The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (30 page)

A path did exist, but it was intermittent. Periodically one of the guides would have to clear away a fallen branch or cut back a tendril.

The place was full of sounds, too. Willie had never heard so many unknown calls: chirps, caws, growls, screams, and clackerings. Some of them gave her goose bumps. Once, something died out there: nothing else could have sounded so. It made her swear under her breath; she held on tighter than she liked to her elephant’s rein. Sometimes, she reckoned, it was just plain hard to be a lady.

It was easy, however, to be a little boy. Short Round took in the sights and sounds as if they were all part of a grand new game, designed especially for him. He carried himself alternately like a king or a puppy dog—though he regularly looked over to check on Indy’s whereabouts, never forgetting his first responsibility was still as number-one bodyguard.

There was thunder and lightning for a short time, though no rain came. To Short Round this was a bad portent. It meant Lei-Kung (Lord of Thunders) and Tien-Mu (Mother of Lightnings) were fighting without cause. No good could come of such a quarrel. Lei-Kung was hideous to behold: owl-beaked, with talons on his blue, otherwise human body; he tended to hide in the clouds, beating his drum with a wooden mallet if anyone came near. Tien-Mu made lightning by flashing two mirrors; but when her mood was perverse, she would flash one at Lei-Kung, so he could see his own reflection and be appalled. Then he would beat his drum louder. But there was no rain to issue from the confrontation; only the dry anger of these two Ancient Ones.

Short Round made an invocation to the Celestial Ministry of Thunder and Wind, requesting a higher authority to intervene in the matter, whatever it was.

Ultimately the bickering ceased. Short Round remained cautious, however.

Once, spotting something on an overhanging branch, he stood precariously on the baby elephant’s back to reach up and grab it. It was a globular fruit. He plucked it from its twig, then plopped back down onto his mount. He held it snugly between the knuckles of his first two fingers and the ball of his thumb, and gave his wrist a smart twisting motion several times. Lefty Grove.

“You come to America with me and we get job in the circus,” he told Big Short. “You like that?” Ever since he’d seen the Charlie Chaplin film about the circus, Short Round had wanted to join.

The junior elephant’s trunk curled back, took the fruit from Short Round’s hand, and stuck it into its mouth with a joyful little slurp. Short Round understood this to mean that his elephant had appreciated the same movie.

They came to a shallow river. Sajnu called up to Indy; Indy nodded. Sajnu turned and led the procession up the wide, shin-deep stream: Shorty’s elephant first, then Indy’s, then Willie’s. Thirty yards upstream, Shorty heard a strange noise, followed it aloft into the treetops.

“Indy, look!” he shouted.

Indy and Willie both looked up to see hundreds of huge winged creatures flapping across the dusky sky.

“What big birds,” Willie commented. How interesting.

Sajnu said something to Indy, and the professor nodded. “Those aren’t big birds,” he told Willie. “Those are giant bats.”

Short Round cringed. He’d seen
Dracula
twice, so he knew what bats could mean.

Willie shuddered too, instinctively crouching lower on her elephant. Unfortunately, this brought her closer (again) than her nose wanted to be. She made a face, mumbling, “Honey, this jungle heat is doing nothing for your allure,” and poured the rest of her perfume on its neck.

The effect was instantly gratifying. It was the aroma of civilization; it evoked the memory of cabarets and rich benefactors and beautiful clothes and satin pillows. It made Willie positively glad to be alive, giant bats or no giant bats; and without another thought, she burst into loud, exuberant song:

“ ‘In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking; now, heaven knows, anything goes!’ ”

It took Indy by surprise to hear her singing like that out here. Made him laugh; made him want to sing himself, suddenly, though he hardly knew any songs, and his voice was profoundly unmelodious. Nevertheless, he began to bellow: “ ‘Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam, where the deer and the antelope play.’ ”

Short Round thought this was hysterical. A singing game in which everyone sang their favorite song as loudly as possible. Instantly he chimed in:

“ ‘The golden sun is rising, shining in the green forest, shining through the city of Shanghai.’ ”

And Willie crooned louder: “ ‘Good authors, too, who once knew better words, now only use four-letter words writing prose, anything goes.’ ”

“ ‘Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.’ ”

“ ‘The city of Shanghai, I love the city, I love the sun.’ ”

“ ‘The world’s gone mad today, and good’s bad today, and black’s white today, and day’s night today.’ ”

“ ‘Home, home on the range.’ ”

Then Shorty joined in with Indy, because he loved that song, too: “ ‘Where the deer and the antelope play.’ ”—except he was singing it in Chinese.

