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We walked, crawled and scratched our way through miles and miles of jungle. Vines grabbed at my arms and legs trying to hold me in their grip. At one point, I felt like a puppet, strung up for some unseen master’s amusement. Brady and I stopped often to drink a little water, rest our legs, and swat at the relentless bugs. My entire body ached.
After hours of struggling through the inhospitable terrain, I stumbled from the underbrush on to what appeared to be a well-worn game trail. The passage of local wildlife had trampled the area flat and smooth. Brady emerged, knelt, and pretended to kiss the ground. Finally, something was going our way.
“Hallelujah,” he exclaimed.
We were both covered in mud, vine juice, and bug bites.
“I was worried we weren’t ever to going to make it out of there,” I said.
“I don’t think the pyramid is much farther. Maybe a another mile, mile and a half at most,” Brady said pointing down the path. “That way.”
After the harsh jungle conditions, it was nice to be able to walk normally again. We headed down the path in the direction of the pyramid. Neither of us wasted our energy on talking. We were both beat. We walked about half a mile when Brady stopped suddenly and whirled around. He stared down the path behind us.
“Do you ever have the feeling that you’re being watched?” he asked still not taking his eyes of the trail.
I didn’t see anything that would be a cause for concern but I trusted Brady’s instincts. “What is it?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I just felt like something was creeping up behind us. More a feeling than anything else.”
“I don’t see anything, Brady,” I offered. We resumed walking. “I don’t hear anything either.” I realized as the words came out of my mouth that the jungle had become very quiet. Too quiet. Spooky quiet. Sounds from the jungle animals no longer crept from the brush to assault my ears. The insects had also quieted. Even the blood-thirsty mosquitoes had fallen still. Nothing in the jungle moved or seemed to breathe. For a few moments, I had the distinct impression that Brady and I were the last two people on earth. We exchanged a worried look.
A soft thump on the trail behind us dispelled that myth of my imagination. Sensing danger, I turned to investigate.
Standing in the path before me stood the largest black jaguar I’d ever seen. To be honest, I’ve never actually seen a live jaguar before, however, I can’t imagine there being one bigger than the cat currently preparing to eat me for a snack.
“Brady,” I hissed. “Turn around.”
My brother started to turn.
“Slowly!”
Brady eased around until he was staring at the cat. “I’ll distract it,” he whispered. “You make a run for the pyramid.”
My brother always looked out for me even when doing so put him in danger. I appreciated the offer but there was no way I was going to let him sacrifice himself for me.
“No way, man,” I whispered back. “Follow my lead.”
“Your lead?” he whispered a little louder than I’m sure he intended. “What lead?”
“Just be ready, bro.”
Brady glanced at me then back to the cat. He nodded slightly. My brother’s trust and confidence spurred me to act.
I reached slowly into my pack and pulled out a small, orange ball with a short twisted fuse coming out of its top - a smoke bomb. When we stopped at the Stuckey’s earlier in the day, I purchased numerous and varied types of pyrotechnics in preparation for an emergency just such as this. Frankly, the thought of standing in the middle of the Peruvian jungle facing a giant black jaguar was not one of the things that went through my mind when I bought the fireworks. I’m sure the next time I’m pondering uses for fireworks, however, this scenario will be at the top of my list.
I pulled a disposable lighter (also purchased from Stuckey’s - they literally do have everything) out of the pocket of my jeans and lit the fuse. With a careful motion, I rolled the smoke bomb down the path toward the jaguar.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. The cat looked at the smoke bomb; looked at me; looked at the smoke bomb; looked at me. I swear the thing smirked in amusement. Brady looked at the smoke bomb; looked at me; looked at the smoke bomb. He scowled in irritation.
I began to think the bomb was a dud and that we were cat food when it crackled and an orange plume of smoke shot out, directly into the face of our feline hunter. Thick pungent smoke quickly obscured the cat from my vision. I could only hope that we were now obscured from the cat’s vision as well.
“Run!” I yelled, the time for whispering past.
