Lost in the Jungle (27 page)

We walked on together for a few hours, but Jaguar Beach was nowhere to be seen. I tried to locate it by looking for the four islands that had been strung across the river. I remembered them as being very close to the beach, but I saw only one solitary island in the river. I feared that the current had swept the islands away but found that hard to believe. The islands had been large and well forested. They couldn’t have vanished without a trace.

I trudged on and on through the mud and finally came upon a fruit tree. It was tall, a species of palm. At its top were large clusters of dates. A family of monkeys were up there having a noisy feast. A few pieces of fruit were strewn on the ground. They were squashed into the mud and rotting. My body quivered, twitched with craving, an age-old primordial instinct. I was hungry like a wild beast. I pounced upon the dates in the mud. I didn’t care if they were rotten. The worms did not disgust me. I put the fruit into my mouth, rolled it around with my tongue, cleaned it off with my saliva, spat it out into the palm of my hand, and then spat out the residue of mud in my mouth before putting the fruit back. Soon, however, I lost patience and swallowed the fruit together with the mud. I didn’t leave a single piece on the ground. Even the worms were a source of protein. The monkeys started throwing half-eaten dates down at me. They laughed and tossed pits down on my head. I was grateful to them, for the monkeys didn’t take more than one bite out of each piece and discarded a thick layer of edible pulp. I could see their teeth marks on the dates before I ate them.

I went on for several hours without stopping to rest. It required effort, a supreme and painful effort. Jaguar Beach was nowhere to be seen. I began to worry, though I didn’t think that I could have missed it. It had been the widest strip of shore along the entire length of river. I must be moving more slowly than I thought. I was injured, and walking through the mud was slow and laborious. I can’t give up.
I have to make it back there before the plane passes overhead again.

Then I lost my head for a moment. It wasn’t her fault. The hill was just too steep. I knew that I wouldn’t make it to the top without a great deal of suffering and pain. Here I collapsed. She burst into tears and refused to go on. I was sick of speaking to her kindly and lovingly.

What the hell does she think?
I wondered, enraged.
That I’m having a picnic?

‘Stop coddling yourself,’ I shouted. ‘I’m sick of you and your whining, do you hear? Who needs you anyway? I don’t have enough problems without schlepping a cry-baby along? You don’t help with anything. All you do is cry. Would you like to trade places with me for a while and carry this lousy pack on your back? I’ve had it with your bawling. You can cry your eyes out, for all I care, but you’d better not stop walking, because I’m not going to wait for you anymore.’

I behaved cruelly but felt relieved to have let off steam. Afterward I felt ashamed of myself. I went over to her, gave her a hug, stroked her hair gently, and told her that I was sorry for having lost my temper and hadn’t really meant any of it. I told here that I loved her, that I would protect her and bring her back to safety, but she had to make the effort and walk.

I had by now grown faint and dizzy, become weaker and weaker. When I came across a fallen tree that blocked my path, I had to walk around it. I couldn’t lift my legs over it.

I have to make it to Jaguar Beach. Have to, have to, have to!

I could hear the plane’s engine in the distance. I waited as it drew near. I knew that the plane wouldn’t be able to see me, but I at least wanted to see it. The sound was dull and distant, then faded altogether. Had I imagined it? Maybe they were looking for me somewhere else. But Kevin was there, I was sure of that, and he knew where I was.

Toward evening I came to an area where a puddle of water floated on the mud. I walked on, oblivious, and before I had a chance to comprehend what was happening, the earth swallowed me up. I sank swiftly. Shocked and in a panic. I found myself up to my waist in bog. I went into a frenzy, like a trapped animal, screaming, trying to get out, but the mud was thick and sticky, and I couldn’t move. My walking stick cut through it like a hot knife through butter and was of no help at all. I reached out to some reeds and bushes, stretching my body and arms in their direction. I tried pulling myself out by them, but they came loose in my hands. I continued sinking slowly.

I came out of my convulsive throes and calmed down. I tried to act rationally. I stuck my hands down deep into the mud, wrapped them around one knee and tried to force one leg up out of the mud. I pulled with all my might, but to no avail. It was as if I had been set in concrete. I couldn’t budge. I wanted to cry again but felt only a thick lump in my throat.

So this is it, death. I end my life in this bog.

