Chapter 10- Jungle Fever
Peter watched Gabriel build a large pyramid structure from sticks and green plant matter while he rested on his stomach with his leg bent to elevate his injured ankle. While he watched him work, Peter thought about his life in New York. He wondered how his friends reacted to the news that he was on the plane that crashed in kalamazoo backwoods Mexico. He had many acquaintances as someone of his status would dictate, but he only considered a precious few his true friends and he thought it to be a sad state of affairs all in all. He had always been a very warm, friendly, and outgoing kind of person who was somehow able to see the best in everyone, but all too often this approach led to his being taken advantage of. He had to learn very quickly what power and privilege meant; he didn't understand that not everyone that pretended to be his friend actually was and it took many a heartbreak and betrayal for him to get the message. He didn't want to be so guarded, but only those who didn't care about his family name could really be his friend because when it came to others, he didn't give a damn about socioeconomic status; all that seemed important was the characteristics of the individual. Of course his parents were mortified by some his friends when they were of the lower castes, but that just made him all the more determined to associate with them because the snobbery and pretentiousness of the people of his class baffled him. Why buy the latest fashions from Abercrombie & Fitch if you actually hated to wear it? Why take polo lessons if you hated playing it? Moreover, why wear a fake smile the whole time as though it were the best thing since sliced bread?
Some of the most 'real' people Peter had ever met were the least influential and dispossessed. He smiled as he thought about the random conversations he would strike up with people in Central Park on Saturday afternoons. He talked with so many people and each had a unique and powerful story to tell. Some were immigrants who had only been in the country a week, some came to New York hoping to make it big on Broadway, some had just got out of jail for drug or prostitution charges and had nowhere to go, some were runaways from other parts of the nation, and a few were just down on their luck, but they all had something in common; every person he met had hope for the future and each tried to reach up in an effort to improve their lives. They never stopped struggling to become something more than they had been and it always warmed Peter's heart to see such tenacity in the face of adversity.
He often found himself buying a hot meal for those that needed it just so he could listen to them because it seemed like a fair trade, but this was how he knew he wanted to be part of the solution. He wanted to see the people he talked to succeed in part because he felt guilty that he had never wanted for anything. After a long day in the park, especially in the winter, a deep sadness would fall over him as he made his way back to his warm and comfortable bed in his huge house in midtown Manhattan knowing that the person he had just spent the day with would only have a bare, snow covered bench to sleep on until the cops came to harass them. There was so much suffering and inequity in the world that on some days he just couldn't stand it. He had to help in some way, he just couldn't stand by and watch people hurt and cry for help.
As he watched Gabriel work, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that in some way the taller man was like the people he met in the park. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he could sense something was amiss and he knew suffering when he saw it. Peter couldn't fix the world and he probably couldn't get the mysterious man to divulge his secrets, but for the time being he could just be his friend. At least in this time and place, maybe that was what was needed the most.
Gabriel's mind worked out the exact mechanics of proper airflow and engineering required to build a successful signal fire without his having any prior knowledge of such a venture, yet he knew for certain that his calculations were correct and it would work when the time came. He had never been comfortable with his…ability for lack of a better term until recently when he found it could come in quite handy. He was frightened by this almost extrasensory trait and he often wondered if it was a sign of mental illness or even demon possession, but he kept it to himself and never told another soul aside from Peter. Be it a blessing or a curse, he had come to trust it more and more because it never seemed to lead him astray and it offered him a sense of peace to know that no matter what happened, he could figure something out. When he was finished, he looked at his creation with pride and hoped that it would catch the attention of the next helicopter that ventured in their direction.
After his first task was accomplished, he focused his attention on the water problem. He again mentally kicked himself in the ass for not collecting the rainwater, but he couldn't waste time with what could have been. If worse came to worse they could drink their own urine because it was sterile, but he was going to save that suggestion for a time when things were truly dire. He was well aware that his comments on eating the available human flesh was not well received by Peter even though it made perfect sense. He understood Peter's objections, but he would rather be alive and remorseful than sentimental and dead. But that was all water under the bridge which reminded him that he needed to find water.
