Hare in the Elephant's Trunk

by Jan Coates

  Monyroor sank down in the cool grass beside him. The two boys lay on their backs, panting and staring up through the prickly branches at the starry African sky. This time, Jacob had no questions about the stars. He put a hand in his pocket. Where are you, Mama? He ran his fingers over the blue heart stone. He held it up to wipe away the hot tears seeping from his eyes. Far behind them, sharp fingers of bright orange and yellow flame continued to shoot up into the darkness. Jacob closed his eyes and curled up close to his nephew, trying to block out the feet racing past them. Within a few minutes, despite the horrors of the night, the threat of hyenas, and the bloodthirsty mosquitoes, they were both sleeping soundly.

  When they awoke, the sun was already touching the tips of the trees. Jacob rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleep. He listened for Jenny’s gentle bleating, and the music of his mother humming as she pounded grain for breakfast, but heard only the dry wind tossing the leafy branches. “Where are we?” he asked, looking around. He shouted because his ears still had the underwater feeling. He looked at Monyroor. Then he remembered. The boys were completely alone in the forest.

  But the smell, oh, the smell. He could taste the ashes, sooty and black on his tongue. The dark smoke continued to billow above the distant village, like wild, raging thunderclouds. Only these clouds did not hold the welcome promise of rain. Scenes from the night before stormed into Jacob’s mind.

  “I must go back now to look for Mama,” Jacob said. He stood up quickly, then fell back to the ground, holding his head as the trees spun around him. His stomach spun, too. Jacob couldn’t imagine that Mama wouldn’t also be looking for him.

  “It’s not safe,” Monyroor said, catching Jacob’s hand. “Not today, Little Uncle.”

  Jacob felt tears stinging behind his eyes. He knew crying would not help; he tried to be brave and dug his fingernails into his hands to keep the tears inside.

  “You must be strong,” Monyroor said. “And patient.”

  Jacob stood up again, more carefully this time, and busied himself looking for food so Monyroor wouldn’t see his shiny eyes. They found a few shea nuts under a lulu tree, which they stuffed into their pockets for later. More than anything, Jacob wanted to drink. The more he thought about it, the drier his throat felt. He swallowed several times, but the thirst stayed with him.

  “Please, Monyroor, can we get a drink? Please?” Jacob asked. He could think of nothing but water. Clear, fresh water would surely take away the awful smoky taste of fire from his mouth. Maybe it would even wash the horrible pictures from his mind. But the river was on the far side of the village, and it was not safe for them to return there. For the first time in his life, Jacob wondered if he would ever see his home again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to push back the panic that was making him even more dizzy.

  “We will walk east, in the direction of Ethiopia,” Monyroor said firmly, looking toward the rising sun. He did not ask his young uncle’s opinion. “It is not far, and we will be safe there. My mother’s brother traveled there last year.”

  Jacob did not know where Ethiopia was, but he was most interested in being safe. “Why is it not safe in our village anymore?” he asked. “And how far away is Ethiopia? Is it as far as the big river? Will Mama and Sissy be there? Is your head sore, Monyroor?”

  Monyroor rubbed his gaar. He shrugged his shoulders. “My scars are healing. I cannot answer your other questions, Little Uncle. But we must go, now.”

  As their journey toward the rising sun began, they passed other Dinka people, from their village and neighboring villages. They were mostly grandmothers and grandfathers; small children clung to the hands of some of the walkers. Some had open wounds they had wrapped with leaves tied with long grass. Others carried lumpy bundles on their heads. “Don’t wait for us,” the elders insisted, waving the boys on. “You are young. Ethiopia is many sunrises away—follow the waking sun each morning and you will find safety there.”

  Jacob and Monyroor traveled through the forest for most of that first day. It was cooler there. The trees helped them play Seek and Find with the sun. They left the forest as the sun gave up and began sinking back into the earth. The tall grasses, taller even than Monyroor, kept the boys hidden from enemies, or so Jacob hoped and tried to believe. As the hush of dusk settled around them, the rustling in the grasses seemed to grow louder, more threatening.

