Читать книгу The Map of Us - Jules Preston - Страница 18

Jack was lying in a tent near a small village in the palm swamps of an isolated area on the border of two South American countries. He had no idea which side of the border they were on. It didn’t matter. He was floating a foot off the ground, and his toenails were talking to him. He had a fever. He was sweating. He was ice cold. He wasn’t drinking enough water. He couldn’t keep it down. He was hallucinating.

The nearest doctor was 80 miles away upriver. The journey would take six days. His guide assured him that the fever would break in 48 hours. He had seen it before. If it did not break in 48 hours, he would probably be dead. Either way, they weren’t getting in the boat and traveling upriver to get a second opinion.

Jack was drifting in and out of consciousness. He did not mind. He had seen a Hyacinth Macaw in the wild. It had taken almost a week to reach the palm swamps on the edge of a border that had no real edges, only endless trees and muddy rivers.

Jack had seen the lurid blue of the Indigo Bunting, the pale blue of the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher and the elegant blue of the Purple Martin. The Hyacinth Macaw was another blue again. He was glad that he had traveled so far to see it. He would never forget.

He fell asleep. All his dreams were blue.