She was still excited when they got lost. She took a picture of the skinny trail they had accidentally wandered down.
“I know this isn’t the right way,” Paul said, exasperated. “And could you stop taking pictures for just one second so we can figure out where we are going?”
Eew. Someone was grouchy. “Well, let’s head back down this trail. I’m sure it will lead us back to the main path.”
They began to retrace their steps but ended up at the same three-way fork that had sent them on the wrong path to begin with.
“Which way?” Paul asked, as if Cate were a seasoned bushman.
“I don’t know. I’m not really sure which path we were on.” She felt something moving up the back of her calf. The sensation was barely noticeable, like a single strand of hair brushing over her leg. She reached down and flicked off a mosquito.
She was about to suggest a path when two long-haired, bearded men appeared. One had outrageously curly hair that sprouted dread-locks around his forehead and the nape of his neck. The other one had flowing, long brown hair that hung to his waist. They both had dirt down their fingernails and had been hiking in sandals.
“We’re lost,” Paul said. “Do you know how we get to the main path?”
“Yeah man, it’s about ten minutes away,” the blond said. Cate noticed grass stains on his pants and T-shirt. He pointed to his left. “Just keep heading down that trail, and you’ll hit it, no problem.”
“You guys are looking for the bamboo forest, right?” the other asked.
“Yes,” Cate said.
“You’re about a half an hour away.”
She took a picture of them with their long beards and dirty feet.
“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” she asked, handing them the camera.
“Of course. You guys smoke? We were just about to light up,” the blond offered.
She knew they weren’t referring to cigarettes and was tempted to smoke whatever kind of herbal substance they were offering, but Paul answered for her.
“No. We don’t smoke.”
“That’s cool.”
She thanked them for the directions, the pictures, and the offer of weed before they continued on.
“A half an hour?” Paul asked, trailing behind her. “We’ve already been hiking for twenty minutes.”
“The rangers told us the hike would take forty-five minutes at least,” Cate said.
“Well, I guess I’m going to have to buy new tennis shoes. These are wrecked.”
The path was muddy, and occasionally Cate stepped in a puddle that sent a slosh of dark water up her calves. Their Nikes were saturated with dirt and mud. However, she didn’t care. She enjoyed the lush greenery and the sounds of streams and waterfalls ahead. She snapped pictures of their mud-soaked shoes and dirt-splashed calves.
She imagined them stranded on a tropical island, living off coconuts and pineapples and bathing naked together in the freshwater streams. They would have a love child and one of those weenie gophers as a pet. No more credit card bills. No more cell phones. No more piece-of-crap car. Just the two them. Tan, thin, and peaceful.
“Jesus!” Paul yelled.
She heard a loud slap and spun around. “What! What is it?”
“I’m being eaten alive.” He held out his arm. “Look.”
She noticed two small bumps on his forearm. “I know. I’ve been attacked, too. I have at least a dozen on my legs and shoulders. We’ll buy some anti-itch cream when we get back to the hotel.” The mosquitoes were annoying her, too, but she found no point in complaining when there was nothing that they could do about it. Besides, they were hiking in a tropical forest. She expected hazards such as these. It was all part of the rugged experience. She continued on, eager to find the bamboo forest.
They crossed a rustic old bridge, and she started to see long bamboo sticks replacing the green trees and foliage. “We’re getting closer,” she said.
“Good!”
Long sticks of bamboo began to envelop them as they headed forth. Gradually, the bamboo became so tall that they couldn’t see the sky above them. They entered a forest of canelike sticks that stretched to the clouds. It was mystical, surreal, and otherworldly. She pulled her camera from her backpack and took pictures of the steep, hilly bamboo forest. She was already imagining ways to mat the pictures and hang them on her wall.
“Fuuuck!” Paul yelled as he slapped his cheek. “One just bit my fucking face.”
She tried not to laugh when she looked at him. The corpse of a dead mosquito was stuck to his cheek. She snapped a picture of him. She couldn’t help it.
