Chapter 5 #4
I took only a handful. The light changed whenever leaves shifted overhead, forcing me to adjust the settings twice, but the elder monkey remained where he was while I worked.
He turned toward the forest once, giving me a profile that I knew would look beautiful once I transferred the image to a larger screen.
When I finished, I lowered the camera instead of continuing down the trail. There was something about his quiet manner that made him seem like a better source of information than the collection of birds and young monkeys who'd spent the morning interfering in my life.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked the elder capuchin, leaning one shoulder against a nearby tree while warm air stirred the loose strands around my temples and the camera rested comfortably against my stomach.
You just did, the capuchin replied, carefully pulling another piece from his fruit before glancing toward me from the corner of one eye.
I laughed, the sound carrying softly beneath the leaves.
“Apparently you're funny too,” I told the monkey, relaxing a little more against the tree before curiosity finally won. “Why does everyone keep talking to me about the leopard?”
Because he watches you, the elder capuchin explained after taking another bite, wiping one sticky finger against the bark as though there were nothing particularly strange about his answer.
“Animals watch people all the time,” I told the capuchin, thinking about the countless hours I'd spent photographing wildlife that had been just as aware of my presence as I was of theirs.
Not the way he does, the elder capuchin replied, meeting my eyes while the certainty in his expression removed some of the amusement from the conversation.
I shifted against the tree, suddenly remembering how many times I'd looked up from my camera and found the leopard already watching me.
“How does he watch me?” I asked the elder capuchin, my voice quieter now as I ran one thumb absently along the side of the camera. The older monkey rolled the remaining piece of fruit between his fingers while he considered the question.
Like he's checking that you're still there, the capuchin finally answered, his expression calm as his eyes remained steadily on mine.
Something inside my chest tightened, and I straightened slightly away from the tree without meaning to.
“What does that mean?” I asked the capuchin, rubbing my thumb along the camera's edge while a bird called somewhere high above us.
Spotted one belongs here. He knows every tree, every path, every smell. This is his place, the elder capuchin explained, looking toward the deeper forest as he gestured vaguely with the fruit still held in one hand.
“That makes sense,” I told the capuchin, watching him closely because something about his expression told me he hadn't reached whatever point he was trying to make.
You don't stay anywhere very long, the elder capuchin said, turning his dark eyes back toward me while the last bit of humor disappeared from his tone.
I went still as the words settled, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera against my chest and the damp heat pressing around me. Apparently, jungle gossip traveled much farther than I'd realized.
“How would you know that?” I asked the capuchin, unable to keep the surprise from my voice as I pushed myself fully upright.
You tell spotted one many things, the capuchin replied, eating the final piece of fruit before rubbing his fingertips together to remove the sticky residue.
I closed my eyes briefly and let my head rest against the tree behind me.
Of course I did.
I'd spent several afternoons rambling to the leopard about assignments, countries I'd traveled to, airports, equipment, and whatever else happened to cross my mind. Apparently, he wasn't the only animal listening.
“Moving around is part of my job,” I told the capuchin, opening my eyes again while familiar defensiveness crept into my voice and my fingers tightened slightly around the camera strap.
I know, the elder monkey replied simply, brushing his hands against the bark while his calm expression made it obvious he hadn't intended the observation as criticism.
That somehow made me more aware that I was defending myself when nobody had asked me to.
“So what does that have to do with him watching me?” I asked the capuchin, shifting my weight from one boot to the other as I nodded toward the direction of the creek.
He doesn't know when you'll stop coming, the capuchin explained, lowering himself onto another branch and gripping the bark with both hands as he prepared to climb higher.
The answer caught me off guard enough that I didn't respond before he started moving.
“Wait. Does he actually wait for me?” I asked the elder capuchin, stepping closer to the base of the tree and tipping my head back to keep him in sight.
Every day, the capuchin replied, pausing long enough to glance over one shoulder with an expression suggesting there was nothing remarkable about the answer.
Then he continued into the canopy and disappeared among the leaves. I remained beside the tree for several moments, listening to the surrounding forest while his answer settled somewhere uncomfortable.
Every day.