I was resigned. I knew that I didn’t have the strength to get myself out, and no power in the world would reach down and pluck me out of the swamp.

It would be a slow, horrible death. The mud was already up to my belly button. The pack rested on the mud, and I was relieved of its weight. Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. I would commit suicide. I took the pack from my shoulders and rummaged through it hurriedly until I found the first-aid kit. There were about twenty amphetamines and perhaps thirty other, unidentified pills. That was it. I would take all of them. I was sure they would kill me or at least make everything good and hazy before I drowned. First I opened the tin of speed. I held a few of them in the palm of my hand.

You’re being selfish, Yossi, really egotistical. It’s easy enough for you to die, just swallow the pills, and you’re off to paradise. But what about your parents? Your mother: what will this do to her?

You can’t die like this. Not after all you’ve already been through. It wouldn’t be so bad it you had died on the first day in a sudden accident. But now, after all this suffering? It isn’t fair to just give up now.

I put the pills back in the tin. I strained forward, leaning my torso out across the mud and moved my arms forward as if I were swimming. I moved my arms back and forth, pulling and wriggling in the mud. I kicked my legs in fluttering movements. I fought with every ounce of strength. Fought for my life.

It took about half an hour, maybe more. As soon as I got my legs free of the mud, I crept forward without sinking. I left neither the pack not the walking stick behind. After I’d advanced another six feet, I was out of the quagmire.

My entire body was caked with a thick layer of black, sticky mud. I cleared it out of my nostrils, wiped my eyes, and spat it out of my mouth.

To live. I want to live. I’ll suffer any torment, but I’ll go on. I’ll make it to Jaguar Beach, no matter what.

It was growing darker and darker, and I stopped walking. I left my pack resting against a tree trunk and went to look for palm fronds. I hobbled slowly and finally sank to my knees, crawling on all fours like a wounded beast. I faltered back to the spot I had selected, dragging a few fronds behind me.

‘These will have to do for tonight. This is the very last night that we’ll be spending in the jungle, and anyway we don’t need so many fronds, we’ll cuddle up together and keep each other warm.’

I started clearing an area for the two of us to stretch out, the girl and me. It had to be wider than usual, for I wouldn’t be sleeping alone. I cleared away all of the wet leaves and broken branches.

‘Come, lie down over here by me. Lie down and hold me tightly...’

I suddenly realised that I had actually prepared a sleeping place for two.

‘You’re alone, idiot, alone.’

I had taken leave of my senses. I was delirious. I had to get hold of myself. If I didn’t bring myself back to reality, I would go mad.

I am alone. I am alone, I am alone.

I moved the fronds and my belongings to a smaller niche between protruding tree roots and lay down upon the cold ground. It wasn’t raining, but heavy drops still dripped from the towering trees. I peeled my shoes from my feet. My socks were caked with mud, but I didn’t dare remove them. Even if I were able to get them off, I would never have been able to put them back on, so I just left them on my feet, mud and all. I emptied out the rubber bag and cautiously, gently, inched it over my feet, up to my knees. I spread one of the mosquito nets out upon the fronds, wrapped myself with it, and pulled the other over me, tucking the edges in under my body. I arranged the poncho so that it covered me from head to toe, protecting myself from both the wet, muddy earth beneath me and the water dripping from above. I put the hood over my face as usual. My hands were wet, my body covered with wounds, scratches, rawness, and rash. I tucked my hands in the pits of my arms, where there was a little warmth.

I wanted to keep my mind occupied. I longed to speak with her, but I controlled myself.

I tried to go back to my standard daydreams – Las Vegas, Brazil, the ranch in the Galilee – but I couldn’t keep my mind on them. The fantasies wouldn’t come.

Only one longing stuck in my mind: to arise from a good, long sleep in my soft bed at the old-folks’ home in La Paz, take a shower, and get breakfast ready. I diced onions and fried them in a well-greased skillet. They sizzled in the pan, spattering oil until they were golden brown. I sprinkled grated cheese over them, inhaling the delicious aroma of the quickly melting cheese. Then I scrambled a few eggs in the skillet and made a juicy omelette, which I gobbled down greedily.

I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind. My belly ached. My whole body cried out for nourishment. Food. I had nothing. The beans were as hard as rocks. The rice was wet and foul smelling; the mud was more appetising. If only I could get a fire going. I would tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be at Jaguar Beach. There was no doubt about it. Even if I had been hobbling at a snail’s pace, I had still covered a great distance. Jaguar Beach couldn’t be far.

