[At the end of Part 1 of this series, the intrepid Dr. Livingston was covered in leeches…]
I had been trained at the London School of Tropical Medicine and Hygiene for just such an occasion. I calmly reflected that despite their appearance, leeches do not transmit disease. Ticks transmit disease. Mosquitoes transmit disease. But leeches don’t. Aside from a little bloodletting,
They are perfectly harmless. That’s what went through my mind. Thirty minutes later.
What happened though, at that moment, was that the photons reflecting from the creatures covering my entire body passed through my corneas, were focused by my lenses onto my retinas, and those bioelectrical impulses were then broken up and transported by my optic pathways around the sides of my brain to my occipital lobe, where they were reassembled into a coherent picture of “LEECHES!! Jesus save me!” The entire process had spanned an interval somewhere between a 10th of my 40-yard dash time and the speed of light. At such moments, nonvoluntary forces take over. My quadriceps, hamstrings, and calf muscles exploded - all while standing on a tiny ledge.
Twenty feet above a sheer drop onto jagged rocks lining the floor of a tropical rain forest, I danced like Gollum in the Cracks of Mount Doom after finally reacquiring Sauron’s Ring. I was screaming and flailing, sending droplets of my blood flying about. I finally managed to climb up through the waterfall onto solid and safer ground. Just what were those leeches doing down there in the middle of a waterfall anyway? Nothing was there for them to eat. Had they been waiting months for some idiot to climb down there, and if so what person would be so moronic as to…
Oh…
It was not long before I forgot all about leeches. I had read that Merrell’s Marauders, fighting in the Jungles of Burma in World War II would have dysentery so bad they cut away the bottoms of their trousers so as to do number 2 while still walking. All I can say is I envied them. By this time, I was developing GI problems so severe they can only to be described as — and I apologize for the metaphor — vomiting through my anus. With no bathroom when the overpowering urge to defecate came upon me (and there really was no warning), I would sprint out the door and down the road between the mud buildings looking for a bush behind which to squat. I look back on these as some of the greatest athletic feats of my life. They should try this in the Olympics. Give the participants two bottles of magnesium citrate, line them up in the stadium, hold the starting gun for two hours, fire it, and then see how well they would do. I would get no worse than silver.
Matters got worse. The doctors I was with went out of town for a weekend, leaving me alone in the village. Saturdays were Market Day and also were considered a trip to the doctor day by everyone who came into town. After all, they wanted their worm pills. They started coming in the door about the time my chills began. I mean these were bone-shaking, teeth-chattering, sweat-drenching rigors. My arms and legs felt so heavy, just sitting up was equivalent to mountain climbing. Without oxygen. On Jupiter. Meanwhile the villagers, somewhat insensitively I think, were not going to let a little sepsis stand in the way of worm pills. They gathered around my cot and I could not tell if I was shaking or they were shaking me. Eventually they left. At some point the other doctors returned, including the Dr. Tom Jones who took one look at me and said with alarm,” What is wrong with you??” I was surprised anyone noticed. They took my temperature: 104 ° F. Dr. Jones began examining me—"You have a palpable spleen.” No, I don’t, I said, and felt my own abdomen. I did have a palpable spleen. This is when they retrieved the antique ampicillin bottles from the cabinet. The sediment was too old to emulsify, so with a thin knife inserted through the bottle neck, the sediment was chopped up and I drank it, big chunks. Within two hours I felt better. After all, those bacteria in the jungle were virgins- never encountering an antibiotic before. The doctors kept chopping up ampicillin rocks and I kept swallowing them. The next day I could walk. I would live.
As if Salmonella, as we suspected it was, was not enough, by this time food was scarce. I decided to climb the vulture tree and pick some of the fruit. Carefully weaving my way through the minefield that was our backyard, I started climbing. I had plucked a few fruits and tossed them to Joe when I felt a massive sting on the back of my neck. Joe said later that something very big and very dangerous-looking rose from my neck, hovered, and then attacked again. I was 15 feet up in a vulture tree, hanging above a pool of excrement, and being attacked by an enraged hot poker with wings.
Fuzzy caterpillar. Best not to touch anything like this. Photo by Wiley Livingston.
