Anaconda: The Writer's Cut by Hans Bauer

Author:Hans Bauer [Bauer, Hans]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Balloon Foot Press
Published: 2014-01-23T05:00:00+00:00

The dream always begins the same.

A brown dirt road receding away from the dreamer as it runs straight as a string through dense jungle.

The sky a matching strip of cloud flecked blue. Brown road.

Green jungle.

Cotton ball sky.

The colors all a bit off, sick, faded.

An old timey water truck appears, rumbles slowly up the road.

Dallas and Jaime lay head to toe in their hammocks, thoroughly demoralized. Nearby, some kind of toad hopped across the deck. Joe was still out cold. The other four were asleep or lost in their thoughts. Easter twitched in her dreams.

“You think we’ll ever get home?” asked Jaime.

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” answered Dallas.

“What if we don’t?”

“We will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Lotta reasons.”

“Name some.”

“We’re young, we’re strong, we’re smart, and we’re lucky,” said Dallas.

“Joe wasn’t so lucky,” said Jaime.

“I love ya like a brother, little buddy, but you’re starting to piss me off.”

“Sorry.”

Silence.

“Why’d Pops bail on us?”

“He was superstitious. He believed in some weird shit. You remember—catfish shoes—stingray hats—purple dolphins. Pops got spooked.”

“Pink,” Jaime interrupted.

“Pink what?’

“Dolphins. You said purple.”

“Purple, fuchsia, jazzberry jam, whatever.”

“Jazzberry?”

“We’re talking about colors, right?” said Dallas. “Didn’t you have a box of crayons when you were a kid?”

“I can’t remember.”

“I’ll buy you a box when we get back.”

“So what spooked him?”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

“He was a nice guy. I liked him.”

“We all did.”

The Spanish teacher’s lungs erupted in a hacking fit.

“You all right over there, amigo?”

“Yeah.” He damn sure didn’t sound all right. After that, he lay quiet for a long time.

“You ever have an aquarium when you were a kid?” Jaime began again.

“We had a fishbowl,” said Dallas. A sigh and a pause, then, “We gonna do this again?”

“What kind of fish?” asked Jaime.

“Goldfish. Moby and Dick.”

“That’s it? Just a couple goldfish?”

“Hey, it was all we could afford. Don’t rub it in,” said Dallas.

“Ever wonder where those fish come from?” asked Jaime. He seemed to have forgotten they’d had this conversation a hundred times.

“Let’s see,” said Dallas. “Barber shop? Taco stand? No? Wait, shoe store? Think we got ours at the Goodwill.”

“Got what?” Jaime was starting to drift.

“Moby and Dick. What are we talking about?” He said it with patience, though he was barely paying attention himself.

“Tropical fish.”

“Wait, I got it,” said Dallas, trying to be a sport. “A pet store.”

“You buy them from the pet store. But where do they come from? I mean really come from.”

“I got a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“They’re collected from little ponds and streams in the Amazon. We passed a perfect spot about a mile back. If you find something no one’s ever found before, you get to name it.”

“You’re not going anywhere. So don’t get any bright ideas.”

“Why not? You only live once.”

“Because you try anything, I’ll snap your neck.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah. Keep it in mind.”

“Kind of ironic, don’t you think?” said Jaime.

“What is?” said Dallas.

“I came all the way down here and never got a chance to go exploring.” He obviously meant poking around a jungle pond brimming with tropical beauties.

“What’s the point? Let’s say you found something.

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