“They have not invited me to go there. I am but a guest among them.”
Quentin’s fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you ask them not to hurt my family?”
Samuel gazed at him with patient eyes. “You must understand that their savage ways have been gradually embedded, with no intelligent eyes to observe them, and no civilized mind to reason with them. The habits of countless ages cannot be so easily set aside. So I have come to you in hopes that we might together find your party and prevent violence.”
In spite of the irrationality of the very existence of the half-naked white man in this place, Quentin sensed for the first time that he could trust Samuel.
A motion in the trees above caught their attention. Quentin glanced up in time to see a brown shape complete an arch through the air from one branch to another. It was the tree kangaroo. It jockeyed for a stable position and then turned to stare at them.
Quentin watched the Englishman to see his reaction, but Samuel only glanced at the creature and then looked away as if it were as common as a honeyeater.
Quentin sighed. “Mbaiso, how do we get back?”
Samuel’s brows folded with interest. “Mbaiso, do you say? I presume you are referring to the mbolop, the tree kangaroo?”
“Mbaiso is the name one of my students gave it. It’s from a story I told them.”
“Why did you speak to it in such a way? Does the creature answer you?”
Quentin gave him a sidelong glance. “Just wishful thinking. It’s been hanging around us. It helped us gather water, and it followed me here from the crash site.”
Abruptly the Englishman turned to the tree kangaroo, clicked his tongue in rapid succession, and gestured at the animal with both his arms. In response, Mbaiso backed down the tree by reverse-jumping, claws noisily scratching bark, and hopped to the two men.
Samuel began gesturing with his hands, a series of motions as elaborate as any sign language. He was clearly trying to talk to the tree kangaroo. It hadn’t occurred to Quentin until now that this man may simply be insane.
Mbaiso watched until Samuel finished his extraordinary performance. Then the creature rolled back onto its haunches and began gesturing in return. The tiny forearms weaved, folded, and gyrated with miniature motions as controlled and precise as Samuel’s. Samuel responded, as if clarifying the finer points of his first discourse. Then the conversation suddenly ended. Mbaiso hopped away and scuttled up a tree.
Samuel turned to Quentin. “If you had but told me sooner of your acquaintance with the mbolop, you may have saved us some consternation.”
Quentin could think of nothing coherent to say. “I didn’t think it was—”
For the first time, Samuel’s eyes showed what might have been a sparkle of humor. “Once again, sir, your response reveals much.”
“I, uh, have some questions for you,” Quentin said.
“And I have questions as well. But now the mbolop will lead us to your vessel.” Without another word he turned and followed the tree kangaroo, which now bounded from tree to tree.
Bobby checked that all his body parts were still there as he fumbled with the remains of his clothing. He tied his jeans around his waist, covering his front but leaving his butt exposed. Ashley and Mrs. Darnell were struggling with the same problems, and it might have been funny if a mass of steel were not collapsing above their heads.
“We have to get them out!” Mrs. Darnell said to Bobby and Ashley as she tied a knot in her shirt. She grabbed Addison by the armpits and tried pulling him to the front of the cabin. The rear ceiling was nearly touching the ground, so this was the only way out.
Bobby moved to her side to help. Ashley gave up trying to knot a scrap of her pants and tried to help too, but there wasn’t much room. Mrs. Darnell squirmed out the opening. She tugged on Addison’s arms, while Bobby and Ashley pushed from inside. As Addison inched through the opening, the remains of his clothing were torn from his body. His skin was pale, almost gray, and Bobby tried not to look at it. Addison’s head rolled to the side and his face pressed against Mrs. Darnell’s arm, forcing one eye open. The eyeball was gray and lifeless.
Addison was finally through and Bobby crawled out to help drag him clear of the wreckage. As they turned back to the shrinking doorway, Ashley’s voice came from inside. She was talking excitedly, but not to them. Bobby and Mrs. Darnell looked at each other. They crawled back through, and there was Carlos, sitting upright.
“They’re awake!” Ashley said.
“What’s going on?” It was Miranda. She was propped up on her elbow.
