Jungle Drums

By Samuel Smith

Sunlight fades across a cloudy skyline above the Nhamundá River. Lush clusters of trees hover above the bank of its murky waters, which flow for hundreds of miles across northern Brazil. Along the winding shoreline, an orchestra of sounds welcomes the night: cicadas sing, birds caw, and squirrel monkeys grunt in collusion. At a sharp corner of the shoreline, a field of floating red flowers surrounds an overturned lifeboat large enough to carry 20 passengers to safety. The boat has been there for years, almost entirely covered in foliage and bullet holes. A baby capybara examines the boat. She nears an entrance where a defunct motor hangs above her. A hush falls over the jungle. 

Through the bullet holes, thin beams of dying light reveal very little inside. From the darkest corner, a green-eyed creature launches toward the capybara with its massive teeth. The lifeboat gently rocks over the commotion. Squirrel monkeys scream. Birds flee from the treetops. The lifeboat rocks again, its final tremor. The creature leaves the lifeboat, its considerable outline obscured under the disrupted thicket of floating red flowers. 

Fairuza, lean and gray-haired, offers a clay bowl to Luis, who has a swimmer’s build. He takes a handful of rice, reading a hand-drawn map. Fairuza eyes their barely moonlit surroundings. Butterflies glide toward a shoreline thick with red flowers. The silhouette of a lifeboat isn’t far off. On the ground near Fairuza, ants march over a child’s discarded shirt. She is careful not to step on it.

“Half a day’s walk until the next checkpoint,” Luis says between bites. “More people up ahead.” He gives Fairuza a warm smile. “Good people. Are you ready?”

She returns a smile, hoping to match his. Fairuza puts an open hand to her mouth and lowers it, as if blowing a kiss: Thank you. 

Luis nods appreciatively and pockets the map. Fairuza returns the bowl to her satchel. They leave the clearing.

A light rain falls. Cicadas chirp and tree frogs croak. It is almost peaceful, until a burst of gunfire disrupts the nightlife sounds. Luis freezes, machete in hand. Fairuza is frozen beside him. A thick wall of vines separates them from the violence. Someone in the dark wails in pain. Footsteps reach the wounded stranger. A shot ends his wailing. There is a round of laughter. The footsteps leave Fairuza and Luis, who remain immobile in fearful hiding.

A light drizzle. The high-pitched call of unseen gibbons resonates above the weary travelers. Beams of early sun struggle to reach the wet jungle floor. A young viper slithers down a solitary vine into a patch of tall grass. Fairuza and Luis are damp and visibly exhausted but determined.

Luis hacks away at the waist-high grass obstructing their path. Frustrated jungle babblers take flight around them. Luis turns to grab Fairuza’s attention.

“The caipora sure are testing us,” Luis says with measured enunciation, so she can read his lips. “Caipora. Jungle spirits.”

Fairuza nods agreeably. She takes a sip from her water bottle. With a sharp grunt, Luis staggers back in sudden pain. He drops the machete at Fairuza’s feet. She hurries to retrieve the blade and pulls him back. A furious viper coils where Luis once stood. Fairuza tightens her grip on the machete. The viper vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“Fucking merda,” he says, his face distorted in considerable pain. “Five years out here, never been bitten.”

Fairuza searches her satchel for anything to help him. She points at his wound, then the path behind them. Her hands shaking, she signs: I will find help. If he understands her or is in too much pain to decipher her intent, she cannot discern.

Luis summons enough composure to pull the map from his pocket and hands it to her.

“There’s little we can do,” he says, his lips quivering. “Merda, this burns like hell. Here, pull me up.”

Fairuza lifts him to his feet. He limps toward a tree. 

“One snakebite won’t end me,” he says, trying to steady himself so Fairuza can make out his words. “But just in case, you hold the map.”

She has no patience for the tears welling in her eyes, wiping them as best she can. She picks up her satchel and grabs the machete. With her free hand, she gestures in anger at Luis: Stubborn ass. 

Despite his pain, Luis chuckles and attempts to stand on his wounded leg. He winces. Fairuza wraps his arm around her and they exchange a measured glance. They resume the path ahead, under her lead. She hacks away at the tall grass.

Full sun stretches across an eerie silence. Fairuza and Luis stop at a channel of the river blocking their path. He sits, pale but present. Fairuza eyes footprints leading into the channel. She points at the prints with her blade. Luis offers a weak nod.

“Don’t worry so much,” he says. “We’re close to the checkpoint. Good people. Get you across the Gap, to the States.”

Mosquitoes dart by. Fairuza pockets the map to free her hands: Are you hungry? 

Luis shakes his head and retches at the thought of food. Fairuza makes him drink from her bottle. The surface of the water ripples in Fairuza’s periphery. She looks and sees nothing. 

She lightly taps Luis’ clammy cheek, pointing toward the path across the channel. He gives a weak shrug and rolls up his pants leg to examine his wound. He sighs with relief. 

“By the caipora, I just might live.” Fairuza taps his shoulder and hoists him up.

They approach the channel. She takes the first step into the cold muck, the machete in her right hand. The water is dark and still. Her boots sink into the sludge of it, but she is sure-footed. She tightens her grip on Luis and leads him into the water. He winces. In tandem, they step into the channel, waist deep. The machete in Fairuza’s hand cuts the surface of the water. 

“Just a couple meters,” Luis mutters.

They push on slowly, step by step. Water ripples around them. Motionless and almost entirely submerged, a black caiman watches with unblinking green eyes. He drifts toward the travelers. Far off, a monkey howls. Halfway across the channel, as if sensing him, Fairuza’s eyes fall on the caiman to her right. Luis’ eyes follow. He opens his mouth but cannot speak. His trembling hand reaches for the machete.

But Fairuza points the blade at the caiman. She moves toward the bank with Luis, keeping her eyes on the beast. Spiked portions of his tail gently break the water, propelling him closer. All the jungle sounds deaden, including Luis’ frantic breath. The only sound is the rapid drum of Fairuza’s beating heart.

She and Luis take resolute steps toward the bank. The caiman’s interest grows as he nears. His jaws stay closed. He drifts nearer in a sadistic dance. Fairuza reaches the bank and pulls Luis with her. The caiman lunges forward in an effort to take Luis’ leg. Fairuza stabs the beast above his eyes. He snaps his jaws shut, inches from reaching Luis. The wounded caiman retreats underwater, unseen. Luis falls forward on the shore, unconscious. 

Fairuza bolts up from her cot. The only sound is her quickened heartbeat as she makes sense of her surroundings. She has reached one of the bungalows Luis had marked on their map: the Cachoeira Porteira checkpoint. A gentle scent and thrum of rainfall reaches the humble shelter. Through the mesh of the mosquito net surrounding her, she sees Luis in a neighboring cot. His wound is bandaged. He is pale but awake, with an open book on his chest.

Fairuza’s heartbeat steadies. She smiles and waves. Luis waves back, spirited despite his weakened condition. He holds an open hand to his lips and lowers it toward her, a clumsy but well-meaning: Thank you.

Fairuza has yet to teach him her next sign. She holds up her right fist, extends her index finger, and waves downward: You’re welcome.