Lost in the Jungle (18 page)

Someone really is looking out for me
, I thought.

I looked for a way up to the tree and found a slight hollow in the rock face where the rainwater ran off the mountain and down to the river. It was wet and slippery, but the incline was not so steep there. I had almost reached the tree – just a few more steps – when I saw a snake. It was green and coiled and just a few inches from my foot. I recognised it immediately as the deadly lora. Karl had told me they could blind their victims by spraying venom even from a distance.

I froze in my place. The snake, too, was motionless. Only its tongue flicked in and out of its mouth. It held the upper half of its body erect. I was afraid to move a muscle, but my fear and desperation soon turned to hatred. I took a step backward, picked up a huge rock, and flung it at the snake. Its body convulsed and then thickened, as if tied in knots. I picked up a flat, narrow rock, bent over, and started hitting the snake in a rage, over and over, until I’d sliced its head from its body. I was trembling, knowing that if the snake had bitten me, I would have died.

I picked up its green body and peeled its skin like a banana, revealing its pinkish flesh. I cleaned the internal organs out with one flick of my finger and was left holding the flesh. What should I do with it? Eat it or use it for bait? I threw it down to the riverbank. I would decide what to do with it after I got down.

Down on the riverbank I took one of the large tin cans that had been tied to the pack. It had two cups and a spoon inside. I drank from the river and then gathered up the fruit, filling the can with those I didn’t eat.

I no longer had any desire to make a meal of the snake. I couldn’t have started a fire anyway, because everything was still damp, and I certainly wasn’t about to eat it raw. I found the fishing line in the pack, but the river was too rocky and the water too turbulent to fish.

I sat on the pack a while, leaning against the cliff, the rain still beating down on me. Kevin couldn’t have continued walking along the riverbank, I reasoned, so he must be walking up on the ledge above the stone walls. There wasn’t much chance of his seeing the poncho from there. I couldn’t see any point in waiting by the river any longer. I might as well climb up to the ledge myself. I retrieved the poncho, folded it into the pack, put the pack on my back, and started scaling the wall back toward the plum tree.

Marching the length of the ledge, I searched for a cranny that would shelter me for the night and found an ideal place: a shallow niche cut into the stone wall about six feet above ground level. I climbed up to it. I would have liked to have started a fire now that I had matches and a lighter, but all the branches were wet, so I abandoned the idea.

In the second tin I discovered a large lump of salt, some spices, garlic cloves, and three lemons. I had a well-balanced supper: one lemon, three cloves of garlic, a pinch of salt, and a handful of plum-like fruit.

This night was kinder to me than the last one had been. I covered myself with the two mosquito nets, which, although damp, were comforting. I spread the poncho over them and covered my face with its hood. I breathed into the hood, and waves of warmth spread over my body.

What if Kevin doesn’t make it here?
I asked myself.

Tomorrow I will check the map, try to figure out approximately where I am and how far it is to San José. I’ll spend tomorrow here waiting for Kevin, and if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll set out myself on the following day.

During the night I started hallucinating. Kevin was calling in desperation,
Help! Help! Yossi, save me. Wait for me. Don’t leave, Yossi! Yossi! Help!

I was sweating under my wet clothes.

I awoke stiff and hunched over, my body feeling the effects of my stone mattress. I came out of my hideout and sat studying the map. It was wet and torn, but I found the Tuichi and Ipurama rivers and the X that marked Curiplaya. I tried to use the map’s scale to calculate the distance. A large river that fed into the Tuichi was shown on the map before Curiplaya. I hoped it would be passable.

It was raining again; the rainy season had begun in earnest. I knew the date; it was December 3. It was easy for me to remember that because I knew that the accident had occurred on the first and was careful to keep track of the date. I debated whether to begin walking toward Curiplaya or to wait for Kevin. Last night’s hallucinations were still tormenting me. Kevin needed me and I needed him. We had to find each other. Together we could make it through anything. I decided to walk back toward him, hoping I would meet him on the way. Maybe we would at least come within hailing distance of each other.