“Here.” She lifted the corner of her shirt and wiped the dead bug from his face.
“No more pictures, okay?” he snapped. “Do you think you can save the rest of that damn roll for the waterfall?”
“Geez. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was bothering you so much.”
After they emerged from the bamboo forest, they passed another young couple headed in the opposite direction.
“How much farther?” Paul asked them.
“Ten minutes, maybe,” they said as they hiked off.
They headed down a steep trail covered with ominous slick rocks and deceiving patches of mud that looked like solid earth but actually had the consistency of quicksand. Cate had accidentally stepped in one of the thick spots of mud, and when she pulled her foot from the bog her shoe was covered in what resembled a ladle full of dark brown gravy. Slippery, disgusting slime oozed from the inside of her shoes and the crevices of her toes as she stepped forward. Lotion. It’s just lotion, she told herself.
“Be careful for some of the pud—” Cate was about to warn Paul of the shoe-swallowing pools of mud when she heard a sound similar to a gigantic turd easing itself into a toilet. The plop was followed by a piercing howl. She spun around to face Paul. His left leg was submerged thigh deep in a hole as thick and dark as dog diarrhea. His arms flailed over his head as he tried to maintain balance.
“Diiisguuuusting!!” he screamed, sending tropical birds skittering from the surrounding trees. “Get me out!” His face had gone white.
She pulled on his arm. It was worse than moving furniture. “Steady yourself with the other leg,” she instructed. “And pull yourself out with your other hand. See if you can push yourself up while I pull. Press on the ground with your hand.”
In a flustered state of haste, he sent his hand to the earth. Instead of landing his palm onto solid terra, he missed and shoved it into the same shitty hole in which his leg resided. He screamed again as his hand and torso plunged into the cesspool of slime. He pulled his upper body out, and Cate didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or barf when she looked at the black goo that covered his arm and chest. He shook his arm as if acid rain had spilled over it.
“Ohhh Goooodd! Get it ooooff!” He screamed and shook his hand as if poison had soaked his forearm.
She still had the mush on her own foot and couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be submerged in the same crud. “Paul, relax. There is a stream ahead, and we’ll wash you off. Now try to pull your leg out again.”
She suddenly felt responsible for Paul’s horrible situation. She was the one who had led Paul here. This had all been her idea. She had to do everything in her power to help him.
She was about to help him pull his leg from the muck again when footsteps approached. Someone was whistling. Then the lovely chords of a harmonica chimed in. A festive little jig approached them. It was the kind of music that made Cate want to jump up and clap her heels together. However, the music seemed extremely ill-fitting, considering Paul’s situation.
“Whooooa! Man. Your foot is deep in that shit,” said one of the hippies that had given them directions.
“That is fuckin’ crazy,” the blond added, in awe of Paul’s dilemma. They beheld the scene as if they had just discovered a glorious landmark along the trail. “How’d you get stuck in that shit anyway?”
“We were
just walking, and he slipped.”
They chuckled. “That is some heavy shit, Dillon,” the blond said to his friend, slipping his harmonica into his back pocket.
“I have an idea,” Dillon said. “Why don’t we break off a branch from one of these trees like this!” He ran to a tree. “And he can grab on. We’ll all pull at once.”
“It’s probably illegal to break the branches from the trees,” Paul said. “What if a park ranger comes along and cites all of us? Those fines can be up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Cate looked at him, his leg submerged in a hole of mire, his face as cross and irritated as an old man at a keg party. She had a hunch that they wouldn’t be fined, but it also wasn’t necessary to rip a branch from a tree. Paul had both arms and a leg free. With a little effort he’d be perfectly capable of hoisting himself from his small swamp.
However, Dillon and his friend had already begun pulling, yanking and ripping a massive limb from a nearby tree. They were having so much fun that Cate hated to spoil it for them. The sound of wood splitting filled the air as a branch the size of a flagpole dropped to the ground.
