A Sudden Crush

by Camilla Isley

  “So should we go look into the jungle?” It could be the perfect excuse to search for Liam.

  He looks at me sharply. It feels like he’s heard that last comment from inside my head. But if he guessed what I was thinking, he doesn’t let on. He just says, “Easy, kiddo.”

  “I’m not a kid, or a kiddo, or a bimbo for that matter,” I burst out again. This man has the power of getting on my nerves as quick as lightning. “At least I have the decency to call you names only inside my head!”

  He stops working and stares at me intently. For a moment I’m scared he’s about to slap me, but instead he throws back his head and roars with laughter.

  “I’m happy to see you’re enjoying yourself,” I say acidly.

  “I will give you that, Anna—you’re funny,” he mocks me in between chuckles.

  “I wish I could say the same,” I sulk. When he’s done snickering, I add, “so, if you don’t want to go into the jungle, what do we do now?”

  “The first thing you should do is find or make some sort of hat and cover that pretty head of yours. The sun is mild now, but in an hour or so it will be scorching.”

  “I can make a hat. I learned how to make one out of palm leaves when we were on vacation in Florida. Liam wanted to go jet skiing, but I didn’t care to jump on one of those monsters, so I went to the hat workshop at our resort.”

  “Good for you,” Connor replies, unimpressed. “Go get started.” He’s probably happy he’s found a way to get rid of me. “Cover yourself up as much as you can. It’s good you’re wearing long pants. Even if you get hot, don’t take them off.”

  I snort. “As if.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  I mentally take note to add cockiness to his many “positive” traits.

  “If you come across things that could be useful or that came from the plane, pile them up,” Connor the Caveman continues with his list of directives. “We need to make an inventory of what we have; see where we’re at before we go into the vegetation.”

  I nod. “Got it.”

  Even if he is an arrogant troll, I’m okay with him taking charge. He seems to know what he’s doing, and he’s definitely more of an expert at this survival thing than I am.

  “Take another coconut,” he adds, opening one and passing it to me. “You’ll need the fluids.”

  “Thanks.” I take it from him.

  “And I made this for you.” Mr. Ogre also hands me a small dagger made in the same fashion as the axe. “It’s not as good as a real knife, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Oh, ok. Thank you,” I say, surprised and a bit worried. “Do you think I’ll need to use it?”

  “Well, if you want to cut palms—”

  “Ah right, sure.” I was already imagining myself fighting to the death with tribes of cannibal savages.

  “If the monkeys get aggressive, don’t you try to stab them or fight with them. Just run in the water—they don’t like it, and they won’t follow you there.”

  “How come you’re such an expert on monkeys?”

  “It’s basic knowledge. Just do as I say, will you?”

  “Mmm, ok,” I agree, shifting weight from one butt cheek to the other while sipping at my coconut.

  “Something else I can do for you?” He raises one cocky eyebrow at me.

  Thank goodness I don’t care for dark hair or brown eyes, I tell myself. “Do you think the monkeys will get aggressive?” I ask.

  “Macaques are not dangerous per se, and they’ll hardly kill you, but they’re territorial and they bite. Even the smallest bite could get infected, and since we’re not exactly high on medical supplies it could get nasty.”

  “I will keep that in mind. See you later.” I wave goodbye as I get up to walk toward our “landing” site.

  “And stay in the shadows. The last thing I need is for you to get sunstroke,” he shouts after me.

  “I will,” I yell back, not turning around. Connor the Caveman, you worry too much.

  6

  Manny

  When I reach the border of the rainforest, I take a final sip from the coconut. I carefully lay it down on a flat rock, and then I search for a palm that would suit my purpose. I select the best-looking tree, grab the greenest frond, and yank it with force.

  “Agh!”

  This thing is stronger than it looks. I plant my right foot on the trunk of the tree and pull the branch with all my body weight. After some struggling, I manage to sever it from the tree with my new knife and cut some of the thin dangling vines that I will need to use as a cord. The effort is enough to have me drenched in sweat. It’s mid-January, which in Chicago means freezing temperatures and snow up to my shins, but here it’s sweltering. I have no idea how many degrees it is today, but the humidity is awful. I’m tempted to drop the palm and go take a dip in the ocean. But I don’t think Mr. Ogre—Connor, I mean—would approve, so it’s probably better if I stick to the plan.