I packed carefully and hoisted the pack onto my back. My feet were on fire, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to walk very far. I took an upper out of the small box of pills in the first-aid kit and swallowed it. It did as promised. I trotted along hastily, skipping over rocks and hopping over fallen trees. I walked on without rest for hours, calling out, ‘Kevin, Kevin,’ every few minutes, but I was answered only by the roar of the river below. I felt no hunger, was unaware of the pain in my feet, didn’t feel the weight of the pack or the irritating rain. At one place on the cliff I noticed a large hollow that formed a sort of giant cave, open on all sides, but roofed over by a protrusion of rock. Within it were piles of twigs, branches, and entire trees, all of them bone dry. Here I could get a fire started. Perhaps I should build a huge bonfire as a signal for Kevin. But I was too restless to stop; I had to go on.

Then I came to a dead end. The ledge I was walking along suddenly dropped off. Below me about two hundred feet flowed the Tuichi. The view was breathtaking. The silver river snaked through the thick jungle growth. I stood looking at the water for a long while, half expecting to see Kevin’s body swept along by the current. I had to go on looking for him. He would die without me. He had nothing – no food, no matches – nothing. He didn’t stand a chance if I didn’t come to his aid.

Like one possessed, I scrambled up the rock face to reach the next ledge, hoping that I would be able to go on to the level above me. At a height of about two hundred and fifty feet I was trapped; I couldn’t go any higher but couldn’t go back down. I leapt across to a protruding nub of rock about a yard away. As I made it, the nub crumbled under my step and fell away from the wall. I fell backward, but fortunately my fall was broken by a tree. The pack on my back absorbed the impact of my fall, though the force of the blow bent the metal frame out of shape.

Once again I felt lost and hopeless. All of my walking had been for nothing. How could the mountain just drop off into nothing? And how would Kevin ever get here? I had no choice but to backtrack to the cave I had seen. There I would light a fire and make some nice rice-and-bean soup.

When I made it back to the cave, I collapsed. I lay there for a while and then, gathering my strength, got to my feet. I gathered dry twigs and branches. I arranged them properly, the smaller ones on the bottom and the larger on top. I had only a few matches, and the lighter had seen better days. Kevin’s beloved book was in the pack. I tore out a few pages and shoved them under the twigs. It was easy to get a blaze going. In no time the larger branches caught fire as well. The fire provided both warmth and light.

Water was no problem. The whole cliff face was wet, and water trickled off it. I filled the tin can, set a big stone in the centre of the fire, and put the can on top. The water came quickly to a boil. I was stricken with guilt; Kevin also would need nourishment, and the little food we had was all in my possession. I must use the provisions sparingly, for we might both need them. I carefully measured one spoonful of rice and one spoonful of beans into the boiling water. I peeled two cloves of garlic and added them and some salt and spices.

The tin can held about three quarts of water. The soup wasn’t thick, but it was delicious. I drank a few cups, forcing myself to consume only the liquid and to leave the residue for morning. Then, my stomach full, I organised my belongings. The rice and beans were wet and mouldy. So were the garlic and spices. I laid everything out on stones near the fire. I gathered more dry wood to keep the blaze going all night. I took the poncho and the mosquito nets out of the pack. I got everything else ready before I took my shoe off. That I put off to last, knowing that it would be far from pleasant.

The pain was excruciating. My socks reeked. They were covered with yellowish red stains. I gritted my teeth when I peeled them off. My feet were a horrible sight. Most of the skin had peeled off, and between my toes was a mess of inflamed flesh, blood, and pus. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to walk. I knew that I had to dry my feet and put something on them. I dug around the first-aid kit again. In the absence of petroleum jelly I finally decided on the repellent cream and spray, which were slightly greasy. I spent the entire night holding my feet out to the fire and then pulling them back again. The pain was agonising, sleep impossible.

