"Never mind," I said. "What's your name, by the way?"
He lifted his eyebrows, and his eyes widened in his narrow face. He was
definitely surprised.
"Joe," he said. "Didn't you know?"
* * * * *
When we'd been out for a while I discovered why Joe had suggested the
boots and the hat. The undergrowth was often sharp and jagged and it
would have sliced my legs to ribbons were they not protected by the
high boots. The hat kept the strong sun off my head.
Joe was an excellent guide and a pleasant companion. He seemed to be
enjoying a great romp, seemed to love the jungle and take a secret
pleasure in the work he was doing. There were times when I couldn't
see three feet ahead of me. He'd stand stock still for a few minutes,
his head barely moving, his eyes darting from one plant to another.
Then he'd say, "This way," and take off into what looked like more
impenetrable jungle invariably to find a little path leading directly
to another village.
Each village was the same. The natives would come running out of their
huts, tall and blue, shouting, "Cigarettes, Joe? Cigarettes?" It took
me a while to realize they were addressing me and not my guide.
Everybody was Joe. It was one beautiful, happy, joyous round of
stinking, hot jungle. And I wasn't getting any nearer my man. Nor had
I any idea how I was supposed to find him. I began to feel pretty low
about the whole affair.
Joe, on the other hand, enjoyed every moment of the trip. In each
village he greeted the natives cheerfully, told them stories, swapped
gossip and jokes. And when it was time to leave, he would say goodbye
to all his friends and we would plunge into the twisted foliage again.
His spirits were always high and he never failed to say the right thing
that would give a momentary lift to my own depressed state of mind. He
would talk for hours on end as we hacked our way through the jungle.
"I like Venus," he said once. "I would never leave it."
"Have you ever been to Earth?" I asked.
"No," Joe replied. "I like Terrans too, you understand. They are good
for Venus. And they are fun."
"Fun?" I asked, thinking of a particular species of Terran: species
Leonard Walsh.
"Yes, yes," he said wholeheartedly. "They joke and they laugh and ...
well, you know."
"I suppose so," I admitted.
Joe smiled secretly, and we pushed on. I began to find, more and more,
that I had started to talk freely to Joe. In the beginning he had been
just my guide. There had been the strained relationship of employer and
employee. But as the days lengthened into weeks, the formal atmosphere
began to crumble. I found myself telling him all about Earth, about
the people there, about my decision to attend the Academy, the rigid
tests, the grind, even the Moon run. Joe was a good listener, nodding
sympathetically, finding experiences in his own life to parallel my own.
And as our relationship progressed from a casual one to a definitely
friendly one, Joe seemed more enthusiastic than ever to keep up our
grinding pace to find what we were looking for.
Once we stopped in a clearing to rest. Joe lounged on the matted
greenery, his long body stretched out in front of him, the knife
gleaming in his belt. I'd seen him slash his way through thick, tangled
vines with that knife, his long, muscular arms powerfully slicing
through them like strips of silk.
"How far are we from the Station?" I asked.
"Three or four Earth weeks," he replied.