“If you don’t know what cannibals are,” I say, “I can tell you. Cannibals are people who eat other people.”
Eustace opens his mouth in surprise. “I would never eat another human being,” he says. “It’s against nature. Pigs will eat each other, though.”
I think about all the things I’ve seen Eustace eat: insects, moss off trees, and the tender ends of pinecones, and I’m about to tell him not to make hasty predictions about what he would or would not eat, but I don’t.
“Lots of species in the wild eat their own kind,” I correct. “Anyway, the captain of the ship and Father rowed to the shore in hopes of securing fresh water for the crew. Within a few hours, they were both caged up by natives and watching as the natives built a huge, roaring fire on which to cook them. That’s when Father used science to make them think he was a powerful sorcerer.”
“What’s a sorcerer?” asks Eustace.
“Everybody knows what a sorcerer is,” I say. “Like a magician or witch doctor.”
“Hmm,” says Eustace. He crosses his legs and leans forward. “Well, what did he do?”
“Father told the natives that the moon was going to grow dark with anger at their mistreatment of the sailors looking for water,” I say. “And it did.”
“What?” Eustace grimaces. “How did he do that?” I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t believe me. “They didn’t speak English, did they?”
“One of them did,” I say. Truthfully, I’m not sure if any of the cannibals spoke English or not. I don’t see why they would have, but when Father told me the story, he just said he explained it to them. I’ve always wondered myself if that could be true, but I never got a chance to ask him before he died.
One thing about getting older and wiser is that a girl starts to see her mother and father in new ways. When I was small, I thought both my mother and father were always exactly right, especially Father. Now that I’m older, I know that parents aren’t always exactly right. Still, I don’t want Eustace suggesting that my father was a liar.
“Anyway,” I say to Eustace, “never mind that. Father told them the moon would grow dark with anger. But what the tribe didn’t know was that the largest penumbral lunar eclipse ever recorded was going to happen that night. Father, being a scientist, already knew about the eclipse.”
Eustace tightens the muscles in his neck. “‘Penumbral lunar eclipse’ sounds like a bad disease no one would want to get,” he says.
I get mad at Eustace for that comment. But I don’t snap at him. “It’s when the earth’s shadow blacks out part of a full moon, making it look like a giant has chomped a bite out of it.”
“And then the eclipse happened?” he says, and before I can answer, he adds, “I’ll bet those cannibals were impressed.”
“You’d best believe it.” I tap the top of the Medicine Head’s crate. “They thought Father was some kind of a witch doctor, and to honor him, they let him and the captain go and gave Father the most powerful tool in a witch doctor’s supply, which is the Medicine Head.”
“Did your father get the water?”
“Yes,” I say. “He got the water, too.”
“That’s good,” says Eustace. “I was getting worried, thinking about all those sailors going crazy with thirst.”
“Father accepted the Medicine Head, and he thought it was going to be just another interesting addition to his scientific discoveries, but when he held it, he had a vision.”
“What was that?”
“When he first held the Medicine Head, he saw himself discovering Antarctica.”
Eustace gives me a puzzled look. “You mean he saw himself doing it before he actually did it?”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s why he was confident he could do it. That’s why he couldn’t turn back with Captain Greeney and his ship before he made the discovery.”
“Wow,” says Eustace.
“There’s more,” I say. “He saw his name in newspapers and books and saw himself being pinned with medals and receiving accolades. He saw his name on maps and globes. He saw the United States of America remembering his achievement forever. He saw the whole world honoring the Wonder name.”
“And all of that came true,” Eustace says. “For a while, anyway.”
“Yes,” I say. “Until Captain Greeney ruined it. And ruined Father.”
“Well,” says Eustace, “why didn’t the Medicine Head predict that part?”
I do not know the answer to that question. Right at that moment, the lamp goes out. Eustace gasps and so do I. Being in complete and total blackness feels a bit like being underwater. It feels as though I should hold my breath. My heart is thumping hard. It feels like the pressure of all the universe is on my head. Thick. Upside down. Like I haven’t yet been born. It feels lonely. It feels warm, not cold. I breathe slowly, and I control my fear. My heart slows.
