With the most beautiful timing, the shrill noise of a bird sounded not far from Keren and a neon butterfly flitted fairylike in front of Keren’s eyeline. A feeling of magic hung in the air and for a few seconds a rainbow filtered its way through the leaves spreading its spectrum of colour across their path, seeming to bathe their world in technicolour.
Taroba, a huge grin spreading across his face, continued with his tale as he stood within the rainbow. ‘Also, in the high branches of the trees are the ring-tailed coatis. They are related to raccoons and you will see them everywhere here begging for food. Each year, litters will be born in nests resting in the canopies of the trees. They will learn to hunt together and different mothers will bring their babies together to form crèches where they can learn from each other. It is important that they survive in this environment. Only seven per cent of Brazil’s rainforest is left now and the wildlife is dwindling. There are poachers in the area who will try to kill animals, creatures that could be eradicated for forever. The spirit of Iguazu needs to live on and help what is around us to survive. There can be no other alternative. The word of the plight of Iguazu must be spread.’
There was a passion in Taroba’s voice that brought a lump to Keren’s throat. It was empowering to hear someone speak with such an outburst of emotion about the place where they grew up. Keren could hardly imagine herself having a similar stirring of passion about the Manchester Ship Canal or the Arndale Centre, nice though they were.
‘What animals are in danger of disappearing?’ she asked.
‘My site is rich in bird species,’ he smiled, an evident fondness sweeping across his features. ‘Almost half of Argentina’s bird species are found here. Some could disappear if wrongdoing is not stopped. Mammals such as the jaguar, ocelot and tiger-cat are among those threatened, as are the giant anteater and the Brazilian otter. I could go on, telling you about the beauty of the black-capped capuchin and black howler monkey. They are all creatures of my country. Creatures that reflect the multiplicity of nature.’
Keren was captivated. ‘One of the people on the boat was telling me about the great dusky swifts that come here to breed every year. They sound incredible. Is it true that they actually fly through the falls to breed, even though the torrent of the water is strong enough to potentially drag a human to their death?’
‘They are incredible little birds and each year up to 3000 of them fly here to breed. They do fly straight through the cascading waters of the falls. They spend their lives, spray-drenched, clinging to the rock faces in order to lay their eggs and nurture their young. The female of the species will allow the males to court her many times over but she will often spurn their advances on numerous occasions before finally giving in to love.’ Taroba looked directly at Keren as he added, ‘The females are so beautiful that it seems they can pick and choose when it comes to love. Us mere males can merely obey their wishes. It is like this for humans sometimes too. We must risk all for females.’
Keren could feel a rush of colour racing to her cheeks and a blanket of coyness wrapping itself around her. Was Taroba flirting with her too? She had the distinct and very welcome feeling that he was.
They were virtually at the end of the forest path they were walking along and Keren could see the shuttle bus that would run her back to her hotel pulling into its stop on the other side of the car park just beyond the forest. As she went to walk out into the bright sunshine, free from the intermittent shade of the overhead greenery, she was aware that Taroba held back, not keen to walk out into the bright light. She didn’t want him to leave and had to think quickly to avoid missing her bus.
‘I’ve loved our chat, Taroba. But I have to get back to my hotel – that’s my bus over there.’ She pointed in the direction of the bus but it was shielded by the forest. Without even realising it, Keren had followed Taroba and taken a step or two back into the shade of the forest. ‘Maybe you’d like to join me for dinner later?’ Immediately she could tell from his expression that the answer was to be a no.
‘I have things I need to do, but I have enjoyed our time too. I hope we see each other again. I am going nowhere and maybe you shall return. You know where to find me.’ His words were cryptic yet somehow Keren understood.
As for finding him...just like the serpent, she knew that Taroba would be at the tree. ‘I’m coming back tomorrow, I’ll come and find you. We can talk some more. I’ve loved it. Mind if I capture the moment?’ She dug her hands deep into her shorts pocket and pulled out her camera, wrapped inside a plastic bag to keep it dry during the boat trip. In a second she’d slipped it out, held it out at arm’s length and clicked a snap of the two of them together. This was a photo her female friends back home would definitely need to see.
