It appeared to be a large maggot, plump and soft.
As I bent to study it, I noticed its twin, lying equidistant from the center on the port side of the log.
I suddenly grew quite cold.
They were eyes, white with blindness.
And in the moment of epiphany the log leapt, catching hold of me in its toothy jaws. No log it was, but the largest crocodile I had ever seen. It seized my trousers, thinking them part of me, and began dragging me into the water. I tried to tear myself away, but my trousers though ragged were extremely well made (the Eton uniform employing but the sturdiest Highland wool). To make matters worse, the enormous meal of the night before had for the time being expanded my belly, so the trousers did not slip off as readily as they had at the lagoon. I was doomed.
Just then something flew past my ear and embedded itself in the monster’s hide. It was one of Tiger Lily’s arrows, and was swiftly followed by another, and yet another. The croc’s skin was tough, and though the arrows penetrated enough to stick, they were anything but mortal. They were, however, distracting and angering, and the cave-blind reptile turned away from me to bite at the sharp annoyances.
“James, move back!” Tiger Lily shouted. Unfortunately the croc’s hearing was as sharp as its eyesight was dim. With another ROAR it turned and raced toward the source of the sound.
Tiger Lily was taken by surprise, and in backing away in alarm she tripped and fell. The leviathan was upon her.
But I was soon upon it. I straddled its back, and, having nothing else with which to attack it, I pulled Peter’s blunt wooden stick from my pocket and stabbed. Being both frightened and angry, I plunged the dagger downward with such force that it penetrated a soft area at the base of the dragon’s skull. The monster opened its pink mouth wide in pain and emitted a gigantic HISS. Tiger Lily, frantically backing away, stopped to fire several more arrows at the target. They pierced its open maw, traveling down its blood-red throat so that the monster began to choke. Seeing that for a moment we had the advantage, I pressed the dagger even deeper, then pulled it out to strike again. A well of blood spurted from the back of the giant’s skull, coating me in gore. Tiger Lily now grabbed her one remaining arrow, and, using its tip like a dart, she stabbed the monster’s tongue again and again. The croc bucked like a wild horse. I flew off and landed on my back, losing my breath. The beast’s muscular tail whipped around, just missing me. Before it could pendulum back, Tiger Lily pulled me out of its reach. The dragon twisted, writhed, bled buckets, and then after giving a terrible shudder it rolled onto its back and became quite still.
Had we killed it?
We both crept closer.
Indeed we had.
Tiger Lily held me tight, and I in turn held her. We were cold, we were frightened, we were elated, we were champions.
The Great-God-Below-Who-Is-Death was no more.
* * *
By the time we climbed back to the surface, it was night. Hand in hand we walked to Great Panther’s tent. The noble chief screamed at what he thought were a pair of ghosts, but Tiger Lily quickly calmed him and he clasped her to his bosom. Then he reached out a great muscled arm and pulled me close beside her. He wept, we wept, the adventure ended in joy for all but the poor crocodile.
* * *
The following day Lone Wolf and several other young men descended with me to the bottom of the pit. We inserted torches in various niches in the cavern, along with a supply of flint and a piece of steel to allow us, should the torch flames extinguish, to reillumine our work. We then tied a liana rope to the dead giant’s tail and, with great effort, hauled the carcass to the surface. That night we had a second feast, of crocodile stewed and crocodile roasted, of crocodile fried and crocodile steamed in banana leaves, of crocodile sweetened with coconut milk and crocodile spiced with island pepper, of crocodile raw and crocodile baked in a pie, of crocodile stuffed with crocodile gizzard topped with crocodile liver and served on platters made from tough crocodile hide.
When we had had our fill, pipes were produced, and we all partook of that marvelous tobacco Peter had acquired from the natives and shared with me in his Underground Home.
After that we slept for two solid days.
Chapter Six
Once we had recovered from the feast, Peter boasted that had he not overslept on the morning of Tiger Lily’s descent into the Deep Well he would have slain the monster himself. Lone Wolf said nothing. I had shamed him, and he was now my enemy. But for the moment at least I was safe, since I was a prince in Great Panther’s eyes.
