Jungle Fever

Blake blinked his eyes in rapid succession. What in the world was Marvin talking about?

"In love with Jasmine? Are you joking with me? You must be kidding right? Do I look like I could be in love with a woman like her?"

Blake stared down at the tiny form of the woman who was struggling to stay on the buffalo.

Her long dark hair was hanging loose, dripping from the moisture dripping down from the leaves of the trees above. Her tiny heart-shaped face was pale and barely conscious.

It made his heart ache to see her in such distress.

"You are protesting too hard, man. That must mean you are really and truly hooked." Marvin chuffed.

"And what does that mean, 'a woman like her'. She's not ugly or repulsive or anything. She's alright looking."

"That's not what I mean." Blake sighed. "She's obviously very beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful, to be honest, with a voice that could drag a man down into the depths of the ocean and he would die happy."

Marvin rolled his eyes but wisely refrained from saying anything. All anybody had to do was provide the rope and Blakey-boy would simply hang himself with it.

"But man, I'm a ghoul." Blake turned away. "She's still alive and I'm this messed-up spectre that's not even real any more."

"That's where you're wrong, Boss. You're still real, just in a different form. It's like saying the butterfly is a messed-up spectre of a caterpillar and it's not real any more."

"I'm not a butterfly, Marvin. I'm a ghoul. Love can't exist between a human and a ghoul." Blake shook his head.

Marvin shrugged.

"If you say so. But if you fall in love with her, then I guess that means it CAN exist, isn't that right?"

"Not gonna happen, Marvin." Blake turned bleak eyes at Marvin. "I'm a dead man and she's a vibrant woman who is full of life. It's not possible."

Marvin pursed his lips. Who was he to say anything. It wasn't like he had an overabundance of experience with love.

He had never loved anybody before, and nobody had ever loved him.

=====

Jasmine had tried so hard to keep up with the men for most of the trip, but she visibly became weaker and weaker until it was all she could do keep her death grip on Donkey as Anh Hai supported her from behind.

At one point, without warning, she became violently ill, vomiting by the side of the trail so that the men had to stop for her to catch her breath and recover from the incident.

By the time the men paused to eat lunch, Anh Hai had to spread a nylon bedroll for Jasmine to lay down.

As she was resting, he took her temperature. It had climbed above 100 degrees.

He had to get her inside somewhere. The rains were constantly falling now and the dampness would cause Jasmine to get even sicker.

Anh Hai, more than anyone, knew the hidden dangers of the jungles of Vietnam.

Concealed within the entangled wilderness were poisonous trees and leaves of every kind imaginable. He had used some of these poisons to kill predators both human and animal.

With the heavy rains, all the accumulated poisons ran off the leaves and barks of the trees and were absorbed by those within their presence.

Those who lived there were used to the jungle atmosphere and did not feel its toxic effects. They had slowly built up a resistance to the poisons by constant exposure.

But for newcomers and those already weakened by other factors, the jungles could be deadly.

Jasmine had already gotten sick even before she had been taken into the jungle. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer remain conscious.

She needed to rest, but he could not afford to stay in the jungles for too long. Once the animals had rested and eaten a bit, they were back on the trail again.

Still unconscious, Jasmine's head lolled about as Anh Hai half-carried her on the buffalo. He covered her with a plastic raincoat which shielded her as much as possible from the rain, which came in random driving spurts that pounded them into exhaustion.

It was a blessing that by evening, the group finally reached a village on the outskirts of the forest.

A bit of negotiation took place between the men and the village leaders. A bit of money and supplies changed hands, and they had been given shelter for the night.

Anh Hai's men took their animals to one side and fed the beasts while he and the girl were taken to a nearby doorless shack. It was, they were told, the healer's hut.

Like all of the simple huts around the village, the roof was covered by dry straw-like tropical palm leaves tied together in bundles and the walls were made of bamboo poles tied together with jungle vines.

Inside, huddled beside an earthenware stove, was a woman of indeterminate age. She was dark-skinned, with long wavy black hair plaited in two long braids hanging down her back.

She wore a brown burlap skirt which covered her to the ankles. From the waist up, she was shirtless. Her long breasts hung down in two thin teats all the way to her waist.

As Anh Hai entered carrying Jasmine, the woman got up. She stared at Anh Hai for a few minutes and then her eyes dropped down on the unconscious girl in his arms.

She beckoned for him to bring her to the straw pad that was on the other side of the hut. Anh Hai carried Jasmine to the pad and placed her on the mat.

"She is sick. Leave her with me."

Anh Hai thanked the woman and left.

Once outside, he met up with his men who followed him into another hut nearby.

They took a seat around a straw mat in the corner and conferred in low tones while Anh Hai stood at the doorway, smoking a cigarette and thinking about the day's events.

Even with Jasmine being that sick, he and the men had pressed forward as hard as they could in order to make it to this tiny village before dark.

He was hoping Jasmine could rest an entire night inside a sheltered space so that by morning, with some luck, she would recover a bit to undertake their last leg of the journey.

The men only rested for an hour and then they took their weapons and went off to hunt for food. The deal was that they would be given shelter but there was no extra food to feed the seven men and the sick girl.

Anh Hai didn't care. Food was not the driving factor for this night's stay. It was to give Jasmine some shelter from the rain so she could sleep.

By nightfall, the men had returned with six wild ducks and one wild boar that they had managed to shoot down.

To the delight of the village, they gave the animals to the women who wasted no time cleaning and roasting them on a pit grill in the middle of the courtyard.

Dinner that night was filled with laughter and the joys of a successful hunt. Food was not a foregone conclusion in this tiny village.

Much of the time, it was sparse and stingy. But sometimes, like tonight, there was enough for everyone to feel full. There was even enough to salt and smoke and keep for later.

Back at the healer's hut, the woman who the villagers called Loma continued to stir her large pot for a few minutes. She turned to the girl and inspected her face and hands.

The girl was not completely that of the people. She had too much foreign blood in her and her features had been tainted by another's race. So much so that she no longer looked as a normal human being.

Loma was not sure if her cure, which worked well for her people, would be effective for this girl, who did not look quite human.

But she was a healer and she could not refuse to help a sick girl.

She quickly stripped the girl of her clothing and began to wipe the girl's face and body using rags soaked with medicinal water taken from a basin by the side of the stove.

The medicine smelled astringent and bitter, almost alcoholic in nature. It quickly absorbed into her skin, releasing its medicinal content into her bloodstream. The alcohol evaporated, cooling her fevered skin back down to a more moderate temperature.

Loma sighed with relief. The medicine had worked on the girl.

She continued to chant more prayers to the healing god to help the medicines in the water continue to work its magic in bringing down the girl's temperature.

After awhile, Lima returned to the pot and fished out a chunk of medicinal root which she mashed into a pulp using a stone mortar and pestle. She took a small handful of the pulp and stuffed it into the girl's mouth under her tongue.

Then she sat by the girl's mat and waited for her to regain consciousness, all the while, chanting more prayers.

It was going to be a long night.