It feels like we’ve entered a prehistoric forest, and are not only paddling farther and farther from civilization but also backward in time, to an untouched wilderness in a bygone era before man started to muck the planet up. There are no Cessnas droning low overhead searching for mahogany, or logging trucks rumbling down freshly hacked forest trails. But it wouldn’t surprise me to see a pterodactyl plane down from the trees, or a stegosaurus rumble out of the underbrush with its spiked tail swinging.

A few lines of Longfellow’s “Evangeline” come to me as I paddle:

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight …

But of course I’m not seeing pines and hemlocks. I’m seeing spiny-trunked pupunhas and towering maparajubas. They are bearded with moss like the pines and hemlocks in Longfellow’s poem, but they’re also mustached with lichen and sideburned with fungus. Stringy vines hang down from them like unruly hair, and woody lianas dangle like thick, sloppily tied hippie braids.

The trees’ green garments are indistinct not only in the twilight, but all day long in this world of low light. They include ferns with enormous fronds that cloak the trees’ massive root systems, and all manner of clinging epiphytes that gird the trunks like armor or tart them up like flowery lingerie.

Eko has mastered the habits of every giant tree and gnomish shrub in this forest primeval. She uses her knowledge to nurse me, feed me, and protect me while I slowly recover. It feels strange to have to rely for the basic necessities of life on a woman so soon after another young woman completely depended on me.

There Eko is, in the soft dawn light, spearing a fish for me to eat even though she’s a strict vegetarian. And there, at noon, a knife in her mouth, as she scales a palm to cut fruit for our lunch. And at night, lighting a fire to keep us warm and then lying next to me. “Try to sleep, Jack. Those screams are far away.”

“But they sound so close, Eko … and so human.”

“A snake is eating a monkey. The monkey’s friends are protesting from the high branches, but there’s nothing they can do. Now it’s over. They’ve swung away to mourn him. Close your eyes. We’re safe here. I’ll sing to you.”

I feel guilty being with her after all the promises I made to P.J. by the fireside. But it’s obvious I wouldn’t last long in this predator-filled hothouse without Eko’s knowledge and vigilance.

As I get stronger, and start to be able to paddle without pain, and swim, and even climb trees, she uses her forest savvy to protect me from my own self-destruction.

“Careful, Jack,” she warns as I prepare to dive off our canoe headfirst.