A horn sounded from across the car park. Keren guessed it was the bus signalling its intention to leave. She turned from Taroba and stuck her head out to see that the bus was still there. The last few remaining tourists were climbing aboard. She needed to run. Turning back to face her new friend she went to speak. ‘Look, I have to....’ But she was speaking to thin air. Taroba was nowhere to be seen, seemingly vanished back into the forest.
With no time to question, Keren slipped the camera back into her pocket and ran to catch the bus. She just nipped inside the vehicle before the doors closed and it pulled off, leaving Iguazu Park and Taroba behind.
Back at the hotel, Keren went to her room, took off her still damp clothes and showered. She had just changed into a dress and was ready to depart her room for dinner when a knock sounded at the door. Her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was Taroba. Maybe he’d had a change of heart and found out which hotel she was staying at? He could have asked the bus driver.
Thankfully the sense of her own disappointment wasn’t obvious as she opened the door to be faced with a wonky gap-toothed sixty-year-old-plus man with grey hair and skin the texture of beaten leather. Despite her initial shock, the man appeared just as smily as Taroba had been.
‘Can I help you?’ quizzed Keren.
‘Are you Keren? My name’s Thiago, I’m your guide for tomorrow. I just thought I’d let you know your pick up time for the morning. You’re after a guided tour of the falls, especially The Devil’s Throat?’
Keren nodded. She would have preferred a guide nearer her own age and maybe one with a body and face like Taroba’s but she had to admit that Thiago did seem adorable. ‘Yep, I’m Keren.’
‘Pick up time is 8.30am. We’ll make a full day of it as there’s loads to see and learn. I should have you back here by 6pm latest as I understand you fly back to Sao Paulo tomorrow night. There’s nobody better equipped to educate you about Iguazu. I have been working here for decades. A little too many for my own good!’ he laughed, revealing his crooked dentistry again.
Keren’s interest was suddenly piqued. ‘Decades? So you must know everyone at the Park, pretty much? Do you know a man called Taroba? Twenty-something, very...’ Keren searched for right word. ‘Sporty?’ She wanted to say ‘fit’. ‘Has a snake called Boi?’
A look of perplexity fell across Thiago’s wrinkled face. ‘The only Taroba I know from the Park is the mystical tribesman of legend. And Boi was the monstrous serpent who lived in the river. It’s how Iguazu was formed, or so says the legend. No real man of that name exists as far as I know. I know everyone who works in the Park and there is no Taroba. Of that I am sure.’
Keren’s jaw dropped. Thiago must have been confused. ‘No, this man was definitely real. He works there.’ Although now she thought about it, she wasn’t actually sure that Taroba had said he did. Maybe she’d just assumed. She needed to get to the bottom of this. Holding open the door, she invited Thiago inside.
‘Can you tell me more...?’ Keren asked as she sat on her bed and patted the place alongside her, prompting Thiago to sit down. He began his story.
‘Factually, 120 million years ago the rupture of the supercontinent of Pangaea lead to the creation of Africa and South America, and lava burstin
g through the earth hardened into giant rocks of fine basalt which formed the shape of the Iguazu falls grain by grain. This took ages as the falls are huge – the horseshoe of Devil’s Throat is three times the size of Niagara. The first inhabitants to frequent the area were the Caingangues Indians, but it was the tribe who dislodged them, the Tupi-Guaranies who christened the area Iguazu.’
‘But, there’s obviously this legend too, isn’t there? What’s the alternative story?’
‘Well, it is said that many years ago there was a young girl who was so incredibly beautiful that the River Iguazu would stop its flow to admire her as she gazed into its waters. Living in the depths of the river was a serpent called Boi who would require a female sacrifice each year from the local tribes. Well, one year the chosen one to be sacrificed was that beautiful young girl, a girl that a tribesman called Taroba had fallen in love with, and she with him. The two of them were lovers and decided that nothing could tear them apart, not even the request of sacrifice from the gods to keep Boi happy.’
