He pointed at the creature. “What is this thing?”
Noadi simply stared at the tooth grimly, but Samuel said, “That tooth depicts an event that has shaped the villagers’ beliefs regarding the Lamotelokhai. The powers of the Lamotelokhai intoxicated one of their tribe. He apparently ran amok, madly killing fellow tribesmen before being destroyed. It was this event which induced the indigenes to never again communicate directly with the Lamotelokhai.” Samuel touched the next tooth on the string. “And which induced them to employ the mbolop in communicating with the substance.”
Quentin looked closely. The tooth showed a villager engaged in a sign language conversation with a tree kangaroo.
Near the middle of the string was a scene of the ocean shoreline, with jungle and water. Men in canoes were on the beach. He turned the tooth over and saw that the boat people were being killed by Papuans with spears. Beyond this tooth were more images of battle, each with bodies on the ground, killed by tribesmen with spears. Quentin glanced from tooth to tooth. The second half of the string contained dozens of scenes of killing. Scattered among them were pictures of such activities as building tree houses and hunting. Quentin was witnessing an account of the populating of the island of New Guinea over the centuries, reflected by increasing encounters with outsiders.
Quentin looked at Noadi, who grinned back at him. “Which of these pictures did you make, Noadi? Samuel, can you ask him that?”
“There is no need,” Samuel said. “Noadi created them all. He has witnessed all the events shown, but for the first ones. Matiinuo described the first encounter with the Lamotelokhai to him. Noadi is nearly as old as Matiinuo, as are other members of this tribe.”
The string of teeth was the most stunning artistic achievement Quentin had ever seen, and it looked oddly out of place lying in the leaf litter and mud. “Why have you shown me this?”
“An excellent question,” Samuel said. He exchanged words with Noadi.
The Papuan pointed at the teeth, running his finger from one end to the other, and then jabbing at the last few. “Nokhu-yanop-tu. Wolakholol lembu-té-n-da.” He then pointed at Quentin. “Yu nggulun. Yu manop. Gu di mbolombolop.”30
“Most distressing,” Samuel said. “It appears that Matiinuo’s dismal view of the tribe’s fate is shared by Noadi, and probably the rest of the tribe. He would like you to know that his people have lived an existence worthy of respect, or perhaps reverence.”
“Nokhu-yanop-tu,” Noadi repeated, pointing to the last few teeth on the string.
Quentin looked. There was a scene with men wearing clothing. One of them lay dead on the ground. The other kneeled with his hands up. Quentin turned over the tooth. A tree kangaroo sat between the kneeling man and his attackers. “This is you, isn’t it?”
Samuel nodded, his face grim.
The next tooth showed a man who was plainly Samuel, no longer fully clothed, but wearing his unmistakable vest. He was pointing to what looked like a fallen tree with numerous holes in it. There were several small animals in the scene as well.
The second to the last tooth showed another clothed man. He was on his knees, a spear protruding from his body, facing his attackers. Quentin presumed this was Peter.
The last tooth was unfinished, an image only roughly outlined and not yet etched into the surface. But there was no doubt what it was—the fuselage of the Twin Otter, twisted and on its side. Beside it stood several people, with more lying on the ground.
“Maf lebil lefu-manda,” Noadi said. From his pouch he pulled out another tooth and held it out to Quentin.31
“Curious,” Samuel said. “Noadi says that this tooth will be the last.”
Quentin accepted the tooth from the child-like hand. Unlike the image of the plane, this one was detailed, etched into the surface as if it were completed long ago. Quentin stared at it. He turned it over. It was the same on both sides—nothing but stars. He held the tooth up to Samuel. “What does it mean?”
Samuel frowned at the tooth. “It is all that they believe will soon remain. After the world is turned upside down.”
Twelve
Mbaiso signed, drawing a T in the air with a curl at one end. Bobby promptly saw a vision of a tree kangaroo scampering up a tree and then a rope ladder falling and hanging there, ready to be climbed. The vision faded. Mbaiso signed again, followed by another vision, this time a tree kangaroo bouncing on a wet branch, releasing a shower of rainwater.
