by Joseph Rubas
Along the way, they stopped at a discount supermarket and loaded two carts with Christmas decorations leftover from last year. They also took candy, wrapping paper, several packs of Coca-Cola. By the time they made it back to the boat, it was nearly six, and the sky had gone dark and cloudy, the wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped.
“Looks like a storm,” Pablo said.
Bob licked his lips. “Let’s get this crap in the boat and get back.”
Carol sat worried by the window of the hut, her arms crossed and her stomach in knots. Wind-driven rain lashed the bending trees. She could only imagine what it was like out on the sea.
Probably like the day dad died.
Shoving those thoughts away, she looked at Tommy, who sat by the door. He was worried too. Since the storm started, all thoughts about Christmas had vanished.
Hurry up, she thought as she looked once more out the window.
Bob held on for dear life as the boat was tossed back and forth on massive waves, his heart in his throat and his stomach in his chest.
Pablo came staggering back from the bathroom, and went down as the boat tipped heavily to one side; a cascade of sundries fell over him.
“Pablo!” Bob cried.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, getting to his hands and knees, and slamming against the cabinets when the boat was pushed left.
“Pablo...” Bob started, but was cut off as a giant wave crashed into the boat and came flooding through the door to the deck.
“Shit!”
Carol kept a brave front for Tommy’s sake, but inside, she was a wreck. It had been two days since the storm came and went. She refused to entertain the thought that Bob and Pablo were dead, but she knew deep in her heart that they were. The boat sank. Why else was there was wreckage on the beach?
At dawn on Christmas morning, she left Tommy sleeping and went down to the beach to cry. And cry she did. For an hour straight, the tears came.
Finally, feeling partially purged, she got up to leave, but stopped. There was something in the water. It looked like...a raft!
Tommy was awake and sitting up when they came back. When he saw Bob and Pablo, his face lit up.
“You’re back!”
Like a normal child on a normal Christmas morning, he jumped excitedly out of bed. Bob’s hug was first, then Pablo’s, then Bob again.
“We thought you died!”
“We came close,” Pablo said.
“I’m so glad you didn’t!” Tommy babbled. Then, he added something that made Bob smile, something that made the loss of the boat and of all the presents and candies worth it.
“This,” the boy declared, “is the best Christmas ever!”
Tommy Woodell Faces the Amazon
June 19th 1979- I found this pen and notebook in a knapsack down by the river. There was some stupid poetry in it, but I ripped out those pages and burned them. The work wasn’t very good, a bunch of rejections in waiting, and I don’t think the writer will really care, considering he’s dead. Everyone except me died; good ol’ Tommy Woodell from Lawnwood, Mass. Carrie always used to tell me nose candy would kill me, but as far as I can tell, planes are way more dangerous. I shoulda known, the way they keep crashing and shit. But I was too worried about getting the fuck out of America to even think about it. And you see where that got me, huh? The Amazon.
You know they got spiders out here bigger than Dom Deluise’s stomach? I hate those fucks. Thinking of waking up one morning with an eight legged queer feeling me up makes me shudder. I just been sitting here, looking around, wondering where the shit’s gonna hit the fan.
Anyway, if my watch is right, it’s midnight. I been trying to sleep for about an hour now, but this place is louder than shit. The forest is crawling with sound. It reminds me of a zoo in Boston I went to on a field trip once as a kid. I was about seven or so, and the sounds of the animals scared the bejasus outta me. The tigers in the tiger pit; the gorilla in his cage near a concession stand. And during reading time at the money exhibit, as some cunt in a beehive and cat-eyed glasses read us all a Curious George book, those little bastards went crazy in their cages, hopping and screaming and throwing their own shit around like fucking retards.
Man, I can’t take cooling my heels here much longer. I’m gonna go fucking crazy. Nobody should have to put up with some shit like this.
Where the hell is the rescue team? Helicopters, jeeps, brown guys in kaki? It’s been a few days since we crashed, shouldn’t they be crawling all over this shit heap by now?
