Silent Smiles on Silver River
Tyler Auffhammer

Silent Smiles on Silver River
He sat silent, clutching the branch of a pumpkin ash along the Silver River. His barred teeth, yellowed and straight, were visible through a thicket of dahoon hollies and a couple of sabal palms. My father pushed forward on the single top mount control of his boat and the fifteen-footer crept toward the bank. My father pulled back on the control and the boat came to a slow halt. We stared up into the trees.
 
“See there, son,” said my father, pointing up into the trees. 
 
I had already seen the silent smiles looking down on us from above. After taking a quick gaze at the colony, I found the smiling creature in the pumpkin ash again. He bounced around the backside of the ash tree and clutched the trunk again. He opened his cheeks wider and revealed two large canines. I shivered at the thought of their sharpness.
 
A cacophony of loud, pulsed “geckers” rang out through the thicket of hollies. I saw a large male slide down and land on top of a cypress knee. He cooed and grunted, straightening his tail and opening his mouth. I recognized his primal aggressiveness and shifted on the boat seat. I hoped he didn’t know how to swim.
 
Before we had left the boat dock, my father told me about the colony of feral Rhesus Macaques on the Silver River. Since we had moved to Florida a couple of years before, I had been curious about the truth of this tale. Only now was I sure that the colony actually existed.
 
Later on, I would research how the monkeys made their way into the Silver Springs State Park. Many people think that they were released a scenery enhancement for the filming of a Tarzan movie in the 30’s, but that’s false. Tarzan Find’s a Son! was released in 39’ and doesn’t show any rhesus macaques. Just like most everything in this world, they were released for financial gain.
 
A proprietor by the name of Colonel Tooney was looking for a way to enhance his jungle cruise rider down Silver River in the spring of 1938, so he released three pairs of macaques into the park. Now, over a 1000 descendants inhabit the muddy banks of the Silver River.
 
A female clutching a small infant crossed a cypress branch high above and disappeared into the thicket of hollies. The large male at the riverbank continued to stare at us as my mother snapped a few pictures from her seat in the far back of the boat. My father walked up beside me and stared up into the trees.
 
“Can you believe they’ve been here for so long?” Asked my father.
 
I was entranced with the movement in the trees.The constant movement and communication by the macaques kept me distracted from the smiling face seated in the pumpkin ash. I found him again, his green eyes staring, seemingly, directly at me. My nine-year old imagination wondered who he was, how old he was, and if he was as scared as me.
 
The aggressive male at the bank caught my attention again as he feigned a jump into the river. I shifted in the boat seat again, thinking the worst.
 
Behind me, my father began to fumble with something on the side of the boat. My eyes were fixed on the male at the riverbank and my ears were filled with the rustling of leaves and the close, yet so distant, calls from above. Beneath my feet a long, twisting green snake slithered across the boat. I lifted my feet with a swift, sharp movement.
 
My father walked in front of me holding the green snake, its silver head gleaming in the sun that snuck through the sabal palms.
 
“Here son,” said my father, handing the emerald colored hose. I took it in my hands without knowing what I was supposed to do with it. I wondered what work he wanted me to do.
 
“Spray it up at ‘em,” answered my father, knowing I was confused.
 
From behind us, my mother said my father’s name, likely meant didactically. I stood up and pointed the green snake’s silver head toward the macaques, which were still hollering and calling from the riverbank. I wanted to make sure the belligerent male got the brunt of the snake’s venom. I found him in the crosshairs and fired!
 
In a swift moment, the male at the riverbank shot up the cypress knee, jumped onto the trunk of a dahoon holly and disappeared into the upper arms of the tree. His harem scattered too, some scrambling up the hollies and others dropping from the trees altogether and disappearing into the thicket.
 
The snake’s venom had silenced all calls and vanquished all foes. As I stood at the edge of the boat, still pointing the hose toward the colony’s former residence, I smiled. I sprayed the hose again just to make sure the macaques got a good bath and my cheeks opened wider, revealing my own canines.
 
My father had been laughing, pointing out a tail or a set of eyes in the thicket for my to shoot as the boat crept further down the bank. I was sitting back on my seat, still holding the hose in my hands and waiting for my final shot. My eyes peered up and down the cypress trees, through the thicket, and down into the water, just in case.
 
Finally, my green eyes locked in on my target. His stared back at me from beside the trunk of the pumpkin ash. He was as silent as before, green eyes moving up and down in a jittering fashion. I could sense the fear in his eyes. As I smiled at him, my own canines threatened him, as he knew the power of my snake companion.            
 
He popped around the other side of the pumpkin ash as my father’s boat kept moving down the Silver River. I thought about spraying him, as I wondered if his colony had took off and left him. I didn’t. I remembered the fear I felt as I watch him earlier: the sharp, yellow canines; the deep, green eyes. We weren’t too different at all.
 
The boat coast past the final curve in the river and the macaque leaned out from the ash tree to catch a final glimpse of me. I leaned over the side of the boat to do the same. At that moment, I knew that he would be okay alone, clutching the pumpkin ash until dusk came and sent him searching for a warm bed.
 
After he was gone from my sight, I looked over the edge of the boat and into the river. The water was clear and created a glassy veil that reflected my image. I smiled as big as I could, barring my teeth until I could see my canines. My deep, green eyes peered down into the water and back up at me, my reflection silently smiling as the boat slowly crept down the Silver River. 
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About the Author:
Tyler Auffhammer is a high school English teacher. His work has been included in the book-length poetry collection, "Witness: Appalachia to Hatteras: The Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poets and Student Poets 2015, Crack the Spine, Sigma Tau Delta's The Rectangle, and UNCW's Atlantis.
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