Time dragged slowly by. I fought to get the smell of the omelette out of my mind. Suddenly I felt that my bladder was full. I usually relieved myself before I lay down and covered myself with the nets and the poncho, then waited until morning to relieve myself again, but on this night I simply couldn’t wait. Getting up would involve a great deal of pain and bother: taking my feet out of the bag, unravelling the layers of covers, getting out from under the palm fronds, trying to get the buckle and the rusty zipper of my jeans open, and then wrapping myself back up again. I would never be able to manage all that and get back in place as I now was. My body had found its repose and was beginning to warm up. So why not just piss in my pants?

What’s the matter with you? Have you lost every scrap of self-respect? If you piss in your pants, you will be foul-smelling, and it will irritate the rawness of your thighs. Make the effort, Yossi, get up.

No, I can’t. I just can’t.

I lacked the resolve and lay there motionless and peed on myself. The warm urine was pleasant, spreading out over my legs and up toward my belly, soaking into my pants and the nets. I could smell it. Later I peed twice more and actually enjoyed it; the feeling of warmth was so good.

Another hour passed, the night must have been half gone, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I tried to grasp some thought to occupy my mind until the morning light. I wanted to think about something pleasant: people, being rescued, a plane, a helicopter, food. My shrivelled belly churned.

‘Ow!’

Something pinched hard into my thigh. Startled and frightened, I took my hand out of my armpit and reached down to feel the spot. Something had dug itself into my flesh and wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t a leech, but some kind of bug, almost an inch long, and I couldn’t get it off my thigh. I pulled hard, and it dug its pincers into my thumb. A powerful body writhed between my fingers. It was a gigantic ant, incredibly strong. I squeezed off its head with my fingernails, and the contorted body finally grew still. I let it fall between my legs and dug the head out from where it clung to my thumb. The little son of a bitch! It must have crawled in while I was getting my bed ready.

Then another bite, more pincers. One near my knee and another by my waist. I hastily reached out for them. The ants dug in deeply. I tore their bodies apart, happily listening to the crunch they made.

‘How are you getting in, you little mothers? I’ll kill you!’

I was wrapped up in several layers, airtight, in two mosquito nets and a poncho. There was no way for them to crawl in. Perhaps there had been a few of them on the palm fronds, and they had dropped down on me. But what had they been waiting for? Why had they only now started biting?

I didn’t have long to spend pondering that question, for I was immediately subject to still another attack and panicked. The ants bit, pinched in several places at once, and it hurt like hell. These ants didn’t burn like fire ants but were bigger and stronger and sliced into my body with their pincers.

I fought them like a madman, dismembering one after another. I wanted to get up and run away, but where would I go? It was dark, and I was barefoot. Where could I run? I would never find another shelter. I couldn’t leave this one but had to stay and fight. The ants were coming at me from every direction, one after another, and I fought them off furiously. I didn’t have anywhere else to throw them, and a great pile of their corpses heaped up between my thighs.

It went on the whole night long. I can’t find words to describe the horror of it. The ants came at me from all sides and began biting my face, the back of my neck, my chest, waist, and thighs. One ant bit into the sole of my foot, and I couldn’t get at it, down inside the rubber bag, out of my reach. It took a big bite, tearing into the bloody flesh, took another bite, and another.

‘Come a little higher up. Come on, just a little closer, and I’ll rip you apart!’

I had begun collecting a few ants at a time, rubbing them together between the palms of my hands, letting the pulp fall between my legs. I didn’t have a moment’s rest. I had forgotten about my hunger and my aching feet. I was in a fury, filled with loathing and vengeance. I pulled them off my eyelids, out of my ears, out of my hair, from my arms and legs. The pile of bodies was enormous, and I had to spread my legs farther apart to make room for them all. I had gotten used to the stinging pain of their bite and killed them by the dozens, but the horror was never-ending.

With the first rays of morning light I pulled myself to a sitting position with a feeling of great relief. I shoved the palm fronds aside and just sat there stunned, staring. The earth around me was alive and teeming. The mosquito nets were red all over as was the trunk of the tree above me and my pack, all covered with swarming insects. My shoes crawled with them. The ground about me for a radius of at least ten feet teemed with an army, not of ants, but of termites, millions of them. My entire body was covered with clusters of them. I was in shock but soon realised what had happened; the termites had made short order of the nets and poncho, simply eating their way through the nylon, leaving gaping holes through which they had swarmed.

