He burst in through the rickety door and flipped a silver coin at the young Brazilian equivalent of a New' York radio cab dispenser who sat behind the worn counter. "I need to rent a car," he said. "Now."

"'Kay, bud," the dispenser said, rolling a toothpick from side to side of his mouth. "Where you wanna go?"

"Does it matter?" Solo asked, a little surprised both at the question and at the fact that it was couched in archaic Hollywood English.

"Well sure it matters, bud. Like if you was to wanna drive to Januaria, or Claros, or Rio Branco in Bahia state, then I give you a Plymouth, see. It's a long ways there, first-off, and then again the roads ain't too bad. Same thing if you was mad enough to wanna go to the railhead at Pirapora. But if you just had a mind to drive around here, maybe go up to Palma, down to Carvaihas, I'd suggest something smaller, cheaper on the gas. A Volvo, maybe, or a Fiat. 'Cause it's flat up here. On the other hand, if you were heading for Leopoldina or Goiania or any of those places, you'd be better off with a jeep. Those roads in the mountains are rugged, man."

"I want to go to Getuliana."

"Getuliana!"

"Sure. If you don't mind. Bud."

"Jesus! What you wanna do that for?"

"I'd like to see it, that's all. Anything wrong with that?"

"Only that it ain't there. There's nothing to see. You go to the public library here, you can see the plans. Look around this dump, and you can see the way it's going to be. But out at the site, you won't see nothing. It like this place but less so, if you know what I mean."

"Even so, I'd like to take a run out there and look. I'm interested in town planning."

"Yeah, sure. So am I. But an interest can turn into an obsession... Look, lemme tell you about a great trip you ran take down the valley -"

"Thanks, but it has to be Getuliana. I'm being paid for it."

"Well, if you're sure," the youth said doubtfully. "I guess you better take the Volkswagen, then. She ain't pretty, she ain't specially fast, she's not what you call comfortable - but she's tough, man. Real tough. And she'll save you gas ... even, God save us, on the roads around Getuliana!"

"Great. I'll take the VW, then. Maybe you could help me work out a route, eh? You have maps here?"

"Maps we got, bud. The road system in Bahia state. The road system in Minas Gerais. The trunk routes of Rio. The river system of Brazil. Tributaries of the Amazon. How to make the best of our railway network. Street maps of Brasilia - lots of those, in all colors, with electricity and drainage diagrams added. But a map that shows how to get from here to Getuliana…" He shook his head. "Man, that's a drag."

"Do you know the way yourself? You've been there, I mean?"

"Sure. I been there a couple times. But I ain't no chauffeur."

"Understood. I just meant that maybe you could kind of show me the general way on that big wall map you have there." Solo gestured towards a six-foot plaster mural in exaggerated relief which dominated one wall of the office.

"Pleasure, if that's all you want… You head west across the plateau here, see... practically desert all the way. Then you have to get through the Pireneos - that's this ridge here - and cross the Divisoes, After that, watch out."

"Hostile natives?"

The boy looked at him suspiciously. "This is a modern country, bud," he said. "You have to watch out for the roads. You'll see signs directing you to the grand new autoroute for Leopoldina and Getuliana."

"And the road's not built yet?"

"Oh, it's there all right. Only they haven't put in the bridges where it crosses these valleys, see… here… and here… and here. You have to take the old road - but only as far as this junction here. There's a big old church right between the two roads; you can't miss it. When you get there, turn off that road and head south west."

"No bridges on the old road either?"

"Oh, there were bridges, sure. Only the got kinda washed away in the rainy season and they re not fixed up again yet... Look, you'd best head for Goiás from there. It's further south, but the road's much better. Then you can strike north along this valley, cross the saddle here, and come down on Getuliana from the other side, through San Felipe - you'll recognize that because there's a big new lake and a dam there."

Solo made a few notes and completed the necessary insurance and financial details before the boy led him out to a bright blue Volkswagen, slightly battered around the fenders but otherwise in good condition.

"Like I say, she's tough," the boy said. "And she's got plenty of ground clearance in there. But it rains, you wanna watch out for that back end, man… like especially where they're mining that bauxite."

"Thanks," Solo said, pressing another coin into his hand. "I guess maybe you get them late down here, huh?"

"How's that?"

"The movies. They're on pretty late release here, eh?... I mean, you ought to know this: On the Waterfront was a long time ago. Brando is out now. Not the in thing at all."

"He's not?"

"Definitely not. The in thing today is to get all British. Frightfully proper, what! Clipped voice and school English; high collar with a tie. Buttoned down. The whole scene."

"You're kidding!"

"Absolutely not, dear boy. Hadn't you noticed my collar?"

---

Solo was still grinning when he swung the Volkswagen onto the main road to the west outside the city limits. Allowing for detours, he had over three hundred miles to go. Since it was already past noon, he would be wiser not to press for too much: he would stop for the night at Goiás and prospect San Felipe and the dam tomorrow.

The road plunged across the empty countryside in wide sweeps, now smooth and hard-packed, now pitted, rough and covered with a layer of choking white dust. Once through the jagged rock defile breaching the first ridge, it ran gradually downhill and the spiny plants of the desert gave way to a denser vegetation. Soon the car was bowling through the middle of a forest, shaded from the fiery sun by a palisade of tall trees. Green parakeets swooped and soared in flocks, and an occasional pair of toucans flapped heavily from one side of the road to the other.

Traffic was light. In an hour, Solo saw only three cars, a jeep, the inevitable rattletrap bus, and a convoy of heavy trucks loaded with something in steel drums which he had to wait some time to pass.

Then the forest receded, was replaced by ragged bush, and finally gave way to a plain of tufted grasses bounded by hills violet with distance to the west. Halfway across the plain was the fork with a church between the two roads, just as the boy at the rental company had said. Ignoring the signposts, Solo turned left and found himself a quarter of an hour later in an arid region gushed with dried-up watercourses The road appeared to be quarried from the bed-rock, the dust billowed into the air and penetrated the car in choking clouds, and both fabrics and metal became too hot to touch in the shadeless glare of the sun. Several times Solo had to drive across mataburros - the primitive country bridges comprising two steel beams spanning the gap, with a series of planks laid crosswise to form the roadway. Once, finding himself stranded on one of these high above a desolate gorge, he had to stop the car, get out, collect, an armful of planks from behind and lay them down again in front of the car to fill in a space in the swaying structure before he could go on. Another time, he missed a turn-off and found himself - according to a signpost - on the way back to Brasilia. It was after dark before he finally made Goiás.