Mrs. Darnell paused only briefly. “We need to get you out. Carlos, can you crawl?”
Carlos looked at the shrinking opening. “No problem, Mrs. D.” Then he edged past them and through the hole.
Mrs. Darnell glanced at Bobby again, her eyes wide, and then grabbed Miranda’s arm. “Miranda, honey, this is going to hurt, but we have to move you out of here too.”
“Wait a second.” Miranda pulled away the remains of the bloody jeans that had held the splint in place. The splint had disintegrated. She bent the leg, bringing her knee to her chest, and then slapped her thigh. The sound filled the tiny space of the cabin.
Mrs. Darnell put her hand over her mouth. “Miranda!”
“It seems okay now,” Miranda said, as if announcing that cookies were ready to come out of the oven. She pulled at the remains of her shirt and it fell from her body, exposing her breasts. “Can someone tell me what in the name of Elvis is going on?”
Before anyone could answer, a portion of the plane’s fuselage gave way, and the structure dropped another few centimeters with a thunk. The doorway was now smaller than ever.
Carlos’s voice came from outside. “I think you guys should get out. Like now.”
Ashley grabbed Miranda’s shirt and pushed it to her chest. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”
“I told you I’m fine.” Miranda used both legs to push herself through the opening.
Bobby and Mrs. Darnell followed her out just before the gap closed.
They watched the last of the Twin Otter disappear into a heap of soil. Their shelter was gone. Everything was gone. They didn’t even have a single complete item of clothing between them. There was barely enough to cover their privates. Bobby had already glimpsed more female body parts than he had seen in all his life. He sat on the ground against a tree, mainly because he had not figured out a good way to cover his butt. Trying not to stare, he watched Ashley as she talked to Miranda. Somehow the girls had managed to tie their clothing together to cover their breasts and waists, somewhat like bikinis. Miranda walked back and forth as they talked, bouncing like she was eager to run but had no room for it. Bobby had seen the broken bone sticking out of her leg. Now she was walking around like it had never happened.
Carlos was seated on the ground. He had removed the wrap and was staring at his hand. The fingers looked swollen and lumpy, but he was opening and closing his fist. He grinned and held his hand up for Bobby to see.
It seemed like a miracle, except for Addison, who was no better than before. Mrs. Darnell held Addison’s head in her lap as she watched Miranda bounce around.
Suddenly the girls saw something and stopped talking. Bobby turned. Three Papuan men stood side-by-side without moving, like ghosts in the trees.
“Don’t do anything to threaten them,” Mrs. Darnell said. She lifted Addison’s head from her lap so the men could see him. “He’s not better,” she called out. “Can you help him?”
Bobby recognized two of the men from the night before. They still held their spears with darkened tips and patterned shafts. The man with the green-feathered head was the first to approach. He glanced at a piece of wreckage on the ground and pointed to it. One of the other men reached into his pouch and smeared the pasty miracle-cure stuff onto the chunk of metal. The spot immediately began gleaming with wetness as the wreckage dissolved.
“Our clothes,
and all our stuff,” Ashley said. “They’re the ones who did this!”
Mrs. Darnell shushed Ashley. She raised Addison’s head again. “Can you help him?”
The green-feathered Papuan kneeled, looking closely at Addison. “Yu le khomilo-mbo. Khomilo. Dead.”4
“He’s still alive,” Mrs. Darnell said. But her voice was quiet, like she wasn’t sure.
The man rose to his feet. “Khomilo.”
Mrs. Darnell pointed to the pouch hanging from his neck. “Your medicine. Maybe it can help him. Maybe he needs more.”
“Ané kha-fen.” He pointed away, into the forest. “Ané lai-m.” With his spear he motioned for her to get up. Mrs. Darnell didn’t move, and he repeated the words. The two other men were smearing paste onto small leftover parts from the plane. They stopped what they were doing, approached Bobby and Carlos, and waved their spears for them to go.12
“Mrs. Darnell, they want us to go with them,” Bobby said. “Maybe they want to help.”
“Or maybe they want to eat us,” Ashley muttered.