Then I can hear what sounds like far-away shouting, which must be coming from Tolerone. Maybe someone’s horses got loose, or maybe there’s fighting again. Eustace is right, I think. The town is growing and spreading out. Pretty soon settlers will be sticking up a barn right where this cave is.
I listen harder. More shouting. Screaming. Then I remember that Captain Greeney is in town, and wherever he goes, calamity comes, too.
“I can’t let Captain Greeney get it,” I whisper. “He’s a bad man and would only use it for evil. Father died rather than let him have it.” That whisper flits like a bat in the pitch.
“Let’s get out of here,” Eustace says. And this time, I agree. I put the Medicine Head’s crate firmly under my arm, determined not to let it out of my sight.
CHAPTER 10
Eustace and I climb out of the cave on all fours. The distant shouting becomes clearer. I carefully hold the Medicine Head’s crate against my chest, and Eustace carries the lamp, though it’s gone dark and cold. I hear Fob stand and shake his fur coat. Then an acrid smoke smell hits my nose. I look in the direction of Tolerone. An orange glow floats above the town.
“Something’s burning again,” I say. We start walking in the direction of town. I know Eustace is scared of the dark, the story, the situation, and that he feels safe close to me even if I am carrying the Medicine Head. The eerie light hovering above Tolerone stretches far into the heavens. “Lordy,” I say. “It looks like the whole town’s on fire.”
Though we can’t see, we jog along. I run with one hand out in front of me, feeling for anything that might be in my way. Fob prances next to us, so close that he brushes against my leg now and again. I fall once, trip into a gopher or rabbit hole, and Eustace stumbles next to me. The Medicine Head’s crate hits the ground.
“Oh no!” I say.
“Is it out?” Eustace wants to know.
I feel all around the crate, and it seems to be in good shape, nothing broken, nothing spilled. “No. Let’s keep going.”
This time Eustace leads the way, and I hold on to the back of his overalls. Once we reach the train tracks, we can hear the grunting of pigs and the rattling of bells around the necks of cows that have escaped from the fire and have wandered out here. There’s a fierce wind blowing at us in hot gusts. No wonder the cave felt so hot.
We stand on the tracks and gape. The sight is terrible. Everything in Tolerone is burning. The general store, the lumber yard, the granary, the houses. Everything but the church is shooting flames. The fire roars and spits, crackles and churns. Licks of fire spit into the sky like tongues of devils. It’s loud. Very loud. But the screams from the people and occasional explosions of lamps and casks of oil rise above the noise of the fire.
“Ma,” whispers Eustace.
I groan.
Eustace sprints past me in a way I remember doing myself when I saw those men on horses ride past us on the road. I have a sick feeling in my gut. What if Ruby is hurt? Or worse? What if Eustace won’t have a father or a mother? He’s dashing toward the fire, which seems like a rash thing to do.
“Hey!” I yell
. “Don’t go there! Don’t go toward the fire!” But he’s not listening, and I don’t blame him. Eustace is running for his ma. The power of the sun and the stars and the moon couldn’t keep him from going to her. “Cover your mouth with your hankie!” I shout after him. “Or you’ll—” But I don’t finish my sentence because he’s long gone. Fob stands at my side, whimpering, as though he doesn’t know what to do: follow his master into danger or stay with me where it’s safe. Fob takes a couple of steps forward. Then sits down. Then he stands up again. His back legs walk forward even though his front paws stay put and brace the rest of his body against the force of the back legs trying to go forward. The poor dog’s torn. All at once, though, his entire body springs into forward motion and he runs off, barking after Eustace.
I decide I’d better go, too, to make sure Eustace’s ma is all right, Eustace doesn’t get hurt, and Fob doesn’t get himself into trouble. After a minute or two of running, I can feel a full, wavy wind of heat coming from the fire, and even though I’m a good half mile away from town, it blows back my hair and my skirt. This fire is powerful and big. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that people will die tonight, that people are dying right now.
