by Jared Sande
WILD
PART I
THE FISHING TRIP
Copyright by Jared Sande2013
“And then, it came. Tall as the mountains, black as night, glowing eyes red, as blood.”
“The beast of death?”
“The beast of death,” he answered his seven-year-old son, whose eyes were wide open as he paid absolute attention. “So massive was this beast, that its steps shook the very foundations of the earth. So scary was it, that it sent fear, into the souls of men. Warriors threw down their weapons, women screamed, children cried and ran, all of them escaped, all of them, but one. ”
“The boy?”
“The young boy, he stood alone, blunt sword in hand! Courage in heart! Facing the monster charging, towards him!” he paused, as the boy’s pupils enlarged a little more as he stared at him across the fire, his face filled with both great expectation and fear.
“What happened?” he very curiously asked, as his serious-faced father slowly looked down at the fire.
“That will wait until the next time?” he replied after some silence, “go to bed now.”
The fire at the center lit the one-roomed, fairly spacious house, whose well finished mud walls were fitted with uneven, rugged, but proper wooden shelves. The shelves were stacked full with food supplies: roasted fish, roasted beef, and reed baskets half filled with both ‘leafy’ and ‘rooty’ vegetables among other foodstuffs.
On the dung-plastered floor under the shelves, were two ‘beds’ on opposite sides of the fire. Low, flat, wooden frames stacked with layers of softened, furry hides. Along the rest of the walls, were different tools and weapons, which included two, very furry, back quivers containing several long arrows, two sharp daggers, two, wooden frame, recurved composite bows, baskets, folded fishing nets, and utensils.
With his strong, hard, callused left hand, the serious-faced man gently pushed a piece of firewood further into the fire, feeding it as his son slowly fell asleep. While holding his arms around his knees, he watched the wood crack up into the warming flames.
Covering his very strong, athletic, hard body, was a sleeveless, brown, pure leather coat, which warmed his torso–across which were several healed scars. Such scars were also present across his face, arms, and legs. While silently contemplating, he observed as orange-glowing ash rose above the fire towards the roof.
***
Dew was all over the healthy leaves and thick tree trunks, with a slight mist present in the chilly air; through which the orange sunrays lit the waking jungle filled with mixed sounds of all kinds of birds, monkeys and insects. Thick-barked, well-spaced trees constituted most of the forest, with all kinds of thick leaved, coiling plants attached as they crawled and climbed. The crawlers extended all over the “carpet” of orange, red, and purple shed leaves that covered the entire forest floor.
On his back, the boy was carrying a big, square shaped basked on thick, furry, leather straps over his shoulders. He walked through the trees with his father. Between the many red and yellow flower bushes, they stepped, walking over dead logs grown by ferns and colorful fungi.
“Over there,” his father said as he pointed at a small bush comprised of small, upright plants. He walked towards them and the boy followed, squatting next to him while facing the bush.
“A-a-a-a, watch it,” he stopped the boy from uprooting a plant.
“But its vegetable?” the boy wondered.
“It looks like-” he paused as he uprooted it himself, “-vegetable, but if you eat this dear boy, you lose your mind, you become like the monkeys. It is a poisonous weed,” he explained while throwing it away.
“They look exactly the same?”
“They sure do, you tell the difference by these,” he said while pointing out the very tiny fruits under the actual vegetable leaves, “see? It is what you look for, these weeds do not have them,” he showed him while uprooting a few. The boy observed and followed as he uprooted more.
After gathering enough, they moved on, walking through some bushes that were enclosing a small depression. Inside the depression, were several huge, decaying logs grown all over with all kinds of mosses, ferns, and very vibrant troops of fungi; healthy plants that thrived alongside bright flowers, dark green thick grass, and armies of colonizing, crawling plants.
“Mushrooms!” the boy remarked as he followed his father through the bushes, “Lots of them!” he added as he excitedly looked around.
“You need to know which ones are for eating, come here?” his father called. The boy rushed over towards him, squatting at a log and checking out the healthy fungi.
“How do we pick them?” he asked as he took off the quarter-filled basket from his back.
“Everything with spots on it is bad-” he started to explain, showing the excited child who quickly learned. To the basket, with hands full of mushrooms, he made several trips, returning and keeping up with his father who moved about the place and pointed out what was edible for him to pick.
Straight into the basket, the boy threw down big ripe guavas from the big guava tree. The basket was a few steps behind his father, who with his hands, was digging into the ground (covered with dense, dark green undergrowth) and unearthing different types of roots. Upon uprooting two handfuls, he turned around and walked towards the tree. He placed the roots inside the basket and looked up the tree.
“I think it is time to go!” he said to the boy, who was swinging about like a monkey up on the tree.
“Now?” the boy asked with a beaming face and wide-open eyes.
“Now!” stated the man, “We need to catch them before they get fully awake! Unless you do not want to-”
“No father! I’m coming!” he assured as he rushed down the tree.
