“At night?” Joan asked.
“It’s the best time to catch them.”
“And vice versa,” Joan said. “I’ll pass.”
“I’ll go,” Christine said.
Paul looked at her with surprise. “Really?”
“I trust you. You wouldn’t take me if it weren’t safe, would you?”
“Reasonably safe,” he said.
“When are we going?”
“Right now.”
She stood up. “Let’s go.”
They walked out and Paul called to the teenagers. “We’re going.” Five of them joined in, as well as Gilberto, who was sitting on the steps of the comedor feeding watermelon rind to the macaws. Paul pulled his machete from the bare stump he had stuck it into and carried it as they hiked back down the incline to the dock. As everyone walked out to the canoe, Christine stopped. “We’re going out in a boat?”
Paul turned and looked at her quizzically. “Of course. How else would we catch a crocodile?”
She looked out over the ink-black lake. “Can’t we just do it from here?”
Paul laughed. “No.”
“You expect me to go out in a boat over piranha-infested waters hunting crocodiles?”
“What happened to ‘trust’?”
She took a deep breath, then walked toward the boat, shaking her head. “I hate you.”
Paul grinned. He took her hand, helped her into the second seat of the boat and handed her a paddle. Then he climbed in front of her. As they paddled toward the opposite shore, the jungle noise seemed to increase. The low guttural moans of the red-throated Koto monkeys echoed across the lake followed by a deeper bellow that came from the blackness somewhere ahead of them.
“What was that?” Christine asked.
“Crocodile,” Paul said. “Probably Elvis.”
“You name them?”
“Just Elvis. He’s the granddad out here. He’s about sixteen feet long.”
“What exactly am I doing out here?”
Paul dug in with his paddle. “You’re having fun. You just don’t know it yet.”
Something suddenly swooped down through the boat, and Melissa, the girl behind Christine screamed. “What was that?”
“Vampiros,” Paul said calmly. “Just vampire bats. They eat the mosquitoes.”
“Oh good, it’s just vampire bats,” Melissa said sarcastically.
The boat glided silently over the black water, and the dark shore opposite them slowly came into view. Trees hung over the water, and monkeys and birds scurried up them as the canoe approached.
“Don’t get too close to the trees,” Paul said. “Vipers sometimes hang in them.”
Everyone quickly stopped paddling. Paul panned his flashlight across the water in front of the bank. He immediately found two amber eyes glowing as brightly as roadside reflectors. “There’s a croc.”
Christine stared. “Look how bright its eyes are.”
“They’re like cat eyes. Only more reflective.” He changed the direction of the beam. “There’s another. It’s a little one.”
“How can you tell how big it is?”
“By how far apart the eyes are.” He turned around, speaking in a hushed voice, “Paddle toward it. I’m going to try to catch it.”
“With what?” Christine asked.
“My hands.”
“Are you insane?”
“We do it all the time.” Paul hung over the side, as the boat slid up to the crocodile. The reptile started to sink in the water and Paul reached in past his elbow to grab it. Suddenly his arm jerked and he dropped to his shoulder in the water. He shouted, “It’s got me! It’s got me!”
Christine screamed, and Paul fell back in the boat laughing, water dripping from his arm. “Just kidding.”
“You are so stupid,” she said and hit his back.
“Gilberto, vamos a tratar de nuevo.” Let’s try another one.
While Paul looked around with his flashlight, the rest of the group paddled. Gilberto sat in the back of the boat, using his oar as a rudder and keeping the boat moving perpendicular to the shore. It wasn’t two minutes before they found a new set of eyes. “There’s one,” Paul said. “He’s a bit bigger. Everyone stop rowing. Gilberto, acércame.” Bring me closer.
Gilberto took long, steady strokes and they glided close enough for Paul to reach in. This time he snatched the crocodile by the neck. It thrashed its tail wildly until he pulled it from the water and it froze, stunned by its new environment.
“Give me some light,” Paul said.
Four flashlight beams illuminated the animal. “Gnarly,” someone said.
The crocodile was nearly three feet in length. Its eyes were yellow and catlike, its teeth visible around its closed snout, red from the meal they had interrupted. Paul held it up. “Notice that it’s missing most of its toes. When they’re little, the piranhas eat them.”
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Christine said. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Here,” he said, holding it out toward her, “You hold it.”
She backed away. “Get it away from me.”
“I want to take a picture of you with it. You can do it, Christine.”
“You’re serious.”
“As malaria.”
She stared at the creature and couldn’t believe what came from her mouth. “How do I do it?”
“First, get closer.” She leaned forward.
“It’s like holding a snake. As long as you keep a hand behind its head, it can’t bite you. Move your hand up behind mine and when you feel you’re ready, I’ll slide my hand out and you grab it. Use your other hand to hold its tail.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She grabbed its tail. “It’s slimy.”
“He’s a reptile. Okay, move your hand up. Are you ready?”
“No, no, no, not yet,” she said nervously. She slid her hand up its ridged back beneath Paul’s. The animal suddenly jerked and Paul clamped down harder. “He’s getting restless, we need to hurry. On the count of three. One. Two. Go.”
