Did You Hear That?

Early 1980

In Fiji the word “Devolo” means devil. The Fijians have many stories about Devolos, do’s and do-not’s to keep the devils away such as never throwing food out your door at night – we had a Peace Corps friend do this and the food immediately came flying back into her house – and don’t leave underwear hanging on the clothesline overnight. I am not sure what would have happened if you did leave it out, probably wake up with no underwear? But Jungle Girl (aka, Marguerite) and I have our own Devolo story and I think it is better than all the rest.

One night about 10:00 or so, Jungle Girl and I were lying in bed. It was pitch black dark outside, with not even moonlight to cast the dimmest of shadows. The only source of light was our low burning kerosene lantern. It was turned down for the night, about as low as it could go, without being completely out – a very dim night light. But we were secure in each other’s arms, our light blankets, and the mosquito net was hung and tucked securely under the mattress so mosquitoes, cockroaches, spiders and other critters of the night could only long for our fleshy parts from beyond the fine mesh.

We were cozy and secure, surrounded by the Fijian bush and at peace with the deepening night.

We were on the edge of sleep when at the far end of the bure a loud crashing sound on the roof assailed our sleepiness. It sounded like a very large, winged creature had crash-landed.

“Did you hear that?” Jungle Girl asked.

How could I possibly not have heard that? “Yeah, just listen,” I whispered. I was in defense mode, my body and mind a steel spring ready to explode; I lay quiet under the covers and pulled my little bride close.

After a few moments – long enough to think that whatever it was had flown away so that we could relax – the “thing” started a slow walk along the roof, taking very distinct, small, person-like steps that cracked and snapped the dry grass along the roof’s ridgeline. It was slowly, step by step, making its way to our end of the bure. We said not a word, and did not move, tense in each other’s arms; the security of our mosquito netting now exactly what it was: a very thin see-through mesh of cloth.

We were close to terrified when the steps reached the very end of the bure directly over us and stopped. We listened – nothing. One, two, three minutes – nothing. I “unfroze,” turned on the flashlight, grabbed up the cane knife we kept by the bed in case I needed to go all manly on some intruder, told Jungle Girl to stay put, and snuck out the back door.

I quickly turned on the flashlight and directed the beam at the top of the bure, where we had last heard the thing – nothing. The dogs, yawning and wiping sleep from their eyes, joined me from where they slept in the kitchen house. “Did you guys hear that?” The companionship of my own voice and the presence of my loyal, albeit oblivious, dogs made me feel a bit less exposed to the mysterious beast. But our dogs had never barked or whined, completely unaware that a creature had walked across our roof. The thing had simply vanished without a sound.

I went back into the bure, convinced the dogs they wanted to sleep in the bure with us that night – a treat for them – turned up the “night light” to mid-glow, positioned the cane knife for ready access and then climbed into bed. I then made sure all the corners of the mosquito netting were securely tucked under the mattress.

Sleep was hard to come by that night as we held each other close, aware of every sound, skitter and crash in the jungle that surrounded us.

We never solved the mystery of the beast on the roof. I asked my friend Inia in the village and he had never heard of anything like it. He finally agreed with us that it was probably an exceptionally large fruit bat, sometimes with wingspans up to nearly three feet, that had crash-landed on our roof. And we sure had a lot of fruit bats – every night, just before dark, we could see thousands of them winging across the valley. Yeah, we figured it was a fruit bat. We convinced ourselves of that anyway and were able to sleep better for it, be it false or not.

And today, November 1, 2020, as I write this story, and with a bit of online research, I have concluded that it was probably not a fruit bat – those things just don’t get as heavy as the beast sounded. I believe it was either a wayward Australian Pelican which can sometimes reach five feet in height, one of the large herons that sometimes cross over Fiji’s mainland, or yes, a Devolo. And that begs the question: Did one of us – Jungle Girl – leave underwear on the clothesline that night? She denies it, but that begs another question: Can you really trust a Jungle Girl?

…or was it my turn to take the clothes off the line? Hmm; a mystery that will likely never be solved.