[2016] Rubbing Stones

by Nancy Burkey

  “Wow.”

  “What?” Rick ducked his head under the plane’s door and came up behind her on the landing. He looked out at the scene in front of him. “Oh.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her neck lightly before looking up again at the horizon.

  Together they descended the metal stairs and waited at the bottom for Michael and Jake, who’d sat further back in the plane. Rick stretched his arms up and behind his back. He tilted his head left and right. Jane smiled at the sound of the familiar vertebral pop.

  “Wake me up in a week and I’ll be ready for action,” he said.

  “No such luck. Show starts tomorrow.”

  After Jake’s tenacious negotiation, Jane had finally given in to adding a recreational piece to the beginning of their trip. She would have preferred to dive right into their work at the clinic in Botswana, and that was her plan, until Rick had approached her one afternoon: “Isn’t there some river in the area we can float down and see the wildlife for a few days first? No one goes to Africa without seeing the big game.” The year before Rick had missed the family’s rafting trip down the American River in northern California. He’d let his work schedule get in his way. It was a decision he regretted.

  Jake walked into the living room with the world atlas and looked at his step-father. “Any luck?”

  “She wasn’t supposed to know it was a conspiracy.” Rick had the decency to look chagrined. “Anyway, you could’ve given me a little more time.”

  Jake glanced up at his mother briefly, then flipped open the book. “Mom, remember the river Piero told us about? The one in Africa where his brother works? I found it—check it out. It’s not far from Rykops.”

  Piero Bertolli had been their rafting guide on the American River. In his mid-twenties, Piero was strong and charismatic in the way that forces prepubescent boys into idol worship. Jake had barely left his side, following all instructions explicitly and becoming quite capable on the river for his age.

  “See, Mom?” Jake pointed to the map. “It’s right there.” She looked over his shoulder and watched Jake’s finger trace the thin blue line from Zambia to the Mozambique Channel. His excitement was palpable. “He said you enter right below Victoria Falls.”

  Jake looked up at Michael, who’d walked in and stood leaning against the living room wall, hands in his pockets.

  “What do you think?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t think that’s what this trip is all about, Jake.”

  “Oh come on, we’ll do the clinic right after.” He was pleading with Michael to support his case. “Remember how much fun we had on the river last summer?”

  Michael shrugged.

  Jake set his jaw and looked away from his brother. “Anyway, Mom, we don’t all need to be punished.”

  Michael stiffened, but he didn’t respond.

  Rick broke the silence. “Community service isn’t punishment, it’s—”

  “Jake’s right, Mom, just me.” It was the first time Michael had looked her in the eye since the incident.

  Rick put his arm around Michael. “It’ll feel good for us to work on it together. We all could use a little refresher course on what’s important and who we really are.”

  Michael took in a deep breath and looked at the floor. Jane knew he was struggling with that very question, but would never admit it.

  “Well, I already know who I really am.” Jake put the atlas on the coffee table. “I’m the guy who likes to go river rafting.” He waved them all over to take a look. “First we start with a twenty-three-kilometer ride down what is known to be the best whitewater rafting river in the world. After an overnight under the stars…” He cocked his head at his mother. “The Southern Cross, Mom, think of it. Then we head out for another four days of the most amazing rapids known to mankind—Ghost Rider, Devil’s Toilet Bowl, Stairway to Heaven.” He pulled a webpage ad out of the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Washing Machine, Oblivion, Asleep at the Wheel, Croc Alley—”

  “Persistent little brat.” Michael nodded toward his younger brother.

  “Michael, I want you to know—”

  Michael’s cell phone rang—the familiar tone that signaled Caitlin’s call. He closed his eyes and bit his upper lip. It rang a second time. When he opened his eyes Jane saw the return of same dullness that had momentarily been lifted. He grabbed the phone and flipped it open.