  I sit in the shade, drag the branch over my knees, cut it in half, and measure it around my head. Chopping away the unnecessary length, I tie the two ends together with the vine. I stare at my head circle, unsure what to do next. It takes me a while to remember the right way to weave the leaves, but in the end I manage to do a good job on the brim. Now the difficult part—the crown. I flip all the leaves inside the head-circle and experiment again with the weaving until I get it right.

  Admiring the final product, I feel proud of myself. It’s almost professional quality, so I decide to make another one for Connor. I restart the whole process, changing only the size of the base. When I’m done, I’m hungry and thirsty. I drink the last few drops of the warm coconut milk, which is not nearly quenching enough, and avidly eat the white pulp inside. I love coconuts, but I seriously hope we can find something different to eat.

  While I’m eating, a mini-macaque comes near me and studies me with curiosity.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Eek.” He jumps back scared, and goes to hide behind a rock. But after thirty seconds or so he’s out again, peeking with interest at my coconut. I cut a small slice and offer it to him. “Here, are you hungry?” I dangle the slice in front of me.

  He stares at it and then back at me, not sure if he should trust me or not. Hunger must get the best of him, because after a while he scampers towards me and takes the slice from my outstretched arm with his little monkey hands. The moment he has it in his grasp, he runs away and goes back to hide behind his rock to enjoy his loot in private. However, after a while I find him back at my feet, staring at me expectantly.

  “No,” I say firmly. “You had your piece, now go back to the others.”

  He doesn’t move; he just stares at me with big brown monkey eyes.

  “Go.” I try to shoo him away. “I’m not giving you any more food.”

  I try to make my statement convincing, but as I say it I don’t believe it. He doesn’t believe it either, and the staring war continues. After another minute or so, I crumble under the pressure of his pleading gaze and share the rest of my meal with him equally.

  When we’re done eating he jumps on my lap, climbs up my shirt, and wraps his little arms around my neck. Oh boy! I’m afraid I’ve just adopted a baby monkey. I hope he doesn’t have an angry mother looking for him somewhere. But he is so tiny and cute. I cuddle him a little and he nuzzles my neck in return. When I move to get up I try to put him down, but he jumps onto my shoulder and perches there.

  “Well, if you’re going to stay we’ll have to give you a name. How about Manny? Do you like it?” I ask, wedging the makeshift knife under my belt.

  “Hoo, hoo.”

  Lately I’m learning to speak Monkeyrian. “Hoo,” is good, “eek,” is bad, and “eek, eeeeek, eeeeek, ooook, ooook,” is run to the water.

  “Manny it is, then.” I give him a gentle pat on the head and try to ignore the fact that he may have fleas. “Let’s go. We have another job to do now—we have to search f
or useful things.”

  “Hoo.” He accepts the assignment with enthusiasm.

  As I walk toward the jungle, his tiny monkey feet grip onto my shirt and I feel mildly comforted by the little bundle of fur resting on my shoulder. I begin my search in the area near the plane’s seats. The first thing I notice is my bag hanging on my side of the seating arrangement, still tightly tied to the armrest. The blue leather looks battered and scratched, but the bag seems otherwise intact. A flicker of hope flutters in my belly. I quickly loosen the knots and take it down. I open the zip in a hurry and rummage inside to search for my phone.

  After a few minutes of blind exploration, my fingers finally clasp around the slim, plastic rectangle. I take the phone out and examine its condition. The screen is badly cracked, but still responsive to my touch, and all the other functions seem to work perfectly. I turn off airplane mode and wait with a beating heart while the little plane icon is replaced by the word “Searching…”

  I hold my breath, waiting for the word to change, but the network’s message inexorably remains the same. Of course there’s no network. I lift my arm over my head to see if there’s better reception up there. I turn in various directions, but nothing. “Searching…” is engraved on the screen. Manny gets tired of all this spinning and jumps onto the seats, mildly protesting with a curt “eek.”