“All right, why don’t you grab on to this end here,” Dillon said to Cate. “And Marshall here will grab on behind you, and we’ll all pull at once.”
They offered the other end to Paul. “Now try to push yourself out while we pull,” Marshall said, a dreadlock hanging over his forehead. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
They pulled with all their might. Grunts cracked from their throats as they tried to free Paul. Cate caught a whiff of patchouli blended with body odor. Paul released a yelp when his fingers tightened around the branch, as if he were holding on to a life raft. He slid from the hole like a wet fish. His leg dripped black and brown crud.
“I lost my shoe,” was the first thing he said. “My shoe is still in there.”
“No prob!” Dillon said. “No prob at all! We’ll just fish for it with this tree branch.” Immediately he submerged the branch in the mud like a toothpick in brownie batter. Marshall grabbed a nearby stick from the ground and also began to prod in the bog for Paul’s Nike.
The mud was already beginning to dry on Paul’s leg, crusting all over his curly leg hairs like brown spray paint. “I got it! I think I got it man!” A moment later, Paul’s grime-soaked tennis shoe dangled from Marshall’s stick, dripping muck all over the trail.
Cate couldn’t recognize the Nike. Had they found someone else’s shoe in there? Covered in muck, it was filled with brown chili, and his shoelaces hung like two long slugs from the sneaker. Now his shoes were ruined, too, and it was all her fault.
“I can’t put that thing back on,” Paul said.
“Sure ya caaaan!” Dillon grabbed it, turned it upside down, and began to drain the waste from it. Then he banged it on a rock, spraying droplets of mud in all directions. Cate felt one land on her face and wiped it away.
“Here. Now it’s good as new.” He handed the shoe to Paul.
It was eons away from new.
Paul released a deep sigh, clearly hesitant to ever wear the sneaker again.
“There is a stream right around the corner,” Cate said. “I can hear it. I’ll wash your shoe off there. It’ll be as good as new. Just put it back on for now so you don’t cut your foot.” They’d had enough mishaps for one day.
“Yeah, man. That’s a good shoe,” Marshall said. “Hey, I’ll wear it if you don’t want. And you can wear my shoe.”
Paul and Cate looked at his sandals. Cate had seen similar ones for sale in Tijuana. They had thick leather straps and soles that were fashioned from tire rubber.
Marshall yanked the sandal off. “Here. Just wear it, man. ’Til you get to the stream, and then we’ll trade.”
“It looks really comfortable.” Cate tried to be positive. “You should wear it.”
“Fine.” Paul grabbed Marshall’s sandal.
They headed toward the waterfall. A squeaking rubbery noise popped from Marshall’s foot every time he took a step. The slippery mud inside the tennis shoe was still wet.
When they reached the stream, Paul immediately removed both shoes and waded into the water. They all washed their feet, and Marshall washed the Nike for Paul.
“You know if you don’t want this shoe, I’ll take it,” Marshall said. “This is a really good shoe.”
Paul looked at him as if he were from another planet. “What will I wear?”
“You can have my sandals, man.”
Cate wanted to answer for Paul, to tell Marshall that he was more than welcome to Paul’s Nikes. Marshall and Dillon had both been such a help that the least Paul could do was give him his shoes. She looked at Paul. “Now that your other shoes are soaked, sandals will feel good to hike in,” she said. “Your feet will air out, and they won’t feel as squishy.”
Paul shrugged. “Let me think about it.”
She could hear the waterfall from where they stood.
“All you gotta do is cross this stream and you’ll hit that waterfall right around the corner,” Dillon said. They had decided to stay and bathe in the stream and wouldn’t be joining Paul and Cate at the waterfall.
After a few minutes of deliberation, Paul decided to make the swap. Cate thanked them for all their help before she and Paul treaded through the water. Paul’s mood seemed to have gone from bad to worse. Instead of complaining, he had turned uncomfortably quiet, occasionally grunting when they went through a rough spot of water.
