The Leopard Tree

by Tim Merriman

  Daudi and Ramla led Masozi down to the little boathouse and they looked inside. There were long, narrow boats hanging from the ceiling. They sat on the dock and dangled their feet in the water, watching small fish come up to eat bugs in the waning light. In about half an hour, Lane called them back into the cabin and served them a creative casserole made up of canned goods Rosa had left in the cabin. They were all tired after the six-hour drive, but the silence that fell over the dinner table reflected the uncertainty they now faced.

  “I’m leaving you young’uns in a minute here,” Lane said abruptly as he finished cleaning up the dishes. “I’ve got to start heading back now that I’ve had a little rest. You sure you’re gonna be okay here by yourselves tonight?” He wasn’t sure when Rosa was coming, but hoped it would be soon.

  “We must thank you again, Mr. Lane. You have been very good to us. We have nothing to give in exchange but our thanks,” Daudi said.

  “Give me a hug, young’uns. That’s all I need. Good luck to you.” They hugged the man who had befriended them just two days earlier and he left before he changed his mind about telling them Rosa would be here soon. Lane checked the rear-view mirror as he pulled out of the driveway, and saw the kids waving from the porch. He was tempted to turn back and just spend one more night with them, but knew that Camp was also counting on him to return before morning chores had to be done the next day.

  The children watched the truck until it disappeared, then turned and settled silently into the porch swing. A lone mockingbird trilled a sunset song from a distance, joined by a chorus of frogs from the edge of the lake. The last of the light faded and the moon rose over the water.

  Masozi sighed. “There is music here,” he said simply. “I like it.”

  Daudi smiled and said, “Yes, but there may also be animals in the night. We should go inside.” Ramla’s glance darted around, but she could see no evidence of leopards or lions. Perhaps they were not common in Illinois, but since she wasn’t sure, she was more than eager to move inside with the boys. She headed to the kitchen for a glass of water and found an envelope on the table. She was almost certain it had not been there before they went outside, so she brought it to Daudi.

  “What is this, Ramla? Perhaps Mr. Lane left this by mistake. Or maybe it is for the cabin owner.”

  “What is it?” Masozi asked.

  Daudi took the envelope from Ramla and studied it.

  “I think it must be for us, Masozi. It is an envelope that says ‘For You Kids’ on the outside. Shall I open it now?”

  “Most certainly. For what are you waiting?”

  Daudi tore the envelope end and blew in it like he had seen Mamere do. He peered into the envelope and his eyes grew wide.

  “It is five American twenty dollar bills. Why did he do this? They gave us food in our packs. We have become rich. America is an amazing country,” he said with awe.

  “I think we should stay here for a while,” Masozi said. “It is quiet and comfortable, and we can rest for a few days.” Ramla looked at Daudi to see if he agreed, but knew immediately from his expression what the response would be.

  “I think we can only stay for tonight,” Daudi said. “We still have far to go and time is running out.” He looked away as he said this, unwilling to meet Ramla’s probing gaze. She had noted that he had been eating less and sleeping more. The nagging cough had grown worse over the last few days and she sensed that he was feeling much worse than he would admit. She knew that getting soaked in the back of the truck with the goats hadn’t been good for him, but didn’t know what to do. Masozi didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in Daudi’s voice. He stretched across the leather sofa like a housecat, completely at ease, dangling his artificial leg over the end.

  “Read to us, Daudi. We can decide whether to stay or go in the morning. Read.” Daudi made the clicking sound that Mamere would make when frustrated, but pulled the book from his pack and began to read where it fell open in his hands.

  “If we walk far enough,” said Dorothy, “we shall sometime come to some place, I am sure.” But day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before them but the yellow fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a bit.

  “We have surely lost our way,” he said, “and unless we find it in time to reach the Emerald City I shall never get my brains.”

  “Nor I my heart,” declared the Tin Woodman, “It seems to me I can scarcely wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a very long journey.”

  “You see,” said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, “I haven’t the courage to keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at all.”

  Then Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at her companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found that for the first time in his life he was too tired to chase a butterfly that flew past his head.

  Daudi slammed the book shut, startling Ramla and Masozi.

  “That is enough reading for tonight.” He was feeling as downhearted as Dorothy but didn’t want to admit to the others that he was wondering if they’d made a terrible mistake by coming on this journey. Ramla stared at him and Masozi realized that perhaps Daudi was more tired than he thought.