I turned and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Brady followed, right on my heels. He could have passed me but he held back, matching me stride for stride. We rounded a turn in the trail and could see the overgrown pyramid rising up from the jungle floor on the other side of a wide coursing river.
“We were closer than we thought,” Brady yelled into my ear, pointing at the pyramid.” A big grin spread across his face. “Oh, and nice job back there, Eli.”
Praise from my brother, although not rare, was always welcome. His words gave me a renewed determination and I raced toward the water’s edge. I prepared to dive into the murky waters. The current appeared swift, but Brady and I were both avid swimmers.
Brady is the captain of his high school swim team and was also a member of the U.S. Olympic swim team during last year’s summer games. But for a clearly biased foreign judge, he would have won three gold medals instead of just two - just kidding.
I swim like a fish and give swimming lessons to under-privileged kids in my spare time. My mom and dad have always taught us to give back to our community. If my middle school had a swim team, I’d be on it.
As Brady and I approached the river, the water seemed to boil in front of us. It bubbled and frothed all up and down the bank. Closer inspection revealed thousands, if not tens of thousands, of tiny piranha thrashing about in the water. Fins, scales, and razor sharp teeth flashed in and out of the river as the man eaters swarmed through the water in a chaotic frenzy. Despite our abilities, swimming across the river no longer appeared to be an option.
“Ideas?” I asked staring at the river’s bank.
Before Brady could answer, the jaguar thundered around the bend in the trail and raced straight for us. Its muscles rippled and flexed, dancing beneath its dark fur as it ran. The big cat’s deadly beauty bore down on us.
Brady looked at me and shrugged, “Bullfighter?”
“Bullfighter,” I agreed.
The jaguar leaped into the air intending to pounce on its prey (us). I snatched the pink parachutes we had saved from the ejection seats from my backpack and hurled them at the beast. Rolling to the side, I avoided the tangled mess that landed at my brother’s feet.
The jaguar had become hopelessly entangled in both the chutes and the cords. It was wrapped up tighter than a Christmas present; a big pink, growling, angry Christmas present. The more the cat struggled, the tighter the net-like parachute became around its body.
“Nice shot,” Brady said smiling.
“Good idea,” I responded.
“He doesn’t seem so big and bad wrapped up in a pink parachute, does he?” Brady asked. He tentatively stepped forward and nudged the cat with his foot.
“Leave it alone, man,” I said. “You know the old saying about poking a mean dog with a stick?”
“Yeah.”
“That applies to cats too.”
The jaguar writhed and twisted on the jungle floor. I breathed a sigh of relief and took a moment to relish in our victory. My moment was short lived.
Large, razor-sharp claws pierced the material of the parachute and began to rip and shred the cloth. I realized that we were now trapped between the river and the struggling cat; the very angry, very large, very hungry struggling cat. Neither choice held much appeal.
“Ideas?” Brady asked.
Crap, I thought. I was about to ask
him that! I just shrugged and shook my head. Nothing was coming to me.
I took a quick mental inventory of the contents of my pack: snacks, water, fireworks, Ipod, pens, and various other odds and ends. Nothing that we could use to cross a river filled with piranha or to battle a jungle cat.
Brady stared hard at the ground, no doubt running through possible escape plans. His head slowly shook from side to side. He had nothing either.
I lifted my head towards Heaven to offer a prayer and to beg for help. The thick rain forest canopy obscured the sky. All I could see were leaves, limbs, and vines. You know another great name for my invisibility device would be ... Of course, the vines!
“Brady!” I yelled. “Tarzan!” I pointed up.
A glimmer of hope flashed across his features. “Tarzan!” he agreed.
The jaguar had nearly freed itself from the makeshift trap. I grabbed one of the many thick vines that hung from the jungle canopy and ran toward the river. Brady did the same.
With a ferocious growl that made my blood run cold, the cat burst through the cloth parachute and sprinted toward us. This was going to be close.
Brady reached the river’s edge just before me. He pushed off with his legs and soared skyward. I reached the bank just ahead of the jaguar. Tucking my feet under me, I allowed the vine to carry me up and out over the dark waters. Teeth and razor-sharp claws whistled through the air, narrowly missing my posterior as I sailed away from land and my pursuer.
