El Tarzan

In the jungle village of Itacuarare live gentle, simple folk who gather herbs and mate in the forests, do a little innocent smuggling across the nearby Brazilian border and often wag their heads over the legend of Pacifico Batista. Fifteen years ago handsome young Pacifico quarreled with his dark-eyed Itacuarare sweetheart, disappeared into the jungle and was seen no more.

One day last fortnight an old crone of the village, picking herbs in the jungle, got the shock of her life. Out of a tree leaped a wild, apelike figure. Its skin looked like dark leather; its body was covered with hard corns from tree-climbing; ringlets of kinky hair hung from its chest; fierce white teeth gleamed in its bearded face. To the woman's horror, the creature, which was dressed only in a torn loincloth, approached her with unmistakable mating gestures.

The old crone lit out for the village, screaming for help. An Indian god, she told the villagers, had dropped from the sky and fallen in love with her. Next morning five policemen and the entire populace of Itacuarare marched into the jungle, finally captured Tarzan and dragged him, biting and scratching, to the village jail.

Crouching in his cell, he at first flung his food away, spoke only in grunts. But by coaxing and offerings of raw meat, the villagers last week finally got a few words of broken Spanish and Portuguese out of him. It was indeed Pacifico Batista. His sweetheart had long since left the village. As for Pacifico, all he wanted was to get back to the jungle.

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