He dances in excitement. “How much money will I get?”
I keep it vague and describe it in terms he can relate to with his child’s imagination. This satisfies him.
All that’s left is to hide the boxes and do some investigating to see who lost them. I know for a fact our little man cannot be allowed to know where they’re hidden. He’d come back to them again and again, just to make sure they’re okay, so I give him an errand to perform that should take him out of the area and give Zed and me time to secure a concealed and safe spot.
Once he’s gone, we scout the area outside of our complex, find a place to bury the loot and then cover it adequately. The whole find-and-bury task takes little more than half an hour. Finished, we return to what we were doing before we were interrupted by news of the find.
“What were we doing?” Zed asks. “I forget.”
Before I can answer, I hear men’s voices and the sounds of machetes against bush and trees coming from where we walked back from the road. Both Zed and I turn, waiting for what is probably the inevitable—the owners of the boxes and the gun. Birds taking to the air demarcate their progress through the bush.
“I thought we covered our tracks well enough,” Zed says softly.
“Shit!” I exclaim when I see the first of the African men coming through the trees. He’s carrying an assault rifle over his shoulder. He’s dressed for the jungle, in his twenties, fit, and wearing shades. Then I see my little friend followed by two more African men carrying arms. One has the boy by the arm. Our little man looks unhappy.
“Mai Mai militia,” I guess.
“So much for sending him away,” Zed says ruefully. We wait passively for the four of them to come to us. The goods are probably stolen, tossed from a truck convoy and left for later retrieval. These men are here to claim their booty. This could be a disagreeable encounter. Neither Zed nor I am armed.
The four of them halt about ten feet from us. Our little friend starts to say something, but the man holding his arm yanks him to his side and tells him to be silent. This is definitely not going to go well. Then the smallest of the three, wiry and loose, steps forward, smiling as if we were all great friends. In Lingala, he says, “White Giant, so nice to make your acquaintance. Your little helper told us all about you, says you are good medicine, help many people, are friends of the African people and...” he laughs, “...are very tall.” He walks over to me, turns to his compatriots and asks, “What do you think? One head taller than me? Two head?”
“Brother, we could use a boy like him,” one of the men replies and grins.
“You want to join us, White Giant? We could do great things together.” He surveys the compound that surrounds us. “And this etèká looks like home for us, don’t you think?”
The other man shakes his head. “I see no women.”
The smaller man has the feel of a smiling viper waiting to strike. “We’ll get some from the village to the south. Yes, I think we could make a home here, a way station. They’ve already brought our goods here for us. This could be an excellent place to store our wealth. Our boy here could guard them for us. What do you say, White Giant?”
“Just take your boxes and leave us alone. We’ll be happy to take you to them,” I say, deadpan.
“Yes, that you will. We must ensure that they are unharmed.” His teeth gleam even bigger.
Not waiting for further discussion, Zed signals me to follow him. “This way,” he says to the men.
I turn and follow. Our path takes us through a mass of small guenon monkeys that scatter before us then follow discreetly on both sides. To our left, up ahead, I notice a hidden full-grown silverback sitting in the bush silently watching our progress. I see that Zed also notices the gorilla but says nothing. When we’re almost at the tiny clearing where we buried the boxes, I glimpse Sonnet through the shrubs, pale-skinned as ever, with velvety dark red hair, crouched down on the freshly dug earth. She’s staring up at us through long parted bangs. Her loose long-sleeved army fatigue jacket and pants that blend in with the shrubs behind her make her almost appear as a floating disembodied head. Crouched beside her is a man-size African leopard that stares intently at us.
When we’re about thirty feet from the leopard, the men catch sight of it and yell in immediate alarm. I halt and Zed comes to a stop slightly behind me. One of the men rushes to Zed’s side, raises his rifle and takes aim.
