My biggest, most sobering worry concerned Uncle Stash. What would he say when I told him I wanted to be a safari guide? Even if my beloved uncle stood up and cheered, would I be wrong to leave him alone in the shop? Abandon him just as he was getting older, frail, his gimpy leg more troublesome than ever? Stash and his friendly workroom had provided a haven for me through difficult times, a place where I had found purpose and a sense of belonging. Under his patient instruction I had learned skills to serve me for a lifetime. And of course, through Stash I had met Chiddy, gone to visit Motembo, and watched my world open wide.
For two days I drove with these questions spinning through my head. Underpinning all of them was the assumption that I would pass the tests necessary to become a guide. I did not minimize the time and effort success was going to require, the hours of study and review. I saw before me a tricky rope bridge that stretched from my present life to a remarkable future. I wanted nothing more than to make it all the way across.
15
AFTERNOON SHADOWS WERE LENGTHENING WHEN I rolled into the village. The crumbled roads and shabby, leaning buildings looked the same as always, but I felt I had been away a very long time. I wondered how Roop and Granny were. Finding time to visit them and help fix up Rotting House, or even go fishing, would be more difficult between working in the shop and studying for the guide exam. The chickens, at least, would not miss me.
I was too excited to dwell on the pitfalls ahead or on any qualms I felt about leaving Stash. Putting them aside, I headed straight for Swale’s Grocery. At that hour, Mrs. Swale was likely to be in the store with Mima. I welcomed the chance to tell both of them about Jackson Quinn’s proposal and the bright, new path that had so unexpectedly opened for me—and Mima too.
It would help that Mrs. Swale had gone on a safari with her late husband. She had seen firsthand the work of professional guides and witnessed their importance in a thriving industry. I hoped to spark happy memories for her, as well as build support for Mima’s eventual departure. Now that the twins were old enough to help in the store, I felt sure that Kate Swale would not stand in the way of a markedly enriched future for her daughter.
As I neared the grocery, I removed Chiddy’s glasses and Luke’s hat and ruffled up my flattened hair. Earlier I had stopped by a stream to wash and change into fresh clothes. I felt fluttery at the prospect of seeing Mima again. In an hour or so, Mrs. Swale was likely to go home, leaving Mima and me to reconnect in the most intimate ways.
I parked in the space behind a shiny new delivery truck. Mrs. Swale had finally parted with the old vehicle that held sad memories of her husband’s disappearance. A dog chewing on a bone sat in the dust next to the truck. It wasn’t until I had stepped out of the van that I noticed the door to the store was closed, unusual for Swale’s on a sunny afternoon. A sign in Mima’s printing hung from the doorknob: Closed today. Please come back tomorrow.
Closed? I was taking in this startling fact when I heard a noise inside—voices. I tried the knob. The door was unlocked, so I went in. What I saw made me catch my breath.
The floor was strewn with debris—ripped bags spewing rice and beans, mangled cereal boxes, broken bottles, dented cans, pools of sticky liquid, and over everything a dusting of fine, white powder that must have been flour. Mrs. Swale stood in the middle of the mess, looking stricken and drawn. She held open a large trash bag. Mima was on her hands and knees, collecting pieces of glass. For a moment they didn’t notice me.
“What the …?” I picked my way through the wreckage. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Mima looked up in surprise, her face a pale moon. “We found this when we opened today.” She got up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I’m happy you’re back.”
Too stunned to fully appreciate the kiss, I looked around, dumbfounded. “Was anything stolen?”
“Not a cent. The cash drawer wasn’t touched. Everything else is such a mess we can’t tell what’s missing.”
“What’s missing almost doesn’t matter. So much is ruined. Hello, Bonesy.” Mrs. Swale’s voice came out thin and weary.
I crouched next to the bag she was holding and began to pick up glass.
“The new section in back is even worse,” Mima said, kneeling beside me. “The shelves you built were torn off the wall. I’m so sorry, Bonesy.”
No sorrier than I was. This wasn’t the homecoming I had expected. Selfishly, I felt crushed that my big announcement would have to wait. I would even have to put up with “Bonesy” a little while longer. “I’ll rebuild the shelves, of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Mima placed her hand on mine. In other circumstances her touch would have sparked something notable. But now, instead of the usual hot rush, what I felt was, well, just her hand on top of mine—lovely and soft to be sure, but for now, in light of the current situation, platonic. It startled me to think I had become so responsible.
I squared my shoulders and looked around. “How did they get inside?”
“Through the back. The screen door was locked, but the screen itself had been ripped from the frame.”
In the pause that followed, I noticed the sound of a broom sweeping glass. I gestured toward the rear of the store. “Are Donovan and Drew here?”
“No,” Mrs. Swale answered. “I wanted to spare the boys the worst of it. They’re at your uncle’s. He’s been so kind.”
“Then who …” I didn’t finish because a person holding a broom stepped into view. I wouldn’t have been more surprised if a goat had trotted forth. It was Skinner.
“Well, hello, Bonesy,” he said, feigning friendliness. A serpent-like smile split his face. I think it was the first time he had used my name instead of “dung beetle” or worse. “Isn’t this an appalling mess?” His words were civil, but they held a dagger edge.
