Where did you find that? I really, really hope someone bought you a Jungle Yacht for Christmas now :)
Commander Gatti's Jungle Yachts "Didn't Conrad write about this?" Bill sounded grumpy. He was wearing a pith helmet (emblazoned, at the back, with the word Pikachu), khakis and a rumpled linen shirt, and holding a machete slick with sap in one hand. "She wrote cookbooks, so I doubt it," said Ben. He was wearing a three-piece suit, wearing a bowler hat and carrying an umbrella. He sounded calm, but was sweating profusely. "Not the Paleo woman," said Bill. "Joseph Conrad. The heart of darkness." "Didn't he stage the 1917 revolution?" "You're thinking of Josef Stalin, and no, that was Lenin anyway." Bill swung the machete angrily at the jungle that encompassed them. Green bushes grew to shoulder height; thick, reedy grass reached easily to waist height, and the trees, made of reddish brown hardwood, stretched way above their heads creating a canopy that left the companions in gloom. Vegetation cracked and split and fell away from the blade, and Bill shouldered another set of prickly branches aside. Somewhere over head a bird cackled. "It smells like something died," said Ben. He took a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it delicately against his nose. "It smells like a herd of things died!" Bill slashed at the vegetation again, and again, slowly clearing a path ahead of him. "And then things came along, ate the dead things, and died themselves. This jungle is so... untidy!" "Spider," said Ben, pointing. Bill slashed at that with the machete as well, and it scurried up a tree, waiting just out of reach. "Do these ones jump?" "It better not if it knows what's good for it!" There was an odd clong, and the machete bounced and vibrated in Bill's hand. "I say!" said Ben sounding suddenly enthusiastic. "I think you might have something there, old chap!" Bill rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He pulled aside vines that were as sticky as Japanese knotweed and shook off the beetles that ran over his hands. A faint vanilla smell rose up from long, trumpet shaped purple flowers that spiralled around the trunk of a tree, and he hacked at the finger-thick stems of some kind of cane that the vines had been supporting themselves off. With a noise like the splintering of firewood they collapsed, and slowly, incrementally, a long metal car was revealed. Rust had crept up from the wheel-arches and now reddish-brown arcs stretched like faulty rainbows from the driver's cabin to the rear door. The vehicle was as long as three shop-fronts, had windows in the rear-door and adjacent to it, and had sinuous curves as though the designer had longed for the sea. It had once been white but was now stained green and black where the rust hadn't eaten into it. Hints of blue over the wheel arches might have been paint, or might have been the jungle again. Tatters of grey fabric were all that were left of awnings over the windows, and the wheels were nothing more than steel circles with scraps of petrified rubber still clinging here and there.
"Looks promising," said Bill. He was now sweating as heavily as Ben and dark patches had formed at his armpits. "Commander Gatti's Jungle Yacht, from the shape." "And location," said Ben. "No-one else would have been mad enough to try driving in the jungle. At least, not without laying a road first." "Let's find out for certain, then." Bill looked at Ben, who looked back at Bill until he sighed. "Do I have to do all the work?" "You're dressed for it. I'm dressed for meeting the Commander." "Bloody 'roles and responsibilities'," muttered Bill. "Next time I get to wear the suit." "Of course, old chap!" Bill peered into the driver's cabin. "Empty," he said. "Glass is still intact though, so they probably stopped rather than hit something. Hmm, key's still in the ignition." He tried the door, which opened, and took the key out. "Right," he said. "Now let's try the living area." He hammered on the rear-door with the butt of the machete, and Ben raised an eyebrow. "Knocking is polite," said Bill. "And if they answered?" "Then we'd know we've got other problems." He tried the door. "Locked, but that makes sense." He tried the key from the ignition and it slipped into the lock, and refused to turn. "Rusted shut, I should think," said Ben. "Machete it?" "I pity your girlfriends when that's your first suggestion," said Bill. He braced himself with one hand against the body of the Jungle Yacht and punched the blade through the thin steel of the door just above the lock. The door promptly fell inwards, its hinges tearing free, and clattered on the two steps leading up into the body of the Jungle Yacht. "Had to be paper thin," said Ben. "They'd never have driven onto the boat otherwise." They peered inside, but the gloom of the jungle stopped them seeing anything. "Should be a light-switch," said Ben. "You think the batteries will still work after all this time? "No, but there's no harm in trying." The batteries were well and truly dead, so they used flashlights instead. Bill looked at the kitchenette, which had a two-ring burner, a fridge, and a sink, while Ben walked past the library and bar into the living 'room'. "Commander Gatti, I presume," he said, his voice deep despite the steel-can nature of the yacht trying to make it sound tinny. Bill came over to him, and they looked at a mummy on the chair. The hands were drawn up across the chest, the legs were pulled up too, and the head was tucked down. "Looks like he was attacked," said Bill. "Odd." Behind them there was an odd clong. "Fridge," said Ben. "His wife must be hiding in the fridge." Together, they turned.
Greg - an elderly gentleman was talking to me about an International Harvester truck that he drove in South Africa many years ago. I was stuck behind the front desk listening to him and had no idea what he was talking about, so I put it into Google and this was one of the things that came up (not the model he was talking about). I was immediately fascinated by the thought of trying to drive this monstrosity around, so... prompt!
Love what you did with this one. Of course having Ben and Bill involved makes most everything more enjoyable, but you did great stuff with the scene and that ending is a damned near unfair place to stop!