“YeeHaaaw!” Brady screamed. I glanced over my shoulder.
The jaguar landed quietly on its padded paws just shy of the water’s edge and began to pace back and forth along the bank. The animal’s eyes never left me, following my path through the air as I arced out across the water. The jungle cat seemed to be waiting for something.
The sharp tug on the vine clued me in to the cat’s intentions. It was waiting for something. It was waiting for me to swing back into its hungry jaws. My vine wasn’t long enough to swing me all the way over the river. In a few seconds, I would glide right back to where I started and to where the large feline hunter patiently sat.
The vine reached the apex of its arc. Brady reached back and grabbed my wrist. “Aim for the logs,” he yelled pulling me forward. I released my grip and used my momentum and Brady’s help to soar as far as possible out over the river. Taking my brother’s advice, I aimed my body for one of the many logs floating below me, flipping several times to adjust my landing. With a final twist of my body, I landed squarely in the middle of my intended target, a knurled, moss-covered log that floated down the river.
Brady allowed his vine to carry him all the way across the river. “You chose poorly on your vine, Eli,” he laughed, executing a backflip and landing on the opposite bank.
The time Brady and I spent with our uncle in the circus was a crazy summer. In addition to dabbling with mind reading, we also trained extensively in the arts of the high wire act and the trapeze. You may have heard of me under my stage name, “The Amazing Eli.” Again, I also breathe fire and swallow swords and am available for Bar Mitzvahs and birthdays - just kidding.
“Thanks for the heads up now,” I muttered to myself. As I landed on the knurled, moss covered log, it raised its head from the water and started to thrash and roll.
Crap. I had, in fact, not landed on a knurled, moss covered log, but had instead landed on the back of a very large crocodile. The armored reptile writhed beneath me. I toyed with the idea of wrestling the great lizard, thinking wrestling crocodiles couldn’t be much different from wrestling alligators.
“Eli Arnold!” Brady shouted from the bank. “Do not wrestle that crocodile!” He must have seen my hesitation. “I’m serious, Eli!”
I have a limited amount of experience wrestling alligators from a previous summer that I spent with Grams and Pops. I worked with legendary alligator wrestler, “One Arm” Steve Scarboro (I believe his stage name is self-explanatory) and briefly competed in the A.W.A. - Alligator Wrestling Association. I actually considered making a career out of the activity but for health, insurance, and cranky mom reasons, I put that particular dream on the back burner.
“Eli!” Brady continued yelling. “If you don’t get off that crocodile right now, I’m telling mom!”
“Fine,” I yelled back. “I’m getting off the crocodile, Brady. Stop being such a girl about it!”
Brady folded his arms across his chest and set his jaw. Now he was mad. I judged the distance to the next nearest log and leaped from my perch atop the crocodile. Massive jaws closed on empty air, narrowly missing my right foot. I landed on the log, more than a bit surprised when it too tried to bite me. I realized, a bit too late, that the river was not littered with logs. Crocodiles floated all along the water’s surface.
Brady went from mad to concerned in a heartbeat. He realized my predicament and prepared to jump in the water. He was a pretty good alligator wrestler himself.
“Hang on,” I cried not wanting us both to be in danger. “I got this, man.”
Wasting no more time, I began jumping from crocodile to crocodile, avoiding teeth and tails, in a mad dash to the far shore. I can only imagine what I must have looked like dancing my way from reptile to reptile, arms and legs flailing about. I wonder if this is how the river dance got started.
Brady stopped just shy of the water’s edge. “You’re doing great, Eli!” He ran along the bank cheering me on. “Just keep moving!”
“Shut up, Brady,” I called out. “I’m trying to concentrate here!”
Snaps, cracks, and splashes followed my progress across the creatures’ backs. At least there were no pops! With a final heave, I leapt from the last crocodile, soared through the air, executed a perfect somersault ... and landed face-first on the far shore of the river. I crawled what I judged to be a safe distance from the water and passed out.