His first thought was to find low lying ground and hope that the water table was high enough that he could simply dig a hole and strike gold. He wandered around until he found a deep groove in the ground cut by the wreckage. He dug with his bare hands until sweat dripped off his nose, but all he had was a pile of moist dirt. He glared up at the sky and decided that the chances of finding water in soil scorched by the sun was an improbability, so he abandoned the project and formulated a new plan.
What he should have been doing all along, he thought to himself, was to collect what water remained in pools or upturned leaves. If he boiled it, it should kill whatever bacteria it may harbor and be good for he and Peter to drink. He stopped by the base of the hut to pick up empty water bottles. He noted Peter's gaze and shyly smiled because he felt as though the younger man somehow knew his first plan had failed. But instead of disappointment and criticism, if anything Peter looked amused because he knew he probably couldn't do any better himself. Gabriel took his armful of bottles and headed off to the woods with Peter's voice calling after him, "be careful out there!"
He kept looking back as he walked to make sure he was going in a relatively straight line. The last thing he needed was to get lost in the jungle. He moved slowly and scanned the ground for every puddle he could find and after a few attempts he became adept at pouring the water from leaves into his bottle without spilling a drop. Each find yielded no more than a teaspoon full, but every little bit helped and was like liquid gold. Without it, he and Peter would certainly die. He nearly shouted for joy when he stumbled upon a pool that contained at least two liters. He eagerly filled his bottles and when the water became murky with sediment as he reached the bottom, he removed his shirt and filled it with the soupy mud to strain the last drops from the Earth into a funnel he fashioned by rolling up a leaf. He couldn't believe his luck. If they were careful, they could make this supply last a day or two. Maybe, just maybe that would be long enough to be rescued and they wouldn't have to worry about searching for more.
As he stood to return to the hut laden with four and a half bottles of water, he felt a sharp pain around his left ankle. He instinctively swatted at it and looked at the littered forest floor for the culprit, but saw nothing. He dismissed it and continued on his way, trying to remember the exact path he had taken. He tried to push it to the back of his mind as being scratched by a twig or even a figment of his imagination, but he couldn't shake that same foreboding feeling he had just before the plane crashed. Gabriel was a rational man and he didn't believe in ESP or anything like that, but he could appreciate the scientific method of verification by replication and he was hoping against all hope that lightning didn't strike twice.
All in all he did a fair job of navigating and he came out at the crash site a few hundred yards away from the hut. He was thankful he didn't go too far because with that kind of error rate, he could have been miles of course if he had to go further. He searched the crash site until he found a shard of metal that had been bent into a bowl shape more or less. He turned the twisted metal in his hands and wondered if it would be safe to boil water in. He didn't know what kinds of chemicals might leach out, but he was certain that it was most likely safer than drinking the water he had collected without sterilizing it. Peter would probably know the names of all the bad things that could come of it, but cholera and dysentery came to mind.
"Have any luck?" Peter called as he approached the hut. "It was getting dark and I was starting to worry."
Gabriel peered up at him and smiled when he realized he was reading one of the inflight retail catalogs that pedaled wares such as cherry wood necktie racks and inflatable swimming pools- easy solutions to modern day living at hideous prices all at 30,000 feet. "Yeah," he answered pulling his bounty from various pockets in his jeans, "Not a whole lot, but it will get us through for awhile." As he set to work building a fire, he asked, "How's the ankle?"
Peter sighed and looked back at his elevated appendage as though it were a badly behaved child. "It doesn't hurt as much now. I think it is probably just sprained."
The fire leapt to life in a spontaneous whoosh, causing Gabriel to flinch away in order to save his eyebrows. He patiently watched the fire as he boiled the water in the makeshift scrap metal pot until he felt enough time had passed to effectively kill whatever harmful substances lived in it. He wanted the water to be safe, but he didn't want to overdo it and lose a precious quantity to evaporation, so he skillfully used two sticks to remove it from the fire and set it aside to cool.
He jumped slightly when Peter called his name. "Gabriel. What are you going to do when you get back to New York?" His voice was far away and dreamy almost as though it were a rhetorical question.
