by Carrie Regan
“Suppose this society really exists,” Liz began.
“Suppose?” Thompson asked.
“Well, we haven’t seen the Bambada. Haven’t seen any proof.”
Thompson pondered this point for a moment, then tossed the nut in the air. “Tell me, have you seen gravity?”
Liz answered quickly. “Sure. You throw the nut up, and it falls back down. Gravity.”
“You’ve seen a sign of gravity, but gravity itself? Never. Admit it, there are things you take for granted that you’ve never seen. Yet you doubt that the Bambada exist,” Thompson chuckled. “Liz, Liz. Ever the doubter with the hard exterior, afraid of being taken. Just this once, trust. Have faith. Believe.”
AJ tried to suppress a smile.
“Okay, so the Bambada exist,” Liz corrected, playing along. “It sounds like a pretty repressive regime. The government forces people to drink this stuff, and it keeps them honest out of fear of a grisly death? And you don’t have people dropping off left and right?”
“I bet there are plenty of people who secretly duck their daily dose,” AJ observed.
“It’s not like that,” Thompson said. “Babies are weaned on the tea of the Nburu tree. It’s our form of baptism, said to purify them – if you care to draw comparisons to Christianity – of the original sins of greed, lust, envy, what have you. As I said, it’s rather addictive, and everyone here drinks Nburu tea. Think of it as the Bambada version of Starbucks. The result is what I’ve mentioned – an idyllic, self-regulating community. There’s no government, no court, no military or police, because none is needed. There’s no crime, and few laws. I wish you could both see it.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t even imagine such a place could exist,” Liz said.
“Imagine how strange and brutal life in the Western world would seem to the Bambada. That’s why they couldn’t meet Alex, or even you two. But who knows? Perhaps one day, you’ll be ready.”
“So that explains why those early explorers died,” AJ said, catching on.
Thompson nodded. “Now you’re getting it. They were all driven by selfish motives – wealth, fame, expanding the kingdoms of fat kings in distant lands. Some perished here. Alex will be buried among them. Others took samples of the tea and consumed it near the end of their journey or once home. Perhaps they were afraid its benefits wouldn’t last long, and wanted to wait until they were back in ‘civilization’ to exploit its gifts. In any case, I’m grateful to them. Had their final utterances about the Bambada not been recorded, they never would have led me here.”
“We found your book, and bag and other belongings. Why were they covered in blood?” AJ asked.
“Ah, yes. It was blood from a duiker, a small forest antelope. Nothing more. It was something my friends here arranged after I decided to stay on. Originally, I thought they intended to throw people off my trail. Now I wonder if they really wanted to help you two find me.”
“So that we could help you get home,” Liz finished.
Thompson chuckled and shook his head. “Home? I am home. I’m not going back. This academic’s quest for knowledge is complete. The Bambada community offers all I’ve been searching for my entire life.”
Liz looked at him with obvious concern. “But…there’s nothing you miss, being here?”
“Not really. I miss the close friends I’ve left behind. But for the most part, I have everything I need. Besides, I can’t go back to the US now. Can you imagine trying to live in New York City without succumbing to lust, envy, greed, or lies? There’s no going back, even if I wanted to.”
“Imagine if we could spike New York’s water system with a little Nburu juice.”
“AJ!” Liz chided, horrified at the thought.
Thompson laughed. “The city would be a ghost town.”
“So you really know everything? The past, the future?” AJ queried, clearly drawn in and convinced by Thompson’s tales.
“I thought it’d be rather boring, but it’s actually invigorating. Rather like the feeling you get when you complete a good book, only you get it instantaneously, simply by thinking of a topic. Something about the Nburu tea flips a switch in the brain, and turns it into the ultimate receiver.”
“I’ve got to ask,” AJ said, leaning in conspiratorially, “We missed the World Series while we’ve been out here.”
“Ah yes, Cubs versus the Yankees. Quite a David and Goliath matchup.”
