The Caiman

My family had been living in the Canal Zone for almost three years by now, and I was barely eight years old. I had grown accustomed to the bursting blend of the unruly jungle tamed by barriers of concrete and steel.  Life patterns in the Canal Zone were planned, organized, and structured. The jungle, however, promised chaos, confusion, and spontaneity.  Though the paradox of the two extremes was part of the charm of living in an exotic tropical home, most days were hot, humid, and infinite.

This particular day was a nondescript sunny day where nothing seemed to happen. A day that blended with the other aimless days.  A day just like any other day in Gamboa, Canal Zone. I walked down the road to the finely landscaped circle that signaled the end of Williamson Street. I went past by Clay Cliff looking for a friend or two that might be just as bored. None of my friends were outside, and so I was alone. My walk led me down to the lighthouse, and I went on to the Gamboa Bridge. I had no place in mind to go, so I kept on walking and stepped on the bridge knowing full well that once I crossed the bridge, I would have to turn around and walk back over. There was nothing for me on the other side of the bridge. No buildings, no stores, no anything. The only thing that was on the other side of the bridge was the long solitary road that led to the town of Balboa miles away.

About to the halfway point on the bridge, I stopped. I looked at the Chagres River reaching out in front of me with barely a current to move the water. No boats were even visible enjoying the day’s warmth. Nobody was waterskiing or swimming from the banks of the few man made islands jutting the water’s surface.   This type of unassuming laid-back day made a person lazy and long for the hammock. I hadn’t completed my walk across the bridge, but I turned around and began my walk back home wondering what I would next do with the time stretching before me.

Down in the water, an irregular thick tree branch caught my eye. It seemed to be floating in a different current stream, and was just a little way off from the grassy area that banked the river. I often went down to that grassy area to soak my bare feet hardened by the hot pavement of sidewalks edging the roads.  Captivated by this log drifting in the stillness yet not fully blending in with surroundings, I stopped walking.  The longer I kept staring, the more I realized that it was no log. There were eyes staring right back at me.

The Rio Chagres was home to Caimans, crocodiles, and American Alligators. Even though I had been told the difference and had even seen the different ones at Summit Gardens, I couldn’t tell you which one this one was. I knew that Caiman were smaller and had a bony type ridge between the eyes. The American Alligator has a wider and shorter head. The snout is a little different as well. The crocodile has a tooth that sticks out of his mouth even when his mouth is closed.  It is also the much larger of the animals. Not that the species of the Crocodylidae matter. They were all equally dangerous.

I could see the eyes. They were opened, and they had zeroed in on me. In an eerie way, I felt the penetrating stare.  The large black glossy eyes pierced my own eyes in an evil and menacing way, and the scaly skinned body imperceptivity turned toward the bridge- toward me.  My body stiffened and refused to move as if I were paralyzed right where I was standing.

Though my mind reassured me that this creature couldn’t possibly hurt me from where I stood, I could not deny the innate sensation of fear that gripped my body.  Intellect and instinct clashed creating a new tension deep inside me. Do I move? Or do I stay?

Looping my arms around the steel tubular hand rails, I squeezed the rails tightly. Thoughts of my feet somehow slipping and me falling through the bars emerged from nowhere. “That’s ridiculous,” I told myself. I had walked on this bridge many times before this and have never tripped, slipped, or even stubbed my toe. Yet, this gnawing feeling that my feet would slip out from under me persisted. I stood motionless.

Closer and closer to the bridge the dangerous animal floated, and my fear rooted me to the spot. Did this reptile think he could get me way up here? Did he think I would be fool enough to jump in and join him for a swim? Was he trying to hypnotize me to come to him?  His deep magnetic eyes taunted me to make the first sudden move.  The connection of our eyes was real, and it was intense. He did not take his eyes away from me, and I did not take my eyes away from him. I don’t know how long I stood there mesmerized by his eyes, but I do know that time stood still.

From an uncomfortably close distance, the long, slow, whistle of a train broke my trance. I realized I would soon be sharing this wooden bridge with a heavy train coming from Balboa. Past experience warned me how the bridge rattled and shook when that powerful engine ran across the tracks just a few feet away. Normally, I loved the thrilling encounter from the forceful rush of steel energy as it roared by, but not today.  Any movement on the bridge, I feared, might cause me to fall. 

I broke my hold on the hand rails and ran. I ran as hard and as fast as I ever did. I ran to the end of the bridge and continued on the sidewalk. I did not go up the grassy path to the lighthouse and to my street just beyond. Instead, I followed the sidewalk to the red stairs. I wanted to be on cement. I wanted to be visible to the people inside the cars coming and going from Gamboa. I wanted to be seen.

Finally, the order and serenity of routine civilization settled my nervousness.  I was starting to really notice the Canal Zone in a way that I had not done before. On one hand, there was a deep sense of protection and security within the pristine manicured grounds that blanketed the territory. However, on the other hand, this land sat squarely in the jungle with its own way of doing things. And the ways of the jungle were not always forgiving.

I knew of kids that were older than me that jumped off the Gamboa Bridge into the water below. It was another daring act that we did with complete abandoned. I always thought one day I would join them. However, in those few minutes, I decided I would not be one of those kids. The challenge no longer appealed to me.