And they were all singing at the top of their cacophonous voices, to drown each other out, to celebrate the great good fortune of being alive and singing in this very moment of the universe.

Well, this was the last straw for Willie’s elephant. First that horrible alien odor, now this agonizing squawking: the combination was simply intolerable. The animal stopped suddenly, dipped its trunk in the stream through which they were marching, sucked up about twenty gallons of water, curled its trunk backwards over its head, and gave Wllie a sustained, pressurized hosing.

She flew off the critter’s back, splashing down into the stream with an ignominious thump.

Short Round giggled uproariously, pointing down at her. “Very funny!” he said with glee. “Very funny all wet!”

It was the last straw for Willie as well, though. Like an overtired child slapped for playing too hard, she was caught between rage and tears of frustration. She was wet and dirty and hungry and taxed to the end of her rope, and this was the damn limit.

“I was happy in Shanghai,” she seethed, letting her temper rise to its own level. “I had a little house, a garden; my friends were rich; I went to parties and rode in limousines. I hate being outside! I’m a singer; I’m not a camper! I could lose my voice!”

Short Round’s eyes grew wide as he watched her. “Lady real mad,” he concluded.

Indiana looked around where they were paused, judged the height of the declining sun, the depth of the encroaching gloom, and came to his own conclusion. “I think maybe we’ll camp here.”

He figured they were probably
all
getting a bit fatigued.

Sunset.

The three elephants submerged, chest deep in a wide spot in the river. Indy waded nearby, his shirt off, splashing water on the weary animals. Sajnu did the same from the other side.

Short Round played laughingly with the baby. The elephant would wrap him in its trunk, swing him in the air, flop him on its back. Then he’d dive in again, and when he resurfaced, the elephant would give him a shower. The two of them were of an age.

Thirty yards upstream, in a shady, recessed alcove, Willie was taking a leisurely swim. She dove to the cool bottom, turned slowly, went limp, resurfaced, wiped her hair from her eyes, back-floated, hummed contentedly, watched the patterns in the leaves overhead. She needed this.

Her life had turned upside down over the past two days. Things had been just peachy until this guy walked into the club, and then . . . He wasn’t so bad, really, she supposed—if you liked the type—but she didn’t particularly think she wanted to elevate him to the category of Current Events.

For one thing, he was an academic, which meant, for all intents and purposes, broke. For another thing, although he was obviously infatuated with her, he never said anything nice, never went out of his way to cut her any slack, never empathized with her, and, in general, never acted like a gentleman. A thoroughly selfish, manipulative boor. So what good was he, she wondered.

Well, he
was
nice to the kid. That was one thing. Nobody had ever been nice to
her
when
she
was a kid, and it made her feel good to see this kid treated right. The starving kid in the village last night had really affected him, too; she’d seen that. So, okay, he was good with kids. What else?

Well, he
had
saved her hide when everything had gone to hell in the nightclub, and again in the crashing plane—though if he hadn’t come along, it seemed unlikely any of that would have happened in the first place. Or maybe it would have. That’s what karma was all about; these Indians loved to talk it to death. So did the Chinese, at some of the parties she used to go to.

Parties. They must be a thousand miles from the nearest party right now.
When every night the set that’s smart is intrudin’ in nudist parties in studios, anything goes.
His eyes, of course; that was his best feature. She wondered what they
really
looked like, up close.

She dove under again, letting the cool water relax her further, drain all the accumulated tension from her limbs. Oh, well, things would work out; they always did, if she just hung in there.

Imagine, though: a thousand miles away from the nearest pair of stockings.

Indiana wandered up the riverbank in his dripping trousers, checking on Willie, to make sure she was safe.

