“The Greatest Discovery”

Part Seven

A short story based on the WB Series, “Tarzan”

By Felicity

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this: the characters, story, series, or part of the idea. I'm not selling, or making any kind of profit off of this story I've written. No infringement is intended. This is solely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.
Want it?: You can have it.. but I'd appreciate it if you'd email me before you take it anywhere. (tfelicity39@hotmail.com).

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John paced back and forth through the atrium. Kathleen and Jane had decided to relax in the salon of Kathleen’s apartment, but John was not content to sit. While he paced he attempted to ‘break in’ a pair of the shoes. Of course he chose the sandals. He did not like the confinement of them, but at least he would have warmer feet and maybe Jane and Kathleen would stop fretting for a while.
John did not know what winter was, but this bitter cold that was upon them did not sit right in his bones.

The sun beat down on the savannah. Tarzan stood at an opening in the jungle, facing the dry flat plains and wished that he could just go out there and wander. His fear of the tiger always kept him close to the jungle, where he could climb higher than the wild cat could. In the distance he could hear the rumble of thunder and realized that the rainy season was upon them. He would have to reinforce his ‘home’, make sure that the mudslides wouldn’t hide the entrance to his cave and that the rain didn’t destroy his aerie.
Knotting the jute into a sturdy rope, Tarzan made his two homes sturdy. The cave would keep him out of the weather, but the aerie would allow him to scout on the area without touching the ground. Although many of the animals could climb, not many had his agility. That opposing thumb made many things easier.
Cheetah watched as he did these things. She was older now, her mane was turning a shimmering silver and she looked more regal than ever. Tarzan worried about her. She hadn’t been with a mate since he came along, she had no children to tend to. He was the only one left to nurture. Nurture she did, Tarzan was rarely out of her sight. She would spy on him from various stakeouts, not realizing that he knew full well she was there, and it made him happy to know that she was.
The thunder rolled in the distance and the sky opened up to reveal a pouring of cool clear water, in sheets, falling now in the distance, over the plains. It would reach the jungle by nightfall; all must be readied for it.

After a half an hour of fighting with the sandals and developing a nasty blister on his foot, John finally gave up and threw them in a corner. He ran out of the French doors and landed in a squat on the balcony rail. The world was dim, a storm was coming. John’s various wounds had been aching all day, but he said nothing. The pain did not bother him, to be in pain meant that one was alive, and could still feel. He watched the lightening in the distance and became melancholy. Some days he really missed her. He missed his ape mother. She didn’t have to say anything; she just had to be there. The sky lit up like rockets and a sheet of rain began to pelt the towering buildings in the distance. John continued to watch in fascination as the grey world became greyer.

Richard paced the length of his study, staring at the balcony, wondering about John. He still had marks on his neck from the rainy night that John had let himself in and threatened Richard, telling him to leave Jane and Kathleen alone. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass against the ice and then in a frustrated attempt to vent, he threw glass, liquid and all into the fireplace. The alcohol cause a small burst in energy, then it slowed to a small flame again. Shards of glass lined the floor at the bottom of the fireplace; Richard seemed either not to notice, or not to care.

He stepped over to his desk, removed a ring of keys from his pocket and proceeded to open a drawer. Inside the drawer was an ornate wooden box, which too was locked. Richard removed the box from the drawer and turned the keys on his ring to find the matching one for the box. It was a very small and detailed key, which slid easily into the lock. He almost changed his mind, but thought twice and continued to open the now unlocked box. The papers inside the box were yellowed with age, most of them hand written, some of them typed on an ancient Oviletti. Richard sat back in the high backed leather chair and studied the words on the pages. Would this be the time to pull out the big guns? He had given both John and Kathleen enough rope to hang themselves. Would he save them, or let them drop? He would have to contemplate this thought further.

The rain came as it had promised and Tarzan held his stead in the aerie. He had looked around but he could not see Cheetah. He hoped that she had made it to dry ground, or at least to his cave. His world was in need of a washing. There had been much blood shed these past months, the apes had been tracked and killed by the white hunters. Tarzan in an attempt to cover his similarities to these ‘men’ had tried covering the colour of his skin with the juice from the red berries below the big tree. It had only caused his skin to become very sick and it took days for it to clear up. The water from the falls did not clean the colour, nor the infection. If it had not been for Cheetah and her comfort, Tarzan was sure that he would have gone made with the itch.

