saving us.” Staring at him, she toyed with the belt that secured the wrap-around robe. Her tongue flicked over her lips. “I would like to do so now.” With a lazy smile, she tugged at the robe’s lapels to expose the swell of her breasts as she