Bringing the Boy Home

by N. A. Nelson

“How long? How long do we have to wait?”

  “Seven sunsets,” my mother murmurs. “The person will die before seven sunsets.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TIRIO

  12 Years, 360 Days

  The United States

  “I’m going!” I yell to Sara, bolting out the door.

  “Tirio, wait.”

  “I’ll pack when I get home.” I shove a water bottle into my backpack and ride my bike out of the garage.

  Sara follows me outside, still in her pajamas and holding a bagel. “Where are you off to now?” she asks, taking a bite.

  I coast up and give her a kiss on the cheek, catching a whiff of the garlic cream cheese. “The zoo. I promise I’ll be back by three.”

  She pulls back and her eyes light up. “Really? Hold on, I’ll go with you. The weather is gorgeous and it’s been forever since I’ve been.”

  “No!”

  She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

  “I mean, Joey’s already going with me,” I quickly continue. “So…you probably shouldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…” I struggle for an excuse. I don’t want her to know that the real reason we’re going to the zoo is to train for my test. “He said he had to tell me something. About his dad. So he just might feel funny talking about it in front of you, that’s all.”

  She takes another bite of her bagel and chews on it for a while before nodding in agreement.

  “You’re right,” she says. “You guys should probably spend some time together before we leave.”

  A wave of guilt washes over me. She believed me so easily.

  “Have fun,” Sara says, turning toward the house. “Say hi to the clouded leopard for me.”

  I hop back on my bike and give her one last wave. She lifts her bagel in response and watches me take off. Sara’s cool for a mom—and I wish I could tell her the truth—but as laid-back as she is about some stuff, I can’t risk her trying to stop me.

  Shifting the gears as low as they’ll go, I jam down hard into the clips. Like a horse being spurred by a cowboy, the bike powers up the hill. I stand and pedal away from the house. My entire body screams into action—legs, lungs, heart, feet. I duck my chin to my chest and close my eyes, focusing on how my body is feeling: strong. I can do it. Two days alone in the jungle. My skills from the Amazon are coming back to me. My foot’s as good as it’s ever going to be.

  But a little voice keeps taunting me: Who do you think you are? Your paho decided seven years ago you weren’t strong enough to be a Takunami. Why do you think you are now?

  Clenching my jaw, I open my eyes and pedal harder uphill, as if showing my doubts exactly who I am. I reach the crest of the hill and, without even stopping, crouch back, hover over the bike seat, and speed toward the bottom. The doubts chase me. Are you crazy? You haven’t been in the jungle forever. Who are you kidding? I squint my eyes against the stinging wind and pedal faster. The passing houses become a solid blur, yet one tiny doubt still manages to keep up.

  I fishtail around the corner toward Joey’s house and skid to a stop in front of the Carters’ garage. Throwing my bike down, I race up the porch steps and pound on the door. Joey yells for me to come in. Gasping for breath, I shut the door behind me, slide my back down the wall, and collapse on the floor. The question slips in through the open window and rests in my lap. What if I die?

  Miami has a huge wildlife park where the animals roam freely; predator and prey are separated only by moats. After Joey agreed yesterday to help me prepare for this trip, my first thought had been the park.

  “The best thing to do,” I say as we now hop onto the monorail, “is to try to spot as many animals as possible. That’s what my maha had me do when I was a kid. I had to find and name birds, mammals, insects, reptiles, amphibians—anything. The goal was to see them before they saw you.”

  “Ant!” Joey screams, pointing to the ground whizzing by beneath us.

  I manage a laugh. I’m a little nervous that I won’t be able to do it like I used to.

  “Actually, I’ll leave the animal spotting up to you.” Joey unfolds the zoo map and places it on his lap, smoothing out the creases. “I’m much better at navigating. My dad taught me all about navigation when he used to fly the smaller planes.”

  I look at the map in his hand, with its neatly outlined borders and its cartoon animals, and realize how totally opposite this is from the wild jungle. “Maybe this was a dumb idea,” I say. “I mean, this is how my maha and I used to train, but it’s just not the same.”

