The Little Black Book

David awoke to another new day.

Still wearing the tee shirt and cargo pants from the day before, he pushed aside mosquito netting and rolled out of a hammock that was strung between two palm tree poles. He checked each rubber boot on the floor for spiders or snakes and pulled them onto bare feet. Through the open sided hut he caught a glimpse of noisy parrots flying overhead.

In the jungle, everything sings. The sounds of birds, trees, monkeys, the wind, the rain, the river, and insects, merged with the wet breath of morning.

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He boiled water over an open fire that he had built, a skill developed from necessity. On first arrival in Peru, Iquitos natives had introduced him to the dried seeds of an herb ground into a powder for making a tea far more stimulating than coffee.

He drank the hot tea and checked his deep pockets for the black notebook, pen, map, compass, flashlight, and a camera. He slung his 20-gauge shotgun by its strap over a shoulder. Time to continue his search for plants and herbs.

Today, David would explore alone. His young native guide, Chooitch, who had taught him so much of jungle life, was away on a hunting trip.

A twenty-foot-wide tributary of the Amazon River curved around the nearby village of Hebruia. David’ crude little dugout, traded for five gallons of gasoline he’d carried all the way back from Iquitos, was where he had left it.

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He paddled west against the current. The fresh water river, alive with piranha and pink dolphins, cut through the midst of the rainforest toward the mighty Amazon River.

He rode the river to a random spot and went ashore. Mentally he noted the location by checking his compass and a map. The dense vegetation and numerous creeks made it difficult to reach a small clearing. He climbed a tree to observe the open space.

Below, he saw playful Capuchin monkeys drinking from a stream. David hung his shotgun on a branch and pulled his black notebook, a pen, and a camera from his pocket. Locating a crossing of branches near his perch, he carefully laid the book and pen on it while taking pictures of the trees, vines, and flowers around him.

Again looking down, he spotted an enormous snake, unseen by the little primates by the water. He set his camera on video to record.

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The strike was sudden as the Anaconda silently wrapped itself around one of the monkeys. Its cries were deafening.

The second monkey high-tailed it to the nearest trees and quickly emerged with a flower in hand. He approached the snake that now ensnared the entire body of its prey.

David held his breath and the camera steady while taping from his perch. The free monkey blew pollen from the hand-held flower into the nostrils of the Anaconda.

In less than five seconds, the snake became limp, relaxing its grip on its prey. The captive struggled free. The behavior of the rescuing monkey was even more astounding. He or she stayed long enough to stroke the snakes’ head before scampering off into the trees with his pal.

What was that flower the monkey brought? Did it come from a vine; they are innumerable in the jungle. The implications of its uses were staggering. He had to get it.

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In David’s haste to get the flower, his camera slipped through the branches and tumbled down, down, down into a pool of water near the base of the tree. He grabbed the pen, notebook, and gun, and slid down. The camera was soaked and inoperable!

He ran to where the snake had been and retrieved the flower. He smelled it.

The world spun as he fell to his knees. A feeling of contentment swept over him. Empty of all desires, ambitions, or natural interest in anything or anyone it was a zombie-like experience.

Eons seemed to pass before he was himself again and made his way back to camp.

Back in the hut he prepared for a three-day visit in Iquitos where he could email a report to his liaison at the pharmaceutical office, get his camera repaired, and do some serious R & R.

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He wrote detailed descriptions in his notebook of the strange events, adding a hand drawn map and a drawing of the flower.

David caught a ride with a native to the Amazon the next day, and from there, a cargo boat to Iquitos.

After a good dinner and a good night’s sleep at a cheap hotel, he found a repair shop for his camera. It was as feared, all digital evidence of the event he had witnessed was gone forever. Arrangements were made to pick up the repaired camera tomorrow.

The Yellow Rose of Texas restaurant and bar was a popular place for ex-pats and tourists. David’s company had an account there so that valuables could be left for safekeeping while exploring the jungle. His credit card was good and he could speak English with someone.

In the courtyard of the bar a blue-and-gold macaw squawked at the breakfast crowd. It grew dark and smoky as David walked

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back toward the recessed bar. He gave Tom, the bartender, a memorized code and Tom brought forth a wallet and a cell phone.

Out through the courtyard again he noticed a beautiful black- haired woman watching him from her breakfast table. He smiled. She returned his smile.

“Buenos Dias,” he said.

“Yes, it is a good day,” she replied in perfect English. “And beautiful too.”

“Beau-ty! Beau-ty!” the parrot screeched.

David and the woman’s eyes met and they both laughed.

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An Internet café was his next stop. He sat at a computer, plugging his cell phone next to it for charging. He typed an email to Wang Wei in the home office detailing the flower incident and confessed to losing digital evidence, but assured her that he had drawn an explicit map with full account in his notebook.

