Chatok was lost in thought as he sat under the long covered pavilion at the village center. The late-day rains had come not long earlier, and the quiet patter of water tapped against the leafy roof keeping him and his villagers dry during the evening meal that they all had joined hands in cooking.
What was bothering the little jungle boy?
Was is the food that sat before him? A thick paste of mashed manioc was on a shallow wooden bowl, studded with dried jungle fruits and bits of stewed, smoked venison, and Chatok eagerly dipped his fingers into the paste and relished the thick, savory-sweet taste of the staple food of his village. A bountiful catch of fish from the Great River meant that each villager would be guaranteed a portion of roasted tambaqui fillet, and the fishes’ bones and heads would be dried and pounded after dinner to be spread across the village’s fields to ensure a stable harvest of crops.
No, it wasn’t the food. That was the most basic, everyday thing in the world for young Chatok. He stuffed another portion of manioc into his mouth with childish eagerness and let the earthy flavor spread across his tongue as he tried to figure out why he felt so unsettled.
Was it Ruut and the other village children who surrounded him as they sat upon the ground? No, obviously not. Saa’rok sat a short distance away with the older boys, telling rude and boyish jokes that were certainly unfit for the younger children’s ears, but Ruut was next to Chatok and telling one of his usual raucous tales of adventure in the jungle while Maa’ti listened with rapt attention. Today, Ruut was joking about the tree sloth he witnessed slowly loping its way through the trees nearest the village, doing his best impression of the sluggish animal to the amusement of the other village boys.
No, it couldn’t be the children of the village that bothered Chatok either, although Chatok felt that odd flutter in his chest when Ruut’s hand brushed his own.
And it wasn’t the way his own long, heavily braided black hair hung down, tickling his bare chest with every movement. It wasn’t the deep, red-brown skin that covered him, making his young, awkwardly skinny body look like it had been sculpted from red clay, or the native language that flowed from his mouth each time he spoke, or the high, piping voice that came from his throat without even the tiniest hint of adulthood in its tone.
As he swallowed his food, Chatok finally realized what felt so wrong. It was the fact that this all seemed so normal to him. Just a couple short hours ago, he could remember feeling terrified as his body and mind twisted and changed during his travels in the jungle, wondering what the hell was happening to him, Ruut, Maa’ti, and Saa’rok. But now? It was his new normal, and if anything the thought of changing from his skinny, brown-skinned body back into a hulking, pale, yellow-haired grown-up was the strangest thing in the world. He could still just barely remember the names ‘Chad’, ‘Rob’, ‘Martin’, and ‘Sarah’, but it was like he was looking across the Great River on a misty morning, seeing them on the opposite banks but unable to reach them without drowning.
The transformed jungle boy almost envied Ruut, who was smiling and joking with the other village children like he’d never known anything else. If Chatok wanted to, he could do it too, couldn’t he? Just toss Chad away and let him float away down the river, to be just another boy of the tribe and write off his old life as a silly dream? Would he even enjoy a life like that?
A ‘primitive’ life, whatever that mean? Even a couple hours here in this village told Chatok that it was anything but ‘primitive’; the people of the tribe knew everything there was to know about the jungle and its bounty, how to keep themselves safe and well-fed, how to show homage to the endless rainforest and honor their traditions. So, if Chatok did decide to stay, what was he losing? Truth be told, it was becoming hard to think of his old life, but images of frightening objects flashed through his head. Metal machines that went faster than a jaguar and roared louder than a bear, tiny flashing boxes that let him hold people’s voices in his hand, or huts that stretched high enough to touch the sky without even being made of wood or mud.
It was all so overwhelming that Chatok could feel his appetite disappear and his heart begin to race. He pushed his bowl of manioc to Ruut and murmured, “You can eat it… Not so hungry…”
Ruut’s big brown eyes looked back at Chatok worriedly, but before Ruut could even say a word Chatok silent stood up from the ground, letting his rough bare feet take him away from the pavilion and into the drizzling evening rain...