Gabriel looked over the dancing fire into the darkness as far as he could see, which wasn't as distant as he would have liked. If only he had his glasses… New York seemed like a fairy tale to him- a distant place of connection and convenience far removed from the isolation and stillness of the jungle. "Go on with life, I guess." He mumbled. Knowing the citizens of his city, they would probably have a passing interest in the return of two boys who survived a plane crash, but it would be fleeting. Their attention would easily be captured by the next shiny thing.
"I know, but do you think the media will want interviews and stuff?" His voice fell and he added, "I wouldn't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything." Gabriel answered quietly. "How do you explain something like this anyway?" He threw up his hands in desperation. "We got extraordinarily lucky, Peter, that's all. There is nothing more to say."
Peter nodded his head in agreement. The reality was his parents probably wouldn't care enough to ask for details and his friends might, but they would understand if he didn't want to talk about it right away. Gabriel didn't really have any curious friends or family to worry about. He might as well have been the invisible man to those around him; all except for his mother. He briefly thought about her sitting in their tiny dark apartment crying alone at the kitchen table surrounded by her collection of snow globes and it broke his heart. For all of her shortcomings and failures, there was never any doubt that she loved him and in that moment he missed her as though he were a small child lost in a department store.
He was overcome by a sense of sadness, but this was one of those times that he would have to push all of the pain deep down and focus on the task at hand even though he wanted to cry. He busied himself by carefully refilling the water bottles. He was aware that some contaminated water may have remained in the containers, but he hoped it wouldn't be enough to make them sick. He tossed the bottles up to Peter and climbed the ladder. He suddenly felt weary as though he hadn't rested for days. It was a complete kind of exhaustion- it was similar to the way he felt when he would swim at the public pool all day and feel like a wet noodle when he got out. Even Peter noticed and his olive eyes grew dark as he pushed his bangs away. "You ok, man?" He asked worriedly.
"Yeah," Gabriel sighed resting on his back, "I'm just tired."
Peter thought it unlikely because as far as he knew, Gabriel slept well the night before and they had napped that afternoon, so he shouldn't have been sleepy. He thought about asking him again, but if he said he was alright then he wasn't going to nag him although he was uneasy about it. He decided to return to the magazine he wasn't the least bit interested in until Gabriel drifted off and then he could keep an eye on him.
Peter awoke with the pale moon directly overhead to the sound of Gabriel vomiting over the side of the hut. It wasn't really so much vomiting, Peter thought with a frown, as dry retching which was even worse. When he was finished, he fell back to the floor with a thud, breathing heavily with a dazed look in his eyes. Peter noticed the shine of sweat that covered his body and his stomach sank. Gabriel had caught some kind of sickness and he wasn't really sure what to do. He scrambled to get a bottle of water. "Drink some." He softly commanded. Gabriel shook his head no and tried to push the bottle away but Peter persisted. "You might not feel like it, but you have to. Just go slow and take small sips." He helped the sick man sit up enough to drink the water without choking and he was mildly surprised that Gabriel allowed him to violate his personal space with minimal fuss. Perhaps he really was sick.
When Gabriel had taken in as much as he could without risking a repeat performance, he nodded his thanks to Peter and sighed, "I think I got bit by something."
"Where?" Peter asked anxiously as he put the cap back on the bottle. Gabriel halfheartedly lifted his left leg and let it fall back to the floor. He didn't mean to be dramatic, he just didn't have the strength.
Peter scrambled to pull up the pant leg and squinted in the moonlight to see an angry, red, swollen patch just above the ankle bone, but he didn't see any obvious bite marks or open wounds. "Whatever got you had tiny fangs." He observed reaching for the first aid kit. He knew it was a little late, but he felt as though he had to do something. He carefully cleaned and bandaged the area while Gabriel drifted in and out of consciousness. When he was finished, he carefully placed the back of his hand on the moist forehead of Gabriel and noted it felt warmer than it should given the circumstances. The only thing he had at his disposal was aspirin, but he wasn't sure if it would further upset his stomach. He couldn't risk dehydration but at the same time he knew he had to control the fever, so he convinced Gabriel to take just one.
As the moon followed its unwavering path across the sky, Peter sat vigilant while Gabriel fell into a fitful sleep. He used a strip of cloth to mop the sweat from Gabriel's brow and he watched with a sense of determination. The only other person in his world needed help and he wouldn't fail him this time.