Brodie said, “Beware of men carrying clipboards.”
“Better than you-know-what.”
Brodie walked toward the man and Taylor followed.
The man stopped under the shade of a flowering jacaranda tree, and motioned them to join him.
Brodie and Taylor stopped a few feet from the man, who was now partly obscured by shade. He smiled and said, “Bienvenidos.”
“Same to you,” said Brodie.
The man replied in English, “Welcome. I am César.”
“Then I’m Mark Antony,” said Brodie. “And this is Cleo.”
“I am pleased to meet you. I am Pemón chief tour guide.” He added, unnecessarily, “I see you plane land.”
“Right.” Brodie now noticed that César’s T-shirt sported the word “Leones”—lions—in faded blue script. Probably the local blowgun team.
César glanced at his clipboard, maybe looking for Mark Antony and Cleopatra. He asked, “You have reservation?”
This encounter had a surreal feel. “Reservation?” He said to Taylor, “I thought only Indians had reservations.”
“Scott—”
“Clark. No… Mark.”
Taylor said to César, “We are Sarah and Clark Bowman. We have no reservations. My husband and I just decided to come here.” She added, “We are bird-watchers.”
Brodie raised the binoculars hanging from his neck to reinforce that. “You got room at the inn?”
César looked at his unexpected visitors. “How long stay?”
“One night. Maybe two.”
“Tour group, German people, they come tomorrow.” He tapped his clipboard, and Brodie noticed that the sheet of paper had the headingCanaima Adventures.
“They come, you go.”
“Okay. We also need a room for our pilot.”
“Pilot stay here?”
Brodie glanced at the sky. “I hope so.”
“Yes, okay. Two room. Fifty dollar.”
“Each?”
“Sí.”
“I can get a Motel Six for that price.”
“Clark—”
“Call Trivago.”
Taylor said something to César in Spanish, and he seemed happy to speak to the lady in a more familiar language.
