Psychopup and Other Stories by Janice Knapp

Author:Janice Knapp [Knapp, Janice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Janice Knapp
Published: 2012-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

A TASTE

OF AFRICA

It was the Larsens' decision to take me under their wing. These were not the staid Scandinavians one always hears about. I had nothing to say in the matter. Lucky for me, Ebba and Fritz were a jovial couple, inveterate jokesters, and their three children, Karl, Britta, and Jory, were more civilized than most. As an expert in forestry management, it was Fritz's research sabbatical that brought the Danish family to live in the same lake region of Michigan where I was taking my summer vacation; and it was pure chance that they focused their warped Scandinavian sense of humor in my direction, as I was bored and at loose ends.

Robust good health characterized the Larsen clan. All Nordic blondes, blue eyed, and built in mammoth proportions, they spent their free time engaged in outdoor activities, their favorites being camp-outs, hiking, fishing, swimming, aerobics, and, of course, tree climbing. They led me to understand that tree climbing is the Danish national sport and that a celebration is held in a sacred grove on the outskirts of Copenhagen each year. The winners of special categories are awarded prizes for the following events: scaling the highest tree without breaking a branch; moving through the greatest number of trees Tarzan-style without setting foot to ground; and embracing the thickest, thorniest tree trunk, with one's bare arms and chest slathered in gooey sap, while striving to clasp one's hands together on the opposite side. The ancient festival ends with the crowning of a king and queen, who are carried in decorated chairs around a roaring bonfire in preparation for the ritual jumping. In the distant past, the king and queen would have been live sacrifices to the fire god instead of just leaping through the flames. Today, because of the people's grand passion for tree sports, the government pulls international strings, plotting to make them an event in the next Olympiad. But for now, like all loyal Danes wishing to represent their country, the Larsens practice, practice, practice. I thought of all this as I straddled the forked branches of a lush sycamore tree, clutching the thin central stock for dear life, sixty feet above the ground.

Now, I am not thirty-something like the Larsens, but neither am I applying for my young senior citizen's discount card at Chester's Drugs. So I was humiliated when Ebba sent fifteen-year-old Karl and eleven-year-old Britta up the sycamore to talk me back down to the ground. Even Jory, the baby of the family, knew that I had somehow disgraced myself.

Determined to make up for my bad showing, the Larsen crew decided to treat me to a special outing . . . a surprise expedition. Ebba sat beside Fritz, who was driving, while the kids and I filled the rear of the Land Rover. Little Jory sat on my lap.

The car swayed this way and that as Fritz put the vehicle through its paces at eighty-five miles an hour on a two-lane country road. The man obviously had no regard for human life.

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