Cate’s fantasies of cracking open pineapples and foraging for coconuts to store in their tree house had suddenly plunged into the frightening realm of reality. She had ruined their one and only day together. Worse, it was starting to become apparent that they might not have anything in common. She had looked at the hike as an adventure, each obstacle something they could share and tell stories about later. Paul had viewed this hike as hell, torturous hell. She hoped his opinion would change when they reached the waterfall. Perhaps he would think all the torment had been worth it once he saw it.
The sound of rushing water became so intense that she had to raise her voice to speak to him. It was thundering, and Cate held her breath as they stepped from the stream and rounded the corner.
The waterfall was so powerful that Cate thought it was like one giant muscle forcefully rushing down the mountainside. She’d never seen anything as strong.
The waterfall stood so grand and beautiful that it almost hurt to look at it. Its enormity and power were a combination of beauty and terror. Spray from the waterfall misted over her entire body. She let the cleansing drops cover her skin, afraid that if she took a few steps forward, she’d be blasted away.
She took dozens of pictures. When Paul wasn’t sitting on a rock picking mud from his toes, she made him stand in front of the waterfall for some photos. He wore the same listless expression in each one.
They were halfway back to where they had started from when it began to pour. Luckily, Cate had wrapped her camera in plastic shopping bags. She laughed as water soaked their hair and clothes. Paul found nothing humorous or exhilarating about being caught in a tropical rainstorm and mostly bitched about his favorite hat being ruined.
When they returned to the car, he threw the sandals in a trashcan. Cate drove, and Paul propped his bare feet on the dashboard. Chunks of mud were crusted beneath his toenails.
They took a different route back to the hotel, driving over rocky dirt roads the whole time. The car bounced over each crack and bump. Cate wanted to pull over and take pictures of the beautiful horizon. To the left, jagged cliffs collided with the kind of white, foamy waves that were too dangerous for swimming. And on the right of the Focus, endless hillsides of wheat-colored grass and weeds extended to a horizon where the sun was about to drop into its cradle for the evening. They were covering an exceptionally rocky stretch of the road when a loud bang sounded. “Shit! What was that?” Paul yelled, sitting up.
Cate looked in the rearview mirror to see something rese
mbling a hubcap bouncing away, stirring up gravel in a cloud of dust behind them.
“I think we lost a hubcap,” she said, slowing down. “Should I pull over?”
“No,” Paul groaned. “I bought insurance. We’ll just deal with it later.”
She sensed that he wasn’t going to pull over for pictures either. At this point she just wanted to return to the hotel as well. The tension in the car was thick. Neither one of them had said much, and she felt as if they needed their space.
“Paul, I’m sorry about everything that happened today,” Cate said. “I thought it would be fun.”
“It’s okay.” He squeezed her knee. “It wasn’t that bad.”
She felt a little better but still considered the day to be a complete failure.
They were filthy and exhausted by the time they returned to the Sheraton. They quickly examined the tires. Sure enough, the front driver’s-side tire was minus a hubcap.
“Fuck it. Insurance will cover it or I’m suing,” Paul said before heading to the lobby.
It seemed as if they had traveled around the world and back. They walked through the plush hotel, tracking dirt across the tiled foyer.
When they returned to the room, they showered separately, then fell into deep, sound slumber.
15 • Signs of Life
A torrential downpour hit the island. Paul had to work all day, and Cate was bored out of her mind.
That morning she took a cab to the nearest minimart, where she purchased a tube of anti-itch cream. She and Paul had both been eaten alive by mosquitoes in Hana. They each had awakened several times in the night to scratch various parts of their bodies. She had one on her tush and couldn’t figure out how a mosquito had managed to break through the barrier of her shorts and clingy granny-style underwear to suck the life out of her.
Apparently Paul was allergic to mosquitoes. Some of his bites had swollen to the size of golf balls, and he’d broken out in hives on his face.
Always the Bridesmaid Page 14
