Patience County War (Madeleine Toche Series)

by Soren Petrek

  Joseph and Ua worked together with the farmers and the people of the village. With her help his Swahili became better as did her English. They spent many long hours together and a friendship developed. Joseph spoke to her of the world, of the great warrior John Trunce and of America. She taught him the traditions of the Masai, their oral history, and all she knew of the local vegetation and its medicinal properties.

  One day Ua introduced her son to Joseph. He thought it was a little bit odd that the boy seemed very childlike. He watched the boy chase and play with children who were ten or so. The kid had to be at least eighteen, he thought. He was almost six feet tall and weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. Joseph asked one of the villagers how old the child was and was told he had been born ten seasons ago. Joseph thought that he must have heard wrong, so he asked someone else and got the same response. Knowing that there had to be a mistake, he asked a local missionary if the Masai measured years differently. The response was no, ten seasons means ten years old. Ten years old, that’s impossible! The kid could play professional football and probably give me a run for my money in a wrestling match, he thought, bewildered. Joseph gently asked Ua about the child and she said ten seasons, as if it was completely normal.

  Joseph came to find out that the Masai, while they are certainly tall people, can also be big and heavily muscled, depending on their family history. It happened from time to time that someone like Ua’s son was simply a giant. When American’s think of history it goes back a couple of hundred years. For the Masai, it goes back for thousands of years. So when a giant is born, others have been in the past. And it is no big deal. Everyone has their role. The boy would just be a big warrior and herdsman, and that was good for the tribe. Once Joseph understood, he knew how to relate to the child. Joseph had numerous younger sisters and brothers, cousins, nephews, nieces. A huge extended family, all of whom grew up with very little more than the Masai seemed to need. They raised their own food and built their own homes. Joseph played with the boy, taught him things and soon he and Joseph became inseparable. It was clear to the chief that Joseph was in love with Ua and her son. The chief called Joseph and Ua to him and explained to Joseph that he could not have Ua as a union would be against tribal law. Later, after many tears, Ua told him that she too loved him but must obey the will of her father and their laws and she needed to look after the safety of her son until he reached manhood. Joseph pleaded his case with the chief but to no avail. He gave no explanation and was absolute in his denial.

  Joseph refused to give up, and when his grant money gave out and he was scheduled to return to the U.S., he sent in his completed papers, his instruments, and asked the chief if he could remain with the tribe. The chief granted him the right to do so as a visitor, but he was to remember that he was not Masai. Now Joseph was really confused. He was permitted to stay as long as he liked, but could not wed Ua. Her explanation was it was the will of her father and therefore tribal law. Joseph continued to help feed the people, helped at the mission school, and spent as much time with Ua and the boy as possible. One full year went by, and once a month like clockwork Joseph would plead with the chief again to marry Ua. It was as if the guy was made of stone. He clearly hadn’t offended the chief, who seemed friendly towards him in all other instances except the marriage refusal. Joseph didn’t know what to do, but he was stubborn and refused to give up. Short of being born again into the Masai tribe, he just couldn’t see a way other than to stick it out. At least he could be close to her.

  It was well into his second year with the Masai that Joseph was awoken in the middle of the night by the roar of a lion. It was close and in camp. Joseph had seen many lions in Africa, happily from a distance. Every so often a lion was killed by the men defending their livestock, brought into camp, and displayed.

  Hardened by combat, Joseph could go from sleep to action immediately. He was out of his tent before anyone else. He looked around and saw the unthinkable: Ua was within twenty feet of the lion, having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The lion seemed ready to spring, and when it did Ua screamed and the lion flew through the air toward her. Just as he saw the lion prepare to jump, Joseph started to run; he’d never make it. He ran like the All-American he was; nothing could catch him. Many Masai came out of their shelters and ran towards Ua. They were left behind as Joseph ran past them and out of his shoes. Just when he thought he’d never make it in time, Joseph saw a miracle. Ua’s son ran from behind his mother with a spear and managed to deflect the lion as it jumped. However, he did little damage. The lion turned on the boy and cruelly swiped the front of his body with its claws, tossing him aside. As the lion went in for the kill, Joseph ran into it broadside, and the cat and Joseph went down in a tangle. Joseph pulled out his combat knife and ran the blade into the belly of the cat, ripping up towards the heart. He stabbed and stabbed until the cat was still. Joseph knew how to make sure an animal was dead; he had learned on his fellow man. When he stood he looked over at Ua holding her boy in her arms. They both came to him at once and hugged and kissed him, more afraid for him than for themselves. The rest of the Masai who saw what happened began to cheer and to jump up and down. A huge roar went up from the people, and was repeated again and again. The chief had seen the whole thing and was celebrating with his people. Joseph was covered head to toe in the blood of the lion. The people came over and embraced him, covering themselves in blood as well. Joseph just stood there with the woman and child he loved clinging to him, sobbing with joy, his mouth hanging wide open. He had seen some things in his life, but this was just incomprehensible. During all of this the chief bounded over and embraced the three jumping up and down, shouting “you marry, you marry.” After all of the times that Joseph had asked for Ua’s hand the chief had flatly refused. His jaw dropped even further.

