Alone Page 12

  Well, I can’t rush him, but I can’t stay here either, and neither can Galaxy. If he crawls back into that holt again he will simply curl up and die there. Or a jaguar or caiman will discover the hole I ripped in the roof and kill him. Or the vultures will get him. His only chance is to come with me. The sooner I get us both back to my camp site the better.

  So I do the only thing I can think of. I wade into the river and face him, arms spread wide, and I make the To me! whistle. But Galaxy keeps bobbing in the water, anxiously mewing and twisting his head, torn between me and his home. Something brushes against my leg and I lose it. That’s it! I’m out of here. I’ve done all I can. It’s up to Galaxy now.

  I spin round and kick hard. When I’m a few body lengths from the shore Galaxy starts to follow me, trailing a few metres behind, chittering loudly. This time the current works in my favour, carrying me downstream towards my camp site, and I make the return crossing in half the time.

  By the time we reach the sandspit and I drag my aching body up and out of the water, it’s as if Galaxy has crossed a mental barrier as well as a physical one. Bounding past me, he shakes himself. Then he trots up and down, sniffing and scratching, before sitting back on his haunches and calling to me in a completely different tone from before, a pleading and insistent call. I recognise the cry. It’s the Give me food! demand. He’s hungry. I remember how he seemed to eat almost non-stop when he was with his mother, and I have no idea when he ate last.

  So I stand and acknowledge his demand with a chirp in response, then run to camp to fetch some mangoes. Galaxy wolfs down the three I bring him and begs for more, but I’ve never seen him eat fruit before and I’m worried that such a large amount of rich food might be too much for his empty stomach to handle, so I return to camp to grab my fishing rod and head for the river. Galaxy follows close behind, chirping away and huffing impatiently, as if to hurry me along. Thankfully the piranhas are around and hungry, and I land a fish with each of my first three casts. Galaxy quickly devours them, and the next two as well, until he calls a halt at fish number six and starts to half-heartedly clean himself. But he falls asleep almost immediately, stretched out in the shade of the crooked tree.

  I try to focus on my fishing, but I miss loads of bites by turning my head to check on him every few seconds or so. When I’ve caught another six piranhas I whistle to Galaxy to wake him, and head back to camp, laughing out loud as Galaxy tries to catch the fish swinging from my shoelace. I’m full of the most wonderful feeling of relief that my friend is alive and uninjured. And no longer alone.

  THIRTY

  That night, while Galaxy is busy chewing my wooden bowl, I make him a bed of leafy branches a couple of metres from mine, still in the warm radius of the fire but safely out of spark-spitting range, and I place a juicy mango on the leaves to tempt him, before lying down on my own bed to take the weight off my legs and allow the warmth of the fire to soothe my aching limbs. Galaxy smells the mango and plonks himself down on the leaves to eat it, and when he’s finished he plays with the stone for a while, juggling it between his paws, then washes his face and lies down, facing me, head on paws, and eyes wide open.

  I haven’t had a moment’s rest all day and after the two previous sleepless nights I can barely keep my eyes open. So I stretch, and roll onto my back but I feel my heartbeat quicken as Galaxy crawls towards me, closer and closer, until I can feel his breath on my ribs and smell his fish- and mango-scented fur. He circles three times before settling down next to me, legs tucked, tail wrapped around his belly, and paws curled over his eyes, with just his whiskers poking out. His back is warm and soft against my side and sends a surge of emotion through my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the touch of a warm body, the reassuring pulse of another heartbeat, and I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it until now.

  Rolling onto my side, I carefully raise my knees and curl my body to encircle him. Then I bend my arm around his tucked legs and cradle his head in my hand. As he pushes his back tighter against me I suddenly realise that the last few nights spent alone without his mother must have been hell for him. I gently stroke his rich velvet fur and softly tell him he’s safe now, and there’s nothing to be afraid of, until my head sinks into the leaves and I can keep my eyes open no longer.

  Galaxy half-wakes many times during the night, sometimes with his body tensed and twisted, eyelids twitching, gums drawn back and claws flexing. Other times I hear him whimpering, his voice full of pain and sadness, and I know he’s pining for his mother. So I stroke him, and curl more tightly around him, and tell him everything will be all right, until his body relaxes and his breathing is deep and regular once more. I tell him I’ll look after him. I tell him my name.

