JUNGLE MUSIC (A Short Story)

Image: Nareeta Martin on unsplash.com

I step out of my canoe into the wet river-edge. A rivulet of sweat streams down my cleavage. My biceps burn. I must rest. What a relief to discover this quiet cove and its tiny beach edged by a thick grove of mahogany, ficus and rubber trees. Light filters at a slant through the canopy. Surely after two hours of rowing, I’m enough ahead of them that I can rest for a few minutes. This seems a safe place. Three feet from my boat, I thunk to the ground. Smooth, tumbled pebbles press into my spine as I shift my backpack to a more comfortable position under my head. Too tall. I abandon it and resign myself to rocks and sand in my bun. I unbutton the top two buttons and pull my shirt aside to allow moisture to evaporate, hoping against the Amazon humidity. Right arm slung over my eyes, I reach with my weary left hand to confirm the position of the paddles. 

Lyrical, rippling water sedates me. A slight breeze and extreme fatigue chase away thoughts of anacondas and fire ants. I note dreamily the gurgling bubbles that punctuate the river’s surface with an uneven, yet pleasant rhythm. The percussion of cheery, twittering parrots and clicking of a toucan drifts from the upper branches. Too tired to swat, I permit humming insects to complain that I’ve invaded their territory. The added solo of a distant wolf seems appropriate yet surreal, non-threatening even when a chorus responds. I drift, seduced by nature’s symphony, into an easy other-world. The necessity of sleep forces me to forget my troubles.

A rising wind brings tension and a niggling thought. Something’s not right about the wolves. My eyes pop open. There are no wolves in the Amazon. That was a human, using code to communicate with other humans.

The birds go silent. Behind me, a rustling in the undergrowth. A low growl.

I bolt to my feet. Terror drops around me like the sudden curtain of falling rain that further disturbs the already-ruffled river surface. I grab the oars and step nearer the canoe. My head buzzes with a cacophony of all my possible foes.

As I pull an elephant ear leaf over my head, my eyes dart from tree to tree at the perimeter of the forest. As suddenly as it appeared, the rain stops, making it easier for me to survey my surroundings. My predator does nothing to disguise his approach as he crashes through the brush. The filtered sun glints off metal, and I duck and dive behind the canoe. Feeling much too vulnerable, I freeze. I peer around the edge and hear a throaty baritone voice.

A confused sing-song resonates clearly, “It’s her craft. She’s nearby. Maybe taking a leak." Barging into the clearing, he chuckles, assuming I can hear. “Better be careful of spiiii-derrrrs, Sis.”

Too loud, yet music to my ears! This time my leap is toward the man whose back bristles with firearms. Disregarding the machete in his hand, I grab him in a bear hug then reach to smash a kiss on each dark-stubbled cheek.

“Enough of that sappiness. I finally found you.” He extracts an oar from my fist, thrusts a rifle at me and heads for the canoe. With a voice rivaling Pavoratti, he intones, “Let’s get moving. My feet are killing me. And that’s nothing to who’s behind us.” Once he’s in, I shove off and we are away, paddling in sync against the current.

[This short story was inspired today by a writing prompt - actually an audio clip - in my weekly writers group.]