"You gotta be kidding!” he muttered. Yet quite obviously his mind was returning to normal—the writer's instinct for an instant best seller! Carol Hill had been right; but for the wrong reasons—or, at least, not enough of the real reasons! Would it ever be possible to tell the story of this jungle nymph—this goddess of nature?
He wondered, wished, hoped, and for a few pleasant moments dreamed it might be possible. They would return to civilization and somehow he'd discover her story and they would fall madly in love and be together for the rest of their lives, living off the income from the book he could write about his Jungle Goddess. Maybe even sell it to Hollywood as a major adventure film!
An instant best seller, he told himself.
A damn good reason to survive.
Somehow!
He never knew how long he sat there dreaming, imagining a life with this lovely young creature. Would they live in a civilized world or on some island? Would she easily adapt to life in the city? Or would he have to submit to a primitive existence in a world more natural to her “living standards"? Such problems teased his writer's instinct and his natural male attraction to this lovely, innocent young creature of the jungle. These matters, surely, he reasoned, would smooth themselves out like the second draft of a novel.
Finally Tallie stirred and then sat up, smiling down at him.
"Tallie, Bob!” she laughed, tapping first herself and then his chest. “Tallie—Bob!"
It was that old Tarzan-movie “Me Tarzan, you Jane” dialog, which had in reality never been scripted into the movie.
Bob laughed, patted her cheek. The fantasy of the future ebbed away, and was replaced by the moment—this moment with her.
She frowned, then patted his cheek, smiling.
Then she touched her stomach, looked out at the cave entrance, and picked up her knife that was on the floor a little ways from them.
The implication was complete.
"Food!” Bob said. “Food!"
She frowned and then repeated the word. “Food!"
Standing and without a word or glance back at him, Tallie moved to the cave entrance, picked up her bow and the quiver, into which she put a handful of arrows that were on the floor beside it, then moved out of the cave.
Bob stood, startled, walked to the entrance, and looked down.
"Tallie!” he called.
She turned, smiled. “Food!"
Then she rushed down the pathway, and finally to the ground below. Bob watched as she disappeared into the jungle.
Sitting down, Bob wondered if she really connected the word “food” with hunger or with eating, or what. It was quite obvious that she made some kind of connection; that showed keen intelligence. Even then—was it possible that she had memory of a previous life before being in the jungle? That implied that she might have been a lost child—it all fed into his writer's imagination. What a story that would make! A bit of investigation might reveal her true identity.
If they could continue to survive in this jungle, together, maybe life wouldn't be all that bad. A primitive existence, of course; but better than death.
God, Bob realize, I've changed!
In his mind's eye he was now the creature his books had suggested him to be; the true adventure writer.
Am I mad? he wondered. Maybe. Madly in love with a jungle goddess ... impossible. But that's exactly how he felt!
Survival was all that counted. And if they did...
He'd be with her. With his Tallie! She'd be his and his alone. Anywhere in the world; civilization or the jungle! He didn't care any more. It was madness, but such delicious madness.
He would teach her English; attempt to show her how to verbally communicate. She was quite obviously teachable. And, perhaps, she was some lost child and had memories to draw upon—deeply hidden in her subconscious mind.
He mused on that thought, wondering. Then other thoughts captured his attention.
What had happened to the rest of the group? Were the still alive?
The fantasy shattered.
Bob realized that somehow he had to find Rita, Carol and John Barton, if they lived. Depression settled down over him at the thought of the three other whites. Weaponless, going through the jungle, it seemed fantastic that they could survive.
They didn't have Tallie!
Yet, it was fantastic that he had survived at all. Who knew what might follow. Surely in all this madness some kind of order, intelligence, was directing things. One could almost believe in a Directing God! Perhaps such a Divine Creator did exist—and was on their side. Maybe God had a purpose for Bob Lake, after all! The thought was somewhat disquieting even while being something for which to desperately reach.
For but a moment Bob found himself whispering in the back of his mind a silent prayer for survival.
By the time Tallie returned to the cave with a couple of small tropical birds, Bob had made up his mind about two things: one was to teach Tallie as quickly as possible to speak, even if only a few key words and phrases; the other was to somehow attempt to find the others. There was a good chance that Tallie had the ability to track and might be able to pick up their trail.
But first things first.
He had to find some way to communicate his wishes to Tallie. Some way to let her know what he wanted.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rita awoke.
John Barton was sleeping. Carol was sitting up, watching the fire. The two of them had been taking turns sleeping and keeping watch. The moon was high. The cool breeze of the African night was chilly around Carol. They had dragged Rita close to the fire so that when she finally stirred and opened her eyes, Carol was able to watch the woman's features.
Carol's hands went instinctively to the spear that Barton had made for her. She was ready for an attack or a friendly greeting.
Rita sat up, startled, her face puzzled. Her features moved from questioning to a slow sagging expression.
"Carol,” she said in a small voice. “I'm..."
