Drops fell steadily through the leaks in the roof onto the poncho and dripped down to the ground. Outside I could hear the raging storm. In a very short time the ground became muddy, then soggy. I lay drenched in my shelter, miserable, trembling with both cold and fear. There was nothing I could do but pray to God.
The storm grew worse, and my shelter began to blow away, leaving open spaces through which the water streamed down upon me. I wanted to cry, to wail. I wanted away from this horror.
Why, why, did this have to happen to me? Please, God, help me. I’m afraid of dying.
Each minute seemed an eternity, and I had nowhere to flee. It required fierce concentration to immerse myself in fantasy. This time I went home.
I am married and have small children. My brother, Moshe, and I start a ranch on huge tracts of land we have bought in the Upper Galilee. We stock it with cattle I bought in Bolivia and Argentina of a quality not to be found in Israel. Most of Israel’s meat is imported from Argentina, but we have a good climate and unused open spaces for grazing. Why shouldn’t we raise our own cattle?
My brother and I work hard. The ranch prospers. We erect a huge house and all live together: my brother, his wife Miri, his daughter Lilach, and his other children, and of course me and my wife and our children.
We send our children to the regional school in a nearby kibbutz...
‘Ahhh!’ I came out of my fantasy with a scream. There was an ear-splitting din, and the ground shuddered. The trees around me, their roots left with nothing to hold on to, were crashing down one after another. When a tree of that size falls, it takes a few other trees with it.
God, help me! Save me! God...
The uproar died down, and the ground under me grew still. I heard only the rain and the roar of the Tuichi. Drenched and clammy with sweat, I forced myself back to the Galilee.
My brother and I rise at six, have our coffee in large mugs with thick slabs of cake. We leave early for the range on horseback. We check the fencing, take a count of the herd, check on a pregnant cow. At nine we head back home. The kids have already eaten and gone to school, and now the cook devotes herself to us. She prepares omelettes, salads, cheeses. Thick bread and butter, cream of wheat or rice pudding, hot chocolate, and her own special marmalade.
I don’t know the source of our misfortune, but our fabulous cook leaves our employ. We place an ad in the newspaper: ‘Wanted: gourmet cook. Residence on ranch in Galilee. Good terms and pay.’
We receive a great many applications and set up interviews. I am in charge. I sit in the office at the ranch and meet the prospective cooks. Each describes in detail the delicacies she or he knows how to prepare. I interview them one after another, listening to descriptions of every imaginable kind of food. This was my favourite among my fantasies since I could stretch it out and go into the minutest details of every dish and its preparation: Moroccan, European, hot and spicy, Polish dishes, Chinese food, and exotic concoctions. There is no end to the variety of food and no end to the line of applicants.
Outside it seemed that all the biblical prophecies of doom had been fulfilled, and there I was, by myself, the only human in this vast jungle. No other people, no settlements. Only San José, somewhere up there in the hills on the other side of the river, and I might at any instant be crushed to death by a falling tree. Yes, it could happen at any second, and it’s the only thing that will pacify this jungle, let it settle peacefully back into its former calm. It wants to expel this arrogant interloper, this man who dared to think he could survive here alone.
I went on fantasising until dawn. From time to time I was startled out of my daydreams in a panic, thinking my end had come, but despite everything someone was still watching over me.
The morning rays cast their light on nothing good. The rain still came down in torrents. The wind kept howling against my shelter, rattling its rickety poles, but they held fast. My breath under the poncho kept my wet body warm, and my fantasies kept my mind occupied, but I wanted to get up and start marching. I had to get out of the jungle, no matter what. Kneeling, I packed my things, slung the pack on my back, snatched up my walking stick, and dashed outside.
