“So, shall we escape, then?” said Hugh, using an astonishingly compliant servant’s fingernail as a toothpick.
“What would we escape to?” said Ben. “Here we have people tending to our every whim. People. Out there we have no people. Our whims go untended.”
“I still feel kind of exploitative,” said Hugh. He frowned; a tiny servant mopped his brow with a fresh, cool towel.
“I felt like that the first week,” Ben said through mushed banana. “It wears off.”
Hugh attempted to shrug but the lethargic lifestyle he had been enjoying disinclined him to activate the necessary muscles. So he farted. Ben nodded at his retainer, who immediately sprang up and drizzled a fragrant concoction over the affected area. Now damp and perfumed, Hugh thought he ought to complain about the sudden assault but became fatigued imagining himself engaging in a second conversation for the day. He closed his eyes instead.
The following month the topic re-emerged.
“We could always come back,” said Hugh.
“Hm?” said Ben, somewhere within a rapidly diminishing mound of Surinam cherry.
“We could escape, track down Muskens, collect our money, then come back.”
Ben stopped chewing to think — doing both concurrently would have constituted an unnecessary exertion.
“I suppose,” he managed.
“We could at least scope the place for exits,” said Hugh, making an effort to rise. Several abortive attempts later, he was on his feet for the first time in three weeks. Ben joined him, having engaged the services of three of his helpers.
“So, escape,” said Ben, fingering a freshly discovered bed sore.
“Escape. No!” blurted one of the helpers. His clipped, guttural voice startled the pair.
“Excuse me?”
“No! Escape.”
“That’s just the same thing the other way around. That doesn’t help.” Ben had recently begun affecting a superior tone with his helpers.
“Escape bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Escape bad! Death!”
“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” chimed in Hugh.
The helper sighed.
“Please don’t go,” he said, reverting to fluent English and a higher, more pleasing pitch.
Hugh looked at Ben.
“What can I say? He must have picked it up from me.”
“Why shouldn’t we go?” asked Hugh.
The helper beamed nervously. “I don’t believe you’ve experienced the full extent of our hospitality.”
“If you mean more fruit and pampering, well, we’re tempted, but we really must be—”
“No, no,” interrupted the helper. “It’s much better than that. You’ve yet to try our fine selection of concubines.”
“What are they, some kind of rodent? I’ve actually sworn off—”
“No.” The helper dabbed his own forehead with a towel. “Concubines are women, highly amenable women.”
“Would you mind not organising your sentences around Surinamese words? I know we’ve been here a while, but we haven’t picked up much of the local tongue yet.”
Ben pulled Hugh aside. “He’s trying to bribe us with sex.”
“Don’t be preposterous,” said Hugh.
“No, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” said the helper. “How about it?”
“With you?”
“Not with—” The helper closed his eyes until some of his rage retreated. “With the concu— women. With the women.”
“Oh.” Hugh blinked rapidly. He turned to Ben. “I’m pretty sure this is one of those moral turning points.”
“Really?” said Ben, removing his pants.
“It’s just that... This is not how I imagined it happening.”
“Well, you can either go on imagining it happening or take this opportunity to actually have it happen.”
Hugh nodded. “You don’t feel this is a bit too much like prostitution, though?”
Ben stopped at the final layer, realising he should at least wait for the appearance of the concubines. “I don’t see how. We’re not paying anyone.”
“Fair enough,” said Hugh, beginning to remove his own pants.
“No, it’s exactly like prostitution,” said the helper. “And what do you mean, you’re not paying anyone?”
“Doesn’t our standing as gods give us a free ride in all this?” said Ben.
“Are you kidding?”
“Um, no.”
“You don’t know what this is?”
“It’s not an Amazonian lost tribe thing?”
“No. It’s the Amazonian lost tribe experience, the sixteenth most popular reason to travel to Suriname. No one actually thinks you’re gods. We’re actors. Did you really think you were paying to be part of a genuine tribe?”
“But,” said Hugh.
“But,” said Ben.
“What was that weird language you were speaking this whole time?” said Hugh. “Explain that.”
“What, you mean Dutch?”
“That was Dutch?”
The helper smiled. “This is why we never bothered to concoct some obscure Amazonian dialect.”
“So what, we can just leave?” said Ben.
“Of course. We’d just rather you didn’t.” A few other helpers nodded in agreement. “It was a slim period before you guys turned up. Ever since the press got hold of the whole concubine business. But, thanks to you and your riches, we’ve been able to act again and take the weight off the girls somewhat.”
“Riches?” said Hugh and Ben.
“Yes. It’s been a long time since anyone has been able to afford our premium service. We thought something was up initially, what with the strange manner in which you arrived, but your substantial deposit persuaded us otherwise. Still, we knew it couldn’t last forever. Do you want to settle the bill now, or shall I bring out the concubines?”
“Concubines,” said Hugh, turning to Ben for ex post facto approval. He wasn’t there. Hugh smiled at the helper. “Excuse me.”
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