***
While breathing quickly in a controlled fashion, the boy’s legs sprinted on the forest floor. He quickly and carefully jumped over rotting logs densely covered with green coiling plants, rapidly dodging the trees left and right, as he maintained his dangerously fast pace. On his arms and body, thick wet leaves slapped as he dashed between the bushes–which constituted the dark green, dead silent side of the forest.
Abruptly, he made a well-calculated stop; rushing his sight around the bushes here and there, as his ears caught the noise of his target rushing through the thick bushes up ahead. He focused his sight on the sound and ‘followed it with his eyes’ as it moved rightwards. From the brown, furry quiver on his back, he quickly drew an arrow from the set of three. He placed it against the long bow and pulled its white feather fletching against the tight string.
Stretching it fast against the bow’s grooves, he perfectly aligned his eyesight along its shaft. Very keenly, he turned his aim to follow the noise. His eyes locked-on, and he released the perfectly straight arrow. The arrow flew fast through the air between the leaves and bushes, right towards the neck of the sprinting antelope. The animal suddenly hoped over a log as the arrow fiercely flew under its belly, piercing a tree trunk as it bolted.
Towards the tree trunk, the boy ran. He quickly pulled out the arrow and continued pursuit. Further into the forest, he chased the antelope, ‘snaking’ through trees side to side and dodging thorny bushes and wet stems. Upon stepping into a part of the forest that had better tree spacing, he stopped. He scanned around fast and re-traced the antelope, which was getting away up ahead.
After it, he ran and closed in as it slowed down while trying to force itself through a thick bush crossed with a web of thick-leaved, climbing plants. Taking advantage, he took position; placed the arrow’s fletching against the bow’s string ones again and stretched it back, as the antelope forced itself out of the ‘trap’ and hoping on. He lowered the bow, removing the arrow with some anger and resuming pursuit.
I
nto a woody section of the green forest, he chased it; running for several meters before stopping again and taking position. He fit the arrow again, and raised the fully stretched bow to strike before the animal made it across the open area. And just as he pulled back the string–SWOOSH!–his eye quickly caught the straight flying arrow speeding from the right. Without touching a stem, it flew swiftly and met with the antelope–piercing right through its heart and pinning its entire body against a tree.
In amazement, he lowered his bow and arrow while looking to his right, from where his calm father, carrying his bow, came walking fast through the few bushes and trees.
“You make the animal run into your arrow!” he reminded the boy as he walked towards the kill.
“I was going to kill it!” the boy defended himself while still amazed, walking to meet up with him at the dead antelope.
“It was going to get away, if it went through those bushes, it would have made the task twice as hard,” his father continued to explain, as he got closer.
“Wow!” the boy remarked as he got to the kill his father was now staring at–the arrow ‘pinning’ it’s upper body against the tree, perfectly through its heart.
“How do you do that?” he asked as he wondered in admiration.
“Just as I have told you, you take position,”
“I did?”
“You shoot the arrow so that your target runs into it?”
“But I–”
“Shot after the animal,” he informed the boy while looking into his eyes, “I saw it,” he added, “your arrow strikes behind your target.”
The boy remained silent. Seeing this, he placed his left hand on his shoulder, making him feel okay before turning back to the antelope.
“Let us get it off the tree, I will tell you more on the way home,” he said as he stood up and moved to pull out the arrow.
***
On his back, the boy carried the basket-full of the groceries they had gathered earlier that morning, following his father who carried the kill on his back by holding its front legs over his shoulders. Up ahead, on a very small hill covered entirely with short, light green grass, was their home: a well-built mud house at the crest of the hill. The house had four walls, which leaned outwards as they moved upwards, intersecting with the thick layer of damp grass and reeds that thatched the pointed roof on both sides.
Just next to the house, was a soft-wood rack on which a piece of white, furry hide was drying; close to which was another rack, on which pots, calabashes, cooking sticks, and other utensils were also drying.
“Are you going fishing tomorrow?” the boy asked as he kept up his pace.
“Yes? Why do you ask?” His father questioned.
“I want to come with you?”
“Son, I have told you before? It is not a journey for children?”
“But I am big now? Do you not see? I can run?”
“It is too dangerous,”
“And I am strong father, I can fight,”
He sighed as the boy insisted.
“Please? Just let me come with you, I have to learn to catch fish too? Please father? I-”
“Okay. Alright,”
“Yes!” he celebrated.
“You asked for it yourself,”
“Yes!”
“First light tomorrow,”
“Yes! I-I will help you carry the nets! And the baskets! I will even-” he continued to promise as he increased his pace in an attempt to walk by his father’s side.
“Stop!” his father suddenly cautioned, holding him back at his side with his strong left hand.
“What?” the boy asked as he tried to look up ahead.
“Over here,” his father pointed as he quickly pulled him aside behind a bush, from where he peeked out behind his shoulder while staying very close.
“Wow,” he remarked in a low tone, as he laid eyes upon the fat, adult, white rhino, which was patrolling the back of their house while sniffing everything around the place.
Cautiously, the man and the boy raised their heads further above the leaves, getting a better look at the animal, which stamped around their utensils.