  “Hey, what’s up?” His tone decidedly casual. “Oh, not much…” He had walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

  Jane starred down the hall a few minutes before returning to Jake. She bent down to follow Jake’s finger run the course of the river. She glanced back toward Michael’s room and drew a deep breath.

  “Well, maybe for a few days before.” She turned to Rick. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Mom, thousands of people have done it, it’s totally safe,” Jake said. “And we’ll be in the neighborhood. This is a chance of a lifetime.”

  Rick looked down at the map, his brow furrowed. He’d obviously been primed with just the general concept, not the specifics.

  “But isn’t that Zimbabwe? I thought—”

  “Just over the border,” Jake said, “not far at all, see?” He used his thumb and index finger to measure the distance on the map. “And Piero said it was the best river in the world. I don’t suppose we’ll be that close again.”

  Rick hesitated for only a moment. “Probably not.”

  She now stood at the bottom of the plane’s ramp and looked around. She had to admit, the additional plans were a relief. Spending time on the river would give them the break they needed after the long flight before plunging into the work in Botswana. She watched Michael and Jake exit the plane. Jake seemed oblivious to his surroundings, joking as if he’d just disembarked from a three-hour trip to Denver. Michael nodded and smiled occasionally; his mind seemed elsewhere.

  The lines at immigration and customs were slow and tedious. When they finally made it to one of the booths, the boys continued ahead toward the baggage claim. Jane and Rick were delayed by an officer who took his time scanning their documents. She called for the boys to wait, but they didn’t hear her.

  When the officer finished stamping their papers, she and Rick hurried to catch up. The arrival gate was packed, but they could spot the familiar baseball caps bobbing fifty yards in front of them. Several planes had recently landed, making passage tight despite the relatively wide terminal halls. They proceeded slowly toward the exit in a river of people all headed in the same direction.

  A thin man with wire-rimmed glasses just slightly in front and to the right of him suddenly dropped a handful of change directly at Jake’s feet. Michael hadn’t noticed this man before. Jake stopped abruptly for the man and watched the strange coins bounce and roll in front of him. A younger man with a goatee who’d been walking quite closely behind Jake bumped him from behind. Michael grabbed Jake and pulled him out from being sandwiched between the two men.

  “Hey!” Jake jerked loose from his brother’s hold.

  Michael turned to face the goateed man. He could feel his hot breath on his cheek. The man immediately backed away and showed his open hands to Michael before he turned and ran down the corridor.

  “Oldest trick in the book,” Michael said to Jake as his mother approached. “The first guy distracts you, the second one takes your wallet.”

  Jake felt his back pocket, still full, and watched the men scurry around the corner. “See, Mom? TV teaches you something.” He punched Michael’s arm. “Thanks, bro.”

  “We’ll get the luggage, Jane,” Rick said as he caught up. “You see if you can spot our driver.”

  Michael grabbed the last two pieces of their luggage from the carousel—the lightest two. He looked over at his younger brother, always proving himself.

  “Hey, check it out.” Jake had set down a suitcase nearly as big as he was and pointed to a tall man in traditional African garb with a monkey puppet on a string. The man was bouncing th
e puppet like a hyperactive rat around his shoulders and head. Michael watched for a few seconds, then glanced around at the rather large crowd that was forming. He was struck by the variety of colors and textures of the clothing surrounding him, then allowed himself a look at the people themselves. He didn’t want to appear to be staring at people who were different from him, didn’t want to appear to be gawking.

  That’s when he saw her—a beautiful African girl who seemed about his age– and she was staring at him. She immediately glanced away when Michael’s eyes met hers. He startled and turned his head away as well. After all, he’d been looking around, taking it all in, a passive audience to this new world. Now he realized that he, too, was part of the stage, more than just a walk-on, he was the one that stood out, who didn’t fit. He chanced a peek back toward the girl and once again their eyes met. Again they both looked away quickly.