“Get samples as soon as possible of the flower and ship them express mail!” she texted.

Ding! Ding! It was David’s cell phone. He took a moment to check. Two deposits had been made to his cash app account from the pharmaceutical company for $10,000 each.

“Holy cow!” he exclaimed, and texted, “What is this for?”

“A bonus for the find. Now get back to the rainforest and get those samples!”

David was dazed. $20,000 was a lump sum more than he’d ever seen.

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“Time to party!”

He walked back to the Yellow Rose, straight to the bar, and ordered a shot of tequila.

Admittedly, as the day passed David consumed too much tequila, but that black-haired woman was gorgeous. She could have doubled for Natalie Portman.

Deborah Cohen, the black-haired beauty, had eventually joined him at the bar and hours later they moved to a private table.

“Why are you here?” she asked, gazing at the handsome young American.

“The eternal question,” he grinned. “To prove myself I guess. And you?”

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“To find out what happens next?’ she smiled. “ I am from Israel. Here is Iquitos, the largest city in Peru with no roads going in or out! It is surrounded by the Amazon River. It is separated from the rest of Peru by a rainforest and the Andean mountains. How did my people get here?”

David looked confused and ordered more tequila.

“Seriously, in the late 1800s,” she continued. “Approximately 150 Sephardic Jews made their way here. Like most immigrants they married local natives. Their numbers grew so much that they built their own meeting halls and cemeteries. There aren’t so many today since most made their way back to Israel. But somewhere around here I have relatives!”

“The village that I work near is called Hebrua,” David responded. “Doesn’t that sound Hebrew to you?”

“Yes, it does,” she smiled and gently placed her hand on his arm. “What do you do in that village?”

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David told her how he had taken a job as an explorer/researcher with a pharmaceutical company in the States. They sent him here to find herbs and plants for medicinal uses. He shared the story of his recent discovery and the unexpected $20,000 bonus.

“Where is your notebook?” she asked. “I think that there may be others sources who would pay you more than double for it.”

“What? I don’t think so. I have a contract,” he slurred and yawned. “But I think I should send it to Bonnie White, my mom, for safe keeping. Hey, I need to return to Hebrua tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”

“Now?” she teased. “Yes, I could get my things in the morning.” She stood and watched David struggle to stand beside her.

“Maybe I should meet you here tomorrow morning, David. I’ll be ready to go,” she hugged him goodnight. “You need to go to bed now.”

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“Aww,” he moaned, nodded, and over paid their waitress. The two staggered out to the street and parted ways.

The next morning, David had his coffee in the Yellow Rose courtyard. The macaw was in a bad mood and screeched obscenities.

David had collected his camera and backpack to travel. Deborah arrived and the two went to the river to catch a cargo boat headed west.

They shared personal stories of adventures all the way back to David’s camp. He showed her his ‘home’ in the jungle.

The music of morning awakened them. David and Deborah drank tea by the campfire. Chooitch, David’s friendly guide was back and squatted nearby.

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David wanted to show Deborah the “magic” flowers while he gathered samples for the pharmaceutical company. It was important to reach the area, accomplish his assignment, and get back before the afternoon rains.

Map and compass in hand, David signaled Chooitch the location along the river. Chooitch turned their dugout ashore as he followed David’s sense of place. They left the boat on the riverbank and David pointed directions.

The young, brown-skinned Chooitch hacked through the jungle with a machete. A hand crafted blowgun and bow with arrows were strung across the back of his tattered, Rolling Stones tee shirt.

They stopped near a vine Chooitch recognized. The smiling native gestured drinking before he tapped the hook of a stem with an arrow point and stuck his head beneath to catch the juice.

David nodded and he and Deborah followed suit. It tasted of ginger and garlic but quenched their thirst.

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They sat with their backpacks on the ground while David retrieved the staple of beans and rice that he’d wrapped in banana leaves for lunch. Chooitch hacked the tops off of coconuts for the milk inside.

Deborah oohed and aawed over the fluttering blue morpho butterflies all around them. “They are so brilliant! And they are huge!” she said.

As they put things away and prepared to move on, Deborah became serious. “What happens to your little black book if something happens to you, David?”

“Send it to my mom,” he grinned. “Her address is inside the cover.”

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A ROAR vibrated through their bodies.

“Jaguar!”

It was the only English word David had heard Chooitch speak. It was the last word David ever heard.

Had she screamed? Bonnie wondered.

Everyone in the room was staring at her in silence. She clasped a

little black book tightly in her right hand.

Roses. She smelled roses, although no flowers were there, and thought of her son, David. She had loved him more than the next breath.

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There were strangers around her...Chinese, Israeli, Russian, and Wall Street type Americans too.

Why would these people attend David’s memorial service?

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