There didn’t seem to be enough rain to ever clean this city. John stared down into the streets and saw a mugger knock an elderly lady down and steal her purse. He scaled down the side of the building, racing against the elements, bare foot and then pounced upon the criminal. John roared and hissed at the man, knocking him over and hitting him squarely in the jaw. The man tried to hit back, but John knocked him back down every time he attempted to rise. Finally the man crawled away, leaving the purse behind. John carried the heavy bag back to the elderly woman and made sure that she was all right. She smiled up at him, as the rain soaked his blond locks to his cheeks. She stared down at the bare feet and opened her purse. She tried to hand him a ten dollar bill, but he resisted. “Why do you give me money?” John asked the kindly woman. ‘You look like you need it more than I do young man. I want to help you as you helped me.” John did not understand the concept of money. Why would someone pay you for doing something that you would do anyway? He couldn’t understand. John closed his hand around the old woman’s hand and he smiled. “Thank you for that, but I helped because you needed help, not because I wanted you to pay me.” The woman held her shaky hand up to John’s cheek and softly touched him. He did not recoil as he normally did when anyone other than Jane or Kathleen would touch him. “I will walk with you until you are safely home.” John offered. The much shaken older woman wrapped her arm in John’s and they walked the extra block and a half to her apartment. John made sure that she was safe before he left. She called out to him. “I don’t even know your name!” John answered as he exited the building, “Tarzan, my name is Tarzan.” She shook her head and closed her door. “What kind of a name is Tarzan?”

John found himself once again alone in the rain. He couldn’t decide whether or not to return to Kathleen’s or just to wander. He had much thinking to do, and in the rain, he could organize his thoughts more carefully. He could prioritize things, knowing what should be most important.

Cheetah had been no where to be found. Tarzan looked everywhere that she would normally be. He enlisted the help of all of his jungle friends, but she seemed to have disappeared. Tarzan wandered aimlessly through the thick jungle, cutting the vines and anything in his way with the old bowie knife.
Night was coming and the rain hadn’t slowed at all. He could not pick up her scent because of the weather. There……there were tracks in the mud. The tracks were not clear; they looked as though someone or something had dragged something through here, something of substance. Tarzan tried to get a whiff of Cheetah’s scent, but something was masking the scent.

John stopped dead in his tracks. His ventures had led him back here. Somehow he always ended up back here. What was it about the Greystoke building that held him? What was the allure? He looked up and saw the familiar light in Richard’s study on. Other than the one light, the building seemed almost deserted. He scaled the side of the building and landed on the balcony by Richard’s study. He stood watching his uncle tracing the lines of an old wooden box with his index finger. The look on Richard’s face was one of concern. John did not see the antagonistic look that he was used to. He stared.
Richard felt eyes on him and he looked up to see a drenched John standing outside of his study, on the balcony. John didn’t look as though he was in a fighting mood, so Richard took a chance. He walked to the door and opened it, inviting John inside. “You’re soaking wet, come in and sit by the fire to warm up.”
It worked. John entered the room without incident, and walked over to the now dying fire. Richard knelt before the fire, put another log on and stoked it good, making the fire roar and sizzle with heat. John knelt beside his uncle. For a long while the silence overtook the room. Finally John spoke. “Things did not work out the way that you wanted them today.” It was a statement, nothing more, nothing less, and Richard took it at face value. He didn’t want to scare his nephew off, he had come for no reason other than to talk, this was a good sign, and this was a sign of the charisma that Richard so dearly wanted to understand, to possess. “I don’t want you in jail John. You are meant for great things.”

The trail led to the edge of the jungle, to the savannah. The plains were soaked, water engorging itself in every nook and recess. The path that Tarzan followed had been swallowed by the mud. The tracks were almost completely gone. Ahead a ways, Tarzan could see some movement and could hear small, nearly inaudible sounds. The sounds were almost familiar. It was then that he realized what he was seeing and what he was hearing. There was a machine in the distance, a machine that carried men in it, men and the animals that they had hunted and killed. He saw her and he went insane with rage! The men were dragging Cheetah, who’s struggling had tired her somewhat, so that she seemed to go without a fight. Tarzan knew better. She was playing dead, but they wouldn’t care if she was dead or alive. They wanted the animals alive, but they would take them dead too. They didn’t care. He raced to catch them, but the machine arrived before he could. He watched helplessly as he kept running toward them, Cheetah was bound and shoved into the back of the machine. Tarzan bounded through the savannah, not caring if indeed the tiger was there. He took a leap and ended up in front of two men, both with guns, aiming them at him. “What’s this? Hello then, are you lost?” Tarzan stared at the man. He hadn’t heard anyone speak since his parents died and he had been thrown out of the village. He understood the man, but refused to speak to him. The men continued to shove Cheetah into the back of the truck, but Tarzan would have none of that. Without warning, he attacked one man and then the other.