  “You’ll do great, Tirio.” Joey elbows me as the train takes off. “I know you will. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  I watch him study the map intently. He’s so confident right now, so sure of himself—and of me. I imagine what his face is going to look like when his parents tell him about the divorce. It’s going to be a total knockout sucker punch. He’s going to be shocked.

  “Right.” I nod, anxious to get started, to prove to both of us that he’s right.

  We approach the Asian exhibits. “Showtime.”

  From past experience, I know the first ride of the day is always the one with the most sightings. Even the shy animals are willing to stay out before it gets too hot.

  “Malayan sun bear. Anoa. Banteng. Muntjac.” I identify the animals.

  Joey looks impressed. “How do you know all that?”

  “Sara and I used to come here every week,” I explain, feeling more confident now. “She thought it would help make me less homesick for the jungle.”

  I smile and crane my neck as we move on toward the African exhibits. That was strange. I didn’t see the clouded leopard.

  The clouded leopard has always been my favorite animal at the zoo. Every time Sara and I came, I refused to leave until I’d spotted him. He was one of the hardest ones to see, and if I could catch sight of him, I still felt the Takunami hunter alive in me. Where was he?

  At the end of the first half-hour loop, Joey and I crawl over each other to switch sides. Now that I’ve spotted the animals on the left, it’s time to check out the ones on the right. Joey holds up the map he’s been using to keep track of the animals I’ve found. There’s a check mark by more than half of them.

  “No wonder you always won at hide-and-seek.” He snorts. “You had an unfair advantage.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser.” I grin. “You were just never a very good hider.”

  The train takes off and Joey relaxes back into the bench. The lions are now panting with half-closed eyes, and some of the smaller monitor lizards have positioned themselves within misting distance of the waterfall. I spot a family of gray koalas munching leaves in a eucalyptus tree, a huge komodo dragon retreating into his cave, and a Cape hunting dog squeezing into the disappearing shadow of a boulder. I squint my eyes and scan up and down the tall trees—the clouded leopard’s favorite spot. I see the bright green of the leaves and the brown of branches, but no sign of any gold and black spotted fur. I do a quick search of the other trees; no luck. An uneasy feeling settles over me.

  By the third loop, the visitor line is longer, and I know this will be our last run. “What animals are left?” I ask Joey as the train departs.

  He names eight animals, including the clouded leopard.

  I quickly explain that I’ve never left the zoo without seeing that cat and ask Joey to help me look.

  “It’s awfully hot,” Joey says, folding up the map and using it to fan himself. “Maybe he’s hiding out inside one of the caves.”

  I point out a jabiru stork flapping its wings in the top branches of an oak tree and Joey opens his map to check it off.

  Shielding my eyes, I twist around until I can’t see the Asian exhibits anymore. “I don’t like this, Joe,” I whisper.

  Suddenly a girl behind us screams. “Look! Over in Monkey Meadow!”

  Joey and I jerk our heads around.

  “Oh my God,” Joey whispers. “Is that what you were looking for?”


  Yes. The clouded leopard.

  Crouched beneath one of the trees, the small, beautiful cat watches the passing train with wary eyes. He doesn’t try to hide or run. He just stares. The brown lifeless body of a baby monkey hangs from his jaws.

  The apes are screeching in a million different pitches, the conductor yells into her walkie-talkie, and someone’s cell phone starts ringing Beethoven’s Fifth, but the sounds fade to silence as the clouded leopard and I lock eyes.

  Another sign. No—a warning.

  Look for danger when you least expect it. You are never safe.

  LUKA

  12 Years, 361 Sunrises

  The Amazon

  “You are kidding.” I hear Karara scoff. “I will not wear that thing.”

  “I am not kidding, and you will wear it,”

  Maha replies. “Ask someone else.”

  “No one else wants to help.”

  “Hmmmmph, are you surprised?”

  Smack! I hear a sharp intake of breath from Karara and then silence.

  Dropping the wood I’m carrying, I start toward our hut.