  “W ... w ... what’s that?” Jacob pushed up against Monyroor as he heard the crashing of something leaping through the undergrowth. He knew hyenas and lions preferred to hunt at dusk, or even better, in the dark, so they could sneak up on their dinner. Mama would be very angry if she knew I was in the long grass after dark, Jacob thought. He tried to make himself bigger and shoved his hand into Monyroor’s. He stayed very close to his nephew.

  Jacob thought he heard his mother’s warm voice, murmuring, wadeng, Jacob; wadeng, on the breeze, but when he looked around, she wasn’t there. I hope you are right, Mama. I will hope for tomorrow to be better than this day; it could not possibly be worse ...

  Finally, they had to rest. “You go first,” Monyroor said, trampling down a patch of elephant grass for them to lie on. “I will stay awake and keep watch.”

  Jacob wanted to argue, but he was too weary and too dizzy. He had never felt so thankful as when he collapsed on the ground. A softer pillow he had never known. The moment his head touched the earth, he was fast asleep. Sometime later, he awoke to feel Monyroor curling up next to him. Jacob shivered and tried to stay awake. He tried to keep watch for the hungry beasts, but his eyes were too heavy and soon closed once again.

  Chapter Six

  For seven nights, they slept alone in the long grasses. On the morning of the eighth day, they awoke to the sound of voices approaching, the familiar music of Dinka voices. The sun was already high in the clear blue sky.

  “Hello!” Jacob called, eager to see a friendly face from his village. He hoped it would be someone from his family. Or maybe it would be his monkey-eared friend, Oscar—maybe even Uncle Daniel! He jumped up and peered through the tall grass.

  An old man appeared, leaning heavily on a knobby stick and wearing a red blanket draped over one shoulder. A young girl, about Jacob’s size, followed him as they emerged from the undergrowth.

  “Good morning, father,” Monyroor said respectfully, nodding his head. “Where are you going?”

  “My son, we are walking to Ethiopia,” the elder answered, “my granddaughter and I. We do not know what has happened to the rest of our family. The younger men were all away with the cattle; they will be most confused when they return.”

  “We are in the same sad situation,” Monyroor said. “My young uncle Jacob and I are also walking to Ethiopia. We do not know how far it is, but we think we will be safe there.”

  “We shall walk together, then,” the old man answered. “I hope I will not slow you down with my lame leg. My name is Matthew. My granddaughter is Louise. We come from Maridi.” Jacob grinned shyly at the young girl, who smiled at the ground. She had a big space between her front teeth, like Mama. Jacob’s fingers found the blue stone in his pocket.

  “I am Monyroor Deng, son of Adang,” Monyroor replied. “This is Jacob, my Little Uncle. Our village is Duk Padiet.”

  “Our homes were bombed two weeks ago. We are weary of walking and anxious to find food and water,” Matthew said.

  “We have been walking for seven days,” Monyroor answered. “We are also hungry and thirsty.”

  “We are going to find our families in Ethiopia,” Jacob said.

  “We will do the same,” Louise said.

  And so, two travelers became four. Jacob felt safer with this extra company, especially since Matthew was old. He had the wise brown eyes of the village elders in Duk, the wrinkles of men who know many things.

  As they walked, Jacob asked Matthew some of the questions he’d been carrying in his mind. “Why did those people want to hurt us? Did we do something to them, something to make them turn wild,
turn into lions? Were they mad because we have the best wrestlers? Did a Dinka man steal their cattle?”

  Matthew laughed. “No, no I do not think it was that. It is a long story, young Jacob.” He paused, then continued. “How can I put this simply? The people in the northern government believe in a different god than our god. They cannot accept that there could be more than one understanding of God. They are like angry elephants, destroying our villages to show they are stronger than us. They think, by scaring us, they will make us accept their beliefs, take them for our own.”

  “I don’t like those people. I will never believe in their god!” Jacob said angrily.

  “They are also jealous of our land. It is much better for growing crops than the desert land in the north,” Matthew added. “Southern Sudan is very rich beneath the soil—in oil—and the people of the north are envious. They want us to be their slaves.”