June 20th 1979- Its daylight and I’m as well rested as I’ll get, so I think that I can tell you the score. I boarded TWA flight 109 in Boston early Friday evening; I nearly missed the boat because the stupid towelhead cabdriver missed the airport exit ramp. The terminal was packed with people like it was a baseball game, and I had to wait for fucking ever. I danced the normal airport dance and was heading out of Logan at 4:00 PM, destined to never reach Argentina.
Now, bad things happened over and over. I asked for an aisle seat, but was placed in the middle between a fat old lady who smacked gum the entire flight and a very lovely woman with a stubbly chin and an Adam’s apple. I asked for a chicken dinner but was given goddamn salad like a fucking rabbit. About fifteen minutes before we went down, the in-flight movie was turned on: The Sound of Music. If I wanted to see a bunch of Nazis dance and sing I’d kill myself and watch them burning and screaming in hell.
I sagged down in my seat and wished the projector or whatever would burn up or some damn thing. And, for the first time in my life, I got a prayer answered.
The shit happened so fast my head’s still spinning. One minute we’re truckin, the next we’re in a nosedive. Just like that. No explosions, no sudden jolts, nothing. Just outta nowhere we’re going down like a ten cent whore.
After the initial shock, people started going apeshit, screaming and howling. Some idiot stewardess tumbled down the aisle like a crumpled ball of paper, followed by a metal serving cart. She went through the curtain to first class and disappeared. Crap was flying through the air and overhead compartments were popping open and raining shit down on people. Man, it was like an elevator ride to hell.
And there I was, clutching the armrests, no doubt as white as a virgin’s crisp panties. I woulda screamed my head off like everyone else if I coulda, but my heart was blasting in my throat, trying to jump out and escape, leaving me behind to get mine. I probably woulda had a heart attack if it kept up much longer, but, thank God, something clocked me on the back of the head and took me out.
I have no idea how in the hell I survived. I shoulda been crushed like a cigarette butt in a soda can, but I woke up on the riverbank at dawn, free and clear, giant pieces of plane all around me burning like something from hell. Most of the wreckage was in the river, so I figured that’s where it hit.
Later, dusk.
Today stank like a fishy pussy, but least I found some food and drink, if you can call a bag of half melted potato chips and a flat, steaming hot Coca Cola-like substance “food and drink.”
After I stopped writing, I started to look for food, only to find that my path back to the riverside was blocked by a large spider web, a large furry black monster sat there staring at me. This little (giant!!!) bastard had made himself a nice little home while I was sleeping. If I hadn’t noticed him beforehand, I would have walked right into his nasty little trap.
I’m not afraid of spiders, not of anything, but I sure as fuck don’t like them. Hairy and black and looking like something from outer space…ugh! So I wasn’t even about to fuck with him. I just found another way back to the river.
It was hot as hell, and sweat was pouring down my face and neck. I sank to my ass on the bank and looked at the dirty water. Man, it was brown and probably as stagnant as hell, but I wanted to hop in. I didn’t know if piranhas were around, but I knew there were alligators and shit.
Finally, I cupped my hands and risked them by dipping them into the
river. No flesh eating dickheads swarmed me, so I was able to take the time to wash myself really good.
Clean and refreshed, I began to scour the ground for any food or drink that may have survived the crash. There wasn’t much. I found two maggot infested corpses, which count if you’re planning a Donner Party. One was an old fart with no arms and the other was the upper half of a small child, rotting intestines piled before the body like a satanic offering.
Survival of the fittest, they say.
Chips are salty, so my true thirst was awakened like a sleeping dragon. I didn’t want to drink all of my Coke at once, so I got up and went off to look for other means of hydration. After nearly an hour I found a six pack of Tab cola lying in a stand of tall grass. Most of the cans had somehow been punctured, but I was able to salvage two of them. I never liked the stuff before, but man let me tell you, that shit tasted like heaven.
