Adventures Read Free Page B

of thorn huts sitting beside a stream that ran through a large valley.
    I adjusted my jacket, buttoned my shirt up to the collar, tried to comb my hair a bit with my fingers, and turned to Kitunga.
    “What's her name?” I asked.
    “Neeyora,” he said.
    It had a lovely lilt to it, just the kind of name that ought to go with being a gorgeous priestess among these godless savages, and I started marching down the hill to the valley so as not to prolong Rourke's agony any more than was strictly necessary.
    When I got within about a hundred yards of the village I stopped right sudden-like and blinked my eyes once or twice. Then I looked ahead again to make sure it was no mirage.
    “Brother Rourke,” l said. He stopped in his tracks and just glared at me without answering. “I done a terrible thing this morning, a wickedly sinful thing, and I want to make amends. If you'd like my clothes, all except for my hat which I need to shield me from the heat and the rain, I'll gladly turn them over to you right now.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” said Rourke, a totally unwarranted look of suspicion on his face.
    “I just don't want the Lord looking down with displeasure on me for trying to trick you like I did,” I said.
    I started unbuttoning my shirt, but Kitunga pointed his spear right at the middle of my belly and, smiling like all get-out, shook his head vigorously.
    “But I just want to give him something to wear,” I said.
    “No, no,” he said, prodding my belly with the point of his spear blade.
    “What's this all about?” demanded Rourke, walking over.
    “You were right about her being blonde,” I said. “But you were a little on the conservative side about her breasts.”
    “What do you mean?” said Rourke, looking suspicious.
    “Not honeydew melons, Brother Rourke,” I said with a sigh. “Watermelons.”
    He shaded his eyes and looked toward the village. There, sitting in front of the largest hut, was our half-naked white priestess. More to the point, she was about ninety-five percent naked; it would have taken the hide of a small elephant to cover half of her.
    Her hair was blonde under the dirt and the grease. Even as we approached I couldn't tell what color her eyes were; they were sunken too far beneath the folds of flab to even tell if she had any. Her shoulder spread would have done a bull gorilla proud, and her breasts, which sagged down well below her waist, could have given sustenance to an army. She was sitting in the mud, rolling bones and the dried-out carcasses of small lizards on the ground in front of her. It looked like she was trying to sit cross-legged, but her legs were too fat to bend. Rourke had been wrong about the bracelet too. I don't think they could have made one big enough to fit her.
    "That?" gasped Rourke. “That's Neeyora?”
    Kitunga nodded.
    Rourke turned to me, grinning. “I don't know how to thank you, Saint Luke!” His eyes darted over the ground. “You don't see any more elephant shit, do you?” Then he began laughing and threw a dungcovered arm around my shoulders. “We'll let bygones be bygones!” he said, and began walking up to Neeyora's hut.
    “Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?” I muttered, and allowed myself to be led into the village.
    Neeyora looked up, and if she was less than desirable in repose, she was absolutely mind-boggling in animation. She grinned from ear to ear, a pretty fair distance given the size of her face, said something I couldn't understand to Kitunga, and began licking her lips. Two of the villagers helped her slowly to her feet, and she approached us, giggling like a crazy woman. Her tiny little eyes—now that I was close enough, I could see that they were red—darted from one of us to the other. She reached out and pinched my upper arm, and Rourke just stood there, laughing like a lunatic.
    Then she walked over to the Irishman, who was every bit as dirty and foul-smelling and naked as she was, and it was love at