Chapter 11. I dream of Tarzan

I dreamed all night.

I was in a library. A voice came to me, clear as a bell. "Pick up the damn book!" it said.

The closest book was a literary theory thing called "The Slayers of Moses" I opened to any page, who cares, I already failed mightily at reading this very book.

But to my amazement, the words ordered themselves like lambs. They turned their faces to me with open welcome. Unbelieving, I began to walk among them, touching this one and that, careful and slow, but without fear. They were as beautiful as ever, and they didn't suddenly bolt and run. They just stood there, letting me visit as long as I wanted. I started to laugh. And then it changed to a scene from my childhood book, Tarzan of the Apes, the only scene I never forgot.

"After what seemed an eternity to the little sufferer he was able to walk once more, and from then on his recovery was so rapid that in another month he was as strong and active as ever.

He commenced a systematic search of the cabin; but his attention was soon riveted by the books which seemed to exert a strange and powerful influence over him so that he could scarce attend to aught else for the lure of the wondrous puzzle which their purpose presented to him... the strange little bugs which covered the pages where there were no pictures excited his wonder and deepest thought.

Squatting upon his haunches on the table top in the cabin his father had built - his smooth, brown, naked little body bent over the book which rested in his strong slender hands, and his great shock of long, black hair falling about his well-shaped head and bright, intelligent eyes - Tarzan of the apes, little primitive man, presented a picture filled, at once, with pathos and with promise - an allegorical figure of the primordial groping through the black night of ignorance toward the light of learning.

My father and mother were visiting me and he looked at my full bookshelves. "Why don't you sell these goddamned things?! How could you waste your money on this shit?" he muttered, reddening, throwing his arm to indicate the wall of books.

I was starting to boil. Mom said "Sam, shut up!" and he would have, but I couldn't hear her. I rushed at him.

"He had taken scarce a dozen steps toward the jungle when a great form rose up before him from the shadows of a low bush. At first he thought it was one of his own people but in another instant he realized that it was Bolgani, the huge gorilla.

So close was he that there was no chance for flight and little Tarzan knew he must stand and fight for his life; for these great beasts were the deadly enemies of his tribe, and neither one nor the other ever asked or gave quarter.

Had Tarzan been a full-grown bull ape of the species of his tribe he would have been more than a match for the gorilla, but being only a little English boy, though enormously muscular for such, he stood no change against his cruel antagonist. In his veins, though, flowed the blood of the best of a race of mighty fighter, and back of this was the training of his short lifetime among the fierce brutes of the jungle.

"He knew no fear, as we know it; his little heart the faster but from the excitement and exhiliaration of adventure...In fact he met the brute midway in its charge, striking its huge body with his closed fists and as futilely as he had been a fly attacking an elephant. But in one hand he still clutched the knife he had found in the cabin..and as the brute, striking and biting, closed upon him the boy accidentally turned the point toward the hairy breast. As the knife sank deep into its body the gorilla shrieked in pain and rage...

"The gorilla, fighting after the manner of its kind, struck terrific blows with its open hand, and tore the flesh at the boy's throat and chest with its mighty tusks.

"For a moment they rolled upon the ground in the fierce frenzy of combat. More and more weakly the torn and bleeding arm struck home with the long sharp blade, then the little figure stiffened with a spasmodic jerk, and Tarzan, the young Lord Greystoke, rolled unconscious upon the dead and decaying vegetation which carpeted his jungle home."


"I'm going home," Mom said, tired and bitter. "Are you coming, Sam, dammit?" He growled and followed her. She looked disgusted, but I knew she felt terrible for me and couldn't understand why I wouldn't just ignore him when he was being stupid. "I'll call you later," she said. And they left.

We met briefly in the morning. He had gotten a message of some importance -- and not the kind of importance a film maker deals with. I asked him what it was about.

"Lady of my soul--I am going away to-morrow into a frenzied turmoil. I have news from my country, and I must be in the centre of events; we do not know what will come of it all. I come down to-day at great sacrifice of time to bid you farewell. It may be that I shall never see you again, though I think that I shall; but should I not, promise me that you will
remain my star unsmirched by the paltriness of the world, promise me that you will live up to the ideal of this noble home--that you will develop your brain and your intuition, that you will be forceful and filled with common sense. I would like to have moulded your spiritual being, and brought you to the highest, but it is not for me, perhaps, in this life--another will come. See that you live worthily."

He slipped me three envelopes and a parcel, held me very close for a moment and was gone.

In one envelope was what appeared to be a lot of money. In the parcel was a book called The Price of Things, and a page was marked. I opened to that page and saw the following:

"Lady of my soul--I am going away to-morrow into a frenzied turmoil. I have news from my country, and I must be in the centre of events; we do not know what will come of it all. I come down to-day at great sacrifice of time to bid you farewell. It may be that I shall never see you again, though I think that I shall; but should I not, promise me that you will remain my star unsmirched by the paltriness of the world, promise me that you will live up to the ideal of this noble home--that you will develop your brain and your intuition, that you will be forceful and filled with common sense. I would like to have moulded your spiritual being, and brought you to the highest, but it is not for me, perhaps, in this life--another will come. See that you live worthily."

What was this, some kind of joke? I opened the third envelope and found a plane ticket to Kyrgystan.

I was bewildered and I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't manage it. I felt happy. I knew I was nuts, and that the next time I'd sink into the darkness I might be far from friends or civilization. But all I could think was, 'So what?'

I went inside to pack my belongings. The next day I was flying again.