Page 82 of Beautifully Wild

Samuel

Thedaysthejourneytook Tïmenneng and Samuel through the jungle were familiarly dangerous. He knows the signs, the sounds of possible threats, and can identify a poisonous plant with a single glance. He understands where to find water and which fruits to eat. The forest garden offers an abundance of food if you know where to find it, and it means he can keep the food in his sack for the days on the tepui. Still, he can’t risk sleeping in certain parts of the jungle with only a hammock and small pocketknife for protection. He won’t use it unless absolutely necessary so as not to reveal the knife to his warrior companion. Considering Tïmenneng has poisonous-tipped arrows in the animal-hide sack he carries on his back, he hopes no danger will come close enough for him to wield a steel blade. He packed it even though Tïmenneng knows nothing of knives or the metal objects from Samuel’s world. Carrying the weapon isn’t an insult to Tïmenneng, more a reason to live with the promise he’d return toher.

Yesterday the jungle led them up a steep slope toward the tepui wall, a constant battle through thorny vines and over mangled muddy tree roots. It rained most of the previous day, and Samuel hopes it holds off while on the rock face of the tepui. Rain and storms aren’t ideal when free-climbing a dangerous mountain, most of it unknown to man. Tïmenneng leads the way, and although Samuel has faith in his navigation, it was the shaman who conveyed Samuel’s visions of the location of the purple flower to Tïmenneng.

They wake at dawn and clamber down the tree where they rested. They continue their trek and are soon face-to-face with the rocky wall of the tepui. Samuel and Tïmenneng gaze up to the clouds, a sandstone barrier overhanging toward them. To Samuel, the tepui appears unclimbable without the special ropes professional mountaineers used for safety.

Tïmenneng places one hand on the rock, his gaze lifted as though studying every crevice and crack in a game of chess. He places an ear on the rock, closes his eyes, and listens.

The House of Gods.

Samuel’s common sense tells him it’s a myth, only now he’s wiser, a believer, and it’s possible the spirits are guiding his warrior friend. If so, he hopes the gods steer them right.

Tïmenneng wanders for another thirty minutes keeping a hand on the rock as they wrangle past the trees growing close to the rocky wall, competing for space and seeking sunlight. Tïmenneng stills, assesses the rock, and with one hand, he then reaches up and hoists a foot, the other hand, and then the other foot into the tiny crevice. His limbs spread out like an insect, and as light as a six-legged creature, he scrambles up the wall.

He doesn’t ask for Samuel to follow, and he doesn’t direct Samuel to stay put. Samuel’s not surprised since their culture expects you to understand matters when they happen in the moment—learn and adapt to being a warrior. Yet, the vertical path on the sharp, flat rock seems ludicrous.

Samuel searches the rock for a crevice strong enough to take his weight. He’s slim but not built like a stick insect and uses his core to lift and then spread his weight, so it’s distributed evenly between his limbs. His movement is slow and calculated. Periodically, he glances up to ensure his path is the same as Tïmenneng’s, as one wrong move could be perilous. There’s an overwhelming feeling of blending into the rock, like slow-moving creatures barely visible from the ground. Each time Samuel stops to catch his breath, he peeks over his shoulder to the sun on the horizon to check for clouds as a storm can roll in quickly with barely time to find cover. On the ledge would be a death wish.

“Konopo?” he shouts.Rain.Tïmenneng has a better view and is more agile to turn and assess their situation than the fleeting glance Samuel takes over his shoulder, so he doesn’t overbalance and fall.

“Weju,” Tïmenneng replies.Sun.

He sucks in a deep breath of relief that the sky is clear. Yet he can’t relax when the sun will sink below the trees in a matter of hours, and they need to make the first rocky ledge to set up their camp before nightfall.

Above him, Tïmenneng calls out. “Ero po.”Here.

He offers Samuel a sweaty hand, and he scrambles onto the narrow cliff. It’s a ledge wide enough for them to stand and rest for the night. He lumbers to his feet, turns, and inflates his lungs with clean, crisp air as he admires the view with the last minutes the day has to offer before the golden orb sinks below the green horizon.