Well, I have to get gone now; I’m away from the fire and can’t see well. I’ll write again tomorrow.
June 21st 1979- Today started off shitty, of course. (See what I did there? You will in a minute).
I woke up with my guts gurgling at around…I dunno, eight or nine or something like that. It really felt like it was gonna come gushing out, so I jumped up and ran down to the river holding my ass. I barely made it.
On the riverbank I wretched my pants down and started squatting on this little bush; sounded like a spic exploding back there.
So, I’m just minding my own business, pooping, when outta no fucking where this crocodile snaps up outta the water; I fell right back onto my crap, screaming like a little bitch, and hopped outta there, my pants still around my ankles.
When I got far enough away without being killed, I stopped and looked over my shoulder. The son of a bitch was laying there trying to sun himself.
I got really pissed seeing that. I was fucking sick and tired of letting myself get pushed around and bullied, you know. I’ve never been one of those little bitches to sit there and take shovelfuls of shit to the face.
Gritting my teeth, rage burning in my chest, I found some leaves and wiped my ass, and then went looking for a rock or something I could throw at the bastard’s head. I found one under a flap of scorched metal, which I kicked aside in rage. It wasn’t very big, and probably wouldn’t kill him or damage his little ass brain, but at least it would send a message, you know. So I picked it up and crept back down the embankment until I was within spitting distance of him. He was laying lengthwise along the water, his tail in a stand of bushes (I hoped it got a nice big dollop of Tommy Woodell shit on it) and his head on a little mound of dirt. His eyes were closed like he was napping.
I’m not going to lie, I was a little scared. Carrie watched those dumbass nature shows all the time, so I know damn well what crocodiles do to people. But I wasn’t just going to sulk away…so I winged it at him. It arched through the air and came right down on his flat nose…beak, bill, whatever the hell you wanna call it. Like a gunshot he was up and looking around for an ass to kick, but I was gone.
I hid in a bush back away from the bank for about twenty minutes, holding my breath and listening for cracking twigs. I was pretty sure he would find me, stick his mouth in and get me. I damned myself for not just letting him have his little goddamn nap.
Thank God, he didn’t come. Probably a little fucking pussy who can dish it out but can’t take it.
After I took care of his punk ass, I just, you know, kinda wandered around, looking for anything useful. I didn’t find shit, really, so I ended up going in circles over and over for nothing. I kept finding dead bodies, and tried my damndest to stay away from them. It stinks around here, and I’m afraid that the rotting meat’ll attract some tigers or mountain gorillas or what the fuck ever lives out here.
Finally, I got sick of seeing the same shit over and over and over and started going further inland. Pretty soon I was in closed jungle, away from most of the debris. I didn’t find too much, just some suitcases and dead bodies. I did find a cave in a hillside, covered with a screen of bushes. I thought about going in and looking around, but I had no idea what the hell was in there…snakes, bears, spiders, Frankenstein. But if I ever need shelter, I guess I can run in and wait out whatever comes.
Anyway, I went on and found more little jagged bits and pieces of the plane and things like that. I found a transistor radio and felt like Gilligan, but the little fucker was busted up and didn’t work. I also found a high tree with some fruit in it, big green testicle looking things. I didn’t pay too much attention to them, you know, because I’ll never get them even if I’m starving like a German Jew. The last thing I need is a nice fall from a million feet up and a broken back.
There’s a little clearing about two miles upwind of the crash site, and I spent an hour or so there sitting up against a shady tree. When I came back to camp the sun was getting low in the sky, so I made myself a little fire and sat around it. I’m writing by it now. It’s past midnight and I can’t sleep. When the hell will those idiot spics get here? Shit, it’s not like this is the top of Mount Everest or anything.
June 23st 1979- The chips and Tabs are gone, so that bites the big one. But at least I’m not hungry.
I was walking around earlier, you know, same shit different day, looking for some chow and all, when I nearly tripped on what I thought was a big branch or log or something. I was in a pretty sour mood, so I spun around to kick the shit out of it, but froze when I saw what it was. Man, I was freaked. It looked like a baby’s leg covered in hair
What the fuck?