Horrified, I leapt to my feet, oblivious of the pain, and fled, crunching insects under my feet. I stopped about twenty yards from the spot where I had been lying and destroyed the last of the creatures that still clung to me. My body was like a sieve, drops of blood seeping through the pores of every patch of bare skin. The tree I had been lying under was a horrifying sight, and the reddish-brown termites were eating into all my belongings. I took a few steps closer to them, stopped to get my nerve up, ran into their midst, threw my pack as far as I could, and dashed away. The pack already had quite a few holes in it. I shook it off and killed the termites that clung to it, repeating the motion a few times. I ran back and pitched from among the swarming insects one shoe, and then the other, followed by the sacks of food, the nets, poncho, and my walking stick. I heaved it all as far as I could from the terrifying circle of bugs.

I carefully scrutinised each item, squeezing the insects between my fingers and stamping on them. The nylon bags that held the food were full of holes, and streams of insects busily gnawed at the leather of my shoes. I shook them off and crushed them beneath my feet. It was a great relief finally to put my shoes back on, and I went on ridding my possessions of termites.

It became evident from the stench emanating from me and from the nets what had happened. What a fool I was! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? The urine. It was because of the urine. Karl had told us that urine attracts insects. There must have been a nest of termites somewhere nearby, and the smell of fresh urine had attracted them for a salty, late-night snack. I looked over at the teeming circle, and my skin crawled. What a horror. How had I survived it? Where had I gotten the strength? I put my pack on my back and got out of there as fast as I could.

My feet felt as if I were walking barefoot over hot coals, each step a piercing pain. I kept my head bowed, leaned on my walking stick, and trod mechanically on.

Just let me get to the beach.

I would lie there, rest, and wait for rescue. If someone came looking for me, I would be saved. If not, at least I would die there in peace.

I suppose that it was a nice enough day, but that no longer made any difference to me. I walked along apathetically, falling on all fours whenever I came to an incline. My elbows and knees were raw and bloody, but the thick layer of mud that clung to my body covered my wounds. I dragged myself forward, clutching at roots and bushes, and for a moment lay perfectly still, sprawled on the earth. I could hear the river, but I couldn’t see it.

I have to go on. I can’t give up.

I saw a cluster of nettles nearby and dragged myself over to them, touching them with both hands. Their sharp sting helped me forget the agony of my feet. I came upon a tree whose lower boughs were swarming with the familiar little ants, fire ants. I must have been nearly delirious. I shook the branches and let the ants shower down on my head, crawl along the nape of my neck, my back, and into my pants. I walked on with the bite of ants burning into my body and derived a strange pleasure from the pain. Anything was better than thinking about my feet.

I was weak and famished. From time to time I would fall forward to lap up a little water from a brook that crossed my path. Toward noon I lost all awareness of where I was setting my feet and fell into another bog. I sank swiftly up to my knees and then up to my waist. Again I tried forcing my legs out, and almost got one foot out of my shoe, but not out of the mud.

I no longer thought of my family but simply longed for death. Then, once again, I changed my mind. I fought on and on and found myself inexplicably out of the bog. Some unseen hand had freed me. I myself hadn’t the strength. I was convinced that a miracle had taken place.

I came to a steep wadi, about ten feet deep. It seemed familiar, but I couldn’t recall why. I fell while climbing down the wall, plunging to the water, scraped and bruised by rocks on the way. Climbing back up the other side was easier. I found myself crawling past the wadi and got up to walk. I was certain that Jaguar Beach couldn’t be far away, probably just around the bend. Distracted by that thought, I almost stepped on a large turtle. It took a quick glance at me and then pulled its head inside its shell. It was a tortoise and must have weighed ten pounds. I was starved and stood there staring at it. Now and again it poked its head out of its shell to see if I was still there and then drew back inside. I considered tying it to my pack and carrying it with me to the beach, but it was too heavy. Perhaps I could hit it with a large rock, break its armour and eat it raw. The turtle stuck its head out again, meeting my gaze with eyes that struck me as sad. I recalled how my own life had only a short while ago been miraculously saved.