And so it continued. The pace of the lesson picked up, until Bobby thought his brain might boil over. At first, the signs had mostly to do with things the tree kangaroos did to help people. But soon the lesson shifted to human actions such as climbing, making things, and even killing. There were signs for objects such as spears, rope, and carving tools. And there were plants and animals that Bobby had never seen before. When Mbaiso paused the rapid-fire lesson, Bobby easily recalled everything he had learned.
“If we ever get home, school is going to be a breeze from now on,” he said aloud.
Suddenly the kangaroos sat up straight and twitched their ears.
Bobby looked around, but saw nothing. “What is it, guys?”
The two newer kangaroos scurried off, leaving Mbaiso and Bobby alone. Mbaiso signed, and a matching vision appeared: something moving through the trees. Mbaiso kept signing and the vision changed. A body—a Papuan—lay in the mud. The body was mangled, but it suddenly opened its eyes, sat up, and then struggled to its feet, a twisted, broken man standing before him. Then the vision vanished.
Bobby looked at the trees around him. He whispered, “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Maybe it’s telling you I am here.”
Bobby jerked around. “Addison. I didn’t see you.”
Addison’s black eyes did not blink as he moved closer.
Bobby stepped back. “Why’d you leave the tree house? Your dad will be back soon.”
Addison stopped just in front of him but didn’t speak. His silence was unnerving.
“Why did you scare Carlos like that?” Bobby said.
“I wanted him to remember.”
“I remember the other airplane now, like you said. Is that what you mean?”
Addison actually blinked. “Did you see what he saw?”
“What who saw?”
Addison looked confused for a moment, and then he said, “The boy, Addison.”
Bobby frowned. “I saw the other plane. I even saw people in it.”
“Yes, people,” Addison said. “Do you know who?”
Bobby frowned even more and didn’t answer.
“You don’t remember. Keep trying, then you’ll see.” Addison turned to walk away.
“Addison, did you die? Back at the airplane?”
Addison stopped and turned around.
“I can talk to the tree kangaroos now,” Bobby said. “Mbaiso showed me this dead guy that got up, and then you showed up. And the Papuans, they tried to bury you. And you said so yourself. You said you went to the place of the dead. What happened to you?”
Addison approached until he was close enough to touch. Bobby braced himself for a bad odor, but all he smelled was wet soil and humid air. He whispered, “Are you still Addison?”
The dark eyes stared through him. “I know about Addison.”
Bobby wanted to step back, but he held his ground. “What does that mean?”
Addison held up his hands, looking at the palms. “I am someone else, too. He is Ahea. I have his memories.”
“How can that be?”
Addison rubbed one hand on the other, like there might be something hidden under the surface. “I don’t know. But I will find out.” He turned away again. “You should go to it, too. You can listen to it. The others won’t know how.”
Bobby moved to catch up with him. “Listen to what? I don’t know—”
Mbaiso jumped in front of them. He bleated, almost like a sheep, a sound Bobby had not yet hea
rd him make. Both boys stopped walking. Then Mbaiso signed with his tiny arms. The movements came so fast that Bobby could not follow them. He saw visions, but they were quickly swept away by new ones. There was the lump of stuff in a tree—the Lamotelokhai—and tree kangaroos near it. They were touching it, maybe talking to it.
Suddenly Addison shouted, “Ané kha-fén! Nokhu ima-fon khüp Lamotelokhai! I will see it myself.” Mbaiso didn’t move. Addison lunged at him. Mbaiso jumped, but Addison caught his tail. Before Bobby had a chance to stop him, Addison lifted Mbaiso with both hands and swung him over his head. Mbaiso bleated once more before Addison smashed him to the ground. The kangaroo bounced, rolled over, and was still.32
Bobby’s skin prickled. Static filled his ears like a TV signal suddenly cut off. He stared at Mbaiso’s broken body. “You bastard!” he cried. “Why’d you do that?”
“It made me mad,” was all Addison said. And then he walked away.
Bobby ran in front of him and shoved his chest as hard as he could. “He didn’t do anything to you! What’s wrong with you?”
Addison threw himself at Bobby, driving him to the ground. Bobby tried punching at the face above him, but Addison grabbed his wrists. His grip was too tight to pull free, so tight that Bobby yelled from the pain. Addison stared down at him.