“I’ve never seen one this close before?” the boy said in a low tone, “Is it dangerous?” he whispered as they watched.
“Very, very dangerous,” his father answered. Suddenly, the rhino lifted its head and looked right at them. Behind the bush, they quickly ducked as it maintained its gaze, it’s very fat belly moving in and out as it ‘groaned’ angrily. Lightly, it puffed and waited for any signs of movement, standing ready to attack. The boy and his father remained still.
Getting bored with the silence, the rhino turned back to sniffing as it moved on around the house, groaning as it puffed away.
“Come on,” the man told the boy, who followed him out of cover.
“What did it want?” the boy asked as he hurried through the bushes, keeping up with his father’s pace,
“I do not know for sure.”
“I think it wanted our food! It smelled the pots! Did you see?” he asked as he followed.
“Of course I saw, hurry up now, there is something I’ve been planning to show you.”
“Show me? What is it?”
“I cannot tell you, you need to see for yourself, you said you are a big boy right?”
“I am!” he agreed, “Is it something scary?”
“Not a chance son, I am not saying a word until you’ve seen it,” he intrigued him as they climbed up the green-grass gentle slope towards the house.
***
The side of the high cliff was extremely steep, with hanging plants and roots almost coloring it green and purple. With one hand after another, the boy climbed along the small rocks all over the dangerously steep side. As he climbed, his heart raced as he grabbed a rock that fell out and dropped far down below, leaving him hanging by the other hand, which was holding onto another rock that also started to loosen.
“I’m afraid!” he complained to his father, who was climbing just below him.
“It is okay son, I am right below you! Just keep climbing!” he reassured him.
The nervous boy moved his hanging hand and grabbed the next rock, climbing before stepping onto another lose rock that fell off and left his leg hanging. Quickly moving the leg in panic, he stepped on another firmer rock, after which he turned his head and looked.
“Do not look down son!” his father warned him. His heart pounded at the sight of the great distance between himself and the tree top bottom. It did not seem that high from the ground.
“Keep moving up! Keep climbing son! Keep climbing!” his father motivated him. Turning his head back up, he kept climbing. He missed a step here and there, grabbed a lose rock this way and that way. Under his father’s motivation and assurance, he proceeded, slowly approaching the top of the cliff.
A wide, fairly flat, uneven soft rock covered almost the entire top of the cliff, extending over the other end–opposite of which the boy climbed. He pulled himself upon the platform, crawling on all fours as he let out his fear by breathing hard. After him, his father climbed, rushing to check his condition as he also caught a breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked as they took a moment to rest. The boy nodded, and they relaxed for a short while.
“Come on, I would not want you to miss the sight,” his father told him while getting up, walking towards the extended side of the rock.
“Wow!” the boy remarked in amazement, extremely impressed by the view as he followed his father. He starred at the sight, as his father sat on the very edge of the rock.
“Come, sit here,” his father asked him, and he walked closer and sat on the rock at his right side. Their legs hung in midair as they enjoyed the view under the setting sun, whose orange light softly shone over the green, partly wet, endless grassland.
“Look! Elephants!” the very impressed boy shouted while pointing very far down below–at a parade of sixty elephants slowly moving through a big pool of
clear water, which was partially ‘bathing’ the grass.
“Rhinos! They are so many!” he added, referring to a crash of very fat, white rhinos, grazing next to a herd of hundreds of antelopes.
“Look at all the animals father!”
“Yes?”
“Look at those birds! Look!” he insisted, referring to the million pink flamingoes that jammed around the lake in the distant background.
“I’ve never seen it like this before!”
“And it goes as far as your eyes can see,”
“All that far!”
“All that far,”
“Wow!” he commented as his body relaxed in admiration.
“There is nothing quite like it,” his father commented.
“It is so beautiful,”
“I know son, I know,”
“Wow,” he appreciated. All around, he looked, not sure which sight to stick with. He switched from the distant crash of tens of lazy looking hippos in a wide puddle, to the zeal of hundreds of zebras, sieges of noisy cranes, troops of stubborn monkeys, clans of cheeky hyenas, among many, many other animals.
“Well, we better get going?” his father suggested after a while.
“But we just got here!” the boy protested.
“I thought you were scared!”
“Not anymore? Can we stay a while please?” he begged, as his father looked at him for a moment.
“Okay, but just a little longer, I would not want us to stay up here until dark,” he advised as they continued to watch.
***
Early next morning, the two were prepared to leave. Both of them were dressed in brown, sleeveless, very furry, soft leather coats, which extended just below their knees. Equally furry boots covered their feet and half their legs. On a ‘stick back pack’, the boy carried a huge, strapped load of fishing baskets, with a gourd of drinking water and other tools strapped on his waist. He was standing excitedly while holding a straight walking stick his height, facing his father, who had strapped fishing nets and many other supplies on his ‘stick back pack’.
His father was also standing with his walking stick in hand, with two, very sharp spears strapped while pointing upwards on his back behind both of his shoulders. Strapped along the right side of his right leg, was a furry sheath enclosing a long dagger.