Goblins like Coconut, but dislike snow

It would have been a wonderful day in the reserve -- except for the goblins.  Coconut.  The signs in the reserve said that coconut exposed in the open air for more than ten minutes would attract goblins.  Of course, we didn’t believe this because there are no goblins in the cold climes we come from, and aren’t goblins anyway mythical creatures that appear only in the pages of fantasy books.

Despite our disbelief, we were careful.  We laid out the cheese and the charcuterie, the vegetables.  In my mind I made a mental note of how close each food was to coconut and tried to calculate a safe open air time.  But are pineapples and mangoes really that close to coconuts?  I don’t think so.  It was just one of those useless precautions we take to make ourselves feel safer but probably have the opposite effect.

We eat a dried coconut snack we had picked up at the convenience store on the way.  Both Lauren and I made sure to put whole pieces into our mouths and swallow them down.  I worried one of us might cough some up.  I looked at Lauren with a demonic smile on my face -- she almost laughed up some pieces but controlled herself.  She took a big swallow then burst out laughing while cursing me.  We finished about half the bag, then meticulously sealed it and sealed the bag in a tupperware container.  

Next, it was on to the pie, a creamy whitish concoction of some sort that Sheila had given us.  I was about to cut it, but it made me think of Sheila and the nagging question: what really did happen between her George?”  I asked Lauren.

“She just wanted someone different I think.”

“That’s it? Why is George so upset?”

“She started dating his friend Yoshi to see if that was the different thing she wanted.”

“That’s a sucky thing to do.”

“Maybe, but they knew each other pretty well -- maybe it seemed like true love.  But it wasn’t -- it exploded as soon as it started and instead of finding different, she just made a complete mess.”

And that’s why she moved out here to Thailand where we were visiting her.  Unfortunately, she couldn’t accompany us to the reserve, as the company she was consulting for got hacked -- she’s their data security person.

After an hour of minutely examining what and who would be good for Sheila, we remembered the cake and as I sampled the first bite I was enthralled with its richness.  “Wow this is great,” I said.

“Yes, what’s that flavor?” asked Lauren.

Then I realized, “coconaa--.”  

I couldn’t finish my sentence.  Behind Lauren had appeared a squat hairy beast, about four feet tall with long spindly arms.  It just kind of grunted and, pushing past Lauren, made for the cake.  

Just as a boxer hit with a haymaker sometimes staggers about for a few steps before his brain fully appreciates that the world has changed, my first thought was the cake.  It was really good!  I wanted more!  I was about to push this little gremlin away as you would shoo your golden retriever away from your dinner, before I noticed his musculature, even on the spindly arms.  It reminded me of a chimpanzee and I recalled the nature shows intoning how our cousins could easily rip us apart limb by limb.  I froze.

Then I realized we realized our guest was not alone.  There were a whole bunch of his companions behind us, with menacing half-smiles like a pack of hyenas.  Would they be content with the coconut or would they want us for dessert?  

We need to escape, I thought.  They hadn’t smelled the coconut snack in the tupperware, so I grabbed it, opened the lid, and threw the container to the left of the group, hoping this would distract them and allow Lauren and me to exit by the path behind us.  The plan seemed to work.  In a frenzy, the horde descended on the coconut bits, stumbling over one another and clawing at the coconut and each other to get the little scraps that were left.  “C’mon,” I yelled to Lauren, but she was fixated on packing the picnic basket.  “Leave it!  C’mon,” I shouted.  She looked at me, then continued picking up condiments and silverware.  I realized she was not processing events logically anymore.  In her mind, escape had become a risky proposition, so she set herself on a more manageable task -- pack the picnic basket -- even if this was a completely useless gesture if we didn’t escape.

I debated whether to pull her away when something grabbed me.  It was the first goblin -- I guessed he was their leader.  He had finished the cake.  Despite the fear, or shock, or disbelief, or whatever I was feeling, I saw bits of cake around his lips and again I rued only having had a couple of bites.  It was really good cake and given the option to stuff it down MY mouth like some wild beast, I would have.