  THIRTY-ONE

  For the next forty-eight hours Galaxy barely leaves my side. Which is fine with me. Even the most tedious tasks are fun when he’s around. Apart from when I try to go to the toilet, that is. One of his favourite games is to hide in the undergrowth and leap out before I’ve finished, then bark with glee and race around my legs until I walk back to camp as fast as I can while he nips at my heels.

  So this morning I waited until he was engrossed in his usual round of inspecting everything in camp before I sneaked away, leaving him to sniff, probe, shake, lick and taste each and every one of the few objects I possess – my now chewed-up wooden bowl, bone club and spear. My armoury of piranha jaws. My T-shirt, trainers and belt. Even my minging jeans get a good sniff and lick. But his favourite item by far is my fishing rod, which is hardly surprising I guess, seeing as it’s seeped in fish blood and must be as irresistible to an otter as a leg of lamb is to a dog. But unfortunately for Galaxy I quickly sussed that his powerful jaws could snap the shaft with ease, and with two hungry mouths to feed I need the rod more than ever. So I keep it well out of his reach, high in the branches of the Joshua Tree, along with my trainers, since they started going walkabout too. I’ve wedged the life jacket even higher still, to keep Dad’s watch and the precious fire glass out of his reach, and to prevent him ripping the jacket to pieces.

  And it hasn’t taken long to discover that as well as being unbelievably curious, Galaxy can be outrageously demanding as well, and when he’s in his ‘Give me attention’ mood there’s no way I can ignore him. Only when his demands have been met in full and he falls asleep do I get a chance to catch up on my chores: fetching wood, stoking the fire, gathering fruit and snails, shelling nuts or fishing. Mostly fishing.

  Returning to camp, I spot Galaxy straight away, crouched on top of the log pile – his personal playground and the first place I check when yet another possession goes missing. But for once he’s not hiding something, or stripping bark with his teeth to search for juicy grubs. Instead he’s chomping his way through an emerald green beetle and grunting with delight as he does so.

  I retrieve my fishing rod and whistle To me! and Galaxy leaps from the top of the pile to join me. With a regular supply of fish, fruit and nuts, Galaxy’s body is starting to fill out, his fur is regaining its silky lustre and he smells like freshly mown grass again. But I decide he still needs fattening up with more fish, and to catch fish I need my shoelaces. The raft will have to wait.

  THIRTY-TWO

  By the morning of the third day since I found him, Galaxy has regained enough confidence to re-enter the river on his own, timidly at first, always staying within a few metres of the shore and repeatedly checking where I am and calling me to join him and play. His persistent pleas are impossible to resist for long so I decide to try playing throw and catch with him instead, which, if he gets it, will at least allow me to stay on dry land while hopefully tiring him out.

  With a stack of a dozen small mangoes by my side, I sit cross-legged on the riverbank, and whistle to Galaxy to join me. Holding a mango high in the air so he can see it, I swing it backwards and forwards a few times before lobbing it underarm into the river, and reach for a second one, hoping I don’t run out of fruit before he gets the idea. But be
fore my probing fingers have even separated another mango from the pile, Galaxy has leaped from the bank, dived and resurfaced with the first one clasped in his mouth, and instead of floating on his back and eating it he swims to shore, drops it on the ground and looks up at me in anticipation. I’m astonished, and seriously impressed. I throw the next one twice as far as the first, and while it’s still flying through the air Galaxy is swimming hard and fast out towards it, tracking the mango’s progress, and mere seconds after it plops into the water he emerges a few metres downstream of where it entered, with water pouring off his polished head and the fruit held firmly in his teeth. Incredible! I sneakily fake throwing the next one, then lob it into the shallows, while his back is turned, and before the ripples have reached the shore Galaxy’s spun round, dived and found it. And I clap, and cheer, and spend the next half an hour marvelling at the sheer speed of his reflexes.

  He doesn’t get a perfect score though, only eleven out of twelve, although to be fair it’s hardly his fault seeing as I eat the last mango.