Good Lord! Rain flooded down. I turned to start in the direction of the river and stood rooted to the ground. The wadi was flooded. The entire riverbed was brimming with water, as deep as ten feet, I guessed. Incredible. A shallow stream, a wadi that had been almost dry, had overnight become a wide river, almost over- flowing its banks. The Tuichi, which flowed by about fifty yards from where I stood, looked threatening. Its waters were black, and the current so swift it seemed that someone had filmed the river and was showing it at double speed. So many enormous trees floated downstream that the water itself was barely visible. The river had washed over its shores, gathering up all that booty. I assumed that the signposts that I had so laboriously erected, indicating my presence and the direction in which I was going, had also been washed away. I cursed the day.
How was I going to make it across the river? I started away from the Tuichi following the course of the unknown river upstream, but I didn’t get far. There was no path nor hope of finding a place to cross. I had to go back to my shelter.
I was furious with myself. If I were to stay put, that meant spending another entire day in the jungle, and I wouldn’t be sleeping in San José that night. I had had such high hopes of making it. There was nothing that I could do about it, however. There was no choice but to wait for the storm to blow over, for the river to recede so that I might cross it and be on my way.
I lay back down. My empty stomach was beyond grumbling or growling. I now felt the hunger with my entire body, a primordial need to eat, but all I had were the fruits of my imagination.
I suppose close to half an hour had passed when I became aware of water running down my back and shoulders. How could that be? I had a thick roof of leaves. Cold water reached my buttocks and feet. Then I grasped what had happened and had no time to spare. Both rivers were flooding, and I, fool that I was, hadn’t seen it coming. The ground was level and flooded in a flash. I hurriedly knelt and shoved everything into my pack, including my socks and shoes. I didn’t have time to close the rubber sack but rushed outside in my bare feet and began running. The water was already up to my ankles and would soon be knee deep. I ran in a panic but realised almost immediately that I had forgotten my walking stick in the shelter. I wasn’t about to abandon my trusty walking stick. I set my pack down on a little rise and ran back.
By the time I had reclaimed the stick and had returned to the pack, the water was already past my waist, and the rise was flooded. The pack was floating, and I rushed toward it before it could be carried away. I put my arm through one of the shoulder straps and grabbed hold of a tree. I could feel the water tugging me toward the river. If I lost my hold on the tree, I would drown. I started swimming away, kicking hard, and succeeded in grabbing onto the next tree. All of my muscles ached, and I was afraid that they would give out on me, but the palpable fear of death lent me new, unfamiliar stores of energy. I pushed myself away from the tree with a great thrust, reaching from tree to tree. Once I missed my grasp and was swept away, but the jungle was dense, and I was rammed into trees until I caught hold of one of them. There was no chance of my climbing a tree and, anyway, I might have been stuck up there forever. I would be better off trying to make it to higher ground.
For once I was oblivious to pain. I was quite simply fighting for my life: pushing away, grabbing, pulling, snatching instants to catch my breath. I went on like that for half an hour until I came upon a hill that wasn’t flooded. I stood there panting, water pouring out of the holes in my pack, my clothing drenched and torn, rain beating down upon me mercilessly.
I got my socks and shoes out and pulled them onto my battered feet. The red rash was spreading, and I knew only too well what was in store for me. I was bitter, despondent, and furiously angry that the whole world – all the mighty elements of nature – had ganged up on one solitary man.
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On the other side of the hill the jungle had flooded only waist high. Walking was a torment. I sank into the mud, and each step was excruciating, for the mud had seeped into my shoes and socks and had begun to abrade the skin. Places I had passed so easily yesterday presented dangerous obstacles today. Every tiny wadi had become a stormy deluge. Every broad expanse was now a treacherous swamp. The area was suddenly overrun with frogs. Where had they all come from? Their croaking made a din, but, strangely, I didn’t see a single one. The storm had left its traces everywhere. Broken trees lay like corpses on the ground, leaving gaping, flooded craters where they had been uprooted.
