October 01, 2005

So I wrote a story about llamas because llamas are good for you. This is supposed to be the first chapter of a larger work. As always, feedback is appreciated — tell me how not to make things suck.

The summer before we started high school, Susie and I did nothing but laze on dusty porches in splendid languor. There wasn’t much else to do — our village seemed inert without the avalanche of tourists that attacked the nearby ski slopes each winter. The only thing that ever spoiled our otherwise blissful monotony was the slight realization that in a few weeks we’d have to ride the yellow vomit comment for forty minutes each morning to the high school in the big city.

Susie, being a girl, was more freighted of high school than I was. Each day she would tell me how her brother, who’s two years older than us, got constantly picked on when he went to the city until he grew pimples over most of his body. And she talked about his pimples, my eyes just glazed over while her hand gently grazed mine. Sometimes she let me hold her hand, which was tiny and sweaty and fluttered like a butterfly. Our days passed on like that, one day indistinguishable from the other, until the country fair started at the end of July.

Of course we went to it, as did the entire village. Someone donated a llama to the mini-zoo and people came from miles around to ogle. Nobody had seen a llama before, nobody except Andy who was younger than us and had glasses and crooked teeth, yet knew everything there was to know about llamas, liposuctions, lobotomies, and laboratories. We found him making his way through the crowd towards to the animal cages, and we followed him until we got close enough to see the sad collection of goats, donkeys, and bunnies that substituted for a zoo.

Two burly men unloaded the llama out of a truck and Susie gasped slightly. Andy acted like he knew everything.

“Llamas are large camelids native to South America,” he said.

“Shut up,” I said. “What do you know about llamas anyway?”

“More than you! I know they were the only domesticated ungulates in South America until the Spanish conquest. And they were used not just as beasts of burden, but also for their wool, hides, and flesh.”

“Do you even know what ungulates are?”

“I didn’t get to the letter U yet,” he said, looking down sadly. “But I’m a member of the Partially Active Llama Society — they try to help every llama.”

“No matter,” I said feeling slightly superior, and pressed my face against the fence for a closer look.

The llama just stood on its elegant legs, seemingly displeased to be there. “What did I get myself into,” it seemed to think as it masticated angrily. The goats, though, were happy to have some company, so happy that the billy goat jumped on top of the nanny, his big, bulky testicles just swinging uncomfortably between his legs. I had to tell Susie to stop laughing when the nanny took off with the billy after her. She just jabbed me in the ribs and continued to giggle. She gets like that sometimes.

“Here llama, llama, llama,” I shouted rattling the fence. “You’re a pretty ungulate, aren’t you?” I figured that nothing would impress Susie more than if I got the llama to come to the fence so we could pass it some leaves.

And for a while it seemed to work. The llama eyed us carefully as it started masticating even more ferociously. I started speaking and rattling the fence some more, and the clucking noises it was making were causing Susie to nearly split open with laughter. Seeing this, the llama took one graceful step forward, and projected a jet of saliva and oats straight into my hair.

I was dumbstruck. And hurt, really hurt, and everybody was laughing and laughing. Susie’s face was all red from exertion and even Andy was smiling broadly behind his glasses.

“Llamas can spit so hart they can bruise the skin,” he said as I elbowed my way out of the crowd with all the tearful dignity I could muster. I ran straight home and shouted at Susie to keep away.

It took Susie about two days to get me out of my room, and even then I only consented to walk out in the evening out of fear of being seen. Being spit on by a llama was more humiliating and infuriating than I imagined high school would ever be, pimples and all. Susie seemed to understand, and held my hand as we walked down the darkening streets. Somehow she managed to drag me back towards the park, back to that fateful fence I rattled two days ago.

“It’s OK,” she said. “Andy’s here.” We saw him whispering quietly by the fence, lost in some kind of invocation. The goats and donkeys were probably asleep by now, but he llama was standing by the fence, seemingly unaware of the harm it inflicted.

“I don’t think the llama is happy here,” Andy said when we came nearer. “I’ve been watching him for two days and he’s hardly eaten anything.”

“It’s a dumb, smelly animal,” I said, still resentful about the jet of saliva that hit my face.

“His name is Lollo,” Andy said. By now the llama already acquired a name: Lollo the Lolling Llama. Lo! Lo! the primordial king of camelids. “Lollo is a gentle, timid giant,” Andy continued, “And the goats are antagonizing him.”

He sounded more serious than I ever remembered as he searched our faces for a glimmer of understanding. “Listen,” he said at last narrowing his eyes. “Not many people know this but the Partially Active Llama Society, or PALS, is an organization that looks after the happiness of all llamas, especially the partially active ones. As a member, it is my duty to be sure that Lollo is happy. That’s why I’m going to set him free.”

He immediately took off his backpack and reached inside for a set of wire-cutters. “Please help me,” he said.

