Free To the Indies by C. S. Forester Page B

even to the Spaniards who had eaten only an hour ago; obviously the Spaniards had reached the clearing at a moment when the Indians were about to dine. With sticks the Indians hoisted from the hole what looked at first to be a bundle of dead leaves; and when they peeled the leaves off, the smell grew more delicious than ever. The operation was not completed with ease — two of the men contrived to burn their fingers, to the accompaniment of fresh peals of laughter — but at last the unrecognizable roast was laid bare. The wrinkled man took a leaf in each hand and began to break up the meat; the women scurried back and forth with more leaves. Rich found a savory piece on his lap; he bit cautiously into it. It was a delicious tender meat. Another woman brought him a little gourd; it was only fresh water, for, as Rich knew already, the Indians of these islands knew no other beverage.
     
    “What the devil is this we’re eating?” asked Bernardo de Tarpia. “It’s good.”
     
    “What is this?” asked Rich of one of the women. He pointed to the meat and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
     
    “Iguana,” said the woman. “Iguana.”
     
    The name meant nothing to any of the Spaniards, as their expression showed. One of the Indian men came to the rescue. He pointed up into the trees, and, going down on his hands and knees, made a pretense of scurrying along a branch.
     
    “Monkey, by God!” said Tarpia.
     
    “Monkey?” asked Acevedo.
     
    He made a series of gestures like a monkey, much to the amusement of everybody. The Indians clung to each other and laughed and laughed. Then one of them wiped the tears from his eyes and began a new pantomime. He went down on all fours. He turned his head this way and that. He put the edge of his hand on the base of his spine and waved it from side to side. He projected two fingers from his face beside his eyes and moved them in different directions.
     
    “Iguana,” he said, rising.
     
    It was a graphic piece of work. There could be no doubt what he meant — he had imitated the lashing of the iguana’s tail and the goggling of its strange eyes to perfection.
     
    “He means a lizard,” said Rich, trying to keep a little of the consternation out of his voice.
     
    “Does he?” said Tarpia. “Well, lizard is good enough for me.”
     
    “My God, yes,” said García. “Look at this.”
     
    He had drawn one of the girls to his knees, and was caressing her naked body. She stood stock still, with eyes downcast, trembling a little. Rich looked anxiously round the ring. He saw the smile die away from the face of one of the Indian men. The merriment ceased, it was as if a shadow had come over the sun.
     
    “Remember the Admiral’s orders, Don Cristobal,” said Rich, anxiously.
     
    “Oh, to hell with orders,” expostulated García.
     
    “Don Cristobal’s talking treason,” interjected Acevedo. He grinned as he said it, but that did not blunt the point of what he said.
     
    “Oh, very well then,” grumbled García. He clapped the girl on the flank and pushed her from him, and the tension died away from the attitudes of the Indians. The women hastened round, offering more bread; the wrinkled man broke off more meat. There were fruits being offered, too, like pale yellow eggs, faintly aromatic when Rich smelled one, vaguely acid and pleasant when he bit into the pulp.
     
    “Guava,” said the lad who gave it to him, explanatorily.
     
    The shadow had passed from over the sun now; there was giggling and talking again. It dawned upon Rich that these people had given away the meal they had been about to eat themselves; he wondered if they had anything left over, and he realized that he need not let his conscience trouble him too much on the point. Their pleasure in giving was so obvious and unassumed. It was the Spaniards who were conferring the favor by accepting. He felt a sudden wave of melancholy come over him. These laughing generous people, naked from the day