Zed yells, “No!” and tries to knock the gun away. Its barrel discharges about a foot from my ear. I wince and shut my eyes for a second. When I open them, I see Sonnet fall to the ground. A red spot blooms on her chest. The other man yells at the man who missed the leopard. He releases his hold on the boy and then turns his automatic on the leopard just as it leaps into the air towards us. The rifle fire is staccato and the leopard crumples lifelessly a few yards from our feet.
The smallest man, quick to size up the situation, pulls a pistol, yells something like, “Kill them all,” turns to the boy and shoots him in the head before either Zed or I can react.
Instantly, the bush around us comes alive with screeching guenon monkeys. Tearing through the undergrowth, they swarm up over the men, gouging and biting them everywhere.
I’m knocked aside by the charge of the massive silverback that Zed and I had seen watching us. It launches into the man nearest me, snaps his neck with a single blow and then attacks the remaining two who are busy fending off the monkeys. In moments, the three men are dead. It halts, surveys the damage and then grabs two men in one hand and one in the other. In a huff, it drags them off into the bush, never looking back. The monkeys that attacked vanish into the bush.
At the boxes, a second silverback emerges from the dense foliage, picks up a dead Sonnet and disappears into the landscape. Only the leopard, the men’s guns, and our poor young friend’s body remain.
My heart slows and I make eye contact with Zed who is shaking his head. “Son of a bitch!” he whispers then turns his attention to Boboto.
I follow his gaze. “Aaagh!” I cry in anger then follow it with a stream of epithets. I go to the boy and stand over his collapsed body. He’s lying bloody with eyes open and blank, mouth ajar, body unmoving. I exhale in miserable resignation. Kneeling down to him, I say, “You’ll be missed, my friend.”
“The Bangala Elongó, the people of the river together, miss him already. I’ll explain it to them,” Zed says. He looks at the blood on the ground from the three dead men and says, “That silverback unnerves me every time,” then adds, “I’ll get rid of these guns.”
This is not our first encounter with the death of our people, the Bangala Elongó, at the hands of marauders. Our actions from this point are boilerplate. Conceal all evidence of the event. Dispose of the criminals. Bury and mourn the Bangala Elongó dead.
Still upset from the quick turn of events, I lift the dead boy’s body up into my arms and hold back tears. “He deserves a marked grave. I’ll put him in the ground next to the others.”
“What if there are more Mai Mai back on the road waiting for these three?” Zed asks.
“Go avatar and see, Zed. Handle it, okay? Sonnet’s done for the day.”
He nods agreement, scoops up the rifles and then disappears into the dense bush in the same direction as the silverbacks.
I stare at the foliage where the second silverback disappeared with Sonnet and mumble to no one, “I’ll never get used to seeing her dead like that. I don’t care how many times I see it. It’s just too much like the real thing.”
I drop my gaze to the real death that I carry. I ache with sadness. “I’ll miss you, little man.” My eyes tear up and my gut clenches. “We’ll all miss you.”
Sonnet’s Legacy Chapter 2
By the time I arrive at the small plot of land where we bury our dead, I’m surprised to find some of the Bangala Elongó have already gathered there. But I shouldn’t be. The psychic link the Bangala Elongó have with each other and Zed and Sonnet is tight. When they sensed Boboto’s dea
th, it’s only logical that they would come here to wait for the arrival of his body. This is, after all, where all of their people are placed upon death. Boboto’s surrogate mother approaches me.
“My little Boboto,” she says in Lingala. She caresses his cheek and then touches the wound on his temple where the bullet entered. Her face melts into mourning and she begins to weep convulsively.
He came into her care only four months ago, but her attachment to him had grown daily until, within a week, she was treating him as if she birthed him. She was listless for six months previous to Boboto’s arrival, but her disposition improved after his appearance in the village. Her husband observed that she greeted each day with a new joy that he had not seen in a long time. He said the boy’s energy and youthful delight in all things made her appreciate the world around them. Boboto was surely the sunshine she needed to return to the flower she was when he and she first met.
Watching her grieve, I wonder if she’ll return to her previous funk.
