Chapter Eighteen
Victor helps us prepare Velocidad for transport. A lump forms in my throat. Velocidad is one of the sloths I’ve spent the least amount of time with, but even so, it pains me that he won’t be among us any more. I know it’s silly to think like that, but I can’t help it.
Carlos tells Victor some GPS coordinates and Victor taps them into the sat nav, then we’re off, Victor driving Carlos’ jeep as we rattle along the bumpy road until we reach the highway.
‘We’re heading for Platanillo,’ says Carlos.
He’s sitting in the front of the jeep with Victor, I’m in the back, but he turns his body round as far as his seat belt will allow. ‘It’s important that we return the sloth to the exact location it came from, or as near as possible to it, if we’re not entirely sure, or if we weren’t the ones to bring it in.’
Ah, now I understand why he gave Victor GPS coordinates. ‘Why’s it so important for them to be returned to the same exact spot?’
‘Because the habitat in each location is slightly different; the biodiversity varies. There’s still little to no research on how sloths survive in the wild once they leave the sanctuaries, but what little has been done shows that the sloths have a significantly lower survival rate if they’re rehabilitated in a different area to where they were found.’
‘Oh, right. I hadn’t realised that.’
Carlos gives a sad smile. ‘Most people don’t. In fact, that’s why we do a campaign every few months advising people not to bring sloths to us, but to call us and tell us where they are, so we can get to them . That way we have a confirmed location so we can ensure later we rehabilitate the sloth to where it originally came from.’
I nod. ‘I can imagine how much harder that is if people just take them, in good faith, from the roadside to try and get them help, not taking into consideration, or necessarily remembering, where they found the sloth.’
‘Exactly. We encounter this problem all the time. Fortunately, with Velocidad, we’re relatively confident of where he’s from, as the couple who found him called us and didn’t try to bring him in themselves. As luck would have it, they’d seen one of our ads on a billboard only the week before.’
My eyes go wide. ‘That was lucky.’
Carlos smiles. ‘I like to think of it as serendipity.’
Victor cuts in, ‘And now, since we’ve been using radio telemetry to monitor the sloths and collect data, we have a much better idea of what they’re up to, how they’re faring, where they go.
‘It’s also why we work so closely with the foundations who arrange these cutting-edge studies. We, and other sloth sanctuaries and rescue centres, share information. It’s a steep learning curve. Not a great deal is known about sloth rehabilitation, but we’re finding out more all the time.’
Much of this I didn’t know, and I’m fascinated. I want to help. I feel so privileged to witness Velocidad’s release and also to join Carlos next week, if he still takes me, to one of the other rescue centres.
Soon we arrive at the site. It’s an emotional moment, for all of us, I’m sure. I’m keen to see what Velocidad will do. Will he immediately blend into the jungle? Climb a tree? Scour the rainforest floor? Refuse to leave the cage?
My mouth dries as the anticipation builds. What will Velocidad do? True to form, he doesn’t move very quickly. Carlos and Victor have to coax him out of the cage, where he looks like he’d happily stay. Finally, he ventures out and after a tense ten minutes, he chooses a tree to climb.
Whilst it’s touching, it almost makes me want to laugh, too, which I feel is highly inappropriate at this key moment. He’s not exactly a monkey scampering off and swinging through the trees. Instead, Velocidad takes over five minutes to climb about nine metres.
Carlos breaks into my thoughts. ‘I think he’s going to be just fine. He’ll be very happy back in the water apple tree.’
‘This is the exact tree you found him at?’
Carlos nods. ‘Look.’ He shows me pictures on his phone, and I see from the flora around the image that we are indeed at the foot of Velocidad’s original tree.
‘Of course, he may have come from somewhere else before he was found, but I suspect he fell through a gap in the tree canopy. Do you see the rope above us between those two trees?’
I squint in the sun, trying to focus without blinding myself. Yes, I do.
‘Is it blue?’
Carlos nods. ‘That’s it. Well, after Velocidad came to us, we worked with the other rescue centres, raised some funds and added the rope bridge. We knew we’d need to rehabilitate Velocidad here, and we also figured if he had issues crossing the gap, then others were bound to, too.’
Makes sense. I feel so humbled at how much work Carlos and his team, and the other rescue centres, put into rehabilitating the sloths. It’s truly a labour of love.
When we return to the sanctuary and get out of the jeep, I say, ‘Thanks for letting me be a part of this. What you do here is truly amazing.’
Carlos pats one of my hands with both of his. ‘You’re welcome, but remember, you are also one of those who do this work now. I sense your passion to help animals, Kat. It’s no surprise to me you ended up here with us.’
I smile at him. ‘Thanks, Carlos.’
He returns my smile. ‘Kat, do you believe in fate?’
When I nod, he says, ‘Well, I believe fate brought you to us. And I hope you stay here for a very long time. I see a kindred spirit in you.’ He releases my hand as Victor wanders towards us. ‘Now, let’s eat.’
