My Wild Man

A Fresh Start

My eyelids were heavy and resisted my attempts to awaken. The familiar pain in my chest rocketed through me as I regained consciousness, but that itching and the heat of the rope burn had greatly eased since yesterday evening. The memories of my strange encounter resurfaced- the chase of Mr. McGregor, meeting the wild man- but surprisingly I remained calm. Peeked one eye open to make sure it was real, and was met with something quite unexpected... thick black fur? I blinked both eyes and indeed, a black furry mass sat in front of me. The fire had dwindled to mere coals now, only just outlining the silhouette of the small hominoid figure. I made out fingers, a nose, dark near-black eyes that looked down at me curiously. I'm still in the cave, but... perhaps I'd been in some sort of fever dream, because the Greek god of a wild man from last night had become an ape.

"...Hello," I mumbled, feeling the scratch in my throat and tasting the blood on my tongue. The little ape turned its head to the side curiously, and I smiled at the mannerism similar to that of the strange man from a few hours ago. Though the sun couldn't fully pierce through the thick foliage, the sounds of the jungle had changed. Instead of nighttime bugs and birds, I heard the rustling of wind and the screeches of unknown creatures. The ape reached for one of the bananas piled against the cave wall and peeled it while staring at me the entire time. Despite the pain of speaking, I whispered to him anyways. "I've never met one of you before. I've only read about you."

The dark eyes shuffled over my face while I talked, seemingly intrigued by my monologue. Then they shifted to the entrance of the cave. From out of the trees came the muscled, tanned figure of the man from the night before. He carried a bucket over his shoulder, water sloshing as he hopped his way on all fours towards us, eyes alight at the sound of my voice. He and the ape appeared to know each other, greeting each other with a flash of teeth and a touch of hands, almost like a traditional handshake. I studied their interactions, watching as the ape tried to engage in what appeared to be a play wrestle by grabbing at his arm and neck and emitting a soft breathy panting. Tarzan set the bucket down beside me and returned the odd laugh, but pushed the arms off of him. I felt like I had just been dropped into a storybook, watching two characters converse in a language I could almost understand. So he wasn't part of any local human tribe like I'd originally thought. Instead, somehow he'd been adopted by some great apes- perhaps a single family, perhaps into a whole tribe. It was mesmerizing.

Tarzan moved excitedly towards me and helped me sit up with one thick, calloused hand under my back and the other supporting my neck. "Fletcher," he said as if to greet me, smiling wide. He touched my chest. "Fletcher." Then his own. "Tarzan." Then the chest of the ape, who had resumed eating his banana and focused his attention on the two of us. "...Terk," he said after a moment of deep thought.

"Terk." I understood. Interesting. The gorilla in question finished his banana and tossed the peel outside the cave in one strong swing, revealing just how powerful a creature he was.

Tarzan pushed the bucket closer to me expectantly. Somehow I realized what he wanted- to know its name. I smiled at the innocence of his questioning gaze. Tapped the worn wooden vessel. "Bucket." Then cupped some of the liquid inside. "Water." I drank while he turned the words over several times, then repeated the words from last night. The taste of blood washed away and the scratch in my throat melted to nearly nothing. He asked for many more new words while he fed me some of the fruit he cut up for the both of us. Part of me couldn't wait to educate him so that I could ask him questions. How did he end up here in the jungle? How did he get to know the gorillas? Why did he live here in this cave instead of with the tribe? Where did he acquire these obviously professionally made tools, such as the buckets and the rope? But another part of me was distracted as I contemplated how to ask him to return me to the camp- and whether or not I should return in the first place. How could I risk being confronted by Mr. McGregor without my father? I know he'd said to trust Captain O'Flannery, but with something this personal, embarrassing, and controversial, I didn't want anyone but my father. I wasn't even sure if I could tell him, either. But the attention-deprived child within me assured me that my safety was only guaranteed in his presence. He hadn't said how long that hunting trip would be- at least two days, by my guess. If I could keep Tarzan entertained with new vocabulary until then, perhaps he would allow me to stay?