  By the afternoon Galaxy’s starting to venture further from shore, gliding out into midstream to investigate every piece of driftwood, or heading off to explore the riverbank further downstream. But every time he dives he soon surfaces to check I’m still sat on the riverbank watching him. And I always am.

  Even though I know Galaxy is as at home in the river as he is on land, my stomach still clenches and my skin goes cold each time I lose sight of him, or I can’t see any puffs of mud or silver bubbles to tell me where he is. If I think he’s strayed too far or I can’t take the stress any longer, I make the To me! whistle and he quickly swims back, runs out of the river and bounds up to me. Chirping joyfully, he’ll lick my hands and face and squirm all over my feet as if we have been apart for weeks, before shaking furiously, showering me with water. But I don’t mind his soppiness or the sticky feet. It’s always a relief to have him back, and anyway when he’s finished twirling and twisting, his fur sticks out so much he looks as cute and cuddly as a fluffy toy and I can’t help but laugh.

  Later that afternoon I reluctantly decide I can’t face another night tossing and turning on my mouldy bed so as hard as it is to do, I leave Galaxy exploring the river while I head back to camp to change the bedding.

  After grabbing armfuls of fresh leafy branches I stare down at the damp and decaying leaves of my old mattress, knowing I should remove them and dump them on the fire while I clear the area of insects and let the earth dry out. But that will take a while and I can’t help thinking I’ve already been away from Galaxy for too long, so I simply chuck the new branches on top of the old and jog back to where I left him and start whistling.

  When he doesn’t immediately swim into view I panic; running up and down the riverbank, whistling hard and calling his name. Moments later he appears, loping back along the track from Snail Rock. Relief washes over me, and then surprise when I see a catfish flapping in his mouth. I’ve never seen Galaxy catch his own food before – up until now his mum or I have done all the fishing for him. As he draws closer, Galaxy’s squeak of greeting is muffled by the mouthful of fish, but this time instead of his usual puppy-dog antics he halts a few metres away from me and flops down, holds the fish upright between his front paws and starts to eat it, crunching through the head first, popping the eyes and grinding the cheekbones to pulp, then gulping the fleshy belly, and in between mouthfuls I can hear him huffing in satisfaction. It’s not a big fish and a bottom-grubbing catfish is undoubtedly much easier to catch than a piranha, but I’m almost certain it’s the first fish Galaxy’s ever caught and I swear there’s a swagger to his walk as he tosses the last morsel down his throat and lopes away. I feel like I should say something but I’m grinning too hard and I’m far too emotional to speak. Galaxy’s caught his first fish. His mum would be so proud. I know I am.

  Sometime later, towards twilight, I’m collecting snails when I hear Galaxy approach, his squeak of greeting muffled like before. The catfish he’s caught this time is much bigger, almost as long as my arm. I whistle in admiration, expecting Galaxy to simply sit and devour his catch like before. But instead he walks right up to me, drops the fish on the ground, retreats a little way back and lies down and pants, with his chin resting on his outstretched paws and eyes shining up at me.

  Confused, I look down at the slowly gulping catfish and then at Galaxy, blinking and chirping away, as if waiting for me to do something. Perhaps he wants me to finish it off, or say something? But then I look at his beaming face again and I get it. The catfish is for me. It’s a gift.

  I keep my eyes on Galaxy as I slowly extend my hand and close my fingers around the catfish. As I do so Galaxy jumps to his feet and I snatch my hand back, alarmed that I may have misread the situation, and wary of his bone-crunching teeth. But Galaxy merely stands on all fours and grunts, and nods his head, and I pick up the catfish and lift it to my face and sniff, like an otter would. It stinks. And it’s covered in slime. Somehow I resist the urge to vomit and drop it, and I grunt and murmur appreciatively instead, and lick my peeling lips. ‘Yummy,’ I say. ‘Delicious. Thank you, Galaxy. Thank you and well done.’ Galaxy raises himself on his hind legs and chuckles in response. Then he turns and bounds back to the river, and I bash the catfish’s head against a rock and walk back to camp, with a bowl of snails in one hand and a slimy catfish gift in the other. It is by far the weirdest present I’ve ever received. But it’s been a long time since anyone has given me anything and I have to swallow a number of times to get rid of the lump forming in my throat.

  That night we have a banquet. A feast of pirahna, snails, nuts, fruit and catfish.

