by John Muir
**********
BATH NIGHT
The day had been another high humidity scorcher. For foreigners in the rural tropics it meant sweat-drenched clinging clothes, perspiration dripping from the forehead and tip of the nose, and sodden damp hair. Tim O’Grady longed for the air-conditioning of the city hotels. In this remote rain forest village, very few of the local residents would have visited a western-style hotel and understood his wish. He was regretting trying to rough it on his own private home stay safari “budget” holiday.
Though now past midnight, there had been no reduction in temperature, no cooling breeze through open windows. He lay naked on top of the bed-sheets with electric fans on full merely providing a hot breeze over him.
The night was deathly still. Sound traveled huge distances. The wing-beats of local bats and night-birds could be easily heard but nothing of the nearby ocean with its supposedly great surfing waves. He had checked the ocean on sunset; flat as a billiard table.
Infrequently old trees would give a last gasp and crash like an explosion to the rain forest floor. The sounds of snoring for a hundred metres around would briefly diminish then start again. Smaller branches breaking off and falling barely diminished the snores.
A late night cold bath would give a temporary relief. The locals here used the term “bath” beyond its conventional sense, and it was outdoors.
Tim donned his rubber thongs which the locals called “slippers” took his towel and tried to quietly make his way outside. Floorboards creaked with every step and the front door squealed like he had just stood on a sleeping cat’s tail. But there was no diminution in the volume of the household snoring.
Thoughts of snakes crossed his mind. He delved into his memory banks to recall what it was they did at night. They were definitely around the village; some local children had shown him a poisonous one they had killed a few days before. He had seen a snake on another island drinking from an outside fish garden. But all that was during the heat of the day. If snakes ate rats, which came out at night, and there were lots of rats locally, then the snakes had to be out hunting rats at night.
Preceding each footfall toward the “bathroom”, Tim used his penlight torch to illuminate the area for a metre around each footfall just to be safe.
The back of this square “bathroom” was the unpainted corrugated iron of the outside of the house. The left and right walls were two pieces of rusty corrugated iron, each nailed to decaying posts sunk not too securely into the ground. These sides stood about one and a half metres, though rusted down to considerably lower in some places.
The front was a half sheet of loose iron leaning against the side walls. Through the gap access and egress was made. For privacy he could hang his towel across the entry. Rounded pebbles from the size of half a thumb to a match box provided a floor and drainage.
The roof was the thousands of stars that could only be seen through pollution free skies. A new quarter moon, slightly west of directly overhead, gave enough light to see the ground clearly in un-shaded areas, yet do little to diminish the display of the stars.
His torchlight searched all the nooks and crannies inside and outside the “bath” for snakes. He looked at the one hundred litre drum filled with water sourced from the crystal clear chilly mountain fed stream. A quick finger test of the seemingly ice-chilled water temperature felt like death’s fingers doing a quick sprint from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck. It was one of the great mysteries of nature. Why was the water so ice cold when it emanated from such high temperature forests? A two litre plastic scoop with handle floated at the drum’s top. He took the soap from where it sat cradled on two nails embedded into the timber post, and presumably there for that purpose. His body perspiration provided sufficient moisture to lather his skin.
He took up the water filled scoop and in anticipation took a deep breath. When the mountain chilled cold water hit his face and sweat glistening chest he still managed to suck in more air before he felt it all release. A few seconds later he wondered with embarrassment how far away his scream had been heard.
It did not take long to get an answer. Dogs began barking, voices were heard and lights from dozens of surrounding houses were suddenly switched on. Within his hosts’ house there was yelling, followed by banging before someone cheered loudly. Seconds later people were outside their doors and chatting away in the local dialect, presumably looking for the source of the agonized scream.
He crammed his sticky soap-suds body into a shaded part of the bathroom and waited for all the villagers to complete their search and chatter, return indoors and settle down to sleep.
After an interminably long time the snoring returned to its previous crescendo. With steely resolution, clenched teeth and strength of mind, he managed to remain silent for the next bucket of soap removing chilling mountain water. By the sixth or seventh bucket his body had acclimatized and he was enjoying the coldness.
After toweling down he returned to his room, past the banshee door and squeaking floorboards. Within minutes he was sweating again but finally managed to sleep.
The magic aroma of frying bacon woke him. His barely opened eyes recognized the sun must be up. With sarong covered waist down and singlet covered top, he emerged from his room to see his hosts actions confirmed the smell, and with eggs and miniature sausages was organizing his breakfast.
“Good morning,” said Tim.
“Good morning,” replied mine host. “Sorry about the disturbance last night. It woke all the neighbours. I’m sorry if it woke you. We don’t know what it was.”
Tim felt his face redden.
“I didn’t hear anything. I slept like a baby.”
Mine host turned back to his gas-burner stove and while cooking bacon and eggs chatted to his wife in their local dialect. Tim could not understand their words, but if he could he would have heard mine host say.
“As soon as I saw his bed was empty and his towel and slippers gone, I knew it was him. I wonder what he screamed at. Thank goodness he’d gone outside. God knows how he would have reacted had he seen the size of that snake on his bed that I killed while he was out.”
