Read Online Rising Abruptly by Gisèle Villeneuve - Free Book Online
Authors: Gisèle Villeneuve
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fare with the driver, I jump from cool Mazda to cool Mangosteen Inn.
Checking in. Clean and air-conditioned. Kinda seedy in the grand manner of the tropics. From my room, I phone the bungalow to let the housekeeper know where I am. Must make a trunk call.
Good afternoon, I wanted to know if Sab was back?
Sarawak?
What?
Yes, Sarawak State south of here.
No, no, I mean the doctor. Is Doctor Sabourin back yet?
Doctor still away collecting.
Yes, but the doctor knew her friend from Canada was coming, yes?
But there was urgentâ¦
Ah⦠The rebirth of the old plant?
Yes, very rare. Doctor had to go.
Now that the young woman seems calmer, Iâm starting to understand why Sab stood me up. And I can piece together the puzzle of the last three days, minus the housekeeper waving her arms toward the deep jungle and uttering a confusion of Malay words. So, I surmise a Kadazan man came to the bungalow to report to Sab that a rare plant, believed to be extinct, was spotted growing in a ravine in the jungle. Sab had to go check this out, mindful that it might be a wild goose chase. But there may be more to this reasonable sequence of events, and I must know. One of the words the young woman kept repeating was âbabiâ and now that I know what it means, Iâm wondering.
On the phone, I articulate clearly: Are there wild babi in the jungle?
Yes, babi, very dangerous. The housekeeper is sputtering again, she had to rush back to her village to tend toâ¦
I cut her off to shout in the mouthpiece: Sab has been injured by a babi? Had to be carried from the bungalow to where? A village hospital?
And slowly, the housekeeper thanks me for my concerns, but her brother will be all right.
The housekeeperâs brother was the one who was gored by a babi?
Yes, brother will be fine, very bad in belly, but will be fine.
The clearer situation still leaves me with one question: I understand. Thank you. But tell me. Why did the doctor not leave a written message for me, her friend who has come all the way from Canada, at the doctorâs invitation?
This bit of simple reasoning is met with dead silence, then heavy breathing, then a plea not to ask any more questions, it is not the housekeeperâs place to interfere in the private affairs of the doctor, please.
Okay, Iâm not here to give the poor woman the third degree; and certainly not in this heat. I apologize and she thanks me, insisting that the doctor will be back soon.
I wish her a nice day and put down the receiver. Have a nice day in your steam bath.
I need a cold shower. Strip and freak right out. My hairy chest and belly are covered in prickly heat. Even my penis. Now, that worries me. Sab might recommend an ointment extracted from some jungle roots or the application of curative leaves. To me, the best cure remains the cold compress of Canada. Nothing short of sinking into an alpine tarn would stop my sweat glands from overheating. A long cold shower could do the trick. Unfortunately, the single tap delivers only lukewarm water. I linger under that shower.
Naked as a badly skinned rabbit, with fur still on the chest and its flesh covered in raised red itchy spots, I pull back the sheet. Gingerly lie down flat on my back. Spread-eagled. Motionless. Fall into a deep sleep. Dreamless.
Wake up with a splitting headache. Examine my dick. Seems okay. But notice an angry blister or pimple the size of a marble in the right-side groin. The seat of the earlier irritation. Squeeze it. Swollen and painful. It oozes a little. Canât make head or tail of it. One of those horrendous tropical parasites that pierces its way through your skin and reproduces inside of you? I dab the growth with rubbing alcohol from my first-aid kit and stick a Band-Aid over it. Should phone the bungalow. If Sab is back, no doubt she will have an explanation and a suggested treatment. But itâs siesta time in the jungle and I wouldnât want to disturb the already
Checking in. Clean and air-conditioned. Kinda seedy in the grand manner of the tropics. From my room, I phone the bungalow to let the housekeeper know where I am. Must make a trunk call.
Good afternoon, I wanted to know if Sab was back?
Sarawak?
What?
Yes, Sarawak State south of here.
No, no, I mean the doctor. Is Doctor Sabourin back yet?
Doctor still away collecting.
Yes, but the doctor knew her friend from Canada was coming, yes?
But there was urgentâ¦
Ah⦠The rebirth of the old plant?
Yes, very rare. Doctor had to go.
Now that the young woman seems calmer, Iâm starting to understand why Sab stood me up. And I can piece together the puzzle of the last three days, minus the housekeeper waving her arms toward the deep jungle and uttering a confusion of Malay words. So, I surmise a Kadazan man came to the bungalow to report to Sab that a rare plant, believed to be extinct, was spotted growing in a ravine in the jungle. Sab had to go check this out, mindful that it might be a wild goose chase. But there may be more to this reasonable sequence of events, and I must know. One of the words the young woman kept repeating was âbabiâ and now that I know what it means, Iâm wondering.
On the phone, I articulate clearly: Are there wild babi in the jungle?
Yes, babi, very dangerous. The housekeeper is sputtering again, she had to rush back to her village to tend toâ¦
I cut her off to shout in the mouthpiece: Sab has been injured by a babi? Had to be carried from the bungalow to where? A village hospital?
And slowly, the housekeeper thanks me for my concerns, but her brother will be all right.
The housekeeperâs brother was the one who was gored by a babi?
Yes, brother will be fine, very bad in belly, but will be fine.
The clearer situation still leaves me with one question: I understand. Thank you. But tell me. Why did the doctor not leave a written message for me, her friend who has come all the way from Canada, at the doctorâs invitation?
This bit of simple reasoning is met with dead silence, then heavy breathing, then a plea not to ask any more questions, it is not the housekeeperâs place to interfere in the private affairs of the doctor, please.
Okay, Iâm not here to give the poor woman the third degree; and certainly not in this heat. I apologize and she thanks me, insisting that the doctor will be back soon.
I wish her a nice day and put down the receiver. Have a nice day in your steam bath.
I need a cold shower. Strip and freak right out. My hairy chest and belly are covered in prickly heat. Even my penis. Now, that worries me. Sab might recommend an ointment extracted from some jungle roots or the application of curative leaves. To me, the best cure remains the cold compress of Canada. Nothing short of sinking into an alpine tarn would stop my sweat glands from overheating. A long cold shower could do the trick. Unfortunately, the single tap delivers only lukewarm water. I linger under that shower.
Naked as a badly skinned rabbit, with fur still on the chest and its flesh covered in raised red itchy spots, I pull back the sheet. Gingerly lie down flat on my back. Spread-eagled. Motionless. Fall into a deep sleep. Dreamless.
Wake up with a splitting headache. Examine my dick. Seems okay. But notice an angry blister or pimple the size of a marble in the right-side groin. The seat of the earlier irritation. Squeeze it. Swollen and painful. It oozes a little. Canât make head or tail of it. One of those horrendous tropical parasites that pierces its way through your skin and reproduces inside of you? I dab the growth with rubbing alcohol from my first-aid kit and stick a Band-Aid over it. Should phone the bungalow. If Sab is back, no doubt she will have an explanation and a suggested treatment. But itâs siesta time in the jungle and I wouldnât want to disturb the already
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