Arrows, Bones and Stones

by Donna White

  Naboth struggled. He dropped the gun and tried to grab at Fire. She tightened the scarf again. His face turned red and his eyes bulged.

  “Pick it up! Now!”

  Naboth obeyed. His arms shook.

  “Now whose life will it be, Naboth? Yours or your leader? Decide!” She yanked the scarf.

  Naboth gasped. He placed his finger on the trigger and pulled back. It clicked.

  Nothing happened.

  Fire leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “You need some brain if you are to point and shoot. You left the safety on.”

  Peter and Michael Jackson stepped out of the bush as Fire released her grip on the scarf and Naboth fell to the ground, fighting for air. Peter rushed to Naboth’s side as Michael Jackson grabbed his bow and reached for an arrow.

  “No,” Jonasan said. “Leave her. The viper has learned the strength of the mongoose, and the mongoose has learned the strength of the viper.”

  Michael Jackson let his bow fall to his side.

  Fire grabbed the gun and emptied the bullets out of the chamber, wrapped them in her scarf and tied it back around her waist.

  “Now stop being stupid.” She walked to a tree, sat down, and leaned against the trunk.

  Naboth sat up and rubbed his throat. He glanced at Charlie, then dropped his gaze to the ground. Peter offered him some water.

  Charlie walked toward Naboth. “I understand this. Trust is earned, not given. Here.” He took a small coil of rope from Jonasan’s side and handed it to Peter. “Tie me. Naboth can hold the rope. When you trust me, Naboth, the rope can come off.”

  Peter wound the rope around Charlie’s wrists, pulling the coils tightly around his scars. He tugged on the final knot, securing it strong and fast.

  Charlie looked at the knots and then at Naboth. He nodded. “I should have more than rope around my hand, Naboth. Perhaps a chain as well, because I deserve all your hatred. But there is nothing I can do to change this. Perhaps someday you will understand. But I do not know how this can happen. I do not understand myself. For now, I accept your hatred. Throw it at me again and again.”

  Charlie sat on the ground. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree. “There,” he said. “Let us get some rest. We have a long way to go still.”

  Chapter 8

  A small house will hold a hundred friends. ~African proverb

  Charlie rubbed the back of his hand across his face, feeling the tightness of the rope coiled around his wrist. He looked up and noted the position of the sun. A brown African hawk eagle, perched in an upper branch, held his attention for a moment as it spread its wings and lifted itself into the air. Charlie followed its flight until it became a mere speck in the sky. He watched the bird for a moment longer and then turned his attention to the leaves of the tall acacia trees as they lifted with the slight breeze. The leaves changed color as they reflected the variable light: dark green, lime green, and occasionally a bright yellow that speckled the foliage with a fleeting touch of the trees’ own sunshine.

  He felt the tug of the rope and followed its trail, glancing at Naboth, curled up against a tree. Even in his sleep he clutched the end of the rope in a tight fist. Peter, Michael Jackson, and Fire were also asleep; only Jonasan was awake, running the edge of his knife up and down the shaft of an arrow. He squinted down the long thin stick and placed it inside his quiver.

  Charlie observed. His childhood, until he was taken by the LRA, was spent farming, working in the cassava and bean fields, caring for the fruit trees with his mother and father, tending the goats in his family’s herd, and living a nomadic life. Some people traveled out of the village area to hunt an occasional wild animal like a hartebeest or a kob, but it was very rare to see a man or a boy carrying a bow and arrow. When it did happen, Charlie was in awe, wishing he could follow along with the hunters and share in the thrill of the chase. He sighed. The admiration he’d had as a young child for this primitive weapon was long gone.

  “Do you really think you stand a chance with your bow and arrow against the LRA and their gun?” Charlie asked.

  “We stand a better chance than with nothing and doing nothing,” Jonasan said, focusing on his work. “I know you think we are foolish, perhaps even stupid, but we have done some good. Last week just, a boy and his sister went out to gather their cow and were taken by the LRA. We followed their trail and found them with two LRA soldier and three young boy soldier. We killed the two men, but the three boy ran away. Then we brought the brother and sister back home and kept a guard on their place for several day. We want to stay as guard there, but we cannot. We do not have enough boy to do the job everywhere.”