  Michael knew she wouldn’t risk another look for several minutes—the self-consciousness of looking three times would likely be too much in any culture. He took advantage of this predictable reprieve and stared right at her. She seemed to be searching for someone in the opposite direction, which allowed Michael to get a good view of her profile. She had the deepest black skin he’d ever seen. Her frame was slight but solid—she looked physically strong, like really athletic girls back home. But it was the way her hips curved, the way her long, dark hair flowed over her breasts that made him catch his breath. He imagined her to be timid, not as brash as the girls he’d grown up with. He watched her grab her hair into a ponytail, then release it to glisten down her back, moving in waves as she shifted her head in her looking-with-a-purpose maneuver. She slowly began to shift her search in Michael’s general direction but above his head as if peering beyond him. He knew to turn and focus on the man with the stuffed monkey. It was only fair that he give her a turn.

  The puppeteer was just about to incorporate Jake into his show by having the monkey tentatively approach the boy when they heard Rick call to them. Michael turned and saw Rick pointing toward a placard with “Wagner” written in large bold letters.

  “Your guide, Lorenzo, will meet you in the morning for the first river briefing,” the driver was saying to his mother as Michael approached. “The others should be coming out shortly, then we’ll take off for the hotel.”

  The man was trying to hold a second placard above the heads of the crowd. “Jenkins” was printed boldly with the number two in parentheses. Michael looked back at the first sign that had Rick’s name and was now being held down at the man’s side. The number four was in parentheses.

  Michael glanced at Rick, who hadn’t wanted to travel with strangers, but his mother had convinced him that finances dictated taking a tour. They’d counted themselves lucky that the declining tourist trade had allowed for such a small group.

  “Be right back.” Rick nodded toward the money exchange booth across the hall.

  “Can I wait over there?” Jake was straining to see the puppet show from where they stood, but the growing crowd made it impossible. “I was in the front row.”

  “Just wait with us,” their mother said. “I don’t want to have to go find you. Michael?”

  He looked over the heads of the crowd a few moments longer. “Just let him go over there. I’ll watch him.” He scanned the crowd, but stopped abruptly. He looked back at Jane. It had been a long trip and she looked weary. He opened his backpack.

  “Hey, Jake, that guy’s not so great anyway.” Michael took out a hacky sack. He held it up to Jake, nodding toward the open space a few feet away, then threw it into the air. Jake scooped it up with the inside of his right foot before it hit the ground, lifting it into the air and bouncing it on his left knee back to his brother.

  Several minutes later a blond, round-faced boy several inches shorter than Jake ran toward them.

  This must be a Jenkins.

  The driver addressed him directly. “All that energy after nineteen hours of air flight? Lorenzo will have his hands full.” The boy smiled—it was interpreted as a compliment.

  Michael caught the hacky sack and glanced around for the adult who must be with this kid. His eye was caught by a young African man in a wrinkled, dull green shirt and loose-fitting khaki pants leaning against a counter across from them and looking in their direction. The man turned away when he noticed Michael and concentrated on smoking a long hand-rolled cigarette. Then he was approached by two other men. One was taller and more neatly dressed than the other two, whose attention he didn’t seem to really be holding despite the large sweeping gestures he made as he talked. The third man, rocking from side to side and scanning the crowd, was much bulkier. He reminded Michael of a wrestler. The men hadn’t greeted each other with the hugs taking place all around them. Michael searched the long corridor of arriving passengers. They must be waiting for someone too.

  “Mr. Jenkins?” the driver said. “I’m Kito, with River Expeditions. I’ll be taking you to your hotel.”

  A stocky American man had come up to the family and was looking the group over. He turned and faced their mom directly without saying a word. He stared right into her eyes. Did he want something? Did he think Mom was here alone? Michael glanced over at the exchange kiosk. Rick looked like he was still in the middle of his transaction.

  The man’s silence was annoying. His face had no expression on it.

  “Jane,” his mother said. She extended her hand.

  The man took her wrist and held it. He continued to stare into her eyes.

  Michael stuck out his own hand toward this stranger—it was more of a demand than an introduction.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Michael,” he said loudly.