A free falling object did not move much faster than I did toward the ground. That night someone stole our fruit. Eventually each week on Market Day I would buy seven pineapples and eat one a day. Finally Joe and I hitched a ride to St. Ines, a long trip through the jungle. There we found a Carne House and ordered a plate of meat. The waiter walked over to the wall where on the floor were stacks of brown dried up pancake-shaped things. He carried two back to the kitchen - these were to be our main course. After we were done eating, the sun went down and Joe and I exited the establishment, where before us was a huge cobblestoned center of town. And under the street lights the cobblestones were moving. They were giant toads - thousands of them - the size of dinner plates all hopping about. Large insects flitted in and out of the lights, so I knocked a few down. The toads looked like sharks in a Jaws movie, fighting each other, ripping apart the bugs. Do NOT infuriate a toad. I’ve seen what they can do.
Walking through the jungle to the different huts, we often pushed our way through vegetation reaching well above our heads. As we walked on such a path one day, I stopped dead still. There next to the passage in the foliage about shoulder height was a long thin green snake. We kept a wide distance, but I remembered Philip Marsden (of tropical medicine fame) had told me there were no poisonous snakes. A little way up the path I encountered a villager. “O Senhor- Voce conhece essa serpent? Longa, verda, magra?” Asking about a long thin green snake. He nodded his head gravely. “Perigoso?” Dangerous? Very. If it bites you, you will die. Now that I started looking, there were snakes everywhere. I was a Boy Scout. Snakes don’t frighten me. On the flip side, I did not want to get bitten by something venomous nine hours away from civilization. I remarked to Joe I had never seen a coral snake, not even in a zoo. Ten minutes later we found a coral snake, right in the middle of the dirt road. And it was not a fake coral snake. This one was red-on-yellow-kill-a-fellow. We did what anyone would do encountering a deadly venomous snake nine hours away from any rescue. We caught it. We took it back to our place and put it in a Coke bottle. We caught more and put them in Coke bottles. Pretty soon we had a large number. Every night when I went to bed, I had a ring of deadly vipers surrounding me. I slept great. I got a message back to Alabama—please check with the Birmingham Zoo. I had the greatest collection of snakes they could imagine, all like genies trapped in bottles. Was there any way I could get them to the zoo? Answer returned: no. I did not have a license to collect snakes. I took them out in the jungle and let them loose.
Author's hand holding tail of local fauna. This is best end to hold.
Finally, after five weeks, Joe and I returned to Salvador. I had lost 20 pounds and could not walk by a hamburger stand without eating. I must have eaten six meals a day. By the time I left Brazil, my weight had almost normalized. They hold Carnaval throughout Brazil and I was told Salvador was the best place to be. People came from Rio to attend Carnaval in Salvador. For seven nights the streets were full of people, and music trucks with three levels drove around with Brazilian bands decked out on them. Most places you go in the world you hear American music. Not in Brazil. In Brazil you hear Brazilian music. I liked it. The most popular band was Os Trios Electricos. I was never sure if this stood for “The Electrical Three” or “The Three Electricians.” Whatever. They were good. I only went out the first night of Festival, I stayed in the other nights. There is only so much I can take of hundreds of drunks vomiting and urinating in the streets. After a week of Carnaval, Joe flew out to meet up with his girlfriend in Rio—he invited me to come, but I realized this was probably my one chance to see the Amazon and I opted to fly to Manaus. The jet I boarded flew for four hours over green jungle without a break. This was the deep forest and seemed to go on forever.
I landed, gathered my luggage, and walked out through the sliding glass doors into an absolute sauna. It was as if every pore in my body had waited my entire life to sweat at the same time. I was pretty good at speaking the language at this point, and found a hotel, then arranged for a river tour the next day. We started out on the Rio Negro, which is the texture of black coffee. Small white dolphins swam by our boat. The river also contains sting rays, some really giant fish, and of course piranhas. I was invited to swim. No thanks. I have already had my encounters in the water.
The Rio Negro flowing into the Amazon does not mix immediately. The much larger river is the color of mud, and where the two meet they flow side by side for miles. You can lean over the boat and touch the Rio Negro. Move your finger two inches and it is in the Amazon.
Amazon (muddy) meets Rio Negro (foreground). Photo by Wiley Livingston.
The night I flew out there was a terrible storm. The entire airport was shaking and our flight was delayed and possibly canceled. I lay down on the floor at the gate, rested my head on my backpack and went to sleep. At 2:00 a.m. a girl shook me awake—we were leaving. Outside sounded like a giant wind tunnel. The airport terminal was rocking. We’re leaving?? Yes. I boarded the plane which looked like it was going to take off by flapping its wings. This did not look good. I realized I had never made a will, but immediately remembered I had no money, so it evened out. The plane taxied out, gathered speed on the runway, and lifted off. I expected to flip upside down any moment. Instead, it was the smoothest flight of my life. I was headed home.