  “Humph!” Jacob said, frowning and kicking a stick in his path. “I will be nobody’s slave.” He heard Uncle Daniel’s voice saying those same words. It seemed so long ago. I hope Uncle Daniel is helping to fight the bad men.

  Matthew patted him on the shoulder. “I believe you are right, Jacob.”

  “Mama tells me I must go to school. She says when people go to school, there will be peace again,” Jacob said seriously. “I don’t understand. I want to be a brave soldier and protect my country.”

  “Your mama sounds like a very wise woman,” Matthew answered, smiling. “You will see that she is right, all in good time.”

  They came across other small villages as they walked. Upon Matthew’s suggestion, they approached the villages quietly. It was possible the ghostly militia could still be greedily rooting and digging through the burned-out huts and clay buildings. Jacob remembered exactly how the horsemen had looked, thundering into his village. His heart still raced, making him breathless when he pictured the swords, taller than a boy, slicing through the village. Although they saw many bodies in these strange villages, they did not speak of them. Jacob tried not to look, but sometimes it was impossible to tear his eyes away. He narrowed his eyes to slits and followed Monyroor’s dusty feet from beneath his lashes; the sight of the bloody and burned bodies caused his stomach to churn. Most often, the walkers looked at the sky, at the ground, straight ahead; their thoughts leaping back to their own lost families kept each person’s lips tightly sealed.

  “I am hungry, Monyroor,” Jacob said one evening. His stomach felt like a hollow nutshell. “I wish Mama was here to make some stew for everybody.”

  “We have nothing,” Monyroor answered quietly, jostling his lion’s tail as he looked around. “I see another village ahead; we will look there.”

  “Do you think we will find Mama—maybe tomorrow?” Jacob asked, his hand searching for her stone.

  “I hope we will find her soon,” Monyroor whispered. His voice sounded tired, and not very hopeful. “Shhhhh!”

  As they approached the burned-out village, they heard no signs of life. Matthew held out his cow’s tail charm and swished its long brown hairs through the air, all around the three children, sweeping away any evil spirits or danger that might be lurking ahead.

  “Stay close together so we will look like one big animal,” he advised. Jacob looked at Louise. She covered her mouth. They both tried not to laugh at the idea of people trying to look like an elephant or a hippopotamus. They linked arms as they walked.

  A pair of evil-looking vultures crouched on a fence, watching carefully through beady black eyes above sharp, hooked beaks. They looked hungry. Practically all that remained of the village were the low, round mud walls of the huts.

  “What’s that?” Jacob asked suddenly, clinging to Monyroor like a shadow. It sounded like the harsh clanging of metal on rock. Matthew cautiously led the way around the charred remains of several huts, into an area of less destruction. They walked past a few upside-down spider-web roof trusses and came upon a young boy, hunched over and digging a hole with a metal stick. He was very thin, and his shoulder blades stuck out like wings from his bony back. He was smaller than Jacob and so intent on his work that he didn’t look up at their approach.

  “Hello!” Matthew called out in a friendly voice.

  “Father,” the boy said, jumping up quickly, his tool clattering to the ground. “I am burying my brother.” His damp face was streaked with dirt. He wore only a torn pair of short purple pants. The piece of metal was the broken handle of a sword. “I cannot leave him here for the hyenas and the vultures.” He waved his hand toward an upside-down roof; two small brown feet were visible beneath it. Jacob remembered tickling Sissy’s tiny toes. He remembered Sissy counting baby James’s toes. These little feet were twisted at an odd angle.

  “Of course,” Matthew said. “We will help you.” Matthew did not look as if he had the strength for much digging, but still he offered to help the young boy, whose name was Willy. Such was the Dinka way. Matthew lowered himself carefully to the ground and picked up a sharp stone.

  “He stayed alive most of today, but he was not strong enough,” the small boy said, wiping a forehead that was shiny with sweat. “I’m sorry ... I tried to help him ...” Jacob could not make himself look at the brother’s legs for long, but it appeared he was Willy’s younger brother. If that was Sissy, I would just cry and cry, like a baby, Jacob thought. How can he be so strong?