Paul released his grip as Christine moved her hand up and clamped down on the crocodile’s neck. The animal didn’t move and Paul pulled away. “You did it.”
Her face animated with excitement. “I’m holding a crocodile! Quick, get a picture of me. Jessica will never believe it.”
Paul lifted his camera and took the picture.
“What do I do now?”
“Let it go.”
“How?”
“Just drop it back in the lake.”
She held the crocodile over the side and released it. It splashed in the water, whipped its tail and disappeared.
“Who’s next?” Paul asked. All of the teenagers wanted to hold a crocodile, and Paul panned his flashlight across the shore until he found a marsh with no fewer than a dozen sets of eyes. “One for each of you.” As they paddled toward the marsh, he said to Christine, “I was thinking that for a crocodile this must seem like an alien abduction: a bright light comes out of nowhere, suddenly paralyzing you, you’re lifted into the air while strange, soft creatures look you over, then suddenly you’re dropped back into the water. I bet that little guy will be telling that story back at the marsh for the rest of his life.”
Christine laughed.
In all, they pulled out five crocodiles, the largest about forty inches from nose to tail. Around midnight they paddled back to the camp. They hiked the trail together and the teenagers ran back to their bungalows to share their stories. Gilberto went to the comedor while Paul walked Christine back to her bungalow. They climbed the porch and stopped at the door. Joan was asleep inside and they could hear her snoring.
“Want to talk?” Christine asked.
“Sure.”
They sat down together on the porch stairs.
“I’m proud of you,” Paul said. “You were really brave tonight.”
“That’s why you took me out, isn’t it?”
“If you can go out at midnight on piranha-infested waters, surrounded by vampire bats, and hold a crocodile, there’s nothing you need to be afraid of.”
She smiled. “I can’t believe I did that. You make me brave.”
“No, you already were. You just didn’t know it.”
“Don’t you ever get scared?”
“Of course I do.”
“Of what? What’s the most frightening thing that’s happened to you since you came to Peru?”
He thought about it for a moment. “That would be my brush with an anaconda.”
Christine leaned forward. “This sounds good. Go on.”
“It was about three years ago. I was in the jungle looking for this tree root that Gilberto told me cured kidney infections. The tree was close to our camp, so I didn’t bother to take my machete. I walked right into an anaconda. I’m not sure how big it was since it was coiled, but I’m sure that it was easily more than twenty feet long.” Paul held his hands about eighteen inches apart. “It was at least this wide.”
Christine’s mouth slightly opened. “How terrifying.”
“A little. Anacondas raise themselves to look their prey in the eyes. It was actually taller than I am. You’d think you could easily outrun something that big, but you can’t. But seeing how I didn’t have many options, I started running and it came after me. Then I had a stroke of brilliance. I slipped off my backpack. The snake immediately struck it and coiled around it. By the time it realized my pack wasn’t edible, I was back at camp.”
The story left Christine gaping. “I don’t know how you live here. I could never do it.”
She saw something flicker in his eyes and sensed that he was saddened by what she’d said.
“Actually, I’ve seen worse in America,” Paul said darkly. “I did my residency at George Washington University Hospital in D.C. One day we had seven people admitted to E.R. with machete wounds. Some guy went crazy at a bus stop and started hacking innocent bystanders. Another time a man was brought in unconscious from a stab wound to the heart. I cut open his chest and directly shocked his heart while my nurse tried to insert a catheter into the wound. Blood was spraying everywhere. In the middle of this he woke up, and there I am, literally holding his heart in my hands and he’s looking at me, wondering what’s going on. Some of the things I’ve seen in America make the jungle seem civilized.”
The light in the comedor switched off and Paul looked at the glowing hands of his watch. “On that bright note, I better let you get to bed. Do you need anything?”
“No. Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and they kissed. “See you in the morning.”
“What are we doing?”
“We’re going on a nature walk. I promise we’ll find you some spiders.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped down from the porch and Christine watched him disappear in the blackness. Then she went inside and climbed under her mosquito netting to sleep.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
The jungle absorbs all things in it. Wood rots and earth melts and all dissolves in an unending cycle of life, death and life again. To be in the jungle is to be a part of it.
PAUL COOK’S DIARY
Rosana’s pancakes weren’t quite Denny’s but no one was complaining; it was the most normal breakfast they’d had since they arrived in Peru. Christine sat at a table with Mason and Joan, telling them about her nighttime adventure.
Paul entered the comedor wearing a Makisapa T-shirt. Maruha the monkey sat on his head, her long arms draped over him like a hunting cap. Paul walked over to their table and they all looked up. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Paul said.
“Do you know you have a monkey on your head?” Joan asked.
“I do. Do you know you have a crocodile hunter in your midst?” He turned to Joan as he cut his pancakes. “We’ll make it three by tonight.”
“In your dreams. So what, besides crocodile hunting, is on today’s agenda?”
“This morning we’re going on a nature walk. Over the summer Leonidas and Gilberto cut a trail through the jungle.”