‘So what happened?’ Keren could feel her heart beating within her ribs. She loved a good romantic story but she had a feeling that this one was destined to end in heartache.
Thiago continued, ‘Taroba became leader of his tribe and being young, impetuous and in love, he decided to rebel against the elderly members of the tribe who were looking forward to watching the annual sacrifice. He tried to convince them to offer someone else but they were adamant that his loved one was to be sacrificed. So the night before the sacrifice was due to happen, Taroba kidnapped the girl, placed her on a canoe and they tried to escape on the river. But Boi knew about this and became furious. Boi’s anger was so deep that it caused a gigantic gorge to open up on the river swallowing Taroba and the girl, dragging them to their deaths, and as a result the falls were formed. Boi turned Taroba into a tree and the long flowing hair of the girl into the falls.’
‘That is so sad, their love doomed to failure... But this man was real, I swear. What did Taroba look like?’ Keren’s mouth felt dry and a lump had formed in her throat.
‘If you follow me to the reception here at the hotel, there is a picture of the young lovers on the wall,’ said Thiago. ‘You can see for yourself.’
Grabbing her bag, Keren followed Thiago from the room, desperately trying to get a grip on what she had been told. Any semblance of clarity dissolved completely when she stared at the painting of the young lovers being dragged to their watery graves framed in the hotel reception. The man in the painting was the same man she had been speaking to in the forest that afternoon. The colourings of Boi were the same as the serpent that had been wrapped around his wrist. Keren couldn’t believe it.
‘It’s him!' she cried. 'Look, I can prove it. I took a photo of us both!’ Keren rummaged in her bag and pulled out her camera. As she did so, she accidentally pulled out a credit card that fell to the floor between her feet. Thiago bent down to pick it up and as he went to hand it back to Keren he stared at the name written across it. Miss K Naipier. His mouth fell open.
‘It’s incredible. A true miracle. Oh my dear girl, I’d never have believed it.’ He clasped his hands to Keren’s face, placing one palm on each cheek.
‘What are you talking about it? Look, I can show you the photo.’ Keren scrolled through her snaps until she came to the photo of her and Taroba. Except it wasn’t. Her own face filled half the screen, but the half where Taroba should have been was empty. All that showed was the dense forest alongside the Iguazu riverbank. He should have been there but he wasn’t. There was no trace. ‘It’s impossible, he was there, I know he was. I touched him...’
But then she remembered, she hadn’t. Not once. There had been no physicality between them.
Thiago was emphatic. ‘His spirit lives on. He chose you to speak to. Your name, Naipier, it’s so close to his true love. She was called Naipi...look.’ He pointed to her name underneath the painting. 'When Boi dragged the couple to their death and turned them into a tree and the falls, the serpent’s gaze continued to watch over them to make sure that they never came together again. That they could never defy the serpent’s wishes. But their love was too strong. On sunny days the magic of a rainbow is said to surpass Boi’s wishes and power and join Taroba and Naipi together.’
‘A rainbow? But there was one today when Taroba and I were walking through the forest. We were almost immersed in it. It made him so happy. It seemed...’ she paused before finishing the sentence, ‘magical’. What had happened today? Had she really met Taroba? Was he the mythical tribesman? Was she the chosen one? His special Naipi. She guessed she would never know.
But the next day when Keren returned to the park with Thiago she made him go with her to the tree where she and Taroba had met. His beauty was nowhere to be seen, but as she stared at the tree, she was convinced that she could see his outline forming in the grain of the bark. A gust of light wind rippled the canopy of leaves above her, moving it slightly apart and from beyond it she could hear the roar of the falls. The roar of Naipi. As she listened, a shaft of multi-coloured rainbow descended through the leaves and down onto the tree. Taroba’s tree. The two were joined as one.