I went on as best I could, walking away from the Tuichi, fleeing to the hills. I went on for miles, hours passed, but nothing changed. I walked immersed in mud, without knowing where I was putting my feet. I got stuck in bushes and pulled myself free. I stepped on sharp rocks and bit back the pain. I was frequently forced to swim. When I had to haul myself back out of wadis, I slipped and slid, crawling on my hands and knees. When I tried to get a grip on a root or a bush, I fell backward, clutching the uprooted plant in my hand. I had no idea where I was or where I was going, I only wanted to find a resting place for my battered body. I wanted to get to someplace where I would be able to lie down and wait for the storm to pass. Finally I climbed a hill and looked for a tree with thick roots. I didn’t want to lie down under a tree that was likely to fall over and crush me. Completely exhausted, I tore off a few palm fronds and lay down on the ground under what appeared to be a reliable tree.
The rain hadn’t stopped but seemed to have abated somewhat. I took off my shoes and shoved my feet into the sack. They were so raw that I was afraid to take my socks off, fearful that I wouldn’t be able to put them back on the next day. Both the mosquito nets and the poncho were dripping wet. I was shivering cold. The wind was still blowing, and I was afraid that I would come down with pneumonia. If I became sick, I would die.
I began praying. I prayed to God with all my heart. Please forgive me for ever having doubted you and not putting all my faith in you. I know that you are always watching. Please don’t let me get sick. Let me make it back to safety. Please God.
I considered taking a vow, promising something, but I didn’t want God to think that I was haggling. I took out Uncle Nissim’s book for moral support. The plastic bag had not kept it dry. I kissed the book and slipped it into my pocket.
It was the seventeenth morning of my solitude. The storm was over. I was in sad shape. I was far from my destination and doubted that I would be able to go on. My feet were infected. From now on walking would be torture. How could my body take any more? I was weak with hunger. I had eaten nothing for the past two days. Now how would I find eggs or fruit? The storm had washed everything away. Was I going to die of hunger or injury? Morbid thoughts filled my mind; there was no chance of my escaping into fantasy. I was distressed to the point of despondency. All my hopes of reaching San José faded away. I hadn’t yesterday. I apparently wasn’t going to today. Who knew if I ever would?
What an idiot I was. I should never have left Curiplaya. I could have waited there in my hut. I could have survived there for at least a month, and by then surely someone would have come looking for me. Someone would have done something.
Now what would I do? Where should I go? I no longer believed there was much chance of my reaching San José. I doubted that I would be able to cross the river. Though the storm had died away, the whole jungle was submerged. I was bitter and on the edge of absolute despair, almost ready to give up. I started back to Curiplaya.
Overcome by self-pity, I hobbled painfully on until I came to a trestepita tree. The tree was bent low, almost touching the ground. It still had fruit on it, and I eagerly sucked the sweetsour pulp from the pits. The small quantity of nourishment tormented my aching belly, but it helped restore my hopes.
Someone is still watching over me. Uncle Nissim’s book will protect me. I won’t die as long as I have it in my pocket. I shouldn’t underestimate its powers. I mustn’t lose hope. I am stronger than I think I am. If I have been able to survive this far, I can go on.
I gave myself a good talking-to and turned toward San José once again. I was going on, no matter what. I trod through flood waters, swam across streams, climbed up wadi walls. I don’t know where I got the energy. While I was wading through the mud, I made believe that I was one of the Zionist pioneers, draining the swamps. A long black snake passing near my foot startled me. I threw my walking stick at it but missed.
‘Wait a minute,’ I called, chasing after it. ‘Wait a minute. I want to eat you.’
My shirt caught on a branch and tore. The sharp branch slashed my upper arm down to the elbow. Blood spurted from the wound. I fought back tears of desperation.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it. I’m going on.
I could neither see nor hear the river but followed the streams that cut in front of me. I knew that they would lead me to the Tuichi. It wasn’t raining, but the wind was blowing, and it was very cold. The humidity formed a heavy mist.
Suddenly I heard a sputter, a drone, the sound of an engine... an airplane.