“And?” AJ asked impatiently.
“You can ask anything, and you ask about a baseball game?” Liz asked, astonished.
“Wait for the highlight reel,” Thompson said. “Words can’t do game seven justice.”
AJ grimaced and shook his head, defeated.
“Whatever the truth may be, we really owe you for saving us from Alex,” Liz said.
Thompson smiled sadly. “I only wish we could have saved your friends. Some evil is so great, nothing can stop it.”
Sobered by the reference, Liz and AJ marched on in silence, following close behind Thompson.
“And we’re back,” he said, moments later. Although they appeared to have walked in only one direction, Liz and AJ were surprised to find themselves entering his camp.
Liz paced around the clearing, verifying that it was the same. The cups, canteen, ravaged shelter, and their packs were just as they’d left them; Alex’s body, however, and the gruesome mess surrounding it were gone.
“Where’d he go?” she asked. “Some wild animal must have-“
“I told you, Liz. We’ve had a grave waiting. The Bambada have come and taken him away.”
AJ grinned at Liz’s perplexed expression. He gazed up at the wide tree towering over the clearing, branches heavy with fat nuts and fragrant blossoms. “So, the Nburu tree,” he said curiously.
“Yes, the Nburu tree. It’s a wonderful thing. You never know. It could change the world one day.” He shifted gears. “It’ll be getting dark soon. And you two would probably appreciate some real food. Stay here. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry – nothing will harm you here anymore.”
Before Liz and AJ could protest, Thompson disappeared down the path, leaving them alone in the middle of the Nburu jungle.
CHAPTER 53
Goddamn it, Lee thought, reading the newspaper headline as his taxi slowly made its way through midtown Manhattan traffic. “Ratings for Lives?” the New York Daily News asked, leading off an article that questioned the ethics of the adventure genre and openly attacked his network.
It seemed every media outlet in the country had similar headlines on its cover that morning. The morning shows had featured the whimpering widow of Max Carrington, begging people to boycott the Adventure Channel. The cover of Newsweek had an image of a television that displayed a shot of a climber dangling from a cliff, above the question “The End of Adventure?” The Washington Post had a three-part series chronicling the rise and fall of “the Adventure affair,” based on information cobbled together from “anonymous sources at Adventure and NBC”. It was as though journalists had been jealously priming their reports and sharpening their poisonous pens while the story was hot, waiting for the network to slip so they could pounce.
One lone critic in an obscure journal of media ethics pointed out NBC’s hypocrisy in skewering Adventure, given the fact that the network had profited just as much, if not more, from the event. Its primetime program had garnered their highest ratings of the year, and raked in record advertising dollars. The author called NBC’s promotion of the expedition, then sudden critique, “the most revolting example of opportunistic flip-flopping in the media I’ve ever seen.” Lee missed the report.
But the other articles confirmed what he knew in his heart: the channel was damaged goods. Hell, he was no television man anyway, and his sister, mourning the loss of Troy, would never forgive him if he didn’t wash his hands of the whole business. The answer was clear. NBC’s offer had been generous. In fact, considering the attitude of the viewing public, he’d be a fool not to accep
t. By the time the taxi pulled up to NBC Studios, he’d made his decision. The Adventure Channel, and its library of programs? They could have it all.
CHAPTER 54
“What a character,” AJ said. They were lying on their backs, sprawled out on the mats, gazing up at the ever-darkening canopy and listening to the calls of strange animals echoing through the jungle, wondering if their host would ever return. For the first time since they entered the jungle, they were free of fear, and it felt luxurious. Whatever had dragged Alex away had left his pack with the GPS behind. They’d find their way out.
“A character?”
“Yeah. Those fantastic stories about the Bambada? Their idyllic world? Sounds like quite a place,” he continued dreamily.
“AJ, he’s a sad, delusional, lonely old man.”
“He doesn’t seem lonely to me.”
