When Kristoff Met Tarzan

Kristoff had survived Elsa’s blizzards, Norway’s avalanches, and ravenous wolves, but the jungle, he decided, was way worse. Everything was wet. Everything made noise. Everything either bit or crawled on him, and the heat was so oppressive, he thought he might faint at any moment.

As he returned to his camp and peeled off his shirt, he had that feeling again; the feeling that he wasn’t alone. Just that morning, he’d woken up to discover a small pile of strange fruit outside his makeshift shelter. Plus, he’d occasionally catch a branch moving when there wasn’t any wind, or would hear a dense thud softly land behind him. He knew something was there, he just didn’t know what. Or who.

Ever since he arrived in Africa three days prior, hired to accompany a small Norwegian expedition carrying supplies to Cape Town, he felt like he was being watched. A storm had destroyed his boat, and he hadn’t seen the other crew members since he washed ashore. He wasn’t afraid, per se, knowing how to survive the coldest mountains in Arendelle, but the heat and mysteries of the jungle were an entirely new beast to contend with.

Just then, he heard something move above him again, in the canopy of trees. Kristoff froze and slowly, carefully looked up.

And that’s when he saw him for the first time. A man crouched on a branch twenty feet above him, barefoot and nearly naked, wearing only a rough piece of brown cloth around his waist. Long dark hair hung around his shoulders in thick, tangled strands. His body was lean and powerfully muscled, his skin darkened by the sun. He watched Kristoff with startling blue eyes.

Kristoff let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp, but the stranger didn’t stir.

“Hello,” Kristoff said.

The man said nothing.

“Have you been following me?”

Nothing.

“Did you…leave me fruit earlier?”

The man’s mouth twitched and he dropped from the tree, landing with the familiar dense thud Kristoff heard earlier.

Kristoff jumped backward. “Jesus! A little warning next time!”

The stranger tilted his head.

“I’m Kristoff.” He said, pointing to himself. The look in the man’s eyes wasn’t malicious; it was curious. He looked interested, kind. And it was enough for Kristoff not to feel threatened. “Kris-toff.”

The man studied him before touching his own chest.

“Tarzan.”

“Tarzan.” Kristoff nodded. “How ya doing, Tarzan?”

Tarzan pointed toward the pathetic structure Kristoff had spent his first two days building.

“That’s…shelter,” Kristoff explained.

Tarzan stared at it. And then he laughed.

Kristoff’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, gimme a break, Tarzan.”

An hour later, Tarzan rebuilt the shelter to be ten times sturdier, in under fifteen minutes. Then, he grabbed Kristoff’s hand and pulled him back into the thickness of the jungle.

“Whoa, buddy, whoa",” Kristoff said, pulling back. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t expect a response, but surprisingly, he got one anyway.

“Water,” Tazrzan said, as if it were obvious.

“You speak?”

“Some.”

“I’m trying to find the coast…the sea,” Kristoff explained. “There was another boat on my expedition, behind us, that may be looking for me.”

“Sea,” Tarzan said, pointing west.

“How far?”

Tarzan considered the question, but then walked closer to Kristoff, until they were chest to chest. Tarzan lowered his head toward Kristoff’s chest and sniffed. Then he rose his own arm and sniffed himself, nodding in approval.

“Water first,” he said. He grabbed Kristoff by the hand and tugged him further into the jungle.

When they arrived at the clearing, Kristoff never expected to find a lake. But laid out in front of him, like a postcard, was a crystal clear basin of water, fed by one of the most magnificent waterfalls he had ever seen. Lush, colorful plants and flowers outlined the water, like an oasis, an eden, placed there by God himself.

“Bath.” Tarzan ordered.

“Geez,” Kristoff muttered. “I must really stink.”

Unabashedly, Tarzan removed his loincloth, and Kristoff gulped.