  The next day, after the child’s wounds had been treated and Joseph slipped him some antibiotics, the chief came to Joseph’s tent and spoke to him. “Big marry, big marry,” he kept saying, smiling like a madman. Joseph thanked him in Swahili and walked out into the camp to find Ua. Everyone he saw hugged and kissed him, including the warriors who gave him spears and shields. Every time he turned around he was given feathers and trinkets and eating bowls, all of the highly prized possessions of the people. He just couldn’t figure it out. While Ua stayed with the boy he went to talk to the French Missionary, to find out what had changed.

  “Well, you killed a lion with a knife. You now deserve to be Masai in the eyes of the chief,” said the old missionary gentleman from Marseilles.

  “What does that mean?” Joseph asked, unbelieving.

  “It means that you can marry the girl and her son,” the old man said smiling.

  “You mean all I had to do was kill a lion and I could have married Ua?” Joseph shouted.

  “Well killing a lion will pretty much do it in the eyes of the tribe. Very few warriors do it single handedly.”

  “If I had known that I would have killed one with my bare hands!”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways!”

  “Hallelujah,” Joseph laughed.

  The marriage was indeed big, and eventually it became time for Ua, Joseph, and the boy to go back to meet the great warrior John Trunce and see Joseph’s land. Within the span of one day, after all of their travel documents had been obtained, Joseph, Ua, and Nathan, as they decided to give him an English name along with his Masai name, were standing on John Trunce’s porch, Joseph in the firm embrace of his colonel. The old dog even shed a tear.

  Sunday came and Sam was able to walk through the woods to his parents’ house. He got started early so he could meander a little bit along the way. There were several places along the trail to lolly gag and swim if he wanted. Immediately behind Sam’s home a hill went up for another half mile or so before cresting a ridge and starting down into a pocket valley that Turner’s creek ran through. It was all on family land and unspoiled. There had never been any development and it was an old growth forest. S
am was on a well-traveled trail that hooked up with trails all over the county.

  The morning was already sultry and was promising to turn into another scorcher, but it was somewhat cooler under the oaks and maples and was even more pleasant as Sam made his way down towards the creek. The creek was fed by both a spring and runoff back in the hills several miles away. Sam had been to the source many times. It was a deep blue pool that seemed to originate out of a sheer rock face that was a couple hundred feet straight up. It was part of a state park where visitors were monitored for packing up their trash and told not to swim in the spring. The one time Sam and Nathan did they found out the water was extremely cold right at the source, which seemed to deter all but the hardiest of swimmers. Farther down on to “family land” the creek took many bends and curves, and there were many spots quite deep enough for swimming, diving, and fishing. Sam and Nathan had swum in these holes countless times and camped throughout. It was a place that a person could disappear into.

  Sam took off his shoes and waded into the shallow edge of the creek. The water was cold enough to make his toes curl. He bent over and used his well-worn pocket knife to cut several large handfuls of watercress and slipped them into the wicker basket next to the mushrooms he’d gathered in the forest. He had learned his ability to forage off the land from his dad and Dr. Harper, and now that legacy would make a fine addition to the Sunday Potluck.

  He finally came to a clearing at the edge of a meadow; about fifty yards down was Sam’s parents’ home. He could already see all the cars parked in the drive for the ritual of Sunday dinner. In the shade at the back of the house was a large stone patio with a built-in combination stone grill and wood-fired oven. The patio was dominated by a huge wooden table that was at least thirty feet long and built from enormous planks fastened together with construction bolts that were the biggest he’d ever seen. Seated around the table were his family and friends, as diverse a group as you’d find anywhere in the world. Foremost in the group was Nathan Harper, all seven and a half feet and five hundred pounds of him.

  Nathan had just kept growing after he moved from Africa with his mother and father. Nathan looked every bit the African Prince. His skin was jet black and shown with a vitality and sheen that exuded good health. He was huge in every respect, from the spread of his massive shoulders and back to his huge but proportionate head. He had arms and legs as big as rolls of tar paper, his face proud and handsome. When Nathan saw Sam, he stood and embraced his friend as if he hadn’t seen him in years, even though it had only been a couple of days. Sam and Nathan had grown up together from the age of twelve. Until Sam moved away, they’d spent every free moment with one another, fought at each other’s side, learned about girls and the world together. When they were twelve years old, their fathers had started to train them in all of the physical Ranger skills, teaching them to shoot every manner of firearm, to fight with knives, to hide, to ambush, to track.