  The catfish is disgusting. Pasty flesh laced with bones which tastes like a glue stick dipped in marmite. I manage to force a couple of lumps down then wait until Galaxy is engrossed in eating his share to chuck the rest of my portion into the fire. But apart from the catfish, the food is delicious. I’m definitely getting better at this cooking lark, and with the cunning addition of ground-up mango pulp as a sweetener, my Jungle Tea tastes better than ever.

  What a day! And what a way to end it. I’m warm and dry and pleasantly full, and entertained by a laser show of shooting stars and the wide range of noises gushing from Galaxy.

  Finally the last nut has been consumed and Galaxy grunts, then nudges my elbow. I raise my arm and he rolls onto his back, snuggles in tight against my side and looks up at me, liquid-brown eyes glinting in the firelight. Too stuffed and comfortable to even bother washing himself, he hiccups, sighs with satisfaction, and soon falls asleep with a dollop of sticky mango juice gluing two whiskers together and his paws clasped together across the vast blimp of his swollen belly. I lick my forefinger and thumb and clean the juice from his whiskers, which quiver like strummed guitar strings then spring back into place. Galaxy gurgles and sighs again and I reach for the piranha-teeth comb I made for him and run it gently through his fur. He scrunches his eyes, folds his paws and sighs, with a look of complete and utter bliss on his face. Then, along with Galaxy’s gurgling stomach and the crackling fire, I can hear another noise, a sound like an outboard engine idling in the distance. And I know what the noise is and where it’s coming from. It’s coming from Galaxy. It’s the sound of pure contentment. Galaxy is purring.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The pebble ploughs into the surface and disappears. I’ve got the angle wrong, again.

  Snatching another one from the pile I bend my knees a little more this time, and skim it as hard as I can, and this one skips eight times before dying halfway to Otter Rock. A new record. I should be pleased, impressed even. But I’m not. I don’t care what the pebble does. I just feel sick and deceitful, like when I lie myself into a corner and Mum catches me out.

  The past few days with Galaxy have been incredible. The happiest I’ve been since the crash, perhaps even longer. But now I have to go. I have to get home.

  I gaze at Galaxy, licking his nipped nose in the shade of the crooked tree. He obvi
ously lost his first fight with a crab. Part of me wants to use the cut as an excuse to stay and nurse him, but I can tell it’s not a serious wound, little more than a scratch really and he’ll soon heal. Anyway he learns so fast I doubt he’ll be caught out again. He’ll be fine. He’s healthy and he can fish and fend for himself. He belongs here. I don’t. And now he’s recovered it’s time for me to leave. The longer I postpone my departure then the harder and more painful it’s going to be for both of us.

  I stamp the remaining stones deep into the sand. I don’t feel like wasting any more time on stupid games. I should try and rest now, seeing as I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight. Then I’ll fish through the afternoon and this evening I’ll cut the laces with my piranha knife and finish the raft. One last massive supper with Galaxy tonight, then while he’s asleep I’ll fetch the life jacket from the tree, gather my provisions and wait at the water’s edge, ready to launch at first light, before Galaxy wakes. He’ll be frantic, and scared, I know he will. But it’s the only way I can do it. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, Mum says. I think I finally understand what she means. But however much I try to convince myself that I have no choice, and this is the right thing to do, for Galaxy’s sake as much as mine, the brutal truth is I’ll be abandoning him, betraying his trust and friendship. He’ll be alone. Again.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  My head is throbbing. The sky is dark and at first I’m annoyed with myself for having slept through the afternoon. But as I slowly wake I can see the sky is not night-black, nor even as dark as twilight, and the air is hot and still. Eerily still. I rise and shuffle to the stream, still half-asleep, and as I wipe beads of sweat from my arms I feel a tingling in my fingertips and notice how the hairs on my arms quiver and stay erect, like they do when you rub a balloon fast across your skin and it sticks. I notice how quiet it is. How unnaturally quiet. No screeching monkeys or birds. No hoots or howls. Even the insects are hushed. It’s as if every living thing knows something bad is coming and is hunkered down in readiness. I raise my head and see black clouds rolling in from the east, crackling with lightning. A storm’s coming. A big one.