“AJ, he’s clearly lost it. He’s going to die, alone, out here in the jungle. It’s tragic.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that he knew about your grandmother? Rufus? How about Alex’s death?”
“Maybe he’s got a phone hidden somewhere. Maybe Alex choked, I don’t know. And I can’t explain why the water from the Nburu affects us like it does. But this ‘imaginary world’?”
“If you can’t explain the Nburu water, who’s to say that the Bambada can’t exist too? Why can’t you just trust? Have faith? Believe?” he asked, quoting Thompson with a grin.
Still lying on her back, Liz threw her forearm over her eyes. “I trusted once. It didn’t serve me well,” she said sarcastically.
AJ leaned over, whispering in her ear, “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not just talking about the Bambada?” She remained silent, eyes still covered. “Hey.” He gently pulled her close. “Those years are over. I’m sorry, I really am. I promise, it’s not going to be like the last time.”
She pushed him away. “And I should believe you because…?” Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Just trust. Have faith. Believe, in me.” When she didn’t respond, he lifted one hand in an oath. “If I’m lying, may I drown in the fluid of my own dissolved internal organs.”
“AJ! Don’t even joke!”
“I could take a sip of Nburu juice,” he said, gesturing to the pot still sitting in the center of the clearing, its embers grown cold. “You know what happens to liars. We could clear up any doubt you have right away.”
“I’ll take your word for it!” she said, a smile finally playing on her lips.
He pulled her tenderly to him. “I really mean it. It’ll be different. I promise.” She nodded, folding into him.
“So what do we do now?”
“Run back to our last camp, grab the camera, and shoot the end of what will be the documentary of the century?” AJ ventured.
Simultaneously, they shook their heads and laughed.
“I’m happy to say that part of my life is over,” Liz announced.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m ready for a change. Time to try something different, you know?”
“I’m glad to hear that,” a voice boomed from the jungle. It was Thompson, arms filled with goods. “Your cameras wouldn’t work out here anyway.”
Liz and AJ sprang up to help him, taking two clay pots from him and setting them down on the mats.
“Hammocks to sleep in tonight,” Thompson said, letting them fall to the mats, “and dinner, courtesy of the Bambada.” He opened one clay pot and revealed a heaping mound of rice, with a smaller bowl nestled inside containing a thick, piping hot sauce. “Rice with a sauce of spinach and wild mushrooms. My favorite.” He opened the other pot, which contained crystal clear water. “Water from the Nburu. You’ll both need your strength for your return tomorrow.”
Thompson filled the tin cups with water, produced three weathered spoons from his pocket, and handed one to each of them.
“So we return tomorrow,” AJ said.
“And you won’t come with us?” Liz added.
“Yes, you do, and no, I’m not coming with you,” Thompson said gently as he poured the sauce over the rice. “You’ll be fine, and perfectly safe. Just stick to the path and you’ll have no trouble finding your way back. You’ll find that the GPS will work once you cross the pool.”
He took a spoonful of rice and sauce from the communal bowl, scooped it into his mouth, and closed his eyes, savoring its flavors. When he opened his eyes, he saw Liz and AJ merely staring at him. “Please, dig in.”
Liz hesitated, but AJ took a spoonful, brought it to his mouth to taste it, then took a big bite. “It’s really good,” he said to Liz through the mouthful of rice.
Liz dove in. “You have to get me this recipe,” she said, lowering her spoon for another helping.
“You should make it to Kimkali in just a few days, if you move quickly and don’t carry much. You have plenty of bottles to carry enough water from the Nburu?”
Liz and AJ nodded. With no rations remaining, the Nburu would have to sustain them for the return trip.
“Good.” They ate on in silence until the bowl was scraped clean, then leaned back on their hands, satiated.
“I have to ask you both a big favor – one that may prove quite difficult, given your line of work.”
“Go ahead. You saved our lives. Ask anything,” AJ said.