Bobby’s anger turned to fear. “Let go, Addison! Really, it hurts!”
Addison didn’t budge.
Bobby tried to think. “I need to help Mbaiso. You might have killed him.”
Addison’s faced changed a little, into what might have been a smile. “Killed doesn’t mean anything anymore. You know that.”
“You smashed him—hard.”
“He made me mad. Now you’re making me mad. The mbolop isn’t dead.”
Bobby turned his head to look at Mbaiso. “He looks dead.”
“The mbolop doesn’t die. I know, because Ahea knows.” Addison’s grip grew even tighter, and gray veins appeared through the skin of his forehead. “The other airplane, Bobby—remember, or I’ll make you!”
Bobby tried to turn onto his side so he could push himself up. But it was no use. “Okay, will you let me up if I try? I want to help Mbaiso.”
Addison was silent, waiting.
Bobby squeezed his eyes shut. And then he was back in the plane again. Mr. Darnell was talking to them. “That’ll give you guys a chance to get it straight,” he said. Bobby smiled at this and stared out the window. And then his vision started to blur. There was something there. For a moment he saw only shapes and surfaces. Then the other plane moved away. He saw the wing, and windows in a row, with shapes beyond them. And then the plane was gone.
Bobby couldn’t remember anything more. It had happened too fast. He opened his eyes. “I saw the plane, Addison. People were on it. That’s all I remember. Now let me up.”
Addison’s face changed. At first Bobby thought he was going to laugh. But the grin grew larger, until it looked like his cheeks might split open. Addison’s breathing was wet and loud, and his tightened mouth trembled. Bobby pushed against him, trying to back away, but the ground held him in place.
“Nu khén-telo! Gekhené pesua im-le!” Addison’s voice was shrill. “I’ll make you remember!” Addison let go of his wrists and grabbed Bobby’s face. He yanked Bobby’s head from the ground until it was inches from his own.33
Bobby struggled. He struck Addison’s face, but Addison didn’t even flinch. Finally he stopped fighting. “Okay, I’m trying!” He could feel Addison’s wet breath, and he held his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see him. He tried slowing the memory down.
He was on the plane. His vision faded, and he saw the shapes. The other plane was so close that he could have touched it if he could have reached through the window. Bobby slowed the memory down, almost to a stop. The plane slowly moved away—the windows on the side—the shapes beyond them. The shapes were dark, except for the last one, near the rear of the plane. The shape was a person’s head. It was lighter than the others because it was turned to the window, looking out. The face seemed familiar.
Bobby paused the memory and strained for more detail. Suddenly he recognized the face. There was no mistaking it. It was Addison, looking back at him with wide eyes.
Bobby snapped his eyes open. “What the hell? What the hell Addison?”
“What did you see?”
“There was someone on the other airplane. He looked like you.”
Addison let go of Bobby and rolled off to the side. Bobby jumped to his feet, but all he could think about now was what he’d seen. “How the hell could you be on two planes at once?”
Addison rose to his feet. “I am going to the Lamotelokhai. You should too.”
Bobby watched him go until Addison’s form was lost in the trees. He rubbed his ears where Addison had held him. He knelt by Mbaiso, afraid he might find spilled intestines. But Mbaiso was in one piece. Bobby rolled him over. “Oh shit. You poor guy.”
Mbaiso’s face was the wrong shape. It was flat on one side, and the eye was popped most of the way out of its socket. Tears welled up in Bobby’s eyes, blurring Mbaiso’s shape even more. He put his hand on the kangaroo’s chest to feel for signs of life. Something inside moved. Bobby jerked his hand away, and then put it back. There was something. Not breathing, exactly, but solid things moving inside. As he stared, Mbaiso’s head changed. The flattened side slowly took shape again, and the popped eye pulled back into its socket. Bobby rolled back on his heels, watching in wonder as Mbaiso put himself back together.
After what seemed like an hour, Mbaiso’s chest began to rise and fall.
“I knew you could do it!” Bobby said aloud.
