Writing for Fun
The Lure Of The Wild - Janice Osborne
June 2014
I nearly fell out of my back door in my haste to get away. Slamming it shut behind me I leaned back heavily against its old and worn surface, still warm from the sun, and tried to regain my composure. Bending down to rub my throbbing ankle which I had turned in my haste to escape from the house, dizziness overcame me. Losing my balance I stumbled forward only to pitch headlong into the holly bush as my ankle gave way. Swearing like a trooper I hobbled back to the doorstep and sat down. Using my hankie I dabbed the many and various scratches inflicted.
Calm down you idiot, I told myself. Just because your safe and tranquil world has been turned upside down you should still be able to handle this situation with dignity and a modicum of empathy for your wife of twenty years. You are a grown man not a child. I took a deep breath.
Looking up I watched the pale, late afternoon sunshine filter through the stands of trees and shrubs that screened the garden from our surrounding suburban neighbours. The broken light from the overhead canopy splashed bright flowerbeds and miniature waterfalls with dancing sunshine. Raindrops on water lilies and plants on the pond's margins sparkled like jewels and together with the tinkling of the water tumbling over rocks gave the garden a magical feel, or so it always seemed to me.
I had spent years turning this large and uninspiring piece of land into a sheltered, leafy oasis of calm and tranquillity that my soul had craved and demanded. It was my refuge from the trials and tribulations of everyday life. Today I needed every bit of that serenity and calmness. My placid and, dare I say it, usually unexciting wife of twenty years had dropped a bombshell. She had seen an advertisement in a magazine and had begged me to buy us this dream. That she harboured secret thoughts of such wild passion and thrill seeking made me feel that I had never really known her. That she thought I would enjoy sharing them with her turned my legs to jelly. She wanted me to blow our life's savings on a once in a lifetime adventure holiday in Bolivia. The highlight was to be, I quote: 'Go to the jungles of the Amazon, where you will travel deep into the heart of one of the most untouched regions of the Amazonian rainforest. Here you will have a chance to explore a landscape teeming with wildlife before tracking a jaguar!'
I had a lifelong fear of the unknown and unchartered places of this planet and its inhabitants. Not for me the lure of the wild. What was the lure in coming face to face with oversized and exotic biting bugs, venomous snakes and scorpions and loathsome parasites and disease carrying insects to say nothing of man eating predators? The English garden with its harmless array of insects and birds was my style.
My mind was numb. How do I handle this? I loved Rebecca but this was too much to ask of me. I needed to think. A spot of weed clearing was the answer. I made my way to the shed hidden behind a trellis of climbing roses and walls of bamboo.
Taking out a fork, secateurs, an old sack and trowel I made my way to the farthest end of the garden where I had let nature have its way. The long rank grass, weeds and brambles festooned with acres of bindweed looked foreboding in the fading light. I tackled the forest of stems with gusto. Kneeling down deep amongst the tall grass I grasped a bunch of stems ready to pull them from the earth when I felt a sharp stab of pain in my right hand. Snatching back my arm I saw to my horror what looked like a snake bite on my wrist. Tearing aside the grass I saw something slithering under a rock. Horror set in as the warning black zigzag stripe advertised the fact that it was an adder, Britain's one and only poisonous snake. Before my eyes I saw the flesh around the puncture wound swell and discolour and felt the hotness grow. Next came the dizziness and nausea and then the fear and trembling. With panic mounting I fumbled in my pocket for my mobile 'phone. After dialling 999 and being reassured that an ambulance was on its way I slumped down on the ground and closed my eyes.
Six months later an excited Rebecca reached over the restraining straps of the airline seats and clasped my hand. A smile mirroring the one that Rebecca was wearing slowly crept over my face and I squeezed her hand in return. We were on our way to Bolivia and the holiday experience of a lifetime. Having been close to death in a place where I least expected it, the world held no more fears for me. Death would come when the time was right for me to die. Where did not matter.