  Jonasan put the arrow aside and picked up another. “You see, Charlie, we have some advantage here. The LRA do not expect us to fight back. No one has before. So we have a surprise tactic right there. And then there is the bush. We know it. We know the terrain—all the hill, each of the river—and if the LRA come into our area we have a good idea where they will be heading. And we can meet them and ambush them before they even know what is happening.”

  Charlie imagined the looks on the commanders’ faces when a barrage of arrows flew at them while they were trying to sneak up on a village. Then he imagined himself, part of the LRA, trying to escape from the arrows while the LRA commanders were breathing down his neck. Death could come to him from a bullet or an arrow. It was like his mother said: sufuria au moto. He could be in the fire or in the pan. It was all the same.

  Jonasan interrupted his thoughts. “And we have this,” he said. He took a small metal box from his pants pocket.

  Charlie leaned closer and looked at the shiny red object the boy held in the palm of his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “A cell phone.”

  “A cell phone? What is that?”

  “Look.” Jonasan opened the device to reveal several buttons covered with numbers and letters. He touched a few of the buttons, then passed it to Charlie. Charlie held the phone and rubbed his fingers over the smooth surface. A voice came from the phone.

  “Gway!” Charlie yelled. He dropped the phone and jumped back. The voice from the phone grew louder and louder.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  Jonasan let out a loud guffaw.

  “What kind of devilry is this?” Charlie asked as he took a cautious step forward.

  Peter woke, looked at the phone on the ground, then at Charlie’s horrified expression, and started to laugh. Suddenly, the whole group was awake, watching Charlie. Michael Jackson doubled over and held his sides while tears streamed down his face. Peter slapped Jonasan on the back, and Jonasan fell to the ground. His arms and legs shook in the air as a huge belly laugh erupted from his body. Fire clapped her hands over her mouth as she tried to hide her huge smile. Naboth glared. Charlie stared at Fire and shrugged, then smiled.

  Finally, Jonasan calmed himself and picked up the phone. “Hello, Ben. Yes, we are about sixteen mile in now. We have stopped the footin’ and are resting for a short time, but we will head off soon soon.” He paused, nodded, and talked some more. “Yes, it is going fine. No. No trouble. Yes, he is here. Do you want to speak to him?” Jonasan handed the phone to Charlie. “Here, Ben is needing to talk to you.”

  Charlie took the phone with his bound hands and held it to his face just as he had seen Jonasan do.

  “Hujambo? Hello?”

  He jerked his head back in surprise. Peter, Michael Jackson, Jonasan, and Fire burst into laughter again. Naboth scowled and turned his back. Finally, Charlie spoke. “I . . . I am fine. And how are you and your family?”

  He furrowed his brow and stared into the distance. The group watched him intently as he listened to Ben, shrugged, nodded, and shook his head.

  “You have to say yes or no, Charlie. Ben cannot see you, you know,” Jonasan said.

  “Oh.” Charlie spoke into the phone. “Yes, I will do that. Thank you. He handed the phone back to Jonasan and sat beside Fire.

  “What did Ben
say to you?” Fire asked.

  “He said, ‘Apwoyo matek, brother.’”

  Jonasan closed the cell phone, put it back in his pocket, and sat down. “That was Opio Ben. He is the leader of the Arrow Boy and gave us the okay to look for the cache you know about. He say it is brave of you to go back into the bush after you escaped just. He say he want to meet you when we come back with the gun.”

  Charlie smiled. Ben had called him “brother”. Charlie didn’t know him. He had never met him, and yet he had called him a name given only to someone loved and well respected. His smile grew and his eyes moistened, so much so that when he looked at his wrists he didn’t see the rope that wound around them, binding him like a captured animal.

  Chapter 9

  The kingdom of heaven is within you;

  and whosoever shall know himself shall find it.

