The Moya View

El Yunge: A Famiy Outing- A Tale of Terror



El Yunque: A Family Outing — A Tale of Terror

Foolishly, we wore shorts.
From puddles among rainforest vegetation,
mosquitoes conjured themselves,
arose innumerable,
council-ed around our knees.

Mother initiated the swat,
slapped her thigh with the trail map.
The first bite became a welt.
The second, a black dot exuding blood.
More followed—red, black—
each one a sigil.
She was becoming wholly
legible to them.

My brother attempted arithmetic.
The bites, the blood, the welts
defied counting.

Father watched the males ascend the canopy,
heard the ko-kee of coquí
mix with the stridulating hiss
of tarantulas bristling their legs.

A frenzy of death and exultation
unfolded above and around us.
Male mosquitoes perished
on the projecting tongues of coquí.
Females drained us dry.
Coquí, too late to drop
from Tabonuco heights,
met ambushing arachnid maws.

Dad, being a vet,
witnessed the extermination
with horrified fascination.

One phalanx pounced and poisoned—
lunging from leaf camouflage,
stabbing prey with chelicerae.
Another wrapped carcasses in silk.
The last liquefied the insides,
sucked out the nutrients.
They rotated roles—
an efficient death machine.
Consumption.
Death.
Sustenance.
Life.
A choreography of survival.

Our blood overflowed.
Mosquitoes multiplied.
They chanted zvuv—
a sound not heard
since Moses and Rameses,
older than vowels.
Unexplainable.

Then,
the frogs began to fall.
Coquí, small and unblinking,
descended from the heights,
fleeing tarantulas
who waited with eight-legged patience
and no moral compass.

It rained frogs.
They landed on our shoulders,
on the trail,
on the backs of our hands,
in our hair.
We were marked.

The coquí did not blink.
The tarantulas did not chase.
The mosquitoes did not leave.

We did not scream.
We did not laugh.
We did not stay long.

We walked back to the rental car,
bitten,
blessed,
coquí in our hair—
days to shampoo out.
Eventually,
crew cuts for the men,
bobs for the women.
Coquí, Aedes aegypti,
tarantula bristles,
and silence in our mouths.

The rainforest
had taken our sacrifice.
We were permitted to leave.
Not all are.

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