I was too appalled to speak.
Mima looked at me questioningly before filling the void. “Skinner stopped in this morning for cigarettes. When he saw what had happened, he offered to help.”
I watched her smile at him and felt a tightening in my chest. She was just being friendly, but even so …
“Glad to be of service,” he said with exaggerated politeness, dipping his head.
I wanted to smash in his face. Why was he here, flirting with Mima, when he was supposed to be my sister’s boyfriend? I didn’t believe for one second that he was just trying to help.
He leaned the broom against the wall. “But now I have to go. I have a date.” He flashed an evil smirk my way before composing his features and turning to Mrs. Swale. “Ma’am, you might want to report this to the rangers. It could have been monkeys or even baboons. A troop has been causing trouble near the village.”
“I thought of animals too. Such random, senseless damage.” She shook her head. “Thank you, Skinner, for all you’ve done.”
“Anytime, anytime at all.” He fixed a loaded stare on me that brought to mind an ape marking territory. I half-expected him to piss against the door. “Goodbye, Mima, Bonesy. See you around.”
I scowled at him, taut with antipathy. Mima saw my expression and gave me another puzzled look. I had never told her how much I loathed Skinner. I had seen no need to bring that sour note into our relationship. Now I regretted that I hadn’t confided in her because clearly, she and her mother were blind to Skinner’s true nature.
“Did you check his pockets?” I asked when he had gone out the door. I immediately realized it was a stupid question since no money was missing. What would he steal, a bar of soap?
“Why don’t you like him?”
“It’s a long story. Skinner’s not a sterling character.” I thought of Teaspoon and missed him. “If you need to know more, I’ll fill you in while we work.”
For the next several hours, we bagged debris, swept, and scrubbed almost every square meter of the store. Mima reshelved the salvageable items and created sa
le tables for lightly damaged goods. The wreckage in the house and garden section alone took a long time to clean up. The fallen shelves, ripped from the wall, looked as though someone had tried to climb on them. Torn and broken packaging littered the floor. A sweet-smelling glop coated much of the debris. It looked to be a toxic stew of furniture polish, Omo, plant food, Happy Suds, lamp oil, and some other wet and gritty substances I couldn’t identify. Skinner, unsurprisingly, had cleared an area smaller than a doormat.
At Mima’s insistence, I explained why trusting Skinner was not a good idea. I told her and her mother about how he had dropped out of school and how he harassed, bullied, stole, mistreated animals, and worse. I explained that he ran around with a gang of thugs and generally led a violent, disreputable life. I described him as cunning, unstable, and malevolent. I omitted the part about his infuriating the cobra that subsequently killed Mama. Even then, years later, the memory of my mother’s death was too raw.
The women nodded and cooed, taking my side right away. Their support warmed my heart, especially when I told them about Skinner and Zola and how my own father wouldn’t stand in their way.
“How awful. I’m surprised your father doesn’t put a stop to it,” Mima said, sounding indignant.
“Your father may be smarter than you think.” Mrs. Swale looked at me kindly. “Sometimes a parent has to stand back. Trying to keep Zola and Skinner apart could make them all the more determined.”
I was not convinced. But at least now Mima and her mother knew the worst about Skinner. I felt so pleased to have them thinking poorly of him that I was almost disappointed when I discovered baboon tracks in the gunk on the floor—enough tracks to explain the random, senseless damage. Skinner had been right about that.
* * *
I awoke to find Hannie jumping on the foot of my bed. “You’re home! Wake up. Zola’s making pancakes.”
Mima and I had worked until nearly dawn. Mrs. Swale had stayed for a while, slowing with fatigue, until Mima urged her to fetch the twins and go home. We got the store in good enough shape to open in the morning with a reduced but adequate inventory. Then, too worn out for more than a tender hug, we had said goodbye and gone our separate ways. I had crept into the house in my stocking feet and fallen into bed, but not before noticing with some relief that Zola was asleep in her room, alone.
“Hello, Hannie Pannie.” I pulled my little sister into my arms. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes,” she said, solemn. “I missed you very much.”
“Did you do your homework every night?”
She nodded.
“Good. We can do our homework together now. I’m going to study to be a guide.”
“A guide?”
I nodded. “A safari guide. Like Ruby.”
Her eyes went wide.
“And my new name is Bones. Not Bonesy, Bones.”
I didn’t have to tell Baba and Zola because Hannie got to them first. “Bonesy’s going to be a safari guide, like Ruby,” she announced, rushing into the kitchen. “And his new name is Bones.” Her excitement was exactly as I had imagined. Baba and Zola were harder to read.
“Welcome back,” Baba said, setting down his coffee mug. “What’s this about being a guide?”
Zola was at the stove, turning pancakes. She cast an interested look over her shoulder.
I repeated Jackson Quinn’s proposal, including his opinion that I already met several qualifications. “With a few months of study and six more months of on-job training, I could be certified. Jackson offered me a full-time job when Newsom retires.”
“Newsom?”
“A guide who’s ready to spend more time with his grandchildren.” I paused, thinking of Stash. “I would like to accept.”
Baba and Zola exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret.