  ~ Egyptian proverb

  Charlie stopped where the bush met the road and waited. It was still dark. They had made good time. Perhaps they would be able to dig up all four caches and leave before the sun rose. Looking across the dirt road, he took in a beautiful sight. The light from the full moon brought the opok tree into view, showing its flaming red flowers. It was a sure sign they were well into the rainy season. He breathed deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of its heavenly scent. He closed his eyes and smiled. It smelled like life, new beginnings and hope. It was beautiful.

  Jonasan crept closer to Charlie. “Is this where a cache is?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Show me where another one is, and I will get a couple digging while you have the other digging here.”

  “No,” Charlie said. “We all stay here and dig together. It is better that we get one hole dug than two part hole, in case we are spotted. Plus, the less activity the better. Less chance of being heard.”

  Jonasan nodded. “Yes, you are right.”

  The boys jogged across the road, following Charlie in single file back into the cover of the surrounding bush. Naboth kept a tight hold of the rope that bound Charlie’s arms.

  “It is right here,” he said, using both hands to point at the base of a tree.

  “Take the rope off him, Naboth,” Jonasan said. “He cannot do the work if his hand are tied.”

  Naboth glared at Jonasan out of the corner of his eye, then looked at the rest of the group. Peter nodded while Micheal Jackson shrugged in a “Why not?” sort of way. Naboth stared at Fire for a second, then looked away. He yanked Charlie toward him and untied the knots. Charlie winced as the rough rope jerked across his skin.

  “And give it to me,” Jonasan said. Naboth handed him the rope. “We will not be needing it again.”

  Naboth scowled. “I am watching you,” he said. He shoved Charlie toward the tree.

  Charlie drew a quick square on the ground. Immediately, Michael Jackson and Peter put their hoes to work, coaxing the red clay from the ground. Jonasan pulled the chunks of dirt away from the hole, clearing the way for more.

  Charlie grabbed a rock and began to help.

  “Now I do not want no piss hole. You dig it deep.”

  Charlie threw the blade into the ground as his breath came out in noisy huffs. Over and over he gouged the earth; again and again he pulled the clay from the ground. Soon, beads of sweat formed on his forehead and the palms of his hands perspired, causing him to lose his grip on the hoe.

  He glanced at the young boy beside him and tried to remember if he had seen the face before. No, he thought, he must be new. He wiped his palms on his pants and repositioned his hands on the hoe. The large shadow of the commander loomed over the hole, unintentionally offering some relief from the sun.

  The commander moved and a small pod from a flame tree fell into the hole. It must be nearing the beginning of the dry season, Charlie thought. Soon the ground would be covered with the boat-shaped seed coverings. He remembered the piles of brown pods littering the ground when he was taken from his village and forced to walk to the camp.

  It had been a year since the soldiers came and took him from his village.

  He grabbed the pod and put it into his pocket. He offered the young boy a quick smile. The boy’s hands were shaking and his breath was quick and shallow. Charlie threw the blade of the hoe into the ground with greater intensity, trying to cover for the boy’s feeble attempts.

  “Slow down,” Charlie whispered as he got down on his hands and knees. He brushed aside some dirt and revealed the corner of a soiled burlap bag. Naboth helped him remove the rest of the dirt and lift the bag. Charlie untied the rope and opened the sack to reveal its treasure: ten AK-47s and a heap of ammo. He reached down to take a gun.

  “No.” Naboth grabbed Charlie’s hand and held it tight.

  Fire scoffed. “Let it be, Naboth. We are close close to the LRA camp, and we need the gun. Unless you know how to use them, you should stand back and let Charlie show us.”

  Naboth scowled.

  “Let him be, Naboth,” Jonasan said. “We trust him. You must learn to do the same.”

  Naboth released his grip on Charlie and stepped back. Charlie reached into the bag, pulled out a gun, and inserted a magazine. Naboth watched intently, grabbed a gun, and followed his lead. Within seconds both guns were assembled and ready. Charlie placed the gun strap over his shoulder and adjusted it until the gun lay perfectly parallel with the ground. He inserted his finger near the trigger, swung the gun back and forth, then lifted a small lever on the side and clicked it into place. “The safety,” he said. “Keep it on at all time. Until you need it.” Then he pushed the tip of the gun down and readjusted the strap, leaving the gun resting against his side.

