Absolutely Original Friendship

When Mendelson’s plane went down in the jungle, he managed to prevent too much damage from getting done to it or to him. The thing would never fly again, naturally. The thing would probably never be seen again. The next time anyone saw it would probably be so far off in the future that it would be an archaeologist speculating on the crude craftsmanship of the ancient transportation device. Or something. At least he could walk and his gear was safe, though. These were the little perks.

At least, that’s how remote he felt when he came out of the plane, all in one peace but well aware of the fact that he was two hundred miles from any sort of documented township and five hundred miles from an English speaker. He felt hopeless and lonely in seconds. He was just an American adventurer out for a spin in a plane. he wasn’t some seasoned Indiana Jones type - he was a nature lover with a thing for solitude.

So he broke down and cried. Who would see? At least he could walk and his gear was safe, though. These were the little perks.

It turns out, someone did see him. A native of the jungle that Mendelson took to calling Patty. He called him Patty because one of the first gifts he gave the fellow was a Patagonia backpack, so he would see the name on his back every time the fellow turned away from him and it became the only thing he could call him by.

Mendelson emerged from the plane and fell to his knees, palms up and began to cry melodramatically, as if he were in a movie about Jesus or something. Before long, he could not hear himself cry as well because Patty was doing his big-gutted laughing from the edge of the trees. Patty was about as tall as Mendelson but he had the sort of gut that Mendelson had only thought Americans could manage — with beer. Maybe they had beer out here! Patty had bronze colored skin but he also had on khaki shorts, clearly of the Western variety, but they also looked as if they may have changed hands several times before the current owner landed them. Patty did not really have any bangles to speak of, like we’re taught to expect. His hair was even pretty short. Mendelson didn’t see any knives on the guy, though. Mendelson always wondered how he cut it. Patty did not wear a shirt or shoes. he did carry a walking stick, not a spear, but the end of it was very thick and he imagined the fellow could do some damage with it.

When Mendelson realized someone was laughing at him, he felt ashamed and looked around. He discovered he was the amusement of a big old native. A third worlder! A peasant! A primitive, no less! Patty would become the equivalent of his best and truest friend of his life, though they could never communicate much more than “yes/no” or “good/bad.” Still, they won each other over.

At the time, though, Mendelson looked up at Patty and said, “Aren’t you supposed to worship me as a god from the sky or something? Fall down in fear? At least bring offerings or some shit?” He knew the man would have no idea what he was saying. Mendelson really wasn’t about reason with his plane wrecked two minutes ago. He was expressing himself, this way, or that.

Patty reached down and picked up a strange looking sort of melon, about the size of a head. He threw it to Mendelson underhanded, who caught it, but, surprised by its weight, lost balance and fell over.