“You’re dumb,” I said. “PALS is a stupid name for an organization. And what are you going to do with a big, woolly animal anyway?”

But Susie seemed to understand something I didn’t. “Shut up you big oaf,” she said, and went to help Andy cut the fence. The llama didn’t seem alarmed by any of this; Lollo just lolled there, watching everything unfold with dark, moist eyes.

“Stupid llama,” I said again, but they just attached a sturdy rope around its neck and gave me the other end to hold. Luckily, Lollo seemed to have more sense than they did because it refused to come along. It took quite a bit of tugging from the three of us to get him to step through the broken fence, and he started masticating again dangerously.

“If this goddamn animal spits on me again I’ll beat you all up,” I said.

But Lollo was fine once he got out of the cage and Susie and Andy started cooing over him. Their fingers brushed his fur and he seemed somewhat appeased like a giant dog.

“So we got the stupid Llama, now what? Are you going to hide it under your bed?”

“We’re going to take him home,” Andy said, pointing towards the nearby mountains that seemed lifeless without tourists. “Llamas like mountains — they’re creatures of height and grace. Lollo doesn’t belong here. He belongs in the mountains of Peru on arid crags where only the wind howls.”

“You want to take the llama to Peru?” I was astounded and wanted to go home before somebody came and found us with the wire-cutters and the silly llama at the end of a rope.

“We can make our way through the mountains. We can just leap from peak to peak, following the backbone of the continent. It’s not that far. Really.”

Susie’s eyes widened in admiration. “I’ll come with you,” she laughed. “The llama doesn’t like him anyways. Can I join PALS? I like partially active llamas too!”

“You’re both crazy. And smelly. I’d rather stay here and ride the stupid school bus for an hour each morning and grow pimples on my back.” I felt my jaw tightening as it did whenever I was about to cry.

But I liked Susie, which meant that an hour later Susie and I not only swore to protect partially active llamas, but we also sneaked back to our houses with the llama in tow to empty our piggy banks, steal blankets, and leave ambiguous notes on kitchen counters. “Gone to Peru on PALS business. Will be back soon.”

Susie was excited and clapping her hands, and even my own heart was racing as we started going up the ski hills with our backpacks. A bright moon cast a thousand shadows over the trees, and we felt we were trespassing on some magical territory. Behind us, the little village was lost in shadows, and soon it was hard to tell it was even there. I was slightly overwhelmed with the enormity of what we were about to do, and Susie let me hold her hand as we followed Andy and the llama up toward the top of the ski hill. But still, a million questions buzzed through my head.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked Andy. I didn’t trust his glasses or his vast knowledge of llamas and llanos.

“On top of the mountain there’s a labyrinth of trails that connects our mountain to other mountains,” he said. “I think that’s how mountains talk to other mountains — they just extend a long tentacle from one peak to the other and watch as people drift across like snippets of conversation.”

With his skinny legs, Andy was like some sort of mechanical animal and we could hardly keep up with him. By the time we reached the tiny reservoir near the top of the mountain, Susie and I were sweaty and out of breath. It was here where rain accumulated each summer just to be pulverized as snow over the ski slopes each winter. The water was perpetually cool and when we were younger we often snuck up the mountain for a swim.

But at night everything glimmered with strange light and even the water felt unusually cool against our toes.

“See if the llama wants to go in,” I said. Lollo just hovered near the edge, seemingly afraid of that unreal pond up in the mountains where not even the fish dared to swim.

“Llamas aren’t water creatures,” Andy assured us. “We’ll have to help her along.” And without the least hesitation he stripped off all of his clothes in a flurry while Susie giggled. Grabbing one end of the rope, he slowly made his way into the cool water, which seemed to simply swallow up his pale, naked body.

And when the llama finally entered the water with a snort, its long neck floating above the ripples like a dinosaur’s, Susie stopped giggling and started throwing off her clothes as she ran towards the shore. Her legs broke through the darkness of the waves and her sharp giggles once more filled up the sky.

“What the hell,” I said, and in a few seconds ran in after them, the cool water pricking my body and laughter escaping from my lips. Cool waves rushed over my naked thighs as I swam towards them, splashing, dashing, splattering. Our body felt electric as we swirled and nakedly bumped into each other. The lethargy of summer fell away from us in an icy embrace, and our bodies were filled with laughter and abandon.

Then, in a moment of madness, Susie leaned towards me and quietly kissed me on the lips. Her lips felt liquid, sweet and light as air. And then she kissed Andy with the same fluttering lips, Andy who startled me by kissing me too.

“Last one out gets to kiss the llama,” he said, splashing his way out.

And when we got out of the water, our bodies nearly frozen, we huddled together and trembled in the cool mountain breeze. We were too wet and cold to even pull up our trousers, and we all felt as though we now shared a wonderful secret.

“To Peru,” Andy said, his teeth chattering in his mouth.

Posted by Tudor at 03:08 PM in Writing & the Media