  “Luka’s sense of smell needs to be tested, and we all must help,” Maha continues. “You have caused enough trouble. If you want to enjoy life after his test, then you have to make some sacrifices. Skulking around talking to boys and braiding your hair is not doing Luka any good. I don’t care who or what you think you are; you must do your part. Now put this on and meet me outside.”

  Maha’s footsteps approach the door and I rush back to the dropped wood. As I lean over, I hear her hiss, “And don’t even think about running to your father. This is the last thing he needs.”

  Crouched down with the wood in my arms, I freeze.

  What? What? I must have misunderstood. Karara knows who Paho is? How? For how long? Slowly I stand. Sucking in my cheeks, I pick up the rest of the wood and carry it to the pile. The pieces slam against each other with satisfying clunks as I stack them.

  “Luka?” My mother’s voice sounds surprised. “I thought you were at the river.”

  “I was, but I decided to bring some wood back—so you’ll have it while I’m gone.” I head back toward the forest, away from her suspicious eyes.

  “Leave it,” she says. “The girls can do it later. It is time for your scent test.”

  I take a deep breath and turn.

  My mother, with eyes like the high-flying muwipa, watches me as I approach. I smile, and she seems satisfied that I didn’t hear anything. “Sulali!” she yells.

  Sulali comes bounding out of the woods, hooting like a monkey and dancing around.

  Tambo cowers beside me and eyes Sulali. She has two squirrel monkey skins wrapped around her neck, and a black-tipped tail peeks out of the back of her dress. One dead monkey is draped over her head, its mouth open in an eternal scream as the teeth anchor in her hair.

  I shake my head. “Maha, I don’t think this is such a good idea after what happened yesterday.”

  She ignores me. “Karara.”

  My older sister, her ponytail divided into eight separate braids, saunters out of our hut holding some capybara skins. A red welt the shape of a hand is rising on her cheek. The mark of a traitor.

  Refusing to look at us, she stands by the door, head held high.

  “Put them on,” my mother orders.

  “Later.” Karara’s voice does not waver, but when Sulali races over to take her hand, Karara clutches it.

  Neither woman speaks, and I am enjoying the silent battle until finally my mother continues. “In the past few days, Luka, we have tested your taste, hearing, and sight. Today, we will test your sense of smell. Sulali and Karara will be hiding in the forest. Your goal is to find them.”

  “Maha, after everything that happened yesterday with the Punhana, I really don’t want to do this.” She starts walking toward me. “Maybe if we—”

  Opening her hand, she throws something in my face.

  “Aaaarghhhh.” I claw at my burning eyes.

  “Do not worry,” she says. “The effects of the potion will only last for the rest of the morning; then your sight will return. Your vision will be blurry, but you will still be able to see shapes and movement. This is to ensure you only use your nose to find the girls.”

  Tears flood my eyes, trying to put out the fire burning them.

  “Karara?” Sulali whimpers.

  “He’s fine,” Karara says. “Let’s go.”

  Sulali’s hand brushes against my leg as my sisters head toward the woods. I feel Tambo creep away from beside me.

  “Tambo, stay!” Maha orders.

  Fighting my body’s natural instinct, I open my eyes and see the faint outline of my mother.

  “This could easily happen in the forest,” Maha says. “A sting from a ruyana wasp, a bite from a pino viper. You need to know how to get around without your eyesight. Follow the path until you reach the garden; begin looking there. I collected urine from the animals the hunters brought back yesterday and scattered a trail from both the squirrel monkey and the capybara. The smell should lead you to where each girl is hiding. When you have found them, call out their names and they will answer you. You must make your way home by yourself before the potion wears off.”

  “Maha, please don’t make me do this.” I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  She is silent and I begin to feel hopeful, but when she speaks her voice is strangely quiet. “Time is running out, Luka. Now go.”

  Using my fingers to hold open my reluctant eyes, I focus on the ground and stumble toward the garden.

  Time is running out. There was something in the way my mother said it, something I had never heard before.