“I have to ask you to keep what I’ve told you about the Bambada, and even the fact that you’ve seen me, a secret.”
“No one would believe us anyway,” Liz said. “They’d think we were crazy.”
“Perhaps. But I stress, as far as anyone else is concerned, you’ve never seen me. And please, no mention of the Nburu River and its powers.”
Liz and AJ nodded gravely.
“You don’t want anyone to know you’re alive?” she asked.
“No. There’s no need. I’m not going back, and they’re never coming here. Of course, I don’t like people to think that I’ve suffered…but it’s best my disappearance remain a mystery. My dearest friends know that this is how I would have preferred to go anyway, in the field, on an expedition, on this expedition.”
“But what about the rumors about the Bambada – that they’re ‘bloodthirsty savages’? Don’t they want people to know the truth?” AJ asked.
“Actually, no. Those rumors are like the skins that poachers leave in the jungle to scare people. They help keep the world at bay, at least for now. Eventually, I suppose, more like Alex may come. As the world’s population increases and companies cut down more jungles, put in roads, and rape the land of its riches, it seems inevitable. Then again, maybe not. Maybe you two can help change things.”
“What can we do?” Liz asked skeptically.
Thompson stood and pondered the question as he strung up their hammocks. “Start small. Get them when they’re young – the future generation. Our generation is lost, but with kids, there’s still hope.” He pushed down on each hammock to test it, then wiped his hands together. “There. Beds are made. We should turn in. You have a long journey ahead of you, and once you leave the Nburu and run out of water the fatigue is going to hit.”
AJ climbed into the double hammock he’d share with Liz. She approached Thompson, bringing her hand to his arm compassionately. “Thank you. For everything,” she said privately.
“Make no mention of it. I enjoyed the company. You never know – perhaps we’ll meet again some day, in the land of the Bambada. Maybe even share a cup of Nburu tea.”
“You never know,” Liz said, struggling to suppress the emotion that had crept into her voice.
“In any case, Liz, whether you believe in them or not, I think you’ll carry the gifts of the Bambada with you forever. Mark my words: they’ll change your life.”
“I think they already have,” she replied, giving Thompson a farewell embrace.
With that, they bid each other a final goodnight. Thompson climbed into his hammock, Liz crawled in next to AJ, and they fell fast asleep.
The following
morning, when Liz and AJ awoke, Thompson was gone.
CHAPTER 55
Nearly two weeks later, Liz and AJ reclined in their adjoining British Airways business class seats, sipping champagne. Adventure’s accountants would no doubt take issue with the fact that Liz had charged the tickets to her corporate card, but she felt the expense was justified. It had taken them four days of solid trekking to reach Kimkali, pausing along the way only to collect their most valuable gear: the camera equipment, tapes, and satellite phone. At the Nburu River camp, they’d located the phone in Alex’s tent (as well as Buddy’s hat, which they packed to return to his widow) and called family and friends to let them know they were safe. They, in turn, filled them in on the media circus in the States. To avoid a scene at the airport, Liz and AJ decided it was best to refrain from any contact with Adventure and the press until they arrived home, and advised their families to do the same.
Back in Kimkali, Liz and AJ avoided the missionaries and instead tracked down a motorboat captain Thompson had recommended for the weeklong journey to the capital. There, Moe greeted them with the stunned expression of a man witnessing the walking dead. Over a long dinner, they recounted their adventures after the departure of the porters, describing Alex’s arrival, the disappearance of Buddy and Troy, and Max’s grisly death. Moe listened solemnly. They never mentioned their encounter with Thompson, instead reporting that Max had succeeded in landing one final deadly blow to Alex before he succumbed to his injuries—a lie they’d concocted during their trek out of the jungle.
Moe begged their forgiveness for leaving them in the jungle, and they apologized for not heeding his warnings in the first place. He’d managed to save his own life. Had they listened to him, their colleagues’ lives might have been spared as well.