Don’t be a fool, Yossi. It’s only your imagination.
But the sound grew louder. It was an airplane!
They’re looking for me! Hooray! I’m saved!
The sound grew louder, and I ran like a lunatic, ignoring my tattered feet. I had to get to Tuichi. I had to signal the plane.
The sound was right overhead. I stopped, panting, and looked up. Between the treetops I saw a few grey clouds, and amid them, at a moderate altitude, a small white plane glided past.
‘Hello, here I am! Help! I’m down here.’ I waved my arms frantically. ‘Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Here I am.’
The plane vanished from the sky, its drone fading away.
Now I became aware of my feet. The frantic running had torn the flesh from them, and I felt as if they were on fire. I collapsed to the earth, my face buried in the mud. I lay sprawled there and wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.
I can’t take any more. I can’t budge another inch. That’s it.
From the bottom of my heart I prayed, not for rescue, not even for survival. I prayed for death. Please, good God, stop this suffering. Let me die.
And then she appeared. I knew it was all in my mind, but there she lay, next to me. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t know her name. I knew we’d never met, and yet I knew that we were in love. She was weeping despondently. Her fragile body trembled.
‘There, there, stop crying,’ I tried to comfort her.
Take it easy. It’s all right. Get up, Yossi, I urged myself, you have to lead the way, keep her spirits up.
I plucked myself up out of the mud and very gently helped her up. Tears still poured down her cheeks.
‘The plane didn’t see us. It just went by,’ she wailed.
‘Don’t worry, my love. It will surely be back this way. It didn’t see us through the jungle trees. We can’t be seen from the air. If we could get a fire going, the smoke might be spotted.’
But everything was soaking wet.
When I heard the drone of the plane’s engine once again, I knew we had no hope of being found that day.
I had made it back to the Tuichi, but there was no bank. I stood on the bluff, about twenty feet above the river, its rapids tumbling beneath me. I took out the poncho and waved it frantically, but I knew there was no chance of being spotted through the trees. The plane was flying too high and too fast. I watched it go past with longing eyes.
She looked up at me forlornly.
Don’t worry. They’ll be back tomorrow,’ I promised. ‘Look, we were almost saved today. I’m sure that that’s Kevin up there. It has to be Kevin. I just know it is. He must have gone to my embassy for help.’
I still did not recognise her: where she was from, why she was here. I just kept comforting her.
‘They knew they’d have a hard tim
e finding us today since the weather is so cloudy, but I’m sure they’ll come back tomorrow and won’t give up until they find us.
‘You know, once in a while some guy gets lost in the Judeaen desert, and they call out the army and volunteers and trackers. Sometimes they have to keep looking for a whole week before they find the guy, dead or alive. They never just stop looking.
‘What we have to do is help them find us. We have to find a shore to stand on, so they’ll be able to see us.’
I remembered the beach where the jaguars had been. I had better head back there.
‘Yes, that’s a great idea. It’s a huge beach.’
I had marked it clearly, and while I assumed that the markings had all been washed away, the beach itself must still be there. It was so wide. I quickly figured the distance. I had first arrived at Jaguar Beach on the afternoon of the fourteenth. I had wasted the rest of that day trying unsuccessfully to ford the river. On the fifteenth, as well, I had stopped walking relatively early. That meant that a day’s walk was between me and the beach. I could still get in a good few hours’ walk today. Tomorrow I would start walking at dawn and perhaps make Jaguar Beach in the morning hours.
I explained my plan to her.
‘Come on, love. Another day’s walk, maybe less, and we’ll be there,’ I said encouragingly. ‘There they will spot us easily. First the plane will go over and see us. The pilot will signal us with a tilt of the wings and go back to base. Within a few hours a helicopter will arrive, land on the beach, and pick us up. We’ll be saved. It’ll all happen tomorrow. We have to stick it out one more day. Come on, let’s get going.’
Lost in the Jungle Page 21