About the Author
Nigel May is an author, journalist and TV presenter. His first novel, TRINITY, is a steamy hi-gloss romp detailing the sinful and action-packed lives of the rich and famous. Currently available as an eBook, he hopes to secure that all-important publishing deal soon!
Nigel has written for countless magazines (including Sunday, New Woman and more!) on all subjects from showbiz to sex. On TV, he works as a host for the Ideal World and Create And Craft shopping channels. He also has his own successful craft range called A-May-Zing and appears at craft events around the UK.
Website: www.nigelmay.net/writing
Facebook: www.facebook.com/nigelmay
TV Facebook: www.facebook.com/nigelmaycraft
Twitter: @Nigel_May
Visit the Sunlounger website at http://www.va-va-vacation.com/nigel-may
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BUON VIAGGIO
***
Roisin Meaney
Destination: Amalfi Coast, Italy
‘You’re going back to the same place?’ her mother asked.
‘The ice-cream was wonderful,’ she replied. But she wasn’t going back for the ice-cream.
‘Don’t go home,’ he’d said, lifting her hand to press his lips to the inside of her wrist. ‘Stay here with me.’
But she couldn’t stay. She had a job and a mother who pretended not to need her and a house with fifteen years still left on the mortgage. And she had Patrick.
‘I’m going back to Italy,’ she told him. ‘In May, for two weeks.’
As usual, he gave no response. She finished washing up her dinner things and got her coat and went to the library, which stayed open late on Thursdays.
‘I’d like some books on the Amalfi coast,’ she told the librarian. She didn’t want to know about the tourist attractions, she wasn’t interested in looking at slanting towers or buried towns or painted ceilings. She just wanted to gaze at the pictures and imagine herself back there. May the fourth was still eighty-seven days away.
Valentine’s Day came. She wasn’t expecting a card. He couldn’t send her a card because she hadn’t given him her address, afraid he wouldn’t use it. If he’d offered his address she would have taken it, but he hadn’t.
‘I will see you again,’ he’d said, standing by the bus that was bringing her to the airport. ‘You will come back, yes?’
She’d felt like Shirley Valentine. She’d watched him standing on the side of the road as the bus had driven off. She’d memorised the black hair sweeping back from his forehead, the tanned arms folded across his yellow t-shirt, the muscular calves beneath his long khaki shorts.
In the airport she’d thought about doing a runner, abandoning her pink and beige striped suitcase and hailing a taxi to take her back to him – and then she’d remembered her mother and Patrick, and she’d walked through to the departure lounge.
And now it was February the fourteenth, eight months later. As she took the top off her boiled egg she heard a soft sound in the hall. A red envelope lay face down on the carpet. She picked it up and turned it over and saw the Irish stamp, and her name written in unfamiliar writing.
It couldn’t be him, he didn’t have her address. And he lived in Italy.
Her mind picked over possibilities. He had a friend in Ireland he hadn’t mentioned who’d tracked her down for him, he’d sent the card to his friend who’d put an Irish stamp on it to throw her off the scent.
Or – her heart jumped at the thought – he’d flown to Ireland to find her himself. He’d looked her up in the phonebook, he’d sent her a Valentine card in advance of appearing on her doorstep in person. He was sitting in his B&B right now, maybe just up the road, biding his time as he ate rashers and sausages and flirted politely with the waitress.
She opened the front door and walked to the gate and searched the street in both directions. Her three-doors-away neighbour waved as he got into his car, and she waved back. The morning was frosty, her breath clouding, a spider web on a corner of the gate transformed. She gathered her cardigan more tightly around her as she went back up the path.
There was a picture of a cartoon elephant sitting on a fridge on the front of the card. The elephant’s body spilled over the sides of the fridge, his trunk trailed down the front, curling at the bottom.
She opened it. Just wanted to get your attention was printed inside, and below, a single question mark had been drawn in biro. She studied its curves. She ran her finger over the back of the card and felt the slight indentation the dot of the question mark had made.
Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1) Page 40