IX. The Accidental Savior

I was on the far bank of the river, tying my shoelaces, when I heard the cry, “Get Phil!” Pam, the young English girl who was supposed to be in my care, was crossing the river when the current swept her legs out from under her. She was clinging to a tree branch in panic, her legs flailed, searching blindly for something to stand on.

Why was she screaming for me? It wasn’t as dramatic as all that; it wasn’t a treacherous crossing. The rocks were large, flat, and close together. She could have easily put her feet down and walked across the river, using the branch like a railing. Besides, there was a strapping young man right in front of her. If she just stopped and calmed down for one second, she’d see his outstretched hand, only inches away. But she needed the Jungle Guide. She needed The Guy in Charge, The Alpha Male. And that, although I never truly believed it, was me. I suppose I was supposed to be there.

Granted, she was pretty, blonde and vulnerable; I had no problem with being her savior. I made my way down the bank, brushed past the strapping young man and gave her my hand. “I’m here,” I said in dulcet tones.

She looked at me with big, brown, adoring eyes as I took her by the waist and walked her across the rocks, smirking past the rolling eyes of her rejected savior. Yes, I felt heroic. Yes, I felt manly. But something told me that maybe there was more to this job that I had originally thought. This notion didn’t last long.

I took the group ─ leading with a swagger, my damsel closely behind ─ to a pond with a small waterfall. Without a word or looking back, I undressed and jumped right in. I swam across the pond and through the falls, into a crawlspace between the rock wall and the water’s cascade. Alan, a thin, goateed, decidedly non-strapping young man swam up behind me. He reached the wall and clutched at it, his breath heaving. He was having an asthma attack. He should have told me earlier about his condition. Or maybe I should have asked. Not that I could have, or even would have, done anything about it. Either way, it was too late now. He turned to me with a look that practically screamed for help.

Was this some kind of cursed expedition? Three weeks of being a Jungle Guide and nobody had any trouble, and now twice in one day. Well, the first one didn’t really count, but still…

Curse or not, I had to do something. I saw a small log bobbing around behind the falls with us. I got hold of it and brought it over to him. I managed to unclutch his grip, finger by finger, from the wall, and transfer him to the log. We floated safely back to the shore and found an inhaler in his backpack.

When I first took this job, or more accurately, fell ass-backwards into it, I thought, “Wow! I’m gonna be a Jungle Guide!” and that was the extent of my consideration. It never occurred to me that I might be responsible for others’ lives, whether they were in danger or not. Now that it did occur to me, I realized that I really wasn’t prepared for that. I had no jungle experience. I had no jungle training. I had no jungle skills. If there were a real catastrophe, I would be completely useless.

So, as we hiked back home, I made note of every rock that could be tripped over, every wet leaf that could be slipped on, and every low branch that could be walked into; and I made damn sure that everybody knew about every single one of them.

I instantly made the leap from Irresponsible Jungle Guide to Overprotective Jungle Jewish Mother.