Not that she wouldn’t be, of course. She was a lady with sand; that much was obvious. She’d been around the track, and she didn’t always come up smelling like roses, but she always came up. She was just out of her element here, that’s all. She was a city girl.

He wouldn’t have ridden her so much if he hadn’t thought she could take it. But he felt compelled to do it; she was such a royal pain at times. Still, you couldn’t exactly blame a person for being a pain if they were so clearly hurting. Only did she have to be so vocal about it? He supposed that’s why she was a singer.

Anyway, it was clear she needed to be cared for out here, and the poor thing obviously had a huge crush on him, so he thought he might as well check up on her, just make sure she didn’t get carried off by mosquitoes.

He came upon her drying clothes spread out on a tree limb hanging low over the water. A moment later, he saw Willie paddling around just beyond—completely, so to speak, unencumbered. The sight made his mouth go ever so slightly dry.

“Hey, Willie,” he called. “I think you better get out now.”

His sudden appearance startled her, but she quickly recovered her composure: this was a scenario she’d encountered hundreds of times. “Stark naked?” she said evenly. “You wish.”

“C’mon, time to dry off.”

“Dry up,” she countered. “Dr. Jones, if you’re trying to seduce me, this is a very primitive approach.”

Try to be a nice guy, and look where it gets you. “Me seduce
you
? Honey, you’re the one who took your clothes off.” He shrugged with monumental disinterest. “I just came over to remind you that you never know what else might be in that water.”

Even though they were out in the middle of nowhere, maybe ten thousand miles from Cole Porter, Willie felt sure this was extremely familiar territory. “Somehow I feel safer in here,” she smiled.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a gesture of supreme indifference.

He turned and walked back to camp, just the slightest bit miffed. While she, for all her urbane wit, found herself inexplicably peeved he hadn’t stayed longer.

Night came quickly in the forest. The campfire gave a warm, orange light, but immediately outside its friendly glimmer, the shadows were black, enveloping, unyielding.

Sajnu was feeding the elephants; the other guides talked quietly among themselves. Willie, wrapped in a blanket, was wringing out her damp clothing by the fire; in this humid hothouse, it wasn’t drying well. She half-intentionally dribbled water on Indy’s back as he sat playing poker with Short Round, then took it all over to a peripheral low branch, to hang it out to dry overnight.

Indiana gave a look, but didn’t say anything, only continued playing cards.

“What you got?” Short Round asked seriously.

“Two sixes.”

“Three aces. I win.” The boy grinned. “Two more games. I have all your money.”

Shorty discarded; Indy dealt.

Willie looked over from unfolding her clothes along the branch. “Where’d you find your little bodyguard?” she asked Indy.

“I didn’t find him. I caught him,” Jones replied, picking up his cards.

“What?” she said, repositioning some of the larger pieces.

“His parents were killed when they bombed Shanghai. Shorty’s been on the street since the age of four. I caught him trying to pick my pocket.”

Willie went for the final piece of clothing on the branch beneath her. She unfolded a giant bat.

She let go with a scream that turned everyone’s head except Indy, who simply winced. Leaping back from the flapping, clawing, hissing bat, she turned into a large fern, only to come face to face with a vicious baboon. Its snout was pink and purple; it snarled malevolently at Willie’s intrusion.

She shrieked again, scaring the baboon off—and backed directly into a dark rock on which a large iguana perched. It snapped at her.

Short Round wasn’t particularly worried, once the bat flew away—though he did offer a dollar (on account) to the God of the Door of Ghosts once more, as well as to Dr. Van Helsing and all the other guardians against Dracula.

Willie, unfortunately, had no such spiritual protectors. All she had were her worst suspicions about the Great Outdoors being confirmed.

In the ensuing frenzy, Indiana accidentally dealt himself a fourth card. Short Round noticed the misdeal and started doing a slow burn.

Willie began a frenetic, exhaustive examination of the environs of the campsite, punctuated by numerous squeals and yelps.

“The trouble with her,” Indy grumbled, “is the noise.” He tried to concentrate on his cards.

“I take two,” Short Round said guardedly.

Indy nodded. “Three for me.”