  One summer, the four of them lived with the Masai and all learned the Masai skills. The Masai warriors and their chief were especially impressed with John Trunce. They could sense the true warrior in him. John was the first Trunce to become a Masai warrior. He simply stole away in the dead of night and returned the next morning with a dead lion, killed with a wooden spear hacked from a tree. Nobody asked for details and nobody questioned the kill. John had suffered some scrapes and bruises and a serious claw mark across his right leg for his trouble. The only person that he shared the secret with was Sam. John had set a spring trap for the lion with himself as bait. When the trap sprung and dragged the lion aloft, John rammed the spear into the lion’s heart. He had done his lion anatomy homework and figured out where to stab the beast. He had practiced at home with a couple of wild boars. They weren’t as big as the lion, but were probably meaner. Two summers later when Sam was in college he spent a second summer with Nathan and the Masai and tried the same trick, but the rope broke just as Sam stabbed the lion with a spear, missing the heart but significantly slowing the lion down. That lion stalked Sam through the veld and brush for hours. The battle was epic, and Sam had to utilize every hunting skill the Masai had taught him. Sam was dealt several glancing blows by the lion’s claws and one deep one to his shoulder. The lion eventually couldn’t climb and Sam waited him out for a full day and night. The lion eventually passed out and died from loss of blood. Everyone back at camp was concerned except for the Masai. Nathan had to restrain himself from going to look for his friend, but he knew that if anyone could kill a lion and get away with it, Sam could.

  When Nathan had gone to kill his lion, his greatest trouble had been getting close enough to spear it, as lions are not stupid and any animal would flee from a five hundred pound man with a spear that looked like a flag pole. The Masai weapons makers had made Nathan several spears in his size. They looked a lot more like fence posts than spears, with the blade portion viciously long. Nathan practiced daily all of his life with his spears. It reminded him of his people and heritage.

  Nathan never hunted with a gun, but loved to hunt and did so only for food. He learned from some of the good ol’ boys in Patience how to hunt with a bow. He was deadly with a slingshot and could knock down birds in flight by throwing a rock. If Nathan had extra game he shared it with friends and neighbors. The very best kept secret about Nathan was that he excelled as a cook, learning at the town’s restaurant by the river. While Sam goofed and flirted with young girls in the front, Nathan was back in the kitchen and garden learning cooking skills. He kept a large library of cook books that he constantly added to, and he studied many different styles. His produce and skill in harvesting wild foods were both legendary. Nathan was a man who stuck with the things that interested him and those were the things that he excelled at. He was concerned about what was happening in the world, but didn’t diversify into many different pursuits. Nathan did most things by hand, except for plowing the larger fields. Most of his income came from the specialty produce he provided to fine restaurants across the county. He had established a profitable business doing so, often delivering his produce by UPS. He also raised ducks and geese and made his own goat cheese, all of which he sold in one form or another for great profit. He lived comfortably and frugally.

  John Trunce also strode over and hugged Sam. He had never been the strong silent type, and had always expressed his love freely to his family and friends. It was probably John’s love for the people who he cared for that made him such a fierce foe and warrior. When he fought for his country in foreign wars he saw not a faceless nation but his family and friends, and he fought for his men and his buddies. He had always been a front line soldier, had been wounded many times, had suffered diseases and was tough as nails. His combat experiences were with him every day but had never damaged him psychologically or changed his lust for life and experience.

  “How’s your wolf-dog, Dad?” Sam asked.

  “I’m not sure if I’m keeping him or he’s keeping me,” John answered, smiling. “He sure keeps an eye on everything, me included.”

  Sam waved to Lisa Coleman, who was seated next to Nathan, along with John’s mother, three of Sam’s uncles. John’s Vietnam buddies, Crockett and TJ were also there, along with a smattering of close friends and other relatives. One place was left empty for Tracy, Sam’s older brother, who came once in a blue moon, when he was able.

  The table was covered with side dishes and platters of fried chicken, catfish and beef roast. Dishes were passed back and forth while everyone talked at once.

  “Sam, spook anything up in the woods on the way over?” Nathan asked piling chicken onto his plate.

  “Hope you saw some more chickens,” Crockett laughed, eyeing Nathan’s growing pile.

  “TJ, is my car done yet?” Sam’s Uncle Bill shouted from the other end of the table.

  “Just these mushrooms and greens for salad,” Sam said adding his own words to the jumble of conversations.

  “No bad guys, I hope,” John added.

  “No D
ad, I think we ran all the meth makers and dealers out for good.”

  There were general murmurs of assent from all over the table. Everyone had pitched in to help Sam run the dealers out of town when he got back from Detroit. The drug war might be going on elsewhere in the nation, but Sam won the drug war in Patience County.

  The Sunday Potluck continued until dark. When people finally started to wander home and to an early bed, Sam did the same, wondering what the new week would bring.

  Virgil Ward looked out his window and said to his wife, “Them trucks keep driving up the old logging road. Did somebody buy that old saw mill up there, Martha?”

  Martha paused with her hands in the dishwater, shook her head, and sighed. A man like Virgil should never retire. He was tolerable when he was at work. Now he was underfoot all the time.

  “Virgil, leave it alone. If whoever owns the property has a problem with it I’m sure they’ll complain.”

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of any chore or errand that Virgil could do to occupy himself. The lawn looked like the greens at the Master’s golf tournament. The car was cleaned and tuned like it could run at Indy. The garden was immaculate. Virgil was a perpetual motion machine. He’d been with the postal service his whole life. Now they only let him volunteer a few hours at the nursing home. He drove the residents to distraction.