The cook brought over a vegetable and meat stew served with salad greens in blue-and-white bowls. Questions were forgotten as Gamay and Paul plunged into their food, washing their meal down with a refreshing faintly alcoholic beverage. Sugar sweetened cakes were served for dessert. The goddess looked on, amused at their hunger.

When the dishes were cleared, the goddess declared, “Now it is time to pay for your dinner.” She smiled. “You must tell me what has been going on in the outside world for the past ten years.”

“That's a cheap price for a meal like that,” Paul said.

“You may not think so when I'm through. Start with science if you will. What advances, great or small, have come about in the last decade?”

They took turns, describing the advances in computers, the widespread use of the Internet and wireless communication, the space shuttle missions, the Hubble telescope, unmanned space probes, discoveries by NUMA in the field of oceanography, and advances in medicine. She listened with fascination, her chin resting on her folded hands. Occasionally she asked a probing question that indicated her own scientific background, but mostly she absorbed the information with the dreamy look of an addict inhaling opium fumes. “Now tell me about the political situation,” she requested.

Again they pored through the events in their memory: American presidential politics, relations with Russia, the Persian Gulf wars, the strife in the Balkans, droughts, famines, terrorism, the European Union. She asked about Brazil and seemed pleased when they said the country had become a democracy. They talked about movies and plays, music and art, about the deaths of well-known figures. Even Paul and Gamay were surprised at the incredible busyness of the past decade. Their jaws were getting tired from the litany of events.

“What about cancer? Have they found a cure?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“What about fresh water? Is it still a problem for many countries?”

“Worse than ever, between development and pollution.”

She shook her head sadly. “So much,” she said in a faraway voice. “I've missed so much. I don't know if my parents are still alive. I miss them, my mother especially.” A tear gleamed in her eye, and she wiped it away with her napkin. “I must apologize for being so demanding, but you have no idea how awful it is to be isolated here in the forest, with no communication to the outside world. You have been very kind and patient. Now it is time for you to hear my story.” She called for tea to be served, then dismissed the Indian women so that there were only the three of them.

“My name is Francesca Cabral,” she began. For an hour the Trouts listened raptly to the goddess's story, starting with her family, going through her education in Brazil and America, up to the time of the plane crash.

“I was the only survivor of the crash,” she said. “The copilot was a scoundrel, but he knew how to fly. The jet skidded into muddy wetlands near the river. The mud cushioned the landing and prevented fire. When I woke up I found myself in a hut where the Indians carried me. I was in terrible pain from my cuts and bruises, and my right leg was broken. A compound fracture, the worst kind. As you've heard, the rain forest medicines can be potent. They set my leg and treated me with potions that dulled the suffering and promoted healing. I learned later that the plane had landed on top of their chief's house and killed him. They held me no ill. In fact, it was just the opposite.”