[2016] Rubbing Stones

by Nancy Burkey

  “The red one might look better against your dark green bedroom wall, a good contrast. The black wouldn’t show up as well,” Jane said.

  “See?” Jake said. It was the one he’d pointed out. Michael shot him a look.

  “But whatever you want is fine, Michael,” his mom said. She took Rick’s arm and started toward another stall. “Keep an eye on Jake.”

  Rick looked up at the sky, then turned back to Michael. “I want to leave pretty soon, so don’t take long.”

  Michael glanced up and noticed the sun was several inches above the western horizon.

  Jake sighed. “We just got here,” he said under his breath.

  Michael turned to privately count his remaining money. Not enough for both masks and the necklace for Caitlin. He looked between the two masks, then picked up a third.

  Jake stepped over a rolled-up carpet to join him. “If you want my opinion—”

  “Jake, why don’t you go look at those drums?” Michael pointed two booths away. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

  “Whatever.”

  Michael pointed at a dark crimson mask with large lips and taunting eyes. “Sir,” he called out. “I’ll take this one.”

  The old merchant sauntered over with a large bag. Michael showed him the necklace and dropped it in. “I get your change,” the man said. He took the bills Michael counted out. “Be right back.”

  Michael reached up and removed the hanging mask, admiring it at close range before he placed it carefully inside the bag. He didn’t see the old man but could hear him rummaging around in back of the stall. He tried to see around all the hanging tapestries that blocked his view. What was this guy doing? How much change did he need, anyway? Probably didn’t matter much.

  He looked over at the neighboring stalls. There were some statues worth looking at. He noticed the young Australian men had drifted to the far part of the market, almost invisible with several salesmen surrounding them. One of the Aussies held some object Michael couldn’t identify.

  He heard someone yelling, turned and saw a crowd forming in the central open area of the market.

  “You promised to buy from me!” a man shouted.

  Michael squinted as he faced into the sun just barely over the horizon. He recognized the man. He struggled to see through the crowd.

  “Hey, you have my change yet?” Michael called into the back.

  No one responded.

  He turned back to the commotion and froze. A slight movement in the crowd had opened up a space through which he saw the man grab his little brother’s arm and swing him around. The man was holding a drum. Jake stood facing him, looking bewildered, scared. Michael ran to the edge of the crowd and started forcing his way toward the middle.

  “Leave him alone,” a shopkeeper called out. “He’s just a kid.”

  “Probably doesn’t have any money anyway.” It was an older woman this time, with three small children at her side.

  “Prayer?” Jake said.

  “See, he knows me,” the man said to the crowd.

  “Everybody knows you.”

  “He promised to buy from me.” Prayer thrust the drum into Jake’s hands. “Here’s your drum, boy. Now pay at my store.”

  Prayer turned and began to walk away, leaving Jake to stare at the item in his hand as if he’d never seen a drum before.

  The crowd of gawkers that had been circling Jake and Prayer parted to make an opening toward the exit of the market. Michael could see that they’d moved in close behind Jake, forcing him forward.

  “I didn’t promise anything,” Jake said.

  Michael could hear the terror in his brother’s voice. He continued to force people out of his way.

  “He’s really harmless,” an elderly man standing next Michael said. “Crazy, but harmless.”

  “But if he promised…”

  Prayer loomed over Jake. “You better pay for what you have, boy.”

  Michael felt a sharp elbow in his side as he pushed his way forward. People were moving in both directions, some had lost interest and were getting back to their wares. Others were trying to see what was happening, forming a tighter circle. Michael shoved harder, determined to muscle his way through, but most of the bodies wouldn’t budge. No one actually held him, but the restraint was just as effective. He could see his brother holding the drum as Prayer marched toward his own stall at the edge of the market. The remaining crowd was closing in on Jake.

  Jake took a few steps backward when Michael heard somebody near him shout, “He’s stealing!”

  “I’m not stealing!” Jake screamed.

  “Leave him alone,” Michael yelled.

  Jake turned toward Michael’s voice, then ran a few steps in the direction in which Prayer had disappeared. He put down the drum in the middle of the dirt path and backed away toward Michael. The crowd closed tighter around Jake. Michael was squeezed between several young men, unable to move.

  He could see a group of women talking on the other side of Jake. One of the women stepped toward him. “No problem, boy. He’s not going to—”

  Jake pulled away from the woman and yelled at the top of his lungs, “I’m not stealing, I didn’t promise anything!”

  Michael shoved one of the men in the back as hard as he could. The man fell into several others and Michael maneuvered around them. He thrust his way to the front of the crowd when he saw Rick break through the other side and into the center. Rick swooped Jake up into his arms. Jake’s eyes began to fill with tears.

  “It’s okay, Jake.” He nodded to the women. “I’ve got him, thanks.”

  “Let’s just go,” Jane called out. Michael could see his mother struggling to get around the crowd

  “Jake didn’t get anything,” Michael said. He took two steps toward the men who stood in front of Jane. They moved out of his way.

  “Michael—”

  “If you’re mad, Mom, be mad at me.” He stood in front of her. “It was my fault we didn’t stay together.”