  Before letting go of her hand, the man’s eyes moved down his mother’s body. Michael extended his hand closer to the man, almost touching his arm. The man finally looked at Michael, shook his hand briefly, and nodded. He didn’t say his name.

  “I’m Tommy,” the young boy said, looking from one brother to the other.

  “Jake.” His brother wasn’t addressing anyone in particular. He was on the tips of his toes—stretching in a hopeless attempt to see the puppet show over the heads of the crowd.

  “Try working out the math of over 63,500 Zimbabwe dollars to one U.S on no sleep.” Rick handed a receipt to Jane.

  “This is Rick.” Jane touched his arm. “My husband.”

  Rick barely looked up but nodded at the man and child who’d joined their family. He stuffed the wads of foreign currency in his pocket.

  “You are?” Jane asked.

  “Paul. Paul Jenkins.”

  But before the pressures of small talk could begin, the tall neatly dressed man Michael had been watching earlier approached.

  “Kito. Long time no see. Another river group?” He slapped their driver on the shoulder.

  “Thabani?” Kito’s face froze and his eyes darted beyond the man and into the crowd. There was a steady flow of arrivals moving past. Thabani stood alone. Kito smiled and threw his arms around him. “What brings you back here? I thought you were long gone from these parts.”

  “Ah, the river has its draw, now, doesn’t it? Can’t ever really stay away long.” The man motioned to the other side of the room. “I’m taking my cousin and his friend down the river.”

  Michael now noticed that the wrestler guy had left. The first guy still stood smoking at the distant counter.

  “They’re picky,” Thabani said. “Wanted the best guide around for their trip.”

  “Too bad. Lorenzo’s already booked,” Kito said. Thabani laughed, and a large toothy smile spread across Kito’s face. Whatever had bothered him before seemed not to be a problem anymore.

  “This Lorenzo’s group?” Thabani said. “He’s taking them down awfully young.” He nodded at Jake and Tommy.

  “We’ve no worries.” Kito took Thabani’s arm and started to move him away from the others.

  Michael’s attention suddenly shifted. The dark-haired girl he’d been watching
earlier was coming toward them. Her hands were in her jacket pockets and she walked with a determined pace, as if she were on an important mission. Michael looked away and began to fidget with his backpack straps.

  Kito turned to the girl. “No, thank you,” he said. He motioned for her to leave them alone.

  Thabani laughed. “She’s not selling anything. This is my other cousin, Katura.” He looked proud as he put an arm around the beautiful young girl. “Her mother sent her down with us to make sure ‘the boys’ didn’t get into too much trouble. So we’re trying to lose her as soon as we can. Any takers?” He winked at her.

  She glared at him and broke away from his hold.

  “I wanted to ask you about borrowing some equipment.” Thabani walked with Kito a few yards away from the group.

  Michael continued to fiddle with the straps of his backpack, which fit him just fine. Katura turned to him.

  “I carry rubbing stones in my pockets.” She took out three small, smooth stones. He looked down at them.

  “You know, to relieve the anxiety when some strange girl you’ve been watching comes over and starts talking to you. It works better than fooling with the straps of your backpack.”

  “Nailed.” Michael let go of the straps.

  The girl placed the small stones in the palm of his hand. He stared down at them, feigning a serious inspection. He then rolled them around each other, looked up at her, and smiled.

  “Now put them in your jacket pocket so nobody will know you’re using them,” she said. “Roll them around slowly. All your troubles will go away. It’s like you’ve got a secret and no one knows you’re worried. You can stand there calm and cool while all your fears go into those three little rocks just rolling between your fingers. It’s the power of secrets.”

  He placed them in the left pocket of his windbreaker and rolled them around in his hand. He feigned nonchalance as he looked around.

  “Wow, they really work,” he said. “But I must give them back.” He held the stones out to her. “You seem to have much more to worry about than I do.” He nodded toward the man at the counter, who was now watching them.