I keep running, and Fob keeps running ahead of me. Soon I can’t see him anymore. The air is smoky and very thin. It’s difficult to breathe, and all my instincts tell me to turn back. My feet hesitate at each step. But my heart pushes on. Father must have felt this way in his final push to Antarctica, as though his freezing body wanted to turn toward warmer air but his heart’s desire was stronger. Did you know that freezing to death feels hot, like your skin’s on fire? It’s true. That’s why frozen people have half their clothes off when other people find them dead in the ice or snow. They felt hot and tossed their coats, boots, and hats off. People easily confuse extreme hot and cold.
I look toward Tolerone and hope no one is suffering. Unless it’s Captain Greeney, of course. He could suffer all day and I wouldn’t mind one bit, I don’t think.
I keep moving toward town, half of which is engulfed in flames. People run around, screaming “Have you seen my Abby?” or “Where is little Harold?” or “Have you seen my mother?” or “I can’t find Grandpa!” or “Someone get the doctor!” I say a little prayer, which I almost never do, asking that those lost people, if they must die, go painlessly of smoke poisoning.
I have to stop running and walk carefully now because fiery bits of wood and cloth smolder all over the ground, and I have to watch where I step. It’s like the ground is a field of hot, glowing flowers. I clutch the Medicine Head’s crate close to my chest. I wonder, if I had held it longer, whether it would have predicted this inferno. The Medicine Head seems to whisper Hold me. I know there’s no logical explanation, but I hear it. I remember the woman and her chickens. I worry I might be losing my mind.
What would happen if I just threw it into one of the burning buildings and let it get destroyed? I wonder why Father didn’t do that. Then I think there must be a reason he wrote DO NOT DESTROY! on the crate. I’ve got to figure out what Father would want me to do with it.
Then I see someone walking by, waving and pointing this way and that way, mumbling something I don’t understand. He’s got a big gash on his forehead and looks disoriented, which I have to admit to myself that I am, too. I look around and try to figure out where I am. All the landmarks, Mutch’s Lumber Yard, the general store, the church, are on fire or fallen, misshapen, gone.
“Sir,” I say. “What happened?”
He looks at me, blinks, and smiles strangely, as though he’s not in his right mind. Black soot is smeary over his teeth. He sighs. “Ahh,” he says, and then he coughs up a laugh or sob. I can’t tell which one. “Um. Greeney came into town today. Got a bunch of Bleecher’s men riled up. Bleecher’s men pulled the Jessups from their house and butchered them in the street.” The man makes a hacking motion with his arm. “Yes. There was… um… b-b-blood all over. Um.” He turns around and spins some more, as though he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Then Jessup’s men went to the downtown and they, um, started the fire at the little church for the black folk. Ahh. And the Negro lane on fire. After that… um… I don’t know. The whole town just went up.” He puts a handkerchief up to his mouth and starts to cry. “It’s been so dry this year. Ahh. I can’t find my wife,” he says. “She’s, um, expecting a child, and I can’t find her anywhere. We don’t have any slaves. Ahh. We don’t want any slaves. We didn’t want anything to do with any of this.” He grabs me by my arm. “Help me, um, find Lenora.”
I jerk my arm from his hand and back away. The Negro lane. That’s where Eustace lives! Oh, Ruby.
I run. Even though I’m wearing good leather boots with wooden soles, my feet feel like they’re burning. The fires have roasted the hard gravel ground, and the heat is transferring to the soles of my boots, then to my feet. I keep running toward where I think the Negro lane is, and trying not to breathe so I don’t inhale poison into my lungs. My feet are burning up, and I’m on the lookout for a barrel of water to soak my boots in when suddenly, out of the dark, the smoke, the confusion, the rippling air, a black dog leaps on me and laps at my face.
“Hey!” I say. I’m about to push the dog away, but then I get a good look and see that it’s Fob, his yellow coat full of ash. “Fob! Fob! Hey, boy! Where’s Eustace?” Some dogs are real smart and can understand what a human is saying and help that human out. Fob is not. He just keeps jumping up on me and whimpering. He’s scared.
“It’s OK,” I tell him. “Down. Down!” He stays down, but he tries to nose himself into my skirt and hide his face from what’s happening. Poor Fob. I pet him and kind of push his head away from my legs so I can walk. He stands beside me and presses his body against my leg.