  He saw her glance at a nearby booth.

  “Give me thirty seconds.” Michael grabbed a wooden lion and an onyx leopard. He held them high for Jake to see. The crowd was breaking up but Jake was still holding on to Rick. Jake glanced over and nodded.

  “Both?”

  Jake had already turned away. Rick and Jane were whispering, continuing to watch the crowd. They kept Jake between them.

  Michael took in a quick breath. What if something had happened to Jake? What was he thinking to send him off alone? He could still feel the hold the crowd had had on him, his difficulty in breaking away to reach his brother.

  Michael picked up an eight-inch drum with intricate painting on the side. The dusk light gave a slight orange cast to the objects he held.

  “All three,” he said to the small man standing next to him. He wadded the remaining bills from his pocket into the man’s palm and ran to join his family.

  CHAPTER 8

  Light spilled around the edges of the window shade to reach Katura’s face. She lay not yet fully awake, felt the heat on her cheek, and began her morning absorbed in the city smells. So different from home, so lacking in depth. How could the presence of cars and so many people erase what must have been there for centuries?

  She sat up. It must be just about time to leave. It was sweet of Japera to let her sleep in until the last minute, but she needed to gather her things. He always underestimated how long it took her. Zuka had said they might be gone a whole week, that it would take a lot of time to make plans with the others, and she’d need to pack for the chilly nights out.

  She headed to the bathroom, slapped cold water on her face, and smoothed down her long black hair. Maybe there’d be time for a shower, it could be her last for a while.

  “Japera?” she called out into the hallway. “How much time do we have?” She slapped more water on her face before grabbing a towel. “Japera?” She yelled louder.

  The house was awfully quiet. Could they have overslept to
o? After all, it had been a very late night. Still, it wasn’t typical for Japera—he was so annoyingly responsible. She smiled. She was going to enjoy this.

  She burst into his room. “Hey, sleepyhead—”

  She stopped and stared. He wasn’t there. She slammed the door and ran from room to room. No one. She looked out at the carport. Thabani’s car was still there. Zuka must have picked them up. She felt her heart pounding and closed her eyes. They must’ve gone out for some last-minute supplies, then they’d swing back for her. That had to be it. She should have fresh coffee made for when they came in. She walked slowly into the kitchen. That’s when she saw the note—Japera’s handwriting. She lifted it off the counter.

  Don’t be mad. I guess I can’t ask that of you—of course you’ll be mad. But this is dangerous. You saw that last night. It’s safer this way and I had to leave before you got up because I knew you wouldn’t agree. Please try to understand. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

  I love you Katura,

  Japera

  She read the note a second time, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it in the trash. This wasn’t Japera. This was Thabani’s doing. Japera wouldn’t have left her out like this.

  She ran to her room to get dressed. She’d just have to find them before they launched—better hurry. But before she headed out the door, she stopped. Her mind was racing. What did he say? She grabbed the note from the trash and smoothed it out. I love you Katura? She stared at his words. He never said that. He was scared. Those were words he’d use if he wasn’t sure he’d make it back. She threw down the note and raced out the door.

  She stood at the shoreline of the river, winded by her run. She knew she’d missed them. A few groups of day rafters unloaded their gear, received brief instructions, and launched quickly to make room for the next group. Thabani had told her about day rafters. Short trips for the less serious tourists who wanted a taste of the great Zambezi without the commitment or talent to make it down the real rapids. For long trips he always made it his practice to get out early—it avoided the need to maneuver around them later. She scanned the groups to see if any looked like they had enough gear to be going further. She’d somehow talk her way into joining them. Maybe she could catch up.

  No such luck. Each group consisted of people armed only with small daypacks, probably carrying just their lunch and a camera. She watched them for several more minutes before she turned and walked down the shoreline.

  A raft with a guide, two adult passengers, a sulky teenager, and two small children passed her. The children waved, she smiled back despite herself. It was then that she noticed the raft itself. Just above the waterline she could read the logo printed boldly on the side—the same logo she’d seen many months ago on Thabani’s shirt. He’d probably worn it that day to impress her father. The day they’d convinced her father to let Tafadzwa go to Zimbabwe to learn the river business. It had been quite a negotiation but in the end Tafadzwa got his way, as usual. She watched the logo appear and disappear over the waves—and then the light dawned.

  Katura took off in a sprint back up the dunes toward town as fast as she could.

  When she reached the storefront she was out of breath. She stood and stared at the advertisements in the window, tried to slow down her heart rate, force herself to look calm. Through the window she saw an older woman at the desk, busy with paperwork. Katura entered the store, rattling a bell, and the woman glanced up at her.

  “Looking for someone?”

  “No, actually, I wanted to know about your trips.”

  “Really?” The woman went back to her paperwork.

  “Some of my father’s business friends would like to take a rafting trip, they sent me down here to get some information.” Katura scanned the posters on the wall. “They might even let me go.”

  The woman looked up and smiled at her. “Take a look at the brochures and let me know if you have any questions.”

