XXI. The End of the Trail, Part Two

Tom thought it would be a good idea that Jim and I do a tour together, that I might teach him the subtleties of the trail. I let him take the lead on the day hike, hanging back to observe, and, if necessary, lend a hand. But it wasn’t necessary. In fact, he barely had to pay attention to the trail. He walked it backwards like a campus tour guide, regaling prospective freshman with facts about the school, “… and we have over 3000 species of plants, 320 species of birds, and 67 species of animals…”

Where the hell did Jim get this information? On the job all of three days and he’s spouting facts and figures like Ranger Rick. I’d been here for two months and I never heard any of this. Tom never mentioned it. There was no information to be had at the Khao Yai National Park Information Center, nor were there any guidebooks to the park that I knew of, at least not in English. He didn’t read Thai too, did he?

“… two kinds of deer: the Sambar Deer and the Barking Deer, or Muntjac…”

We had two kinds of deer?

He pointed out the Sensitive plants, or Mimosa Pudica and the Dipterocarpus trees (or, as I called them, “the big-ass trees with the huge roots. You know, like in Apocalypse Now? When Chef goes off to look for mangos, and he crawls over those huge roots? That kind of tree. Remember? And the tiger comes out of nowhere, and Chef’s screaming ‘Fucking tiger! Fucking tigerrrr…!’ That kind of tree.”).

I had nothing to teach Jim.

We finished the tour, as we always did, night-spotting for animals. Tom drove the pickup truck down the two-lane jungle road, the travelers all loaded in the back. I stood on the left rear fender, Jim on the right, each of us holding a spot, lighting up the trees on our respective sides. I felt like being somewhat useful, so I explained our spotlighting technique, “… you want to methodically comb each tree up and down and look for…”

Jim banged on the side of the truck, “Hold up! Stop the truck! I see eyes!”

Tom stopped the truck. Jim took a closer look at the twin reflections up in the tree with his (own!) binoculars, “Ooh, it’s an animal alright… What could it be…?”

I knew it was a civet. It was always a civet. After two months, they were about as exotic as pigeons. But I couldn’t tell the travelers right away – part of the fun was building the suspense. Jim picked this up as well, “Hmmm… it looks like… Yes, I do believe it’s a… it’s a civet! Who wants to take a closer look?” he passed around his binoculars and explained what a civet was.

I had to admit, he was pretty good at feigning excitement and working the crowd. Then again, maybe it wasn’t feigning. He was new. Civets were still exotic to him. He hadn’t seen 16,732 civets in the last two months, night after night, doing absolutely nothing but lying in the branches licking themselves, the lazy fucks. Jim was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t.

The night crept on. And on. And on. We must have driven up and down the road half a dozen times. We saw more civets, of course, spotted a few monkeys (Northern Pigtailed Macaques, thank you Jim), both kinds of deer (one has a white patch on the chest, I forgot which), and then, more civets. It was getting late, but Tom wanted the travelers to get their money’s worth. He kept driving, hoping for something big, like elephants. I personally had run into enough elephants. I was starting to feel bad for them. We were always interrupting their dinners, shining our spotlights in their faces, when they only wanted to eat in peace. It was no wonder they got pissed and chased us off – we were the telemarketers of the jungle.

And, to be honest, I just didn’t feel like that kind of excitement right now: the stopping and ogling, the oohing and aahing, the bluff runs and screaming, the close calls and narrow escapes. I was exhausted. Jim was more than happy to keep going, though. He greeted every pair of eyes with the same enthusiasm he had when he started the trek, the same enthusiasm I had only two months before.

It had to have been two in the morning. We weren’t going to see any elephants. Or tigers. Or Guar. Or Dholes. I sprawled out on the floor of the truckbed to try to get a little sleep. Just as I was nodding off, there was another bang on the truck. Jim, again with his binoculars, “Hmmm… What could it be…?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jim! Just call it a civet and let’s go home!”

Jim lowered the binoculars and glared at me. The travelers just looked confused. I stood up and banged on the side of the truck, “Tom! Let’s go home.”

Everyone took a spot on the small benches. I sat on the end, my legs dangling out the back. Nobody said anything, just stared absently at the passing jungle. When we got back to the compound, the travelers all went to their rooms as Jim and I unloaded the truck in silence. Right before he went to bed, Jim said, “‘Call it a civet and let’s go home?’ Real professional,” then walked off.

Maybe it was time to call it a day.

To be continued…