“Well,” I said, letting her go, “it actually has to do with the females.”
“What doesn’t?”
I shot him a mean look and he grinned.
“Fiddler crabs communicate with waves and gestures. The males use their oversized claws in combat with other conspecifics over the female. Females choose their mate judging by claw size and their waving display—which he uses to court her.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s always about size and motion.”
I looked at his claw size and grinned. He was blessed with both. Actually, more than well endowed. Then a burst of laughter exploded from my mouth. Not at his size, that wasnolaughing matter,at him.
“What are you doing, Fausti?”
He flexed one arm, waving it up and down. “I’m courting you. What do you think? You want to burrow with me?”
“If I was a fiddler crab, for sure. You’d run all the other crabs off the beach.” I was still laughing.
“Yeah,” he said macho-like, smirking. Rarely did Brando let this side out to play. It was a treat.
He shook his head. “So fucking smart. Lucky me. I put rings on both hands.”
I laughed even harder, though my cheeks rushed with hot blood at the compliment. He took my hand and I used the map to dust lingering sand from my body. We followed the beach down until we came to a part of the rainforest that opened up, a beaten-down path leading into its emerald body.
Brando spotted a coconut crab climbing up a tilted coconut tree, trunk bowing to the sea. This crab was a monstrous thing with two pinchers in the front and three gangly legs on each side. I refused to touch it. Its pincers could crush a coconut.
He picked it up and it flared out like a demon crab.
“Hold on!” I said, reaching deep into the abyss of my bag for the camera again. “Let me get your picture!”
I snapped one real quick, but Brando’s tantalizing facial structure momentarily distracted me. Every curve and shape was as sharp as chiseled stone. Thick black brows rose above deliciously almond-shaped eyes. I couldn’t choose one feature to call prominent, except for perhaps his perfect bone structure, but the darkness of his features was in striking contrast with the bronze of his skin.
I blinked, the view different. The demon crab was coming closer to me through the lens. The camera was still pressed to my eye.
“Brando!” I ran from him, almost dropping the Leica. “Coconut crabs can snap your finger in two!”
“Yeah? Well, what about dinner? How does coconut crab sound?” No matter what it was, if it was a threat, it seemed wired in him to eliminate it.
I remembered what I had learned during the tour that I took with my family years ago. I told him in actuality crab for dinner sounded appealing, but there was the chance of getting coconut crab poisoning depending on its diet. And if ithappenedto latch on, gentle titillation under its soft spots would cause it to loosen its hold. I also mentioned that in the Mariana Islands, the coconut crab is sometimes associated with ancient people.Taotao Mo'na—spirits that have come back to haunt, taking on the form of animals. The coconut crab included.
Brando put the crab back, looking somewhat uneasy. He wasn’t a superstitious person to a fault, but he did have Italian blood running through his veins.
“Perhaps we can find another kind?” I offered. “Or we can always catch lobster? They’re huge here!”
The sea jungle was alive with its own spirits, it seemed. The terrain varied from flat to reaching, and no matter where we stepped, something seemed to move in reaction. More lories flew from perch to perch or stared as we moved past, eyeing us but not really bothered.
Brando led me deeper in, toward our destination, as I chattered on about factoids and read the map. Occasionally I’d point out natural flora. Tahitian gardenia seemed to bloom wild in bright white stars. Heliconia, which is sometimes called lobster claw because of its red and gold color and its sharp chela shape, brightened our surroundings. Hibiscus grew savagely, red and yellow bursts of it almost alien among so much green.
“Oh!” I lifted the map. “This is so interesting! Mystical Island has a red-footed booby! Well, two, and they mated. The two of them appeared one day and haven’t left. I wonder why I didn’t see that before?” I mumbled to myself.
“What are they called again, baby?”
“Red-footed booby!”
A second too late, the trap sprung, and I was caught. He laughed so hard that he had to stop moving, catching his breath.
“You just wanted to hear me saybooby.” I grinned at him, not able to stop myself, when he started laughing again.
After a minute or two he said, “True,” and his humor settled. He became quiet, so quiet that it seemed like it was only the lush rainforest and I, no one else. Small insects moved below, making equally small noises as they carted whatever it was they carried from here to there. Brando had let go of my hand and I hadn’t even noticed, absorbed as I was in the map and our surroundings. He stood with his back against a tree, looking like the beautiful offspring of the rainforest and sea.
