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He opens his phone. “Wow, it’s beautiful.”
I peer over his shoulder, and he continues to search the area. “A wedding. Now that’s an idea.”
I rest my head on his shoulder as he peruses beach wedding images with the rich green rainforest as a backdrop.
Leaving him to get lost in his imagination, I open Gran’s journal, ready to be transported back to Ulara with her.
41
IVY
May 20, 1963
It feels strange to put pen to paper.
It seems like months since I wrote my last entry. Yet it’s only seven weeks.
I have marked the days on the bamboo posts in my hut and added the days to estimate the date.
Though I fear I’ll soon lose track of the days. The rainy season is upon us, and I’ve been stuck inside alone for many days. With no protection from glass windows or doors, only a hammock, I sit and watch the never-ending waterfall flow from my thatched grass roof to the ground. When I need to eat, I trudge through the water at mid-calf to get to the central hut—Waipa—where the fires burn for our food. They string bananas and other fruits from the bamboo beams. Many of the huts are above water, built on a slope with trenches surrounding them so the runoff flows away, protecting the important huts. Others are on stilts. Mine is on low stilts at the front section of the village and close to the river. I have a great view, yet I’m still being observed and not trusted. It’s why I stopped writing, as the disapproval in their expressions was clear. I don’t want to do anything to upset these people who are feeding me and giving me a safe haven for now.
I have given up hope of Maria coming for me until the rainy season is over. Jennifer and Felix were volunteering for six months, so I assume they have vacated the camp if they’re alive.
I’m slowly learning some of the Ularan language. Previously, I didn’t bother when sign language worked for most things, only I hoped to have been rescued by now.
Rescued because my canoe disappeared last month. I assume from the force of the river with the water gushing down from the tepui into other tributaries that feed into this part of the river.
My friend, Weju, comes and visits me daily to check on me. Lately, something has changed in his eyes, as though he knows a secret and can’t share. I fear it has something to do with my fate.
Though some days, I feel it’s easier to have died. Maybe then Albert would have been informed. They could have made it appear as an accident.
An unknown future scares me. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. Yet how do I leave?
I can’t simply walk out.
No trails. No canoe. I can’t even follow the river as the rainforest consumes every space. I have no drinking container or anything to carry food. My sandals have frayed and are almost unwearable, although I still cover my feet when I walk around.
The stench. My skin. Sometimes I don’t feel human.
But I’m alive, so I shouldn’t complain. Right now, I wonder what I have to live for.
If there were a chance I could go home, I’d take it. If I could turn back time, I would, as my world was right in front of me in Adelaide, and I set off for an adventure and my selfish need to fulfill a dream.
A dream that has become a nightmare.
Writing this from the safety of my hut, it makes me think of home.
At least the rain has eased, and I can see some of the village.
Weju is with the shaman.
They’re discussing something.
I remember teaching him to pronounce Eden since our phonics are quite different.
Here, everyone’s name holds meaning, so I told him my name was of the rainforest, as in a way, it’s their paradise. In the Ularan language, Weju is the sun. He certainly has been my ray of sunshine through these tough days, even now when the sun barely shines at all.
This is an exciting entry. Weju came and led me to another hut. A younger girl went into labor and became distressed. I don’t know how long she’s been like this, as she was tired and running out of time to deliver safely. When I examined her, the baby was breach, and all I could think about was the young girl back at the camp. I’d not lose another life if I could help it.
