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Jane finds herself more and more fascinated by Tarzan every day. He’s extraordinary, really. He’s gone from having no human language to sounding out simple books in such a short time- much shorter than the years children require to learn to speak and read.
Tarzan crouches next to her as they make their way through an early reader that was somehow mistakenly packed with their other books. Jane’s glad now, though it had seemed so silly earlier.
“See Jane. See Jane run.”
Tarzan’s reading is halting when he reads along with Jane, but as ever he has impeccable mimicry afterwards. He repeats words flawlessly on the first attempt, with none of the stumbling Jane encountered as a girl when Daddy first taught her the scientific names of animals.
Tarzan doesn’t just mimic- he attaches meaning to the words he repeats. He may have thought “Clayton” meant the sound of a gunshot, but he knows the meaning of Jane.
“See Jane run.” Tarzan repeats, hand pressed over her name. He’s no longer looking at the illustrations. His gaze focuses on her, his green eyes as intense as always. They soften whenever they see Jane now.
“Jane,” Tarzan says again, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair, exactly like a gorilla grooming.
“Exactly.” Jane says.
“Jane.” Tarzan glances between the illustrations and Jane. Even as a child, Jane never had ringlets like the girl drawn in the book. He reaches and curls a strand of her hair around his finger.
“It’s my name, but I’m not the only Jane.” she explains. “There was another Jane down the lane when I was a girl, and-“
Jane stops when Tarzan puts his hands on her shoulders. “You Jane.”
“I am, but there are other Janes. I’m Jane Porter, and she was Jane Smith, see?“ she tries to explain again, but for all Tarzan is soaking up knowledge like a sponge, he clearly doesn’t understand.
Jane, Daddy and Clayton are the only people Tarzan’s ever seen, though he’s seen drawings of others in the slides Jane projects for him.
“See Jane,” Tarzan says again, his focus locked on her. To Tarzan, she truly is the one and only Jane. Even boys who courted her never eyed her with such singularity.
Jane blushes and looks away, the book forgotten for the moment. She gives up trying to explain that there are other Janes, and is about to suggest continuing reading when Tarzan grabs her hand and lopes off on all fours- or rather, threes, since one hand is holding hers- dragging her playfully behind him.
“See Jane run.” he grins back at her, and Jane laughs. Tarzan stands and tries to run upright with her as they cross the campground. His grace on all fours and through the trees hasn’t yet translated to running.
Jane hasn’t run since that terrifying chase with the babboons, where Tarzan swooped in and saved her. It feels so long ago, and yet it’s been no time at all.
Jane laughs, breathless as she and Tarzan race back and forth across the camp. Soon, Tarzan’s interest is piqued by something else- he’s endlessly curious about Jane and her world, as curious as Jane is about his.
Jane may not be the only Jane, but she knows there’s only one Tarzan. And to him, she’s the only Jane that matters.