Call Me Methuselah

Chapter 2

Chapter 2I peered down from the cliff at the deep water, far enough away from that beach in sight where crocodiles basked. As if catching a cool breeze, they kept their jaws agape while dozing in the hot sun.

They called to mind my older brother, his screams. I was there. It came back to me like the day I saw it. By his leg, the crocodile pulled him in and, rolling, took him under.

I shook my head. My brother’s memory cleared, and I returned to my senses on the ledge. Crocodiles couldn’t bother me here. The tension in my back relaxed. I looked down at the craggy depths where I’d swum since a child. Crocs preferred to feed not there but in the muddy shallows where my brother died.

I changed my mind about skinny-dipping and tied the loincloth back on. Somehow, it made me feel better. So did the cranes flying by. I always dreamed of doing that, soaring like a bird, but now I needed to get in the water.

Fishing spear in hand, I lifted my arms overhead and stood on my toes, about to jump, when far away a splash caught my eye. A man was swimming toward the beach. On the horizon behind him, an island faded in the mist. Between him and there, something like driftwood floated, maybe bundles of papyrus, remnants of his raft. Such a long way from shore, surely, he swam for his life.

I’d never traveled to that distant isle and wondered if crocodiles lived there, too, because he swam in their direction, toward the beach nearby, as if he didn’t see them or had never encountered one. He should have known better. Anyone from here would.

“Crocodiles!” I waved at him and shouted from the cliff. “Crocs!”

He ignored my warning or hadn’t heard. Maybe, he didn’t see me so far away. Looking through the waves, he might have missed the crocs and only seen the trees above the beach, or perhaps the papyrus thicket blocked the view.

Whatever he saw, he was heading there, and that was where I ran, down the winding trail and through the forest to the palm-lined shore.

As I broke the sand underfoot, one of the crocodiles opened its eyes and blinked at me. I stopped. It was a monster, the length of two tall men. The stick in my hand and rock in my sling might have protected me from one but not from all seven. Their gaping snouts turned my way.

I tied the rock with the sling tightly around my wrist in case I had to bash the crocodile’s eye with it. That could be my only hope. Though rumor had it, sticking a finger up the reptile’s nose might also stop an attack. I would rather go for the eye.

The swimmer came closer. His powerful shoulders propelled strapping arms, and long legs kicked up water. He’d swum hard and far. I wondered how much longer he could go.

“Crocodiles!” I yelled.

Then it occurred to me. Someone from that other island might not know my words. I shouted louder and waved him off. He ignored me. The crocodiles didn’t. My racket kept their attention from the swimmer and, instead, on me.

He must have seen them then, because he treaded in place for a moment, until he turned around and swam in the opposite direction toward open water. He didn’t go far before his strokes slowed to a crawl and stopped. Then he started bobbing and splashing.

He’d swum so strong for so long, until now. Going nowhere, his head sunk more than surfaced. When he rose and gulped for air, I was certain he saw me in the distance, and I saw him, no panic on his face, handsome and brave. Too bad we never got to meet. So sad.

Then something, beyond comprehension, came over me. I was moved to save him. Before even thinking about it, I dropped my spear, skirted the seven crocs, and dived in the waves.

I swam without stopping almost halfway to the man. Not having lost my mind entirely, I paused and looked back. Six crocs were on the beach and one in the water. It was the monster. Right away, I dived deep and peered up. From my mouth, little bubbles rose, as the crocodile swished by near the surface.

It might not follow me below. They couldn’t eat with their heads underwater. It aimed for the drowning man, whose arms and legs waved and splashed above.

I remained in the depths and swam toward the man’s thrashing feet, with the crocodile in-between us. Ready to strike with the rock on my wrist, and still underwater, I followed the whipping tail overhead until the struggle to hold my breath became unbearable. It brought me up for air.

Six remained on the beach. The one in the water broke the surface near me. Its ridged back and tail blocked my view. I couldn’t see the man. Then, to my surprise, the monster slowed and turned around in my direction. As it faced me and grinned, I looked on either side of it. The man was gone or hidden behind the beast.

No blood nor gore in sight, I worried the crocodile had eaten him already, tossed him in the air and swallowed him whole. Relieved I didn’t have to fight that monster, I dived down again near the bottom, where the crocodile might not follow me. Its big tail wagged above my head and passed me by.

As I turned to swim away, I found the drowned man sinking. All in one piece, he must have submerged before the crocodile arrived. His eyes were blank, and his many skinny braids floated and twisted like snakes around his head.

No time to waste, I grabbed his hair and pulled him along with me. His husky body nearly weightless underwater, I held on with one hand. My legs and the free arm enough for swimming, I towed him toward a safer shore, near the ledge from where I’d first spotted him that morning.

When I could hold my breath no longer, I surfaced and looked for the croc. No sign of it, maybe it returned to the beach. They didn’t like it here by this cliff with its deep water and jagged rocks. I slipped through the outcrops, as I’d done since a boy.

Losing my loincloth along the way, I struggled to shore with the stranger in tow. By his armpits, I dragged him out of the waves to dry gravel and avoided his eyes. They were open, unblinking, and vacant.

With both my hands, I felt his neck for signs of life, warm but motionless. His mouth was full of water, which trickled out. He was dead.

Remembering him gives me pause. Lately, I’ve pondered my own mortality. Hence, this memoir, I’m not ready.

More the reason for starting in a happier time, the beginning, long ago on that lake with my first love.

We were so much alike then, young and invincible. Only for me, invincibility was no youthful fantasy.

I’ve never stopped missing him. Not to complain, that wouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t me who had to die, and even while grieving, there’s joy in life.

Enough said. On with the story.

The dead man’s eyes bewildered me. I couldn’t bear to look at them or make myself look away. Though we were strangers, we’d faced a monster crocodile together and escaped it. Few friends could say that. As tears blurred my vision, I covered his face with my hands and brushed his eyelids closed.

Then I remembered the words of my father. A boy had drowned. His brother pushed the water out of him, and the boy came back.

Worth a try with this man, I pressed hard on his tight stomach, just below the ribs, and water sprayed from his mouth. Worried I’d hurt him, I checked his face for signs of pain. He showed no expression but peace, a haunting beauty, and over his lips more water flowed.

When I pressed again, he twitched. His eyes opened wide, and when he rolled on his side, lake water spewed out his mouth. Then, to my considerable relief, he coughed and took a deep loud breath. We gazed at each other in the eye and lingered there.

No, he doesn’t die that day, and I get to meet him after all. He’ll be the love of my life. I know this now, a long time later…