“What time are we leaving?” Christine asked.
“As soon as everyone finishes.” He shoved a bite into his mouth.
“Do we need anything?” Mason asked.
“Repellent, sunscreen, and your camera.”
A half hour later the group was gathered below at the dock. It was a beautiful day and the first time they could see the lake clearly and the opposite shore. The group divided into two and they filled the boats and began paddling off south of camp where the lake turned in a half crescent.
When they were away from the dock, Paul said, “About six months after they bought the land for the lodge, they discovered giant sea otters in the lake. They’re an endangered species, so this land is now a government-protected reserve.”
“Have you ever seen them?” Christine asked.
“I’ve seen them every time I’ve come, though usually at a distance. But once they came up to the boat. They’re very curious.”
“How do they live in here with all the crocodiles and piranhas?” Mason asked.
“Actually they’re tougher than you’d think. The natives call them los lobos, the wolves. They travel in packs and pretty much everything in the lake fears them.”
“I hope we see them,” Christine said.
A half hour later the first boat pulled into a small clearing on the bank. The second canoe slid up next to it. Everyone moved forward and climbed off the bow of the boat through thick vegetation onto the land. Gilberto and Jaime stayed inside the boats. They would row to the pickup point at the trail’s end.
As they moved into the jungle, the sound of chirping grew louder.
“I wonder what kind of birds those are,” Christine said to no one in particular.
“No birds, monkeys,” Leonidas said, which surprised her because she didn’t know he spoke any English. “Come.”
He led them twenty yards into the jungle until they came to a small clearing. There were monkeys everywhere. In the uppermost regions of the canopy there were shadows of larger monkeys that appeared to be four to five feet in length.
Paul pointed up. “Those monkeys up there are kotos. They’re pretty big. The smaller monkeys are rhesus and capuchin. The smallest are tamarins.
At their arrival the smaller monkeys climbed down for a closer look, swinging from the branches and vines as if exhibiting their acrobatic skills. Several of the monkeys came within an arm’s length of Christine.
A hand-sized tamarin climbed out on a bough next to her. Its movements were quick and birdlike.
“Look at her,” Christine said. She stepped toward it. “I’m going to feed her.” She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a granola bar, broke off a piece and held it out. The monkey snatched it from her, then ran up the tree. Christine broke off another piece and held it out to a larger monkey, a black capuchin. Instead of reaching out for it as the tamarin had done, the monkey jumped onto Christine’s shoulder. She screamed. “Paul!”
The monkey reached into Christine’s front pocket and grabbed the entire granola bar, then jumped back onto a nearby bough.
Paul laughed while Christine raised a hand to her chest. “That scared me.”
The capuchin held the bar with its feet, peeling the paper back like a banana. Two other monkeys descended on the capuchin and they began screeching at each other. Then the capuchin pulled the bar up under one arm and scurried up the branch, chased by the other two.
“The show over,” Leonidas said, showing off his English. “We go.”
Unlike the trail they’d crossed through to the lake, the path was dry and new and everyone followed Leonidas closely. In several places spiderwebs as thick as fishing line crossed the path. At one point Paul put his hand on Christine’s shoulder and helped guide her under a web. When he lifted his hand his handprint was still visible on h
er wet T-shirt. He looked at her quizzically. “Do you feel okay?”
“Sure. I’m just a little winded.”
“You’re really sweating.”
“Of course. It’s hot.”
A hundred yards further they came to a large peculiar-looking tree. Its roots rose a meter above the ground, straight up.
“This tree is called a walking palm,” Paul said. “It actually moves.”
“How?” someone asked.
“When nutrients get scarce in one area, it grows new roots on one side and abandons the old. It doesn’t move fast but it does move.”
“This place is Jurassic Park,” Mason said.
They continued their hike. Every now and then they would stop and examine the tracks of some animal that had crossed the path. Then Leonidas led them off the trail to a slim, white-barked tree, standing alone like a misplaced quaking aspen.
“This is the tangarana tree,” Paul said. “You’ll notice nothing is growing around it.”
Everyone looked. There was no vegetation for four feet in any direction.
“That’s weird,” Christine said.
“Las otras plantas le tienen miedo,” Leonidas said.
Paul translated. “The other plants are afraid of it.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes,” Paul said, “for two reasons. First, the tangarana secretes an acid that is deadly to other plants. The other reason is because of the ant that lives in it. The tangarana ant.” Paul tapped the tree with the broad side of his machete. A stream of small red and black ants poured out from the base of the tree, climbing up its bark.
“The ant protects the tree. The bite from that ant is about seven times more painful than a wasp’s sting.”
A teenage boy who was leaning against the tree quickly jumped back.
“And they can jump.”
He stepped back further.
“Have you ever been bitten by one?” Joan asked.
“No. But Gilberto was. He said it was ‘inolvidable.’ Unforgettable. This tree has an interesting history. If a woman was found to be unfaithful, the tribe would tie her to the tree and let the ants eat her.”
“That’s awful,” Christine said.