“Let’s go, boy,” I say to him. I start walking and he jogs alongside me, leaning into my knees and whimpering and trembling. I keep my hand on his head as we proceed. I keep walking toward where I think Ruby and Eustace’s house is. No one pays me any mind at all. It’s like I’ve walked into the end of the world.
Finally, I see it. Almost every house in the lane is on fire somewhere. People are everywhere. Some stop and ask me questions they don’t really expect me to answer, like “I wonder if you’ve seen the saucer that goes with this teacup?” or “I told Janey to run to the church. Do you think she made it?” Some stand still, staring at the scene, like they are in shock and can’t believe what their eyes are seeing. Little kids are crying, but a few others are playing and laughing, like it hasn’t occurred to them that the whole town is on fire and they should run to safety. I get kind of mad at their parents for not telling them what to do until I remember that a few of them probably don’t have parents anymore.
“Get out of town!” I yell at all those kids. “Go to the river and wait there!”
They look at me like they don’t know whether or not to listen to me. One thing about kids is that, usually, they don’t like being told what to do, especially if it comes from a person they haven’t been told they have to mind. But when Armageddon is practically falling around their feet, kids are hoping for someone trustworthy to tell them what to do. I shout, “Move it!” They scatter like apples rolled on the floor.
Finally, I see Eustace’s house. I run, and Fob walks alongside me, getting tangled up in my legs and blocking my path. We fall, and I scrape my hands and knees on hot gravel.
“Darn,” I cuss. I look around and wonder if anyone has heard me or will scold me, but everyone is too busy with his own crisis. “Darn!” I say again. I upright the Medicine Head. Fob tilts his head and moans at me. “I know, boy,” I say to him. I touch his back. He’s trembling and lifting his feet up, alternating them every few seconds. The ground must be too hot for the pads of his paws.
I get up, wipe my hands on my apron, and loop my arm through the rope of the Medicine Head’s crate to carry it like a handbag. Then I lean down and scoop Fob up. I hold him with his belly to my chest, with hi
s head over my shoulder like you might carry a toddler. He doesn’t kick or scratch or resist in the slightest way.
It’s hard to see, it’s still dark, and the smoke is thick, but I know when I get to Ruby and Eustace’s house because all Eustace’s animals are hopping, slithering, loping, and skulking around, confused about where to go. Fob kicks and scratches to get down. Even through the fire and smoke, he knows he’s home. He jumps down and runs under a tree, where there’s a soft patch of grass. And then, in a break from the smoke and by the light of the fires, I can see Eustace’s porch and house.
“Eustace!” I shout. “Ruby!” I cough.
I step up onto the porch and try to look inside. The door is wide open, but it’s too dark to see anything. I yell for them again. But I don’t hear anyone. Fob squirms around and yaps. One of Eustace’s cats hisses and runs up and scratches Fob on the neck. Eustace has some fierce cats.
Beneath the tree, the cat is swiping at Fob with its claws, and its hair is on end and its tail whips back and forth like a snake striking. Then I hear, “Queenie! Stop that. Leave that dog alone!”
It’s Eustace shouting, and it’s coming from the shadows at the side of the house. I can just make out his shape in the flickering light from the flames. Fob runs to him and curls around his feet.
“Eustace!” I shout.
“Back here!” he says. I see his arm waving me back. The heat is so intense that his arm looks like it’s rippling in the wind. Some people who see this get confused or think it’s a kind of ghostly trick, but because I’m going to be a scientist, I know that his arm isn’t really cock-eyed and rippling like water. I know that the heat from the fire creates a mirage. I probably look ripply to Eustace, too. “I gotta let these critters out,” he says, “so they at least have a chance.”
“I’ll help,” I say.
The Medicine Head is calling again. I set the crate down. I slide my eyes to it and then to Eustace, wondering if he hears it. I look around, curious whether there’s anyone else nearby, curious about who the head is whining for. But there’s no one else. Then I remember why I’m here. “Where’s your ma?” I bark at Eustace. “We’ve got to get her out before the house falls down!”
Wonder at the Edge of the World Page 6