When morning came, I realised just how weak I was. I crawled out on my hands and knees to gather more wood for the fire. I added water to yesterday’s soup and heated it again. There were a few pieces of mushy fruit left. I didn’t want to waste them and forced them down my throat. I sat there near the fire, the skin of my feet drying and beginning to heal. I tried to get the fire to smoke, reasoning that Kevin wouldn’t see a fire in daylight, but he might notice the smoke, even if he was up above me on a higher ledge.

I was dizzy. I saw black circles everywhere and stretched my feet out close to the flame. My brow was feverish. Something came over me. Perhaps I fainted. I lost control of my bowels and filthied my underwear. I cursed angrily. After calming down, I removed my pants and underwear and crawled naked toward a jet of water streaming off the mountainside. I hung my underwear over a nub of the cliff so that the stream would flow over them. I went back to the fire and covered myself up with the mosquito netting, for the mosquitoes took advantage of every inch of bare flesh.

Bands of monkeys were gathering in the trees around me. There were two large groups, one of little black marimono monkeys, the other of larger brown howler monkeys, the kind that roar like tigers. At first I feared they had gotten together to get even with me for the monkeys we had killed earlier in our journey. Then I grew worried that they would make off with my precious supplies, so I gathered all of my belongings around me near the fire. I hobbled to the crag to retrieve my underwear, which the water had already cleansed.

The monkeys watched me curiously. Eventually they overcame their timidity and came within a few yards of me. They didn’t seem to be up to anything sinister. It seemed more likely that it was the first time they had seen a monkey as funny-looking as me. All I could think about was how great it would be if I could trap one of them. I would let him smoke all night and have two weeks’ supply of meat. I considered throwing stones at them but knew that would be pointless. They were too quick, and I was too weak. I watched them for hours as they performed acrobatics in the treetops above me, concentrating all my thoughts on the hope that one of them would miss a branch and fall on its head. I tried prayers and supplications
– Let him fall, just one lousy monkey. Please let him fall -
but that did no good. The monkeys went through their routines without a snag.

When it began to grow dark, I was overtaken with fear. I was completely unarmed, with nothing to protect myself apart from the fire. What if I fell asleep during the night and the fire went out? What if a jaguar was waiting nearby in ambush? What would I do? I looked for a long stick that I could use as a spear, but the branches were all dry and brittle. Feeling helpless and frightened, I gathered up more wood to feed the fire. Then I had a brilliant idea. I had once seen a movie in which a spray can was used as a flamethrower. I took the can of repellent and the lighter out of my pack. I held the lighter in my left hand, pushed down on the spray button with my right, and lit the lighter. It worked. The spray caught fire and gave off a large flame. I prepared my defences: the spray, the lighter, the flashlight, and the snakebite serum.

That night I lay close to the fire.

Again I began hallucinating. Kevin crept up on me in the dark. He saw the fire and found me sleeping. He could tell I had eaten some of the rice and beans.

You should share, Yossi. You should always share,
he whispered.
There isn’t enough food for both of us. So you thought you were going to make it out of here without me?

He smiled to himself, lifted the machete, and smashed it down against my skull.

No! No!

I came back to reality terrified, my heart pounding, drenched with sweat.

Kevin, Kevin, please come! Believe me, I haven’t abandoned you. I’ll wait for you. I won’t eat any more of the food.

I trembled and whimpered. The fire cast menacing shadows. Beyond its light was only jungle and darkness, and I was afraid. ‘Man of action, man of action,’ I whispered to myself, and curled up in the mosquito net.

It was my fifth day alone in the jungle. I had never been so lonely, so completely cut off from human companionship. It was unbearable. For the first time in my life I realised how much I needed the company of other human beings. I remembered a book I had once read criticising Barbara Streisand’s singing about ‘people who need people.’ People have to learn to get along on their own, the author contended, be completely independent of others; our happiness and security must come from within. When I read the book, I agreed, but now I realised the truth expressed by the song. It was easy for a writer sitting in a penthouse to be cynical. I’d like to see him in my place now.