I was more than that in Tiger Lily’s.
I did not see her for three days. Peter was growing restless and missing his Underground Home, and so it was decided that we should take our leave, promising to return soon. Great Panther wished to throw us one more celebratory meal before we left. Happily, we all had had our fill of crocodile, and the dinner consisted of various island flowers, stuffed with fruit mixed with honey and prepared in many ingenious ways. Tiger Lily cooked my own meal herself. Aside from being adept with bow and arrow, she made a delicious hibiscus pie.
Afterward, Great Panther stood and sang—literally sang—my praises. This made me exceedingly uncomfortable, for I could see that these laudatory verses enraged Lone Wolf. Peter shifted irritably; he was unaccustomed to anyone garnering such praise, except himself. I had always dreamed that a heroic ballad such as this might be composed about me one day, but now that that dream had become reality, I could see that every firework of glory draws to its honoree a cannonade of envy.
As the tribal drums beat in my honor, I looked around—Tiger Lily was nowhere to be seen. And then lo! the flaps of the tent opened wide and in she came, bearing a plate in the center of which lay one enormously stunning blossom—a tiger lily agleam with gold. The gold was actually pollen, a prized harvest from some rare jungle orchid that she had gathered herself for this remarkable dessert. She placed the plate in front of me and watched while I picked the flower up and gently nipped at its petals. I had never tasted anything so astonishing, a mixture of sweetness and sharp pepper that seemed to dance in my mouth. Following the rules of etiquette that I had been carefully taught, I offered a petal to the princess. She blushed and took the petal between her teeth as an exclamation of delight erupted from the crowd. Great Panther looked pleased, Sunflower began to weep with joy, and Lone Wolf stormed out of the gathering. The exchange of dessert petals that had just taken place, I later learned, was an offer and acceptance of marriage.
Once the meaning had been explained to me, I stuttered with astonishment, but did not attempt to withdraw the offer. To tell the truth, dear reader, I was thrilled. Once the supper was over, Tiger Lily and I wandered hand in hand out of the tent, returning to the spot of our first conversation. No one followed. The affianced were to be left to themselves.
We sat on the promontory cliff and looked at the night sky. It was agleam with stars sparkling in mysterious constellations, none of which I recognized. I asked their names, and she said that each person who studies the sky finds their own names for these configurations. “I might look at that one,” she explained as she pointed to a celestial grouping, “and see in it a flower and call it Tiger Lily’s Blossom, but no one else would call it that, and so it would have a very special meaning for me. You might look at it and name it something else, and so it would have another special and completely unique meaning for you.”
“But isn’t it easier if everyone calls it Tiger Lily’s Blossom?”
“Yes, it may be easier, but that’s not the point, James. The point is to take the time and study the heavens, and find your own meaning there. Why should my meaning apply to you?”
“Everything of yours applies to me.”
She squeezed my hand. I did not look at her at first, but at the horizon, where a string of five bright stars lay stretched out, like a serpent, or a belt. “Peter’s Liana,” I named it as I pointed. She laughed with delight. Its reflection was equally bright, floa
ting on the surface of the sea.
“James,” she said after a long while. I turned to look at her.
“Yes?” I answered.
She said nothing.
Then she leaned forward very slowly until her lips touched mine. I felt the hairs on my arms and legs lift high, just as they had when I first took flight. Without moving my lips away from hers, I cupped her head in my starboard hand and pressed her closer. Our mouths opened slightly, and the soft tip of her tongue brushed mine.
* * *
The wedding was set for one full moon hence—the first time I heard the future spoken of in any words other than tomorrow. Not knowing the length of the lunar cycles in this astonishing place, I had no idea how many “tomorrows” this involved. I knew only that my future happiness awaited its arrival.
Peter and I left the following morning. He was uncharacteristically silent for the first half of our journey. When we stopped for some lunch, I asked him bluntly why he was not speaking to me. He simply shrugged his shoulders.