“What does Stash have to say?”
“I haven’t told him yet.” This wasn’t going the way I wanted. I sounded thoughtless, as though Uncle Stash hadn’t been on my mind since the moment Jackson made his offer. “Actually, Uncle Stash is my biggest worry. I don’t like the idea of leaving him alone in the shop.”
“Maybe he won’t be so alone,” Baba said between sips of coffee. “The Swale twins have been there almost every day.”
That was welcome news, the same as Chiddy had reported. Eleven-year-olds could lose interest, though. And soon Mrs. Swale would need help in the store.
“Did you know Swale’s Grocery was ransacked the night before last? By baboons, we think.”
Baba’s startled expression told me he hadn’t heard. I felt a tick of satisfaction.
“I was there cleaning up with Mima until early this morning.” I looked at Zola. “Didn’t Skinner tell you?”
She turned. “Skinner?”
“He came by for cigarettes and saw the store in shambles, before your date.” I tried to make the word “date” sound as off-putting as I could, like “decapitation” or “descent into hell.”
“He didn’t say anything about that,” she said. A frown creased the space between her eyes. “Was anything stolen?”
“By baboons?” Sarcasm oiled my voice. “Uh, the baboons didn’t seem to want money. Everything else was upended … or eaten.” I looked pointedly at Baba. “Someone should tell the rangers.”
He nodded, keeping his face neutral.
I couldn’t help pressing my advantage. “By the way …” I glanced at Zola, choosing my words carefully to protect Baba’s somewhat undercover relationship with Marks. “The guides at Motembo are friends with a ranger from our village. His name is Marks.”
“Interesting,” Baba answered.
I gave him a steady look. I was certain he knew the true extent of Marks’s involvement in antipoaching efforts—that Marks was not just a local player but the head of a big antipoaching operation, a man admired by rangers as far away as Motembo. By mentioning his name, I gave notice that I too was in the loop. Maybe I knew even more about these matters than my father did.
“It’s a small world, Bonesy.”
“Bones. I’m called Bones now.”
* * *
I hurried to Stash’s workshop, fueled by pancakes and an urgent desire to escape the uninspiring atmosphere at home. Baba and Zola seemed interested in my news yet too preoccupied by issues of their own to express much enthusiasm. To my mind, the culprit was Skinner, of course—Skinner’s relationship with Zola and the strain it put on all of us. Once again, I resolved to separate myself from my sister’s foolish attachment. My main concern now was making things right with Stash.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the shop was how tidy it was. The floor had been swept clean, and the tools hung on pegs. The second thing I noticed was a pair of footstools sitting under the workbench. The twins were nowhere to be seen, but Stash hurried forward to greet me.
“Hello, Bonesy.” He wrapped me in a hug. “I hoped you’d be back soon.”
The warmth of his welcome filled me with affection. I hugged his fragile bones, regretting the news I would have to share.
“I want to hear all about your trip. Tell me everything.”
We settled on the two taller stools while I described Motembo and filled him in on the furniture we had built for Jackson Quinn. I assured him that everything had arrived in excellent condition and looked beautiful in the tents. When I described the bar I had constructed in the pavilion, he engaged me in workmanlike questioning of the joinery and finishes. Finally, I felt proud to hand him Jackson’s payment, almost double the amount we had requested. “He said it was a bonus for all the brilliant work we did.” I couldn’t say “brilliant” with a straight face. “That’s a quote,” I explained with a grin.
He stared at the check. “This is very generous.”
“Yes. Jackson is generous.” I paused and took a breath. “I have something else to tell you.”<
br />
“More good news?”
“I hope you’ll think so.”
During the next several minutes, I described the unexpected opportunity that had come my way, the new career that would provide a different life and a new name to go with it. Even as I saw him watching me, taking it all in, possibly worrying about his own future, I could not conceal my elation. I slid off the stool and tried not to look overeager as I paced back and forth, talking and gesturing. I outlined Jackson’s thinking, the encouragement he had given me, and all the steps required to become a guide.
Uncle Stash was a good listener. His eyes never left me as I told him about the leopard I had seen with Luke, about the stories I had heard at the campfire, and even about the sad death of the legendary guide and tracker, Bongani Baas.
Finally, I took a breath and sat down, turning to face him. “The only thing I don’t like about this is that in a few months I’ll have to leave you and the shop.” I realized I had stated my departure as a fact, not a request for permission. “I mean, if leaving is okay with you.”
While I was talking, his face had remained flat and expressionless. Now his features softened. A smile puffed his cheeks and crinkled the leathery skin around his eyes. “Leaving is more than okay. You’re practically airborne with excitement. I’m happy for you and proud too. You must follow this big chance.”
“After all you’ve taught me, making me your apprentice and everything, I don’t want you to think I’m unhappy here or ungrateful.”
“Of course I don’t. You must remember that time is not a fixative. It’s a solvent.” He paused to let that sink in. “You taught me something too—that I enjoy teaching.” He pointed to the footstools under the workbench. “Donovan and Drew are my new after-school students. They built those stools. We’re starting on drawers soon. By the time you’re a guide, they’ll be making decent furniture.”
The Story of Bones Page 17