  Every move Charlie made was watched with intense scrutiny. Naboth passed a gun to each one of the boys, and they repeated Charlie’s steps. Charlie stepped back and watched.

  They filled the hole and covered the disturbed soil with dead leaves and branches. Fire took the rest of the magazines, put them into her sack, and placed it on her head.

  “Come,” Charlie whispered, leading everyone farther into the bush.

  He walked until the faint sounds of flowing water could be heard. A slow-moving stream, meandering through the bush, gurgled past them.

  Charlie dropped to his knees and plunged his face into the river. The frigid water instantly cooled him, sending a rush of prickling pins and needles over his body. He cupped the water in his hands and brought it to his lips, gulping the liquid down, feeling his stomach tighten and cramp with each mouthful. He glanced to his side and watched the young boy do the same. The boy’s spindly arms shook. His breaths were short, raspy, grating.

  “Here,” Charlie said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the seed pod. He placed the brown shell into the river and watched the boat-shaped vessel drift away. “I used to do that when I was a ka-boy. I would pretend I was on the water, floating off somewhere far, far away.”

  The little boy watched the pod until it went around a bend in the river and was lost from sight.

  Charlie turned to his right, took a big step, and began counting his lengthy strides. “Acel, ariyo, adek . . .” until he reached twenty and stopped. Directly in front of him was an orange grove, three rows of trees standing on the edge of a sugarcane field. He walked toward the grove and counted again—“Acel, ariyo, adek, angwen, abic”—and stopped. He scribbled a square on the ground and stepped back. Again the boys dug with their hoes and pulled the earth away until another bag was exposed. Michael Jackson pulled it from the hole and began to undo the rope.

  “No,” Charlie said, “leave it in the sack. We have enough gun on us to protect us.”

  Michael Jackson tucked the bag under his arm. The rest of the boys threw the dirt back into the hole and used the decaying leaves and twigs to cover up the freshly disturbed dirt.

  Charlie walked farther into the bush and led the group to the third cache. It was ten paces from a termite hill. The mound that covered the cache looked like a smaller termite hill, a small village next to a larger city.
The group began to dig.

  “What is your name?” Charlie said under his breath.

  “William.”

  William’s arms trembled as they pulled the dirt from the hole.

  “It is going to be okay, William. One more hole after this one just. You can do it.” Charlie pulled the dirt from the ground and threw the chunk far from the hole. He tossed the large chunks of clay to the side, leaving William only the smallest pieces to carry.

  The boy tripped and stumbled.

  Charlie caught him and lifted him up. It was too late; the man placing the guns in the bag saw everything. “Hurry!” he yelled.

  William struggled to quicken his pace. Charlie pulled up a huge chunk of clay and threw it out of the hole, only to see it hit the ledge and fall back in. William reached for the piece, staggered, and fell onto Charlie’s hoe.

  “Stop.” Jonasan spied a fragment of cloth. “There it is.”

  The boys brushed the dirt away from the sack, pulled it out of the hole, and hoisted onto Peter’s shoulders.

  “Quick, fill this hole back in and we will find the last cache,” Jonasan said, turning to follow Charlie’s lead.

  Peter peered into the hole. “Wait, I see something else in there.”

  “No,” Charlie said. “It is nothing. Leave it. We must go.”

  Charlie lifted William’s limp body and watched the boy struggle to open his eyes. “Come on, William. Get up!” Charlie shook him. “Get up, William!” William’s eyes closed. His breath left him in a long sigh. “William!” Charlie yelled. He listened to the boy’s heart, then felt his pulse. Nothing and nothing. He cradled William’s head in his arms.

  A shadow loomed over the hole.

  The commander looked down at Charlie. “Leave him. We do not want to attract the hyna. Bury him with the gun.”

  Peter leaned his load against a tree and jumped back into the hole.

  “I said leave it.” Charlie tried to hide the anxiety in his voice. “We have been here long long already.”