Two inquisitive, bright-faced young girls bookend her. One gently caresses Boboto’s bare leg while the other slowly slides her finger along his forearm. Neither speaks, neither cries. The lifeless Boboto seems to be more of a curiosity to them. But as children of the Bangala Elongó, I know they feel the woman’s anguish. All of the Bangala Elongó feel her pain and loss.
I unhurriedly push past them and carry the little boy to a spot where past children have been buried. I gently lay him on the ground and fold his hands over his chest. One of the men hands me a shovel and indicates where I should start. Following his direction, I force the tool into the earth to make the first mark in the ground. While I empty my shovel to the side, two other men with shovels join me. In less than a half hour, we excavate an adequate hole and place the limp body within it.
The Bangala Elongó have gathered around and are led in prayer by one of the women. A man brings a bag of lye to the graveside, opens it and sprinkles its contents over the body. White lye dust wafts up from the hole and mixes with the air around us that is filled with the Bangala Elongó’s prayers for the boy. A village elder, the preacher for the village, comes forward, quiets the throng and then gives a eulogy. When he finishes, the two men and I proceed to fill the hole in. At the head of the hole, another man pounds a flat stake into the ground. On its face will be stenciled the name: Boboto. A simple marker for a small, but important life. Boboto’s surrogate mother and friends will come here to mourn and remember him in future days.
The preacher asks if anyone wants to come forward for a final word. Two boys and a woman step from the crowd and speak, recounting how Boboto had made them laugh in times past. Smiles appear in the crowd and a few giggles are heard. But when young Kitoko comes forth, silence settles over the group.
Kitoko, a preteen youngster, is the only Ndundu, or albino, in the village. Her family arrived here in desperation and fear. When she was four years old, a man broke into her home while she was sleeping, gagged her and then stuffed her into a bag to kidnap her. Her father awoke, and with the help of neighbors, beat the man and chased him away. The next day they were given an ultimatum by the local Mai Mai: surrender the girl or pay $10,000, or they would all be killed. Unwilling to give up his own blood, he and his wife fled to another town, but conditions were not much better. Kitoko was shunned and the family was treated like a disease. Once again, they fled and ended up in the Bangala Elongó’s village where they soon became one of the tribe and gained complete acceptance. No longer shunned, Kitoko blossomed and became a central figure in the community. Where the outside world viewed her as evil and bad luck, the Bangala Elongó treated her with deference and respect—as well they should, because she has become a beacon of light in all things relating to the powers of the Bangala Elongó. Knowing what I know of the distant future “Chosen” who are similar in psychic capacity, she could be considered Messiah class. Not to the extent that Sonnet is Messiah class, but a person whose abilities exceed others.
Kitoko holds her hand out, palm up, and in a moment a small black fork-tailed drongo alights there. She draws the bird to her lips and kisses its head lightly. Then she launches it up into the air. “He is one with the life force now. The life force we will all join one day,” she pronounces. She smiles, says, “He is in good company,” and names other villagers who have joined the life force.
Some of the Bangala Elongó cheer and clap their hands. She turns to Boboto’s surrogate mother and beckons her to come forward. The woman, still crying, steps from the crowd and shuffles slowly to stand before Kitoko. The girl takes the woman’s hand and extends it out, palm up just as she herself had done moments earlier. The woman’s crying ceases, her head tilts in question and she stands still. Kitoko moves away from her. Moments later, the same black fork-tailed drongo alights in the woman’s hand. The woman’s eyes open wide with surprise and then the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile.
“You must bring it to your lips to receive Boboto’s life force,” Kitoko says. Murmurs rise in the crowd and every eye is on the small bird as the woman brings her lips to its body. When she pulls away from it, it surprisingly nestles down into her palm instead of flying away.
“Boboto’s life force will now be with this woman as long as she lives. The bird will be her companion until it dies.” She motions for the woman’s husband to join them and then directs him to take her home to make a place in their house for the bird.
It is a joyous moment for the Bangala Elongó.