Mbaiso’s whole body stretched, like a cat waking from a nap. His head turned Bobby’s way, his brown eyes bright with life. He rolled to his haunches and sat there as if nothing had happened. The tiny forehands began to make signs in the air.
Visions appeared to Bobby: Papuan faces that he didn’t know, the Lamotelokhai in its tree, men running through the forest, disturbing scenes of men fighting—fighting to the death. Bobby closed his eyes, but the scenes were in his mind, and he couldn’t hide from them. The visions kept coming. There was a Papuan man walking in the forest. The man changed and became Addison. Addison walked, looking into the trees, searching for something. Other Papuan’s appeared. They carried heavy clubs. Without any warning they attacked Addison. They beat him, knocking him to the ground. They kept beating him, even when he was clearly dead. They didn’t stop. The beating went on and on. The clubs smashed Addison’s body until there was nothing left but a pulverized mix of leaves, soil, and blood on the ground.
Finally, the vision ended. Bobby stood there, shaken, in the middle of a dark forest full of perils he did not understand. He realized he was crying. “Why did you show me that?”
Mbaiso signed again, and one more vision appeared. As Bobby watched, a lump rose in his throat, one he could not swallow.
He saw the gory soil where Addison’s body was pulverized. But it was not Papuan men standing over it. It was Bobby. And in his hand was a club, stained red.
Thirteen
Samuel stopped at the base of a large sago palm. “Perhaps, Quentin, you would care to see my own contributions to the welfare of my indigene hosts. I have not, after all, been idle for all these years.”
Quentin said that he was interested, but he should return to Lindsey and the kids.
Samuel shrugged this off and pointed to the tree. “The sago palm provides sago paste, a staple food for the indigenes. To add to their worth, the fallen trunks of dead sago palms provide food and shelter for another important source of nourishment, the larva of Rhynchophorus, the Capricorn beetle. I have discovered that a simple combination of these two foods serves as nourishment of the most remarkable quality. You have eaten khosül yourself.”
“You showed them how to mix sago paste and grubs. That’s your contribution?”
There was
some frustration in Samuel’s frown. “Allow me to continue. Because Capricorn beetle larvae were difficult to gather, this food was limited. Collecting the larvae required perseverance, with comparatively small return for months of preparations and many hours of labor. Through my study of the Lamotelokhai, I was able to perfect an efficient system of cultivating Capricorn beetle larvae. And as well, I increased production by breeding more superlative individuals.”
Quentin was curious. “More superlative?”
“Allow me to show you.” Samuel placed his hands on the massive trunk and moved them over the overlapping palm fronds that covered it, feeling for something. “Ah!” he said. He pressed against the surface, and it split open as he forced his way into a hole that was slightly larger than his hand. His arm disappeared into the trunk to the elbow. “Ah!” he said again.
Samuel pulled his arm out. He held a large squirming creature. After a moment trying to comprehend what he was looking at, Quentin exhaled with surprise and disgust. It was a sago grub. But it was enormous. The gleaming black head was easily as big around as his thumb. The writhing white body was like a fat banana. As it squirmed, veins and organs shifted beneath the translucent skin. Samuel held it out to him, but Quentin made no move to take it.
“It is quite harmless, I assure you,” Samuel said.
Quentin was content to observe without holding it. “Okay, I’m impressed. How did you make that? Selective breeding?”
Samuel smiled. “I had some help from the Lamotelokhai.”
Quentin cautiously poked at the larva. “The object we’ve seen in our dreams made these?”
“In a manner of speaking. But under my direction.” Samuel felt the tree again and found another spot where the bark seemed paper-thin. He pressed, forcing the bark inward, but not far enough to break it. “You see, here is another. There may be a hundred in this tree alone. Capricorn beetle larvae naturally feed upon the pith of dead sago palms. I have persuaded them to feed upon living sago trees. Likewise, I have persuaded the sago trees to provide sustenance for them, as well as a safe refuge in which they may live.” He pointed to the gaping hole where he’d found the oversized grub. “If a hollow such as this one is left open, a female beetle will soon lay her eggs inside. The tree will then grow a protective covering over the hollow, leaving it practically invisible to hungry intruders. In time, the larvae grow as large as this one.”
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