  I put the phone back in my bag, close the zip, and wrap the strap across my chest. I’ll evaluate the rest of its content later with Connor. Next, I decide to circle the area below and around the seats to see if I can find something else useful. Manny follows me for a while, and then he suddenly darts forward into the vegetation, disappearing from sight. My heart gives a little pang as I watch him go. I was getting used to his presence by my side; it was comforting.

  “Hoo, hoo.”

  “Hey.” I smile when I see that he’s back at my feet. I make to pat him, but he quickly jumps ahead and scurries away in the same direction as before.

  I follow him with my gaze. He stops mid-step and looks back at me expectantly.

  “You want me to follow you?” I ask, puzzled.

  “Hoo.”

  I look back toward the beach and decide that as long as I can keep the tree line in sight it shouldn’t be too dangerous, so I tag after him. Screw Connor the Caveman. I’m a grown-up. I can make my own decisions. As we wend deeper and deeper into the jungle, Manny has to slow down a couple of times and wait for me. This is easy for him. He either runs under the vegetation or jumps from one liana to the next, but me? I have to fight my way through every yard of uncharted territory.

  After ten minutes of walking, I am not sure this was such a good idea. “You know, maybe we should go back,” I say, stopping.

  “Eek.” Manny moves forward decidedly.

  I turn around and try to orient myself. I know the direction we came from, and I left a good trail of forest devastation in my wake: bent branches, broken stems, and flattened leaves. It should be easy to find my way back.

  “Eek,” Manny utters again, impatient.

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” I force my way through some bushes and spot Manny standing on a rock with a proud expression on his little muzzle. If monkeys can smile, then he is smiling.

  I lift my gaze beyond him and see that he has led me to a wide clearing. In the middle, a rock wall towers over a small lake, creating a beautiful waterfall.

  “Manny, you’re a genius.”

  I run toward the lake and kneel down at the edge to splash my face with the fresh water. It feels cold and smooth on my heated skin. I pour some over my head, and relish the cooling sensation of it trickling down my body in small streams. Then I move toward the waterfall, cup my hands, and quaff as much of the liquid as I can manage before I have to stop to breathe. Once my thirst is quenched, I sit on the cool ground, lean my back against the rocks, and let out a liberating laugh.

  “Hoo, hoo.” Manny jumps on my bent knees.

  “Yeah, you did good, little friend. Thank you!”

  “Hoo, hoo,” he insists, jumping in another direction.

  “What?” I ask. “You have some other treasures to show me?”

  “Hoo.”

  “All right then.” I get up to follow him. Now I have complete trust in his abilities as my local guide.

  He leads me around the lake and stops near a small pond; there are several around the main lake.

  “What’s here, baby?” I can’t see anything interesting.

  “Hoo.” He dabs at the water with one tiny hand in a burrowing motion.

  “Something under here?”

  “Hoo.”

  I squat next to him and a red sparkle immediately attracts my attention. I lower my hand in the water, pick up the mysterious object, and stare at it, mesmerized.

  “Manny, you truly are a genius!”

  “Hoo.”

  “Let’s go back and show this to Connor. I bet he’ll be happy with us. What do you say?”

  “Hoo.”

  I take him in my arms and cuddle his white belly as I walk back toward our camp.

  7

  Hidden Treasures

  It takes me a while to walk back. I hadn’t realized we had gone so deep into the jungle. However, about an hour after my expedition began I’m back on the beach, proud of my discoveries and excited to share them with Connor.

  I pick up the leaf hats from the rock where I’d left them, wear mine, and go meet Mr. Ogre. He’s put this time to good use too, and has built a hut at the border of the rainforest. The walls are made of bamboo sticks tied together with vines, and the roof is a perfect-shaped cone made with many layers of palm fronds.

  “Wow,” I exclaim as I get closer. “That’s impressive.”

  Connor is standing next to the hut, inspecting the finished product of his morning exertions. His back is to me, and he doesn’t turn around to talk to me.