As the funerary party breaks up, I turn from the grave to return to the compound. I see Zed and Sonnet walking towards us, waving. I wait there by the grave, as does Kitoko who comes to my side and takes my hand in hers. “You never feel what we do, do you Mundélé Elombé?”
Unlike Zed and Sonnet, I have no psychic link to anyone. “Yet I feel, don’t I, Kitoko?”
She squeezes my hand in empathy. “Yes, and I’m sorry for your heartache, Mundélé Elombé. I know you and Boboto became quite attached. He spoke of you often, said he was going to be a great tall man like you when he grew to manhood.”
“He was tall in his own way already, wasn’t he? He made us all smile whenever we were around him.”
“Now his smile will endure with his adopted mother.”
“That was very nice, what you did back there with her. I’m sure her husband also appreciates it.”
“They are good people. They will draw strength from the Bangala Elongó. We all give to them.”
Zed stops short a few feet from us while Sonnet continues on to Kitoko and embraces her in greeting. After I inform them of what Kitoko did for Boboto’s mother, Sonnet kisses the top of Kitoko’s head.
“You made her whole, Kitoko. She’ll wear Boboto with pride and joy,” Sonnet tells her.
Kitoko smiles demurely and looks down, slightly embarrassed. Her pink eyes, with blue iris and deep red pupils, are barely visible.
Zed changes the topic and addresses me. “No more Mai Mai, but I did see another vehicle coming from the north driving slowly south, stopping every so often and then restarting towards us.”
“The owners of the boxes, you think?”
He shrugs in response.
“You should have left the boxes where you found them, Uncle Forbes,” Sonnet chides.
“Hindsight is a wonderful luxury I don’t allow myself, Sonnet. If you’re here to make me feel worse about Boboto’s death, I don’t think you can. I’ll be punishing myself for that decision for a long time.”
Her facial expression changes to one of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”
Not offended by the remark, I chalk it up to observation. “How’re you doing? Your avatar’s death is never a pleasant experience for you.”
She shrugs like Zed does—a fluid ripple of chest and shoulder, two of a kind. “No worse than what you go through. We all lose something every time.”
This is true. Over the past thirty-plus years, I’ve lost my share of whatever it is we
lose.
“What of the boxes? Do we dig them up and leave them out for their owners?” Sonnet asks.
“We could drag them to the edge of the compound and leave them there. The Bangala Elongó won’t be interested in them now. We certainly don’t need them. I suppose...”
But before I finish, Kitoko interrupts in Lingala. “A new child is coming. She will be different than us. She will pass through the compound shortly. We must be there to greet her.”
Kitoko’s ability to see the future always amazes me. It’s not so much that she is prescient, but she is in touch with others that even Sonnet and Zed are not aware of.
“Different?” Sonnet inquires.
“She will be like us and yet not of us. She will be different.”
So we are in for an anomaly of some sort. I wonder where this will lead. “She is human?” I ask.
Kitoko laughs. “What else would she be? One of your avatars? No, only the three of you go to extreme to make avatar. She is African like the rest of us, but she does not know what she is and does not know what she will become. She will be very different. We should return to your compound. She will come there soon. She is close.”
That’s all Kitoko tells us about the approaching child as we walk back to the compound. Before we enter the clearing, Betty, our resident friendly bonobo comes out of the bush, takes Kitoko’s hand and joins our party. A little over three feet tall and under seventy pounds, she is not too intimidating. She has a black face with red lips and a prominent tail tuft. Kitoko and Betty have become very attached in the recent years so her presence is no surprise.
As a bonobo, Betty is an endangered great ape. These animals have profound intelligence, emotional expression, and sensitivity. They are considered to be the closest living relatives to humankind, sharing more than 98% of our DNA. They are peaceful, matriarchal and egalitarian, a temperament that Kitoko admires.
In the distance, we hear the sound of a vehicle grinding gears and then it stops. There are no engine sounds. “Must be the SUVs I saw earlier. Probably stopping at the thieves’ vehicle still on the road.”
Aliens, Tequila & Us: The complete series Page 25