“Are you angry?”
He said nothing at first, and then he began to cry.
“Peter, what is it?”
“You’re leaving me. I’ve waited forever to have someone to play with, and now you’re going away.”
I took his hand.
“I’ll never leave you, Peter. I’ll always be by your side. After all, you have my shadow.” He smiled at this. I continued: “I’ll visit as often as I can. Without Tiger Lily. I promise.” This made him even happier. “We’ll frolic as we have in the past. You can teach me things I don’t know, because you’re ever so smarter than I am. We’ll swim with the mermaids, and tumble with Barnaby, and try to make friends with the lions and tigers.” He was very pleased.
For the rest of our journey he jabbered as if little had changed within the last twenty-four hours. He talked of “yesterday” and “tomorrow” and of nothing at all, and because I was happy at last, I forgave him his childish behavior. He was, after all, my first and closest friend, the very best part of myself.
* * *
Panther had given us a parting gift of tobacco, and so we shared a pipe when we arrived home. We were soon laughing tremendously at nothing at all, we were in such good spirits. Suddenly Peter looked up, cocking his ear to one side. “Well of course you could have come, but I didn’t ask you because I know you don’t care for them.”
He was speaking, I assumed, to Tink.
“Because we had a marvelous time,” he said in answer to some fairy question. “James rescued Tiger Lily from an enormous crocodile. He’s quite the hero.” He listened to a further question and smiled. “I don’t know, I’ll ask him,” he said and turned to me. “She wants to know why you didn’t rescue her. From your . . . what’s her name? Daisy.”
“I was asleep,” I answered, a bit annoyed. “I didn’t even know she was in my pocket. Tink, I mean. I knew Daisy was. Besides, she didn’t need rescuing. She obviously wasn’t eaten, in spite of what she tells you.”
Peter listened again. He was getting a great kick out of acting as translator. “She says that of course she was eaten. You saw the blood.”
“She was wounded, perhaps. But it could have been a mouse’s blood. Or my own. Daisy sometimes feeds on me, you know.”
Peter seemed surprised. “No, I didn’t. Where is she, by the way?”
“I left her at the lagoon. She was happier there.” And Peter, I admit, seemed relieved. “At any rate, please tell Tink that I apologize for not warning her about Daisy, or pulling her from the jaws of death. I couldn’t even see her—please remind her of that. I still can’t. But I’m glad she survived, and I hope I can someday be her friend.”
That, I prayed, was the end of the matter.
But there is no end of the matter with Tink, once she has a notion in her little skull. At least that’s what Peter told me.
He now shook his head in exasperation as she apparently rattled on and on. “That’s not possible,” he finally said to her. She continued, obviously making some childish demand—Peter was rolling his eyes as if he were a music hall comedian playing to the back of the house. “No, Tink, absolutely not, we have to go back,” he stated emphatically, barely concealing his annoyance. “Because James is engaged.” Another beat. “To be married, yes. To Tiger Lily.” Another silence, longer this time. “Oh, Tink,” he said, cajoling her. Then he sighed. “Hopeless,” he muttered.
“What is?”
“She’s upset. She’s crying now. Sulking and crying.”
“Whatever for?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is she jealous?”
He looked at the Cotswold Cottage, to which, I presumed, Tink had retired. “To be perfectly frank,” he whispered, “I think she’s in love.”
“With whom?” I exclaimed in astonishment.
“With you, of course.”
