Red Bike Publishing Books

Friday, March 23, 2012

He Would Love It...

“John, stop, it’s... not... appropriate,” Marta said, smoothing her skirt and brushing her hair back, as she shot her tormenter a playful glance.
John took the hint. “So, you think my worm experience is funny?”
Marta caught her breath. Her stomach was sore from its workout during her peals of laughter. “Let’s just say you made the party,” she said between breaths.
“Would somebody please tell me what I’m missing?” Sandy asked.
“Just a story about how John ate almost all the roasted grubs, all the while thinking they were...What did you call them? Oh yeah, Macadamia nuts,” Marta replied.
“Sounds like John is the ‘exotic nut,’” said Sandy.
“Let’s not pick on John. He has learned so much about life here in Irian Jaya. Besides, we don’t want to scare him off, I.....we want him to keep coming back.” Marta relented.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” John pretended not to notice her mistake. “It’s been good to learn about this place. How could I not? There is a challenge behind every tree and over every mountain.”
“Not all who come survive as long as you have. In fact, I’ve seen men from different organizations come here to deal with consciences, serve humanity, God, or whatever motivated them and last a scant few weeks. This place can make a mad man out of the sanest,” said Marta.
“Enough fussing over me. I’m no toy soldier. I won’t break. What did you expect to see in me a...’reed shaken by the wind’,” John said, quoting the Bible. “Now, why don’t you two step back, and let us men get about our business.”
“Maybe we should sit in the shade sipping tea while these big strong men swelter in the sun,” Marta said.
“Yes, let’s. We wouldn’t want to break a nail,” Sandy added.
Once they neared the village they stopped pulling at the giant palm. Two older men brought water gourds, and Marta brought John purified water. It felt good going down, even though it tasted bad.
“Whew, that was tough,” John commented, wiping his brow with a bandanna. “I haven’t worked this hard in a while. Being a pilot has kept me soft compared to these guys who haven’t sweated a drop.”
“Wait until the real work starts,” Marta said. “You still have to strip the tree.”
“That’ll build an appetite,” said John.
“That’s what the larvae are for, feeds the old appetite,” Marta said rubbing her belly. “Other than fodder for beetle larvae, the soft, spongy inside will be ground to a pulp. We eat that too.” She stood resting her hands on her slender hips. Her legs below the hem of the denim skirt were scratched from the branches, vines, and undergrowth thriving in the drenched forest.
John thought she fit the stereotype of the outdoor, rugged, Jane-of¬-the-Tarzan-stories type of heroine.
“John, I hate for you to miss these festivities. But we have a lot of stops to make before nightfall,” Sandy interrupted.
“I’m glad you both came, and grateful for the difference you made with Digul,” said Marta
“Just keep an eye on him. Why don’t you pack a bag and stay over this weekend? John can bring you by tomorrow when he picks up Digul,” said Sandy.
“Good idea, why don’t you come tomorrow?” John added.
Marta thought for a minute. Did his eyes sparkle? “All right, I’ll be waiting.”
Tucker came up to say goodbye.
John mouthed, “Bring him if you can.”
“He would love it,” Marta whispered back.


Jeffrey W. Bennett, ISP is an author of non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Bug Tree

“Let’s help them,” Tucker said, grabbing John’s hand and pulling him toward the commotion in the forest.
The village surroundings had been busy with the sound of leaves crunching, vines cracking, and rhythmic chants for the past 30 minutes. Tucker led laughing gleefully as they went to investigate. Finally they found twenty men pulling on thick vines as they advanced the progress of a huge sago palm toward the village.
“It is big, John. It will bring us lots of food. The kind you eat a lot of last time,” said Tucker.
“I don’t remember eating food from a tree. What do you mean?” John asked as he stepped in behind one of the men.
Both John and Tucker were now struggling with the cumbersome tree. They made slow progress as the tree scraped across the jungle floor inch by inch. Awkward at first, John soon fell in with the rhythm of the cadence and found the load easier to bear.
“We will bring the tree close to the village and pull it apart. It will die and soon the big bug will come and lay egg,” said Tucker.
“What kind of bug?” John already dreaded the answer.
“The bug that is big and we use wings for our decorations,” said Tucker.
“It sounds like a scarab beetle. What do you do with the eggs?” asked John.
“They grow the worm,” replied Tucker.
“Not the grubs! You mean I’m hauling a grub tree!” said John.
“You like them, yes?”
“I like them, no,” John replied.
“The man who ate all the worms says he doesn’t like them,” Tucker translated tauntingly for the benefit of the others.
“Why are they laughing?” asked John.
The men continued to cackle as they remembered that famous night.
Startled, birds fluttered away, and small monkeys shrieked in protest from treetop perches as the laughter permeated the jungle.
“Have your laugh, but remember the saying of Americans. ‘You are what you eat,’ bug man.”
“Hey, what’s so funny?” Marta asked as she and Sandy caught up to the cacophony.
“Just a little lesson about how this tree is host to beetle larvae,” John replied.
“Oh, the beetles. Those beetles.” Marta tried but she couldn’t suppress the grin that fought its way over the other muscles around her small but full-lipped mouth.
“Oh, you think this is funny too?” John said, poking her gently in the ribs.
Marta fought to push his hands away. “Stop! That tickles,” she pleaded. Her knees buckled under the sheer exuberance.

Jeffrey W. Bennett, ISP is an author of non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.