  Katura sifted through the literature that sat on the far table with photos of day trips as well as longer campout adventures. They pictured guests with smiles plastered across their faces and guides maneuvering them down the rapids—

  Wait a minute. In a shot of a large raft with several passengers, there—in the back—she could make out Thabani. She stared at his face. Was there a family resemblance? She glanced over at the woman, who hadn’t looked up again, then stuffed the pamphlet underneath the rest.

  “Need any help out here?” A younger man who’d come out from the back was speaking to the woman at the desk. Katura noticed he had broad shoulders and large hands—likely a guide who couldn’t get a job down the river that day.

  “Can you look at this schedule and see if you think I’ve got it right?” the woman said. “A second set of eyes might catch a mistake.”

  Katura shuffled through the rest of the stack until she found the one she was looking for. She read it quickly.

  “Ah, here’s what they want.” She held up the pamphlet. “Mana Pools. I couldn’t remember the name until I saw—”

  “Oh, no, dear,” the woman said. “There’s much nicer places to go than there. Let me give you some brochures to take to your father’s friends.” She stood and picked up the pamphlets on her desk.

  “No,” Katura said. “They definitely want to go to this park. I’m sure this is the one they told me to look for.” She smiled at the woman, who stared at her with no expression. “You know, one of the last strongholds of the black rhino,” she quoted from the pamphlet in her hand.

  The woman handed the brochures to the young man. “I have some work to do in the back,” she said. “Can you help this young lady? Take your time. Show her all the options.” She closed the back door behind her.

  “No, I’m sure my friends would prefer this trip. Is there one leaving soon, because they don’t have much time before—”

  “Why are you asking about Mana Pools?”

  “The black rhinos, they’re disappearing, and these folks—”

  “She’s back there calling the police,” he whispered. “They’re just down the street. You have about three minutes.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jane was exhausted. Today’s rapids had taken her beyond what she thought her arms could tolerate. Baruti directed the kids toward a campsite thirty yards from the beach and just on the edge of the jungle. The air was hot and dry during the daytime, relieved only by the cool breeze that swept up through the canyon, fragrant with the richness of wild African vegetation. But by night, the winds tended to pick up, and they positioned their tents to be partially sheltered by trees.

  When they pulled their raft onto shore to make camp, Lorenzo turned to the adults.

  “Why don’t you three take a walk along the shore? You can’t go very far— have to turn back at that jetty— but it’s a nice walk.” He pointed to the jagged rocks that were the western boundary of their beach site cove. Jane eyed the densely forested area to the south of the shore. “Oh, you can’t go back there,” Lorenzo said. “Even Baruti won’t enter that part of the jungle.”

  Jane was still looking at the luscious green vegetation.

  “It’s extremely thick, and the wildlife is too dangerous. There’s only that one overgrown trail to the left of where we’ll be setting up camp, and it leads directly to an abandoned village and what’s left of an old stone lodge. Used to be a tourist resort.”

  “Abandoned?” Jane asked.

  “Destroyed by disease. AIDS hit some of the villages so hard they couldn’t recover. The few survivors ended up staying in the bigger townships where they took their loved ones to die. Now they’re scared to go back and there’s not enough population left anyway to support a village.”

  “So it’s still deserted.” Jane tried to see down the trail, but the growth was too dense. “Sounds interesting, like finding the remnants of an ancient civilization.”

  “It would be, if it had been left alone. It gets taken over by poachers and other petty criminals from time to time.
Anything that was interesting has been destroyed or stolen, and if you happen upon anyone, they’re not the sort you want to run into.”

  “So if everyone knows that poachers and criminals hang out there, why don’t the local authorities just go in and clear it out from time to time?”

  Lorenzo shook his head. “No one wants to go near those places.” He glanced at Baruti, who was tying up the gear. He lowered his voice. “They say there’s angry ghosts of the sick—those who were left to die. They believe that to disturb these tortured souls would bring disaster to their own families. Anyway, the criminals won’t stay there long, they have to move on to sell their goods, and the authorities figure they can pick them up somewhere else. Why risk the safety of their families for common thieves?”

  “Good point.” She glanced back over at the river, which turned sharply to the right up ahead. It was noisy when the wind shifted in their direction. “Ghost Rider Rapids? Is it named for these ghosts?”

  “I suppose.” He looked over at his comrades, who were emptying the equipment. He seemed anxious to get finished with that day’s chores. “So, the beach?”

  She stretched her legs and nodded. It felt like she’d been cramped in the raft forever.

  “Dinner will be ready when you get back.” He started to leave, then turned back to Jane. “I must’ve scared the bejesus out of you on that last run. But I knew the boys could do it by the way they’ve been handling themselves. They’ve done great on a really tough river.”

  Jane smiled. “You were worried, weren’t you?”

  “The age requirement used to be fifteen, but…” He leaned down and picked up the dry bag.

  “But tourism’s down?”

  “That doesn’t change the river, though, does it?” He shrugged. “These guys have done great and that’s all that matters.”

  Jane motioned for the two men to join her on the shoreline walk. When they were away from the others, Paul turned to Rick.

  “And what exactly would he have done if the kids hadn’t seemed capable of navigating that chute? Call a cab?”