* * *
That night I dreamed the most marvelous dream. Tiger Lily had become quite small, and was dancing on my lips. She tiptoed to the precipice of my chin and slid down my neck to the hollow of my throat, which had become a tiny lagoon filled with water. She drank, then climbed the hillock of my breastbone and rolled down the other side to my stomach. I laughed in my sleep, it was such fun. Then she went exploring in my pockets. In the starboard one she found a firecracker, and here for a moment the dream became a bit frightening, for the firecracker’s fuse was burning and I tried to warn her to leave before an explosion happened, but when I opened my mouth to speak no words would come. She examined the cracker quite closely, for she had never seen anything like it. The fuse sparked as it burned shorter and shorter until, with a fizzle, it suddenly died. She’s safe, I thought, and I relaxed. Ever curious, she drew an arrow from her quiver and pricked the tip of the cracker to see what lay inside. Quite suddenly it blew its top like Mount Vesuvius. Tiny plumes of flame scorched my pocket lining; lava flowed, burning holes wherever it touched. I searched for Tiger Lily everywhere, expecting to find her a heap of charred ash and bones. But there she stood, laughing, only it wasn’t Tiger Lily, it was Tink, Tink clad only in cinders and soot. She bent forward and blew me a kiss, then turned and did a naughty little dance with her behind before tunneling into my blanket. I awoke, I must confess, with a smile on my face. I was admired by the ladies! And not just by one, but by two! Never in my most romantic fantasies did I imagine this could happen! Peter, sound asleep beside me, seemed to be smiling too.
* * *
Having been gone from their company for some time, I asked Peter the next morning if we could revisit the mermaids. He readily agreed. To be polite I inquired if Tink might wish to join us, but he said that she was nowhere in sight at the moment, which was just as well (he said) as she didn’t care for either water or fish, especially fish who thought of themselves as half-human. (If she liked neither mermaids nor tribal folk, I wondered, was there anyone at all—other than Peter and myself—whose company she did enjoy?) He got a fistful of Sand, peppered both of us, and we were off.
The mermaids were delighted to see us. They waved skyward as we approached. No sooner had our feet touched pebbles than we shed our clothing and dove into the delicious warmth.
I had by this time become special friends with one of them, whom Peter called Josephine. Her hair was red as the sunset, and her breasts were quite enormous. I loved to press myself against her, and now she clasped me to her bosom and called me her “handsome little man.” Here was a third lady I had charmed! Still, like all successful lotharios, I worried how she would react when I told her that I was soon to be married. Certainly nothing like love had passed between us, but it’s difficult (or so my Eton housemates often said) to know the mind of a woman. I decided the best way was to be truthful, and so when we lay on Marooner’s Rock, basking in the sun, I told her everything.
“I’m going to be married to Tiger Lily the native princess whom I met recently and then saved from certain death at the jaws of an enormous crocodile which she shot full of a
rrows while I stabbed it to death and which we both ate.”
This statement, made in one breath without pause, was followed by her silence. Oh dear, I thought. She’s going to drown me.
Then a smile broke through, and her sharp little teeth gleamed in the sun and she laughed with delight. “How wonderful for you!” Josephine said (her accent was decidedly French) and pressed me close to her bosom once again. “I will give you a wedding gift! What would you like?”
Taken aback by her generous response, I was speechless at first. “Your blessing,” I finally answered.
“But of course, of course, I bless you, all over,” and she began kissing me and I laughed whenever her whiskers brushed against a place that was especially ticklish.
After that we swam again, and soon found Peter chasing half a dozen of Josephine’s sisters. We played Slippery Otter together, and Where’s the Shrimp, which Peter always won. Then the ladies retired for their underwater nap and Peter and I lay on the pebbled beach, where we ate mangoes and dozed.
Throughout the frolicsome morning I thought more than once of Daisy, wondering what had happened to her. Had she left the lagoon to swim back to Long Tom? I worried that something might have eaten her, and then fretted that the beating sun had baked her into a crocodile mummy. I stood on the edge of the lagoon and called out her name. Peter stirred, but sank back into Dreamland. Daisy did not respond.
It was then that I decided to look for her underwater. Thanks to Josephine and her friends, my swimming skills had improved considerably, and the warmth of the sun made the lagoon as comfortable as a bath. My ability to dive and remain under the surface while holding my breath was markedly improved too: for some inexplicable reason I could stay below for several minutes at a time without strain. I breaststroked to the middle of the lagoon, and dove.
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