  “Okay. I am ready for sleep now anyway.” He busied himself for a few minutes removing his prosthetic leg and finding a sleeping spot on the sofa. Then he said, “Daudi, do you realize we have no Toto on this trip? We should have brought Ramla’s dog from the farm.”

  “What would we do with a dog?” Daudi’s chest hurt as he coughed and he longed for sleep. “I don’t think they allow dogs at the United Nations. I am sure of it. I saw a picture of New York City and there were no dogs.”

  “I am not saying we must get one. I am just saying it would be good to have a Toto. Of course, we are all Toto, yes? After all, toto means small child in Swahili, does it not?” Masozi chuckled, trying to lighten Daudi’s response. “But you are our leader and we will keep to our plan. No dogs allowed.”

  “I am not the leader, Masozi. I am just a friend making suggestions. We are a team, the Kenya team to the United Nations,” Daudi said tiredly.

  “Yes, I think so. I thought we were just foolish children who took a ride on a jet plane. Now I think we are the Kenya Team. Remember what the Scarecrow said, ‘It is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one. It is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good wizard.’ We will get to Oz, Daudi. I know this.” He put his hand out to rest lightly on Daudi’s arm. Daudi wondered if Masozi had realized his inner doubts. He coughed and corrected his friend gently.

  “New York, Masozi.”

  “Oz, Daudi. Ramla says we are going to Oz. She is so rarely wrong.” He laughed, again trying to lighten the mood. “Do not be sure until we get there and see for ourselves.”

  They spent the night sprawled across the living room furniture without seeking out the bed. The next morning, sunlight sneaked through the windows and Daudi woke with a start. He looked at his friends still sleeping, thinking that it would be nice to stay and rest for a few days in this cozy cabin. But he worried about whether he was becoming too sick to continue the journey. He did not want to delay their departure any longer than necessary. If his illness was coming to take him, he felt he must try to finish what he had started first.

  Daudi walked without a sound through the cabin, studying the various items on display. He picked up a polished duck decoy and ran his fingers over the smooth wooden surface before setting it back into place. He fingered the texture of a mola wall hanging from Panama depicting the animals of the rain forest. He stood for a moment transfixed in front of a framed picture of charging African elephants made from banana leaves. Everywhere he looked, he found evidence of someone who travels, small treasures collected from around the world, displayed with loving attention. The effect was a comfortable space filled with memories and heart. He felt at home here and yet, there was something about these things that seemed disturbingly familiar. It was almost the smell of the place that remind
ed him of something or someone he couldn’t quite place. He continued his tour around the cabin, wondering who the owner could be, grateful for the unacknowledged assistance.

  * * *

  So much for getting there quickly, Rosa thought. I’d have done better flying after all. Oh well. She had spent almost the entire night trying to get a new car when the tow truck finally got her and the dead vehicle back to the rental facility. By the time she could get the help she needed, it was almost midnight. With a five and a half hour drive still ahead of her, she decided she had to get a few hours sleep, so she checked into the nearest hotel, set the alarm for four a.m. and sank into the bed. When the alarm buzzed her awake, she wasted no time. She showered, threw on clean clothes, checked out the hotel and was in the car headed down the highway, all within twenty minutes. She stopped at the first McDonald’s she spotted, wolfing down a breakfast burrito and large coffee. If she pushed the speed limit just a bit, she figured she could arrive at the cabin by nine-thirty. It would be wonderful to see the kids again and be able to reassure them. She felt responsible for putting the idea of this fool’s errand in their heads and for losing them at the airport. She could not fathom how they had gotten this far, other than through sheer will and determination, but she needed to make this right by helping them in any way she could.

  * * *

  Daudi wandered into the small kitchen and looked in the cupboards to find something for breakfast. He was not a cook but he knew how to open cans. He pulled a variety of canned goods from the shelf and opened all of them. He ate his fill of beans, peaches, pears, and grapefruit juice and poured the rest into separate bowls for Ramla and Masozi. He looked around for someplace to dispose of the empty cans, but couldn’t find a receptacle in plain sight. He looked under the kitchen sink and found a trash bag lining a bucket. As he stuffed the cans into the trash, he noticed a paper stuck to the pipes under the sink. He assumed the paper had somehow escaped the trash, so he pulled it off the pipes with the intention of returning it to the bucket, but he couldn’t help noticing the large print at the top. It said