“It doesn’t sound so groovy suddenly.”

“It sounds terrible to me. Dhang’s pretty good at jungles. If we follow his lead, we ought to do all right. We can sleep under cover during the day and move by night. I wish to hell we had the guns, or at least a couple of machetes. I’ve still got the dagger in my tunic, but I can’t see us slaughtering much game with it. Maybe we can pelt animals to death with the jewels.”

Tuppence looked closely at me. “You sound a little hysterical,” she said. “Is that fever coming back for a second round?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just hysterical.”

By nightfall we had lost sight of the river without encountering a jungle trail heading south. We had huddled together twice while bands of natives, presumably civilians, passed within a few yards of us. And Tuppence and I had found out what lizard tastes like. I had figured it would taste like chicken, like all those other things that no one in his right mind would put in his stomach. It didn’t. It tasted like salty rubber.

Walking cross-country in the darkness was about as much fun as stumbling up a downward-bound escalator. Dhang led the way, Tuppence followed, and I, loaded down with the two bags of jewels, brought up the rear. Tuppence kept falling down. If there was a root or vine anywhere in the neighborhood, she got a foot tangled in it and flopped on her face. After I picked her up for the twentieth time, I mentioned her great skill in jungle-jaunting.

“You ought to be better at this sort of thing,” I said. “Think of the days of your youth, hunting Simba in the vast jungles of your native Kenya.”

“Shee,” she said, “it. You ever been to Kenya, baby?”

“No.”

“ Nairobi is like a modern city. No jungles. Sidewalks and everything. Everything’s up to date in Nairobi.”

“Oh.”

“I would like to be there right now.”

“So would I,” I said, “and I’ve never even been there.”

“How much of this jungle do you figure there is?”

“Miles and miles.”

“That pins it down.”

“Well, just figure that there’s a lot of it.”

“There’s already been a lot of it.” She fell down again, and I helped her to her feet.

We reached a southbound trail a few hours later. It was a path about four feet wide, and it couldn’t have been the Ho Chi Minh Trail because it was far too narrow and overgrown to be used by a motorized column. I decided that this was just as well. We made much better time than we had when we were just stumbling blindly through the brush, but it was still very slow going. At this rate, I thought, we would spend months in the jungle. It would take us forever to reach the south.

We kept moving until daybreak. Dawn wasn’t really that much of an event, for relatively little light penetrated through the dense growth of vegetation overhead. There was a noticeable difference, though, enough to confirm my original idea that the daytime was a time for resting and hiding. We left the trail and made our way through the brush some thirty yards. Dhang and I cleared enough space for the three of us to stretch out. I think he found us something to eat, but I don’t remember what it was. We were too exhausted to have any particular interest in food. It was simply fuel.

The trek had had one good effect. It had taken Dhang’s mind off sex for the time being. He was too beat to think about it. As soon as he finished eating, he flopped in a heap to the ground, and within seconds his rhythmic breathing announced that he was asleep. Tuppence made a brief effort at conversation, then gave it up and curled up a few yards away. I stretched out and closed my eyes and waited for something to happen.

After about an hour I heard chanting off in the distance, and before long a band of foot soldiers went by along the trail. I didn’t bother to see who they were or where they were going. I stayed silent and motionless, and Tuppence and Dhang went on sleeping.

Then, a while later, there was a series of explosions off to the north and east. Tuppence woke up almost at once and looked at me. “Bombs,” I said.

“What the hell is that all about?”

“ U.S. bombers striking at strategic targets in the north,” I intoned. “Scratch a few more dugout canoes, I guess.”

“What happens if they drop bombs on us?”

“What do you suppose happens?”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“A few months ago I signed a petition calling for a halt to the bombing in North Vietnam.”

“They should have listened to you, baby.”

“They didn’t. Go back to sleep.”

She yawned. “I can’t.” She crawled over to me. “Poor Evan,” she said softly. “I got you in one sweet mess, didn’t I?”

“Forget it.”

She touched my face. Her hand was cool in the heat of the jungle. “You and Dhang could make out okay if I weren’t around,” she said. “You could hook up with those soldiers. The way you look now, no hair and that yellowy skin, you could pass.”

“Not without knowing the language.”

“You could fake it. But I’m afraid I’m just the wrong color.”

“You’re also the wrong shape. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She kissed me. I took her in my arms, and she cuddled up against me. She had been through one hell of a lot without breaking down, and I wondered how much more she could take. It would be a long time before things got easier, if they did at all. She was tough, hard, resilient, but everyone has a breaking point.

“Maybe we can find something to lighten your skin,” I said. “Some native plants or something. Dhang might know.”

“If you do, just take the formula back to Harlem. You’ll make a bloody fortune.”

She laughed softly. The bombs cracked again in the distance, but not so far in the distance as before. I tightened my arms around her and kissed her, and the noise of the bombing sounded a little less ominous.

And then, slowly, gently, both of us slightly embarrassed but driven past embarrassment by mutual need, we removed our clothes and found one another. She clutched me desperately, making urgent little sounds in the back of her throat. Her fingers stroked my bald head, moved down over my back. I kissed the richness of her dark brown breasts and stroked the black velvet skin on the insides of her thighs. She purred like a kitten and moaned like a freight train and sighed like a hiss of steam.

Until we had proved in the only truly effective way that we were both still alive. And, lying gently together, basking in the hazy yellow glow of life affirmed, once again becoming gradually aware of the bombs in the distance and the spiky jungle grass under our naked flesh, we opened our tired eyes and looked into the tormented eyes of Dhang.

“Oh,” Tuppence said.

Dhang turned away. Tuppence fumbled her way into her clothes. I put on my trousers and my tunic. Tuppence struggled to keep from laughing, and Dhang fought back tears.

And just when he had finally gotten his mind off sex, I thought. It hardly seemed fair.