The green-feathered man shoved his spear tip under Mrs. Darnell’s chin and forced her to stand. She waited for the spear to be withdrawn and then grabbed Addison by the armpits, trying to lift him.
“Bobby, Carlos, you’ll have to help me carry him.”
The Papuan’s foot shot out and pushed Addison out of Mrs. Darnell’s hands. Addison’s head thumped the ground.
“Khomilo!”
Quentin didn’t recognize any landmarks, but the tree kangaroo moved with such purpose that he was reassured. And Samuel followed the animal, asking Quentin no more questions concerning direction.
“Do you think they’re still okay?” Quentin asked as he caught up for the third time. Physically, Quentin felt great, but he lacked Samuel’s practiced agility.
“With any good fortune. Nevertheless, we will soon know.”
Quentin’s anxiety over Lindsey and the kids was like a crushing weight, so he tried thinking of other things. “What is the medicine you rubbed in my eye?”
“I wondered if you might inform me that such things had been found elsewhere. It appears, however, that my own discoveries are more important than I had supposed.”
“But what is it? Is it from a plant?”
“No, most certainly not a plant, nor from insect or beast. Soon enough, Quentin, you may understand. Assuming our indigene hosts allow it.”
“Why haven’t you reported what the stuff can do to the rest of the world?”
“There is much about my discoveries you have yet to learn. Can you be quite sure that your society is prepared for such things?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me, are you a Christian man, a follower of God?”
This caught Quentin off guard. “I don’t know. No—not really.”
“Is this also true of others you know? Is this true of your society?”
“No. There are plenty of religious people. Christians mostly, where I’m from. Why do you ask?”
The Englishman stopped walking. Mbaiso moved ahead, leaping from tree to tree. Samuel clicked his tongue and the tree kangaroo stopped and turned, waiting. A few flies buzzed Quentin’s head but then left without biting.
Samuel spoke. “In my younger life, Quentin, I was a man of Christian principles. Those principles served as a guide for my actions and judgments. While many naturalists were driven to find in nature the evidence that might disprove the hand of God, I was inclined to see God’s hand in all of the wonders of the world—in the elegant design of the butterfly’s wing or in the restless winds of the tropical seas. In my eyes, God’s wisdom was to be found in all of nature. Do you understand, Quentin?”
“I know people who look at things that way.”
“Then you might understand my consternation upon discovering that, in this place, God does not preside.”
Quentin frowned. “What are you saying?”
Samuel paused, as if uncertain. “Forgive me, for I have rarely had occasion to express such thoughts to another man. They are bitter on my tongue. It will suffice to say that God is not here—because something else rules in this place.”
Quentin eyed him. “Something else?”
Before Samuel could answer Quentin suddenly held up his hand. “Do you hear that?” They stood motionless, listening. There were voices in the distance. “It’s them,” Quentin said. “They must be okay!” The voices rose again. Now they were shouting, followed by a scream. Quentin’s stomach lurched, and then he was running headlong through the tangled forest.
“Lindsey, I’m here!” he shouted. “Bobby, can you hear me? Hold on!”
Something about the Papuans’ calm willpower scared Bobby. They didn’t say much, but their message was clear—they wanted the Americans to go with them. And it was also clear they wanted to leave Addison here, probably to be dissolved into soil like everything else. Mrs. Darnell would not leave him, and that scared Bobby even more. She and green featherhead were in a standoff.
“He’s not dead.” Mrs. Darnell’s voice was low, and her eyes glowered with piercing intensity. “And he’s coming with us.”
“I mbakha? Yu le khomilo-mbo. Ané lai-m.” Again he motioned for her to walk.13
Mrs. Darnell spoke firmly. “I have to take him with us. He is my son, my family.” She grabbed Addison again to lift him.
The man shoved her back with his foot and stepped between them. “Khomilo!” He then began kicking leaves and soil over Addison, covering his pale face.
Ashley exploded forward and swung at the Papuan. “You pygmy bastard!”
The man ducked and she struck his shoulder. They all raised their spears and moved in on her before she could swing again. Three spear points converged on her neck.
