American Romantic
“He had not slept well, bothered all night long by insects and unsettling dreams. He lay still and heard the feral rustle of the jungle, indistinct and undefined except for the sudden meow of the camp cat and, a moment later, the waking cry of a bird. How many days since he had bathed? Five days? No, six, counting the night in the market town before he had set out at dawn on his mission—the ambassador’s much-discussed “moment of consequence” that now appeared to be a moment of no consequence. Harry eased himself out of the hammock and stood, listening once again. He had heard heavy breathing during the night, unmistakable sounds of lovemaking and not for the first time. Unmistakable was probably the wrong word. In the deep jungle anything was mistakable, including heavy breathing. The jungle was disorganized, without form. He remembered reading somewhere that the deep jungle’s shapes and colors were luxurious. They were not luxurious, they were coarse, mean sights, without harmony, the... very soul of chaos.MoreLess
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