Tarzan

My Guy

Quoted excerpts are from Edgar Rice Burrough's Tarzan of the Apes. 

As a matter of opinion I think he's tops,

My opinion is he's the cream of the crop;

No muscle-bound man could take my hand from my guy.

I smile broadly, relishing the sound of his name. Alexander Skarsgard. It sounds like a sigh. He's My Guy. Move over, Michael Fassbender.

Twice during the 36-hour flight back home from Bhutan, I watched The Legend of Tarzan in which he stars. Since then, I've seen the film on a library DVD many times. I'm obsessed.

From a lofty perch, the Earl of Greystoke views the village of thatched huts across the intervening plantation. His straight and perfect figure, muscled as the best of the ancient Roman gladiators, and yet with the soft and sinuous curves of a Greek god, told at a glance the wondrous combination of enormous strength with suppleness and speed.

In his savage, untutored breast, new emotions are stirring. Slaves have been captured and are being carried by a Belgian military train. He groans inwardly.
It has remained for man alone among all creatures to kill senselessly and wantonly for the mere pleasure of inflicting suffering and death, he says in a casual tone that fools no one.

Moreso, a treacherous envoy for King Leopold is scheming to capture and deliver him to an old enemy in exchange for diamonds. I'm not allowing that, Tarzan sneers in resolve.

He steps out from the shadows of the tribal village into lush, luminescent green mountains that stretch out and up for miles after hazy mile. He looks at the ground, eyes downcast, then scrunches his face in consternation. He emotionally remains remote, uninvolved - his penetrating, lucid, slightly-crossed eyes only modestly registering whatever might be on his thoughts.

Then slowly, he grimaces in disgust. Moving stealthily as a panther, he goes naked into the jungle, swinging on a vine, armed only with a jackknife.

Leering openly now, he bristles after a long pause, I am Tarzan of the Apes! His voice booms with anger. He gives a snort and a very indecorous laugh. Through clenched teeth, he says, My Mangani mother is Kala. Akut is my brother. His voice sounds like a string that's been pulled too tight. I never knew my father, my mother was an ape, he continues crisply.

He next triggers a massive stampede of wildebeest through Boma, destroying the town and distracting the soldiers. As primordial fears bubble and hiss in the depths of his opponents' soul, he bellows in a steady, controlled voice a mating call to summon the crocodiles who are stunned into obedience and devours the enemy. 

Tarzan places his foot upon the neck of dead bodies rolling to the ground. He mutters, his mouth settling into a hard line. This is the house of Tarzan, the killer of beasts. Do not harm the things which are Tarzan's. Raising his eyes to the sky, he throws back his fierce young head and voices the wild and terrible cry of his people.

Thus peace reigns once more in this timeless, almost mythical virgin forest. The jungle rolls below - quiet, unmarred, a dense green canopy where Tarzan watches, where only the odd, stray sunbeam penetrates the mulchy forest floor.

No muscle-bound man can take my hand from this guy.

Ooo-wa-ooo-aaooaaooaa-ooo!