“Ashley, stop!” Mrs. Darnell cried. “Let me handle this.”
Ashley’s fists were trembling. “They’re going to kill him!”
“I won’t let that happen.”
Ashley glared at the men. Suddenly she released an earsplitting scream of anger. In the seconds of shock that followed, the forest seemed to echo with the scream.
Bobby swallowed his fear and rushed in. He grabbed two of the spears, trying to hold them away from Ashley. “Please, you guys, just let us—” Before Bobby could finish, one of the spears was yanked from his hand and thrust into his chest.
The words stuck in Bobby’s throat and a bubbling sound came from his mouth. Suddenly he was sitting on the ground, looking up. Ashley screamed again and charged the Papuan man, who now had no spear. Mrs. Darnell grabbed hold of another man’s spear to wrestle it away, and she called to the others for help. Bobby thought he should help, too, but it was hard to breathe. A shaft protruded from his chest. It looked strange hanging there, and his eyes again were drawn to carved symbols he had seen somewhere before. The forest was darker now. A gush of prickling heat rose from his chest and filled his head. As he collapsed onto his back, he thought he heard Mr. Darnell’s voice calling to him from far away.
Eight
Quentin fought through the trees with Samuel at his heels. He stopped running in order to hear the voices again and adjust his course.
Samuel passed him without stopping. “We are near. Remain behind me.”
The voices rose again—screaming and cursing. Quentin sprinted after Samuel. Suddenly the others were before them and they stopped short. Lindsey, Ashley, Miranda, and Carlos, all of them only partly dressed, faced off with three Papuan men. Quentin’s eyes were drawn to two figures on the ground. One was Bobby, a spear embedded in his chest. The other was Addison, his pallid face and nearly naked body partially covered with dirt and leaves. Both boys lay still, as if dead. Samuel raised his hands to the Papuans, speaking their language firmly. This seemed to draw their attention and they turned away from the fight.
“Quentin!” Lindsey cried. She rushed over and embraced him. “They’ve hurt Bobby.”
As Samuel
held off the Papuans, Quentin and the others converged on Bobby’s still form. Quentin felt the spear. It was embedded deep. He held his ear to Bobby’s mouth.
“Is he dead?” Ashley asked.
There was breathing, raspy and wet. “He’s alive, but he doesn’t sound good.” Quentin looked to Lindsey. “Addison?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “His heart was still beating, but...”
Still crouched over Bobby, Quentin glanced at Addison’s colorless skin. It was clear Addison was dying. The truth of this nearly crumpled Quentin’s fortitude. Why in the hell had he brought them here? They’d all be safe at home if he hadn’t. Quentin turned to the survivors. Was there even a chance of saving any of them? Suddenly he straightened up. “Miranda? You’re walking! And Carlos, you’re awake!”
“They used some kind of medicine on them,” Ashley said matter-of-factly. “But it didn’t work with Addison.”
Quentin rubbed the mostly healed spear wounds on his chest and eyed the Papuan men, who now appeared to be negotiating with Samuel, perhaps regarding killing all the Americans. Was this about the medicine contained in their pouches? Were they trying to keep it secret?
Quentin’s eyes drifted again to Addison’s form. Addison’s right hand protruded from the dirt and leaves that partially covered him. The skin on the hand was pale gray. Suddenly the hand turned and flattened against the ground. Quentin blinked. Addison lifted his head and stared back at him. His eyes were the color of storm clouds.
“Jesus Christ!” Quentin said, nearly stumbling backward over Bobby’s body.
Addison was now sitting up. All commotion stopped.
“Laléo-khén! Laléo!” said one of the Papuan men.14
Quentin regained his composure and approached his son. Addison’s eyes followed him, but his deathly face showed no expression. Quentin knelt and touched his shoulder. Addison’s cloudy eyes showed no sign of recognition.
“Laléo-khen!” the Papuan repeated, and then he stepped forward, raising his spear. Samuel held the man back and spoke to him. Finally the Papuan nodded, as if in agreement.
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