My reverie was interrupted. The goblin had hold of both my hand, nodded his head and looked into my eyes.  And without words, I found we were communicating.  Or at least, he was unfolding the story of his race to me.  Of an ancient race, long sundered from humans, which had survived in the deep jungle.  I’d like to tell you there was something in the story about a race in tune with nature, which appreciated beautiful sunsets and sung in the warm monsoon rains.  But it wasn’t. Just the gritty reality that a wildebeest must feel when he successfully crosses a crocodile-filled river only to get devoured by lions on the other side: -- a tale of being hunted when humans returned, of the brutal competition for survival, and of internecine strife.

Hmm.  I’m not really sure about my chances, I reflected, as I stared into his unmoving eyes and heard the cacophony of his coconut-frenzied band in the background.  Perhaps I had given up too, or he held me in a trance.  It seemed my fate was sealed.  And then the world changed again.

I noticed a small particle of something land on his nose and, after an ever so slight delay, a liquid run down his face. That broke the spell.  The cacophony suddenly felt much louder.  At first, I thought the drop was from some fruit rotting in one of the trees. But then there was another drop and another, and pretty soon flurries -- of snow!

Was I dreaming?  First, goblins, then snow on an 80-degree day in Thailand.  I decided the former event was probably less likely than the latter, but I guess new species do get discovered while I’ve never heard of an occurrence of snow on a day this hot.  And despite the heat, the snow was getting thicker, and it was sticking!

The goblins didn’t know what to do.  This was apparently completely outside of their experience.  They were desperately trying to wipe the snow off of themselves, despite the fact that it didn’t really seem to be causing them any harm -- at least none I could tell.  The weirdest part was it looked to me almost like a huge flurry of coconut flakes.  I stuck out my tongue and it even had the hint of coconut flavor -- or maybe I was still regretting the barely tasted cake?

Lauren was looking up at the snow, completely lost.  The goblin leader had released my hands and staggered backwards towards the pack while flailing away at the snow on his body.  I didn’t really feel malice towards him.  What he had communicated to me was like a nature program or one of those History channel shows.  And though I thought I was fated to die, he hadn’t explicitly threatened me.  But then I reflected on the coconut pie -- unforgivable!

I picked up a wad of snow.  I was the soft, light moist snow that packs easily.  I fashioned it into a ball and hurled it at the leader.  Hit him right between the eyes at point-blank range.  He staggered further back with a look of shock on his face.

“Lauren!” I shouted as I packed another ball and picked off a (relatively) tall goblin from among the pack.  She watched, then slowly bent down and packed a ball of her own.  We had played on the softball team together in college.  The familiar action of throwing a ball flowed naturally even in her stupor.

So there we were hurling ball after ball at the troop, who screamed in defiance, but seemed transfixed and neither advanced nor retreated.  One of them picked up a large stick and began trying to block our salvos. For a second I thought to myself, ah this is how baseball must have been invented, before dismissing the apocryphal idea.  But who knows?  Maybe they were reliving Abner Doubleday’s childhood.  

Had I been thinking logically, I would have realized this wasn’t about survival or fighting back.  This was sport.  I was feeling a really perverse joy whenever I landed a snowball right in goblin face.  I noticed this scrawny little goblin, screechy like a yappy dog, and I instinctively singled him out and started peppering him again and again.  With each hit he screeched ever more bitterly at the cruelty and injustice of the world. What instinct drove me? Some ancient, primal, brutal instinct, necessitated by and resentful of the hardships of survival.  But before blood lust took me completely, I checked myself and began to distribute my snowballs more widely. 

We should have tried to escape, but the idea never occurred to me.  The sum of my existence in that moment was featherless biped -- or rather featherless bi-arm -- pounding mythical creatures with snowballs on a hot day in Thailand.  There was room for nothing beyond that.

Which is why it was all the more disconcerting when the snow abruptly stopped.  What was on the ground quickly melted.  The snowball in my hand was soggy and I doubted its aerodynamics.

I looked at Lauren.  She looked exhausted and I felt my legs rooted in the brush.  The goblins were recovering from the shock of the snow and the shelling, and they did not look particularly happy.  They were emitting high-pitched growls, like the buzzing of a swarm of angry bees.

Once again I felt the hand of fate heavy on my shoulder, but I brushed it aside.  I was going to meet my end teeth bared, scratching and clawing.  Let some paleontologist unearth my bones in a million years in the depths of the jungle where these creatures would feast on my corpse.

And again I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.  It was not fate and I couldn’t brush it aside.  It was a park ranger.  Another ranger was firing a rifle into the air.  The goblins scurried back into the woods and were seen no more.