“Just a bit.” I stand and smile down at her. “I’m going to have to put some thought into it, but I’ll come up with something just right.”
Getting up, Arabella rolls her eyes while she starts to collect the peels from our breakfast. “How about Arabella? You won’t have to hurt your brain coming up with a nickname, and it brings with it the added bonus of me answering to it.”
“Hurt my brain? Was that an insult?” I ask.
“No, I would never imply that you’re not smart,” she says. “Just because a good portion of the women Dylan surveyed thought you didn’t seem that bright?”
“She told you that?!”
“She may have done, yes,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“They only said that because of my physique.”
Arabella wrinkles up her nose. “Is that what she told you?”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a bit of a badass!”
“A bit, yes,” Arabella answers with a hint of pride. “Now, let’s get moving. We have miles to go today and I don’t need you slowing me down.”
I grin down at her for a second, then remember I do not want to fall for this woman. “Speaking of slowing you down, I have a much quicker way for us to get to Mbambole.”
“Really?”
“Want to help me build a raft?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” I grab the machete and start into the bush with Arabella in tow. “I’m not going to forget about the nickname, you know?”
“Damn.”
“You thought you could distract me with the results of that horrible survey and I’d forget, didn’t you?” I ask, over my shoulder.
“And I was right. You forgot all about it.”
“For about a minute.”
“Oh, come on, it was at least two.”
17
So, I Do Want to See Under Tarzan’s Loincloth. What of It?
Arabella
The cameras are rolling again,which immediately shifts Will’s focus, bringing him back to his business as host. The two of us have spent the last hour collecting long, green bamboo shoots and dragging them to the river’s edge. Each trip back, I yearn to jump in so I can be refreshed by the cool, fast-flowing water, but instead, I drop what I’m holding, turn, and continue on. I’m already sweaty and tired, my muscles aching from the exertion, but I’m also filled with a sense of hope that propels me forward and gives strength to my arms while we work. Riding the river is going to be heads above cutting a trail through the dense brush.
We reach an impossibly tall tree, where Will stops. “I’ll go up and get us some vines. If you can film me, that would be a great help, Mad Dog.” He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nope, you’re not Mad Dog.”
“I should hope not,” I say, watching as he swiftly starts his ascent. He climbs up a few feet, then turns his head toward me and speaks into the camera. “Now, if you really want to get the strongest and longest vines, you're going to have to climb for them. This is not something you should normally do without a harness because the fall from these heights could be fatal.”
“Brilliant,” I say. “So, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“Yup. But don’t worry, I’ve never died before.” With that, he starts casually climbing, as though he could hang out in that tree all day. I stand on the ground, finding myself simultaneously impressed with his abilities and terrified that he may be overly optimistic about the outcome. A few moments later, he's disappeared into the canopy of the tree. He calls down to me, his voice sounding far too distant for my liking. “You’ll want to stand back so that none of these vines land on you.”
I back up, then shout up to him. “All clear!”
Crackling and zipping sounds fill the air as the vines drop to the ground, slamming against branches and the trunk on their way down. When they hit the jungle floor, the soft bed of leaves and organic matter fly up and scatter. After several vines have been freed from the tree, I wait, expecting to see him climb down. Instead, he decides to swing down on one, hollering like Tarzan.