  Fear.

  I stop. Maha is never scared—ever. I jump sideways as something skitters past me on the trail.

  Sinking to the ground, I feel my heart beginning to thud. She knows who is going to die. That is why she threw the potion into my eyes. Not so I couldn’t see my sisters, but so I couldn’t see the Punhana.

  It is me. My time is running out. I am the one who’s going to die within a week.

  As I sit there wondering what my family’s done to deserve this, my fear gradually turns to anger.

  It’s Karara’s fault. She has angered the forest spirits by finding out who our father is. Because of her curiosity, her stupid pride and bitterness, she has brought this bad luck to our family. It doesn’t take a shaman to figure out that I am going to be sacrificed as revenge for my sister’s act. I wipe my cheeks. Although most of the stinging is gone, my eyes continue to flood.

  Karara knows her place in the tribe, but apparently she’s above the rules. That’s why she doesn’t cut her hair, so she’ll stand out from all the other girls. She thinks she’s smarter and stronger than me because she knows our paho. Well, we’ll see about that. We’ll see just how strong you are, sister.

  Widening my eyes, I stand and march toward the garden, unconcerned about being bitten by anything poisonous. The only spider I have to worry about has eight braids instead of eight legs.

  The smell of fresh soil greets me at the garden and I immediately pick up the scent of the two urine trails, one a little sweeter and the other more acidic.

  Following the sweeter one, I head off to find my monkey sister. Maha wound the trail in circles that backtrack across each other, attempting to make the test difficult. The path is farther than I thought, and twice I step on something that hisses in protest. Another time, a low-hanging vine pokes me in the eye and when I jerk back, my head cracks against a tree.

  Clenching my fists, I growl and continue the hunt. A few steps later, the urine trail ends, and I peer up into the branches of the chukka palm—a favorite of the squirrel monkey.

  “Sulali?” I see the blurred movement of a body sliding down the tree, and a giggling Sulali hugs my knees.

  “Good job, Luka. Am I the first one?” She grabs my hand and leads me back to the path. “Do your eyes hurt? I’m glad you didn’t take too long. I was
trying to be very quiet and not move, but these skins are very itchy and—”

  “Sulali, you must go home now,” I interrupt. “I still have to find Karara. Follow the path back to the hut and wait for me there.”

  “Why don’t I just wait for you here in the garden? I don’t mind. Tambo followed you anyway; he can keep me company. Please, Luka. I won’t cause any trouble, I promise. Pleeeease.”

  “Just by staying here you will be causing trouble. You heard what Maha said; you must go back. Plus, I want her to know how quickly I found you,” I lie. “So run. You and Tambo race back and tell Maha how well I did.”

  “Ooooh, you’re right. That will cheer her up. I will run as fast as I can. C’mon, Tambo, you fatty, let’s go!” she shrieks, and takes off.

  I close my eyes and listen to her footsteps fade. A toucan flaps overhead and calls to its mate. A twig snaps to my left and my eyes flash open. I squint toward the sound, but see nothing and back away. I walk until I reach the coolness of shade, and with outreached hands I find the tree it belongs to. Sliding my back against the trunk, I sit and wait. The sun moves one foot length. Then two. My vision is returning and I know it’s time to head home. Walking past the bitter urine trail of the capybara, I enter the clearing of the garden and turn in a circle, waving. Good-bye, sister. Good-bye.

  I have no trouble finding my way back to the hut, and when Maha asks me where Karara is, I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “What? I found her soon after I found Sulali. She should have returned a long time ago.”

  “It’s almost dark. Where is she?” My mother purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “This is her way of getting out of chores. I told you she was lazy.”

  Maha seizes a torch and storms into the forest. I tiptoe after her, amazed how easy it is to function in the dark after having imperfect vision. Finally Karara will get what she deserves.

  Upon reaching the garden, Maha lifts the torch and peers back. I dart behind a tree. Finally, she shines the light into the forest in front of her. “Karara,” she whispers, narrowing her eyes. “Where are you? Get out here.”