I stepped cautiously forward and parted the thin branches. Inside was the rest of the chimp, a short, stocky bastard with a glass ashtray jutting out of his head. He didn’t look exactly fresh, but I dragged him back to camp anyway. I found this flat rock and gutted his ass. I never had to do anything like that before, so I did a pretty shitty job, but oh fucking well
I used one of the fires leftover from the wreck to cook the little bastard. I held different parts over the flame, my arms eventually quivering with exhaustion, until the meat was nice and crispy (I wasn’t taking any chances). When I finally stuffed the shit into my watering mouth, I nearly spermed all over myself. God, when I get out of here I’m going to eat monkey burgers twice a week. I haven’t had a meal that good in years. The only thing that would have made it better is if I had an order of fries and a frosty mug of Budweiser to go with it. The meat’s gone now, but I saved his head and innards in case no more food comes my way. Right now, the sky is darkening and the wind is picking up. I can’t remember when it is, but I know that most jungles have rainy seasons. God I hope that this isn’t one of them.
The first few drops are falling, so it curtains for now.
June 26th 1979- Jesus Christ! Today is the first time I’ve seen the sun since I last entered, and now I wish it would go the hell away. It’s so fucking muggy and miserable I’m seriously thinking of drowning myself in the swollen Amazon. The whole place is one big, soupy mess.
Man, it would not stop raining for shit. Big fat globs of warm water. Felt like God was having a massive circle jerk. I got soaked in the first five minutes, and had to wait out the storm under a tree, getting about fifteen raindrops out of every twenty. I thought about going in the cave yesterday, when the shit was coming down hard enough to sting, but I was too wary, having no way to see in the dark, you know. It’s not called being a pussy, it’s called being smart.
I been looking for clean water lately but there’s nothing. Every time I get a gulp of rain water from a puddle, mosquitos and larva and shit slips down my throat. I couldn’t cook my monkey intestines because of the rain, and I don’t know if I want them now. They’re turning a sickly brown color and starting to get a little rank, so I’ll probably just throw them on some dead body and let the asshole maggots have them. I did eat some of the head, though. There wasn’t much meat, you know, because it was a head, but I pinched my nose and swallowed his eyes and tongue. Man, let me tell you, I’m
starting to get really fucking sick of eating weird shit.
Anyway, the river, like I said, burst its banks, so the coast is further back than it was. The fires are all out, so I have to make my own from here on out. I have a lighter I found the other day before the rain (back then it wasn’t important enough to waste time writing about), but every damn thing around is drenched.
Not much else worth gabbing about.
Later- Oh my God! These damn mosquitos are eating me alive! I thought they fucked off after dark.
June 28th 1979- I killed me a fucking monkey!!! The son of a bitch is as fat as Bud Costello and tastes like pure gold. He’s so big I’ll have plenty of meat left over. I’m going to try and see if I can use his fur to make myself a blanket or something.
I caught his ass as I was taking a leak into the river (all the while wishing that the whole shebang would burn) when he dropped down close to me, landing in a bush. The fat piece of shit was trying to gorge himself on a maggoty severed hand when I bashed his brains out with a big stone. He did a little jig and fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dead as dog shit. I drug him back to camp and cooked what parts that I was able to rip off of him with my bare hands and the jagged edge of a rock. He cooked real well and tasted like manna.
On an unrelated note, I was bitten by a giant fly (yes, I said bitten). When I get back Stateside (or better yet Mexico) I gotta find out what the hell kinda asshole runs around the rainforest biting people.
July 1st, 1979-I’m calmer than usual today, but I still ain’t mellow yellow.
See, I was mincing along down by the river, you know, not paying attention to where I was going, when I walked right into something dangling down from a low tree branch. Man, I danced a fucking jig, screaming and shit, thinking I had a huge spider on me. But it turns out to be this red and black backpack.