3 comments:
Where did you find that? I really, really hope someone bought you a Jungle Yacht for Christmas now :)
Commander Gatti's Jungle Yachts
"Didn't Conrad write about this?" Bill sounded grumpy. He was wearing a pith helmet (emblazoned, at the back, with the word Pikachu), khakis and a rumpled linen shirt, and holding a machete slick with sap in one hand.
"She wrote cookbooks, so I doubt it," said Ben. He was wearing a three-piece suit, wearing a bowler hat and carrying an umbrella. He sounded calm, but was sweating profusely.
"Not the Paleo woman," said Bill. "Joseph Conrad. The heart of darkness."
"Didn't he stage the 1917 revolution?"
"You're thinking of Josef Stalin, and no, that was Lenin anyway." Bill swung the machete angrily at the jungle that encompassed them. Green bushes grew to shoulder height; thick, reedy grass reached easily to waist height, and the trees, made of reddish brown hardwood, stretched way above their heads creating a canopy that left the companions in gloom. Vegetation cracked and split and fell away from the blade, and Bill shouldered another set of prickly branches aside. Somewhere over head a bird cackled.
"It smells like something died," said Ben. He took a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it delicately against his nose.
"It smells like a herd of things died!" Bill slashed at the vegetation again, and again, slowly clearing a path ahead of him. "And then things came along, ate the dead things, and died themselves. This jungle is so... untidy!"
"Spider," said Ben, pointing. Bill slashed at that with the machete as well, and it scurried up a tree, waiting just out of reach. "Do these ones jump?"
"It better not if it knows what's good for it!"
There was an odd clong, and the machete bounced and vibrated in Bill's hand.
"I say!" said Ben sounding suddenly enthusiastic. "I think you might have something there, old chap!"
Bill rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He pulled aside vines that were as sticky as Japanese knotweed and shook off the beetles that ran over his hands. A faint vanilla smell rose up from long, trumpet shaped purple flowers that spiralled around the trunk of a tree, and he hacked at the finger-thick stems of some kind of cane that the vines had been supporting themselves off. With a noise like the splintering of firewood they collapsed, and slowly, incrementally, a long metal car was revealed.
Rust had crept up from the wheel-arches and now reddish-brown arcs stretched like faulty rainbows from the driver's cabin to the rear door. The vehicle was as long as three shop-fronts, had windows in the rear-door and adjacent to it, and had sinuous curves as though the designer had longed for the sea. It had once been white but was now stained green and black where the rust hadn't eaten into it. Hints of blue over the wheel arches might have been paint, or might have been the jungle again. Tatters of grey fabric were all that were left of awnings over the windows, and the wheels were nothing more than steel circles with scraps of petrified rubber still clinging here and there.
"Looks promising," said Bill. He was now sweating as heavily as Ben and dark patches had formed at his armpits. "Commander Gatti's Jungle Yacht, from the shape."
"And location," said Ben. "No-one else would have been mad enough to try driving in the jungle. At least, not without laying a road first."
"Let's find out for certain, then."
Bill looked at Ben, who looked back at Bill until he sighed. "Do I have to do all the work?"
"You're dressed for it. I'm dressed for meeting the Commander."
"Bloody 'roles and responsibilities'," muttered Bill. "Next time I get to wear the suit."
"Of course, old chap!"
Bill peered into the driver's cabin. "Empty," he said. "Glass is still intact though, so they probably stopped rather than hit something. Hmm, key's still in the ignition." He tried the door, which opened, and took the key out.
"Right," he said. "Now let's try the living area."
He hammered on the rear-door with the butt of the machete, and Ben raised an eyebrow. "Knocking is polite," said Bill.
"And if they answered?"
"Then we'd know we've got other problems." He tried the door. "Locked, but that makes sense." He tried the key from the ignition and it slipped into the lock, and refused to turn.
"Rusted shut, I should think," said Ben. "Machete it?"
"I pity your girlfriends when that's your first suggestion," said Bill. He braced himself with one hand against the body of the Jungle Yacht and punched the blade through the thin steel of the door just above the lock. The door promptly fell inwards, its hinges tearing free, and clattered on the two steps leading up into the body of the Jungle Yacht.
"Had to be paper thin," said Ben. "They'd never have driven onto the boat otherwise."
They peered inside, but the gloom of the jungle stopped them seeing anything.
"Should be a light-switch," said Ben.
"You think the batteries will still work after all this time?
"No, but there's no harm in trying."
The batteries were well and truly dead, so they used flashlights instead. Bill looked at the kitchenette, which had a two-ring burner, a fridge, and a sink, while Ben walked past the library and bar into the living 'room'.
"Commander Gatti, I presume," he said, his voice deep despite the steel-can nature of the yacht trying to make it sound tinny.
Bill came over to him, and they looked at a mummy on the chair. The hands were drawn up across the chest, the legs were pulled up too, and the head was tucked down.
"Looks like he was attacked," said Bill. "Odd."
Behind them there was an odd clong.
"Fridge," said Ben. "His wife must be hiding in the fridge."
Together, they turned.
Greg - an elderly gentleman was talking to me about an International Harvester truck that he drove in South Africa many years ago. I was stuck behind the front desk listening to him and had no idea what he was talking about, so I put it into Google and this was one of the things that came up (not the model he was talking about). I was immediately fascinated by the thought of trying to drive this monstrosity around, so... prompt!
Love what you did with this one. Of course having Ben and Bill involved makes most everything more enjoyable, but you did great stuff with the scene and that ending is a damned near unfair place to stop!
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