The goddess had offered no explanations. After greeting the Trouts by name and producing Tessa, she simply said, “Please be patient. I'll explain everything in time.”

At a clap of her hands two young Indian women had emerged with heads lowered from behind the curtain. The bare-breasted ladies-in-waiting led the Trouts to their bedroom, demonstrated the workings of the shower, and left them with a bowl of fruit.

“I know better than to disobey a white goddess,” Paul said, sitting alongside his wife. “What do you make of her?”

“Let's deal with the obvious.” Gamay tallied her conclusions on her fingers. “She didn't grow up in these parts. She speaks English with a slight accent. She's smart. She's friendly. And certainly knows her fruit. Here, try one of these little yellow ones. It tastes like an orange sprinkled with cinnamon.”

Trout sampled the plum-sized blob and agreed with the assessment. Then he stretched out on the bed, his feet sticking out over the end. They only intended to rest a little while, but exhausted from the long trek in the sun and relaxed by the shower, they fell asleep.

When they awoke they saw an Indian lady-in-waiting sitting cross-legged on the floor watching them. Seeing them stir, she slipped silently from the room. Lying on a table were their clothes, which had disappeared when they were in the shower. Their shorts and shirts had been washed clean of sweat and grime and were neatly folded. Trout checked his watch. They had slept three hours. They dressed quickly, hastened by the aroma of cooking food.

Tessa arrived and beckoned for them to follow. She led them along a passageway to a large chamber. A dark wood table and three covered stools occupied the center of the room. An Indian woman was tending to clay pots bubbling on a ceramic stove whose exhaust was carried through the ceiling by pipes.

The white goddess arrived a moment later, her barefoot presence announced by the soft jingle of her metal bracelets and anklets. A pendant similar to that worn by the dead Indian hung from her neck. She was wearing a two-piece suit of jaguar skin which hugged the contours of her bronzed body nicely. She had Oriental eyes and high cheekbones. Her hair, bleached to a honeyed blond by the sun, was combed back and cut in bangs the way the native women wore theirs. Taking a seat at the table, she said, “You look more rested.”

“The shower helped immensely,” Gamay said.

“That's a remarkable setup,” Paul added. “As a native New Englander, I was intrigued by your Yankee inventiveness.”

“It was one of my first projects, thank you. The water is pumped by windmill into a holding tank to maintain pressure. It ties in with a ventilated system of pipes that runs through these walls and keeps this place cool even on the hottest days. It was the best air conditioning I could come up with given the materials I had to work with.” Anticipating their curiosity, she said, “First we'll eat, and then we'll talk.”