Chapter 9: Scorpion Guts

The flame licked wildly at the lantern's glass and pitched an eery shadow of ancient dancing Mayans on the wall. All the while the wind whistled through the closed window slats and was
swiftly sucked back under the space beneath the door. It was a blow from the
Northeast, with winds gusting upwards of 70 mph, that brought with it a rare
chill to Belize.
I was hunkered down under my fleece throw wishing that sleep would come soon
when I heard a loud "Thump!" The wind had picked up a bit in the last
hour and the screams and howls had been interrupted by the occassional thumping
sound. Reluctantly, I got un-hunkered, doused the lamplight, opened the window
to an unwelcome cold blast, and looked out into the darkness. While waiting for
my eyes to adjust I could already see the frothing white caps charging the
shoreline of this usually tranquil lagoon. The dock slowly came into view and
while I squinted to catch a glimpse of the Bacalar Chico work boat I heard the
thump, thump, thumping again between gusts. I had hoped the noise was caused by
the waves breaking under the bow of the boat, but instead it was the sickening
sound of the boat breaking against the dock. I rushed to wake up Sherwin the
Park Ranger, who wouldn't have heard the thumping over his own dirge-like
snoring. After doning is raincoat, winter cap, and slippers, I felt a little
underdressed in my pj's and barefeet, but there was no time to lose as we
hurried down the spiral staircase to save the boat. When we got to the dock it
was so badly knocked about by the boat it was hard to walk down (not to mention
the fact that Belizean docks are built with 2-3 inch spaces between the planks,
allowing enough room for a narrow foot to slide through on a good day!) The
boat was already in bad shape, the fiberglass looked like it had been chopped
like a rough hewn log with a sharpened machete in a one-foot area and the
damage was making its way down the hull. With the waves breaking over the end
of the dock, splashing up through the planks and splattering my wind-whipped
pj's, Sherwin yelled over the chaotic wind for me to get the boat keys from his
room and he'd go wake the other rangers to help. I ran down the sidewalk, my
headlamp dimly lighting the way, threw open the downstairs door, thrust myself
forward into the hall and simultaneously felt a peculiar 2-pronged stinging
sensation jab into my barefoot. I twisted back to see a 4 inch long black
scorpion scurry away into the corner looking as surprised as I was about the
whole ordeal. If the adrenaline wasn't rushing through my veins before, it
certainly was now! I swore (&%#!) and ran upstairs to retrieve the boat
keys, my foot throbbing as I went. I had, once before, ran over a yellowjacket
nest with my lawnmower and the stings I received that day felt a bit like the
one I had just incurred. However, I knew scorpions could be a wee more
dangerous than yellowjackets, even deadly, if it was of a certain species. I
met Sherwin at the dock and promptly said, "Sherwin I know your busy with other
worries right now, but I just got stung by a scorpion and am curious to know if
I'm going to die soon--cause if so, I'd rather not spend my last moments of
life tying up a boat." He said I wasn't going to die, that I might just
catch fever like he did when it happened to him. Seeing as how I wasn't going
to die, I went to help them with the boat. After some tense moments, Sherwin
and Mr. Hislop had swung the boat around, anchored off the port bow, retied the
lines, and bumper buoys, and made it safely back to the dock without losing any
fingers. My helping consisted of holding the flashlights for them since, in Belize, women
don't seem to drive boats. With the first problem taken care of, the second was
begging to be addressed. Sherwin opened the door , removed his slipper, found
my scorpion in the corner, and smashed it! With its' leg still jerking wildly
in its' death throws Sherwin calmly tells me to rub the scorpion guts into the
wound and proceeds to grab an old pair of boxer shorts out of a box in the hall
for me to do this with. My only hesitation to this "Lucy in the Sky with
Diamonds" drug induced suggestion is that the scorpion is still moving and
I'm not about to get near it if there's any chance of it coming back to life.
Sherwin kindly makes certain its dead with his slipper again and hands me the
boxers. When you're in pain you tend to do as the locals do, especially if
there is the slightest chance it will make you feel better. So there I was,
crouched in a darkened hallway, gently dabbing a corner of the old plaid boxers
into the oozing goo of the scorpion's belly, and rubbing it into my swelling
foot. The inards smelled downright foul, like those of a cockroach after you've
killed it; but before I was even done spreading this rank medicine over my
wound--it felt miraculously better!! Scorpion guts worked far faster than
Benedryl could have anyday and I didn't even catch fever. Just goes to show
you, Mother Nature is an extremely powerful force--she can break your boat or
she can break your spirit, but as much as she hurts, she also heals.