  “You are a fine brother,” Monyroor said, putting a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “I hope my own brothers would do the same for me.” He picked up a pointed rock and began to help with the digging.

  “I would do this for you, Monyroor,” Jacob said quietly, kneeling down beside his nephew. “But I hope I will not have to ...”

  “I know you would, Little Uncle,” Monyroor answered, smiling at him.

  Louise and Jacob walked around the village, looking for something to eat. They turned their eyes away from the twisted and charred bodies scattered among the ruins. Jacob could not stop himself from staring at a young mother curled up around her baby, protecting him from the horrors. He thought of Abuk and baby James. That could not have happened to Mama and my sisters, Jacob thought. Grandmother would never allow that ... and they are too good, too important, too full of smiles and stories.

  Louise picked up a ragged gray skin and shook the dirt from it. “For Willy’s brother,” she said, folding it up neatly. “To keep him warm.” They found a small garden patch and dug up some carrots that were still orange, although their tops were singed.

  “My favorite!” Jacob said, pulling out the bottom of his shirt to make a basket for the carrots. Inside one of the huts, Louise lifted a grass mat, amazingly unburned, and found treasure—a coiled clay jug of clear water, safe in its covered hiding place in the mud floor.

  Her brown eyes sparkled. “At last, we can drink!” she said, lifting it high in the air, her skinny arms trembling with its weight. “Thank you to the person who left this for us.”

  “Monyroor will be very happy,” Jacob said. My tongue still tastes of ashes, he thought, licking his dry lips. Maybe this will finally wash it clean. He wanted to tip it up to his lips at once, but he waited. In another pile of rubble, they found a small sack of millet, already ground. Perhaps it had been prepared for the family’s breakfast. Jacob squeezed his stomach as it grumbled a hungry story at the sight of food. It was a happier story this time because he knew they would soon eat.

  When the digging was finished, they said a prayer for Willy’s brother. His name was Luke. Jacob and Louise turned their eyes away as Matthew wrapped Luke carefully in the scruffy skin, then knelt down to place him gently in the shallow grave. While the others scooped handfuls of dirt into the grave, Willy began gathering rocks to pile on top. Louise helped him. The vultures watched.

  When they were finished, the children followed Matthew as he circled the mound several times, waving his cow’s tail in circles to protect Willy’s brother on his journey to Heaven. Their singing welcomed the peaceful dusk as it replaced
the day’s hot sun.

  Afterward, they began searching for a live ember. They found great piles of dead, cold, black char, but no fire. Monyroor went into a small stand of trees nearby and found some small branches, sticky with sap. He split the ends of them, then wedged some dry grass into the cracks. He began rolling them back and forth, back and forth in his hands, so quickly the sticks began to blur into one.

  “What are you doing, Monyroor?” Jacob asked. The older boy continued to work, his square jaw set as he concentrated on the task.

  “Ooohh!” Louise cried, as the friction caused first some smoke, then a spark, and finally a flame. “It’s magic!”

  “My nephew knows many things,” Jacob said proudly. Monyroor dropped the flaming sticks onto the piles of dry grass and wood Jacob and Louise had collected. They had also found a clay pot that Matthew used to cook the millet and the carrots. The wonderful warm smell caused Jacob’s belly to rumble loudly.

  “This is surely the most delicious stew I have ever tasted.” Monyroor patted his stomach and took a tiny sip of water.

  “Almost as good as Grandmother’s,” Jacob added.

  “We must be very careful with the water,” Matthew cautioned. “It is precious. We cannot live without it.” No one spilled even a drop on the dusty ground. The endless heat of the sun had already convinced them that water would become their most valuable possession as they walked.

  “We will stay here for the night,” Matthew said. “Our legs, even my lame one, will be full of energy after a good night of rest.”

  They huddled together under a tilted grass roof, close to the mound, so Willy could keep an eye on Luke during the night. Louise, Matthew, and Monyroor were soon fast asleep.