  “It was a hell of a job—I’m exhausted,” he complains as he checks the resistance of one of the walls.

  “I made you a hat.” I extend my left hand to give him his hat, keeping my right hand still hidden behind my back.

  Mr. Ogre turns around and eyes me reproachfully. “What are you doing with a monkey on your shoulder?” he asks calmly.

  I hand him the hat. He examines it for a second and then puts it on with a nod and a grunt. Thank you apparently isn’t an active part of his vocabulary.

  “This is Manny. He’s a baby and I think he thinks I’m his mother. He’s probably an orphan.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to keep away from the monkeys?” Connor asks, still very calm.

  “You did, but if I hadn’t followed Manny into the jungle—”

  “You went into the jungle?” he roars, stepping toward me. All the calm is gone.

  “Yes, but—”

  “You went in? After I specifically told you not to go there, and with a stolen baby nonetheless. You know that if he has an angry mother looking for him, you could have been attacked? And not just by her, but by the entire monkey pack,” he barks.

  “But I wasn’t,” I defend myself.

  “That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have gone, not without me, and especially not with it!” He points an accusing finger at Manny.

  “Eek,” Manny squeaks.

  “He doesn’t like you,” I translate. “And I can’t blame him. However, if I hadn’t followed him I wouldn’t have found this.” I uncover my surprise from behind my back.

  “Where did you find it?” Mr. Ogre asks, wide-eyed. He takes the shiny knife from my hand and admires its glistening blade in the sunlight. “This is Spanish steel,” he adds, stunned.

  I don’t know exactly what kind of weapon it is, because it’s too small to be a sword but too big to be a knife. The blade is as long as my forearm and as large as my wrist. It’s sharp on one side and serrated on the other, and apparently made of Spanish steel. The golden handle is the same length as the blade, and has a big red stone mounted where handle and blade meet. How cool, huh?
I was sure Connor would appreciate it and know how to put it to good use. Judging from his awed reaction, I was right.

  “So you know what it is?” I ask.

  “This is a Spanish switchblade—they were expert forgers, the Spaniards. Look,” he adds, pressing on the red gem and folding the knife neatly in two, making the blade almost disappear into the handle.

  “Wow, that’s awesome,” I exclaim, excited. “Manny showed me where it was hidden in the jungle.” I take the switchblade back.

  “Did he now?” Mr. Ogre seems a bit mollified toward my new friend.

  “Yep. Well, only after showing me a waterfall of fresh, drinkable water,” I add with a mischievous smile.

  Connor is stunned into silence for a couple of seconds. Then he bursts into uncontrollable laughter. He doesn’t seem able to stop himself.

  “Can I ask you what’s so funny?” I don’t get his humor.

  “Look at you,” he says between chortles. “The perfect city girl—you’re standing there with your Prada bag and your Gucci sneakers.”

  “What’s wrong with Gucci sneakers?” They were a present from Liam.

  “Nothing, it’s just such a stereotype. But then we haven’t been on this island half a day, and there you are. With a perfect palm leaf hat on your head, a pet monkey on your shoulder, and a pirate Bowie knife in your hand. I’m wondering where you left your eye patch! Ah, and you found us water. You’re full of surprises, Anna.”

  It’s my turn to just humph.

  When Connor’s finally done laughing, he says, “Bring me to this waterfall, will you? I could use a drink right now.”

  Retracing my steps to the lake is easy, as my two previous passages left a clear path in the greenery. When we get there, Connor howls with pleasure, runs toward the water, and plunges his whole head into one of the ponds. Seconds later, he reemerges, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending water droplets flying all around him.

  Manny seems incredibly excited by this procedure and jumps off my shoulder to go take a dip into the water too. I thought macaques didn’t like water. Maybe it’s only salt water? At least he’s a clean monkey. Manny makes a couple of happy splashes in the shallow water at the edge of the pond, and then comes out soaking wet. Once he’s on the bank he shakes his tiny body, imitating Connor. They make a fine pair, the two of them.