In a race against time, they pitch their hammocks to the sapling trees growing out of the rocks. They eat the food in their packs and drink from the bottles Samuel has supplied. His muscles ache, and the scratches on his fingertips sting. Samuel can barely keep his eyes open, so he clambers into his hammock, eager to fall asleep to the sound of the jungle hundreds of feet below them. Eyes closed, his thoughts wander across the treetops searching for her essence. The notion of her remaining alone in the village, waiting for him to return, gives him a sense of purpose and self-appreciation with a woman sacrificing as much to be with him. He drifts off to sleep, imagining the soft sighs of her sleeping beside him.

The following morning both men wake at first light.

Tïmenneng rolls up his hammock, and Samuel senses his eagerness to move on. Securing his own pack to his back, he prepares his mind for the mental strength to keep going despite every muscle in his body screaming in pain and his toes blue from the climb.

Tïmenneng points a finger to walk sideways across the rock. Green moss coats the rocky surface above them, making it slippery and unclimbable.

Samuel’s nails are chipped, his fingertips battered and covered in cuts. His calves burn from side-stepping, all his weight bearing through his toes. His fingers splay, searching for a cleft in the rock to dig his fingers in before moving his leg. Rocks break and fall beneath him, the clash unnerving as neither men wear helmets. Tïmenneng calls out to him, and out the corner of his eye, Samuel sees an object approach. It’s a vine Tïmenneng has swung toward Samuel. He grabs it without levering his weight from his extremities and gives a tug to assess its safety. He winds it around his wrist before he takes another step to his left and then sees Tïmenneng standing on another rocky ledge waving to him. He clings to the vine, his feet gripping like a monkey, and uses momentum to swing toward the protuberance to join his friend. Tïmenneng grabs and secures the vine as Samuel lands and stumbles on the edge. He crouches on all fours and takes a moment to gather his thoughts and regain his mental strength to push on.

He pants out of breath. Wait, is that—

“Tuna.”Water.

The sound comes from a small opening. Is this what Tïmenneng was listening for?

Both crouch onto all fours to enter the cave, eventually sliding on their stomachs over smooth boulders into the unknown. It takes a moment for Samuel’s eyes to adjust and for his hearing to guide them toward the underground stream. The cave widens enough for them to stand, and then he finds himself in a damp cavern, a stream to their right and a cathedral-shaped dome ceiling above. Tiny potholes of light shine in from all angles casting enough light to make out the ground beneath their feet. Tïmenneng holds up a hand, points, and says a single word in a hushed breath. They follow the stream, walking opposite the current in an upward spiral path. Samuel can’t help feeling an overwhelming notion of being an intruder to a sacred place where many myths originate about the spirit world.

Soon they come across a boulder wall, and Tïmenneng directs Samuel on what boulders to slide his body over so as not to disturb the supporting boulders as the structural balance relies on a fine thread of cohesive sand.

It seems as though they are going in circles, for every hour or so they stumble across another opening blocked by boulders, and they slide through a tiny space to get to the other side. Only the punctures of light in the rock above grow brighter. Previously, Samuel had only ventured to a smaller wall on the other side of the giant tepui, to an area more assessable to climbers. He’s barely capable of this climb. Over the past couple of years, the area close to Angel Falls has become popular with professional rock climbers, and helicopters and planes zoom over the top with curious tourists every day. The journey to find the medicinal flower has brought them to a treacherous section of the tepui, away from adventure seekers.

Climbing the rock from the inside through unstable sandstone columns in the caves is a better choice than the unclimbable rocky walls of the tepui. Only he has no clue of time inside the cave, and it’s messing with his sanity. Tïmenneng remains composed. Time holds less significance to the Ularans, as night and day are all that really determines their behavior, and his duty is to guide Samuel in finding the flower. He will do so until his body tells him to rest. As light streams in, Samuel can see more of his surroundings, including the giant-sized cockroaches scrambling near his feet, and he doesn’t even have the energy to flick them away.

Finally, they scramble through an opening. “Whoa,” Samuel yells and stops at the edge. They are surrounded by walls of a large sinkhole, the opening above them around one-hundred feet high. Circling below from where they stand is a miniature forest, home to unique and varied species. Above, a waterfall cascades over the tepui summit to a lake pooling hundreds of feet below.

In minutes, the light dims with the sun already low on the horizon. Tïmenneng points to their bags, and Samuel couldn’t be more delighted to sling his hammock on the edge of paradise.

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