Dexter is conspicuous by his absence at dinner, but I decide not to tempt uninvited questions by querying his whereabouts. He’ll be around somewhere. I just hope he’s not avoiding me.
I regale everyone at my table, the same crowd as at lunch, with the story of Velocidad’s release, then they each tell of their first experience releasing a sloth back into the wild.
‘I cried,’ confesses Ella. ‘For ten whole minutes.’
Mariangeles puts her palm to her chest. ‘When we released Enero, I nearly had to be physically restrained from going after him to bring him back.’
‘Enero? January?’ I ask.
She nods. ‘We went through a period of naming them after months of the year. We’d already done days of the week.’ She falls silent for a second, remembering. ‘Domingo was my first sloth.’
‘Sunday. Was it a Sunday that you found him or that he came here?’
Mariangeles’ brows knit for a second and she rests a hand on her head, thinking. ‘No, it was a Wednesday, but we were starting from the first day of the week. Domingo was so sweet. I almost felt as if he was showing me affection. I was gutted when Carlos told me they’re totally indifferent to humans.’
‘Yeah, I remember wondering how that could be the case, when they’re always smiling,’ I say.
We laugh and they all share more sloth stories, but Dexter still doesn’t appear. No one else comments on his absence. I wonder if he’s unwell, or if he had some time off and went somewhere. Somehow that pains me, if after what we shared last night wasn’t enough for him to want to spend time with me today, supposing he had the free time to do so.
We all gravitate outside to the firepit as is our night-time ritual. Alejandro arrives with his guitar, which makes me stifle a smile as I think back to how I imagined evenings would be spent after dinner here. Folk music, guitar playing, singing haunting songs. I’m nothing if not romantic in my ideas, although actual romance in my life seems to have gone out the window in the past twenty-four hours. Where is he?
I glance round. Everyone’s here except Dexter– and Roisin, who said she was going into town with a friend. Should I sneak off now when they’re all busy, engrossed in the conversation, feign a headache, but somehow slip into the men’s accommodation block? I managed to slip into the women’s block last night– with Dexter, undetected. Can I repeat that?
I catch Alejandro’s eyes resting on Ella as he plucks the first few notes on his guitar, and I smile. Well, at least romance may, eventually, be on the cards for someone.
Mariangeles and Victor are involved in a heated discussion about which country has the best salsa music. When Ella joins in with them, Federica turns to me. ‘Is it OK if I ask you some more questions about English?’
She’s so enthusiastic and earnest, how can I refuse, so we spend a good fifteen minutes or so going over verb conjugation and I test her on some homophones– she had a tiny English grammar book in the pocket of her cargo pants. She’s really quite dedicated and determined, and reminds me of how I felt when learning Spanish. When we wrap things up, I say, ‘I’m beat, guys. I’m going to call it a night.’
‘Night, Kat,’ everyone says, then returns to their conversations, Federica joining the salsa discussion. I see my chance to slope off without anyone paying me any attention, ducking behind the giant mango tree that separates the courtyard from the accommodation blocks.
I walk in the direction of the women’s residence, then scoot over to the men’s, inching open the main door so it doesn’t squeak.
The others’ laughter reaches me from outside. I grin. Good, they haven’t noticed where I went. When I reach Dexter’s door, I hesitate. I can’t just walk in. I know we slept together last night, but I can’t exactly flounce in unannounced, so I tap the door. No answer. I tap again. Still no answer. Perhaps he’s in a deep sleep, or maybe he isn’t here after all. Only one way to find out. I turn the handle and go in. The blinds are drawn, the room in semi-darkness, the only light coming from a small table lamp, but it’s more than enough for me to witness the horror before me and I recoil as if I’ve been slapped across the face.
Roisin is reclined in a seductive pose on Dexter’s bed in a barely there black mesh bodysuit which leaves very little to the imagination. If we weren’t in the Tropics she’d be freezing, I can’t help thinking. She’s also wearing a blindfold. My stomach lurches. Thank God she can’t see me.
‘Finally,’ she purrs. ‘I thought you’d never get here. Do you like what you see?’
I dash out of the door, then sprint out of the accommodation block, not caring who sees me, into the women’s block, where I just make it to the bathroom before I promptly throw up into the toilet bowl.
How could I have got it so wrong? I honestly thought he liked me. But clearly I’m only one of a string of women. So much for my intuition, my being a good judge of character. Ha! And Roisin? I groan. Anyone but her. She’s a total bitch. It’s the only word for her.
Rage swirls inside me. She knew Dexter and I were getting closer, although she probably hadn’t realised quite how close, and she pulled out all the stops. Is that why he’s been avoiding me today? Or was I simply of no consequence? What the hell have I done? I’ve packed in my job– even though it wasn’t my dream job or anything– and moved over five thousand miles away, shagged the boss and now I’m just a notch on his bedpost. I want to scream. I grit my teeth, then pad across to my room, let myself in, sink down onto the bed and sob my heart out. Damn you, Dexter.