"It's all right, Rita,” Carol assured the woman, guessing at the meaning.
Rita sat there for a moment and then moved closer to the fire. “I don't—don't know what happened. I've always been a twit. Life hasn't been easy for me, no matter what you all think. Rich spoil lady. There's more to it, believe me!"
Her eyes met Carol's, evenly; there was a sharp spark of shame in them. “I admire you. Truly. A self-made woman who has succeeded in every way!"
Carol felt sorry for the other woman, regardless of what had happened a few hours before. What had pushed Rita over the edge was something neither of them might really know.
Her hand relaxed on the spear shaft.
Rita saw the move and suddenly burst out laughing. There was just an edge to it, a sharp cutting fine line that might have been humor or something else less easy to define.
Carol decided to laugh, too. Best to humor the woman.
"I'm just a crazy bitch in heat, I suppose!” the woman admitted. “Well, something like that. And a bit off balance, too! At least that's what all the head shrinks always told me! I'm humiliated ... forgive me?"
All Carol could do was nod.
The two women laughed for a few moments.
John Barton had jerked up, wide-awake and cried: “What the hell's going on here?"
They turned, looked at him, suddenly quite serious.
"I'll never understand women—one moment they are at one another's throats and then acting like old school chums!” Barton cried, standing. “Better put some more wood on that fire—we don't want it to get down too low."
The women did as told and when the fire had burst hotter, Barton said: “You two sack out. I'll watch for a while."
As they lay down, Barton picked up the spear and stood over the fire, like a guardian giant.
His eyes moved from one woman to the other. They were so different. Rita, a rather voluptuous demanding, selfish, yet lushly passionate woman—but somewhat unnerved when faced with real hardsh
ips—or death. And Carol, on the other hand, was delicate, sensitive—intelligent; and amazingly strong, brave when the situation called for those qualities.
This was the kind of woman a man could easily fall for—John realized he was strongly attracted to her; but refused to give that any serious consideration. This was hardly the time to entertain romantic or sexual fantasies. Their survival depended on too much—and they had far too little to rely on. He needed to focus on nothing else but survival.
It had been a mistake leaving the plane crash site; rescue might have come. But the chances were too slim; without radio contact, how could the authorities possibly know where they had crashed. There was no doubt that when no word came from him, as was his habit when setting up camp, his office would notify the authorities that he was missing—possibly crashed. That might have taken days before they were found. It had seemed reasonable in the beginning to start out, attempt to find some kind of civilized outpost. But it wasn't! He shouldn't have listened to his companions’ arguments. Now he wished he'd stayed. Bob would be alive; they would have some kind of protection in the night; arms, shelter.
* * * *
Rita Bentley lay there captured in the last moments before consciousness returned.
It was an old dream of....
A strange form leaned over her, a hand reached out, touching her naked breasts. A murmur of pleasure shivered along her spine, into her groin as a soft voice said: “You're too lovely."
That voice shocked her to the core as another hand searched under the blanket. She recognized it.
"Too lovely for other men!” It was drunk, and slurred. “Just like your mother!"
Rita was slowly aware her surroundings, as consciousness ebbed back. The flood of anguished memory choked at her guts.
She wanted to escape all that; forget. Never dream again.
Oh, God ... help me! The anguished plea came from deep inside her, reaching out to envelop every thought. She couldn't take it any more. If only she'd had some of the pills to dull the overwhelming mood shifts.
The old depression deepened, this time mixed with hopelessness. They'd be killed by some savage beast or by a band of natives. Or just starve. Maybe quick death was better.
She felt lost; tangled in a black, ebbing black monster of her mind. It was impossible to escape that horror.
She let her eyes glance at where John sat before the fire, the newly made spear in his strong hands.
The well of confusion folded down around Rita, once more, driving her deeper into the old horrid pit. She felt feverish, light headed and strangely distant from her normal self. Her thinking was fogged.
Dark Rita was getting so strong!
Suddenly she knew there was the only one final answer. She had tried it before; failed. But this time, maybe it would work! There was nobody to stop her; and maybe the moment had come!
"John,” Rita's voice called out to him in a low whisper.
The man watched her stand, outlined by the flickering light of the fire.
Her lips parted, as if to say something, but instead a low animal scream of anguished desperation came from them.
Carol was already on her feet, behind Barton and Rita's eyes found her.
The woman charged at them like a wild jungle tigress.
Barton quickly moved, the spear came up between him and Rita, threateningly. He didn't actually plan to use it. Things happened so fast then that it was impossible to stop them.
Rita moved directly toward its deadly, fire-hardened tip.
John Barton attempted to lift the point, move it away from the woman's path. He was a split second too late.
The sharpened shaft slid easily into Rita's soft belly. Blood spurted from the wound and she slumped, falling to the ground, a low agonized groan sounding from her mouth.
Carol covered her face. “Oh, my God!"
John recovered from his shock first. He quickly knelt over the dying woman.
Rita looked up at him, her face drawn white, her features almost relaxed, as if the pain was not even bothering her.
"Why?” John choked out.
Rita's full lips trembled, her eyes seemed to plead for understanding, then fluttered and closed.
* * *
Bob managed to get a fire going from some twigs and matches he had. Tallie was frightened by the match at first and then fascinated. She insisted on taking one and striking it against the ground. When nothing happened, she frowned and looked at him.
Bob showed her how to strike and hold the match. When it lit into a flame as she struck it against the match pack, she laughed happily and danced around.
Bob pointed to the match and then fire, said: “Fire. Fire, Tallie. Fire."
She repeated the word then laughed again. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness like two little flames.
Later, after having cooked one of the birds, he showed Tallie the meat and managed to get across to her that she was to try it. She grabbed the cooked bird and jerked off a large piece of meat with her teeth. After a moment she laughed and took another bite.
Bob had managed to teach her a couple of words while they were fixing the meal, and was amazed how well she caught on.
After they had eaten, he set about attempting to get across the idea that he wanted to join his friends. After endless motioning, drawing on the cave floor, Tallie smiled, her way of saying yes.
Then, in hand motions, she “spoke” to him. Her hands made a sun, as she said fire, acted out the sun falling over the horizon and then coming up. She smiled, then curled up on the ground next to him, almost immediately falling asleep.
For a long time Bob sat there, thinking, wondering if he was doing the best thing. Then a thought occurred to him. If she could return to the site of the camp, he'd be able to get his holster, which had been lying by his blanket that night he'd been captured by the natives.
His thoughts blurred for a while, and he was sure he had fallen asleep. A little later he watched Tallie sleeping next to him, curled up as close as she could get.
Tender, gentle thoughts played around his brain. He had never known a woman like this; he had never dreamed it possible to know such innocence. So different from other women. As he thought about Tallie, the mental picture of Carol Hill jarred the image away. Startled, he realized suddenly how much his attitude had changed about life, about women, about his future. Before, he had looked upon Carol as an attractive female he might make love to. As to Rita, well, she was like so many others, a body to enjoy; usually when he was half plastered, not feeling much more than erotic desires.
Bob realized he hadn't had a drink for many hours. Strangely enough, he didn't want one. At least at the moment. Maybe never again!
All he wanted was this woman with him right now.
He caressed Tallie's forehead, gently, so as not to awaken her.
But her eyes opened, looked up into his, her lips smiled and then she fell back to sleep.
Sometime after that, Bob fell asleep and then, when he awakened it was light out, the sun just tipping over the edge of the world, the birds singing in the jungle forest surrounding the cliff-side.
It was a beautiful sound, a beautiful world to which he awoke.
He lay there for some time, just listening, then must have fallen back to sleep for when he awakened again the sun was higher in the sky and Tallie was gone.
Bob stood, startled. Where could she have gone? What could have happened to her? Then he realized that she'd spent all her life in the jungle and surely knew her way around.
It was some time before she returned and the sun was high in the heavens.
She carried berries and nuts that gathered in the jungle. She placed them down beside him and then smiled, offered him one of the nuts after having cracked it open with her knife.
Bob was just reaching for it when a sound that wasn't of the jungle caught his attention.
Tallie heard it too, because she jerked up, looked out the cave opening, into the sky.
Nei
ther of them moved for some time.
Bob didn't want to believe he was really hearing that sound. Civilization so close—yet so damned far away!
A plane. But it sounded strange, different.
Bob stood, moved to the cave entrance.
Tallie pointed off to the north, her face bright and happy.
A helicopter.
Bob's heart jumped. That could mean only one thing. Barton had been right! Rescue would come, in time. The plane would be found and then what?
If only he had his revolver. That would attract attention.
The helicopter was flying half a mile east of them, going south, too faraway to possibly even hear a gun shot. They were flying low, slowly as if carefully searching the jungle underneath them.
Then, suddenly the helicopter started circling. At first Bob believed it was turning about, giving up a search that had taken them so close to the wreckage, then he realized it had found the crashed plane. The copter lowered and then disappeared behind trees.
Bob pointed to where the copter had landed and then nodded to Tallie.
"Tallie,” he pointed to himself and then to where he wanted her to take him. “Bob, there!” He pointed again and again until she smiled, grabbed hold of his hand and started to pull him down the pathway.
He hesitated for a moment, looking at the cave where he had found something so beautiful, so fulfilling that he never wanted it to end.
He felt a sense of regret; then suddenly remembered that he could take Tallie with him back to civilization. There she could be taught English, and after that, tell her story. And the two of them would become famous as a result of the book he planned on writing.
What a story! Bob thought, excitedly. Then he realized that this wasn't his reason for wanting to take Tallie with him. His reasons went deeper, much deeper. He didn't want to lose this jungle girl, he didn't want her to go out of his life.
It didn't even occur to him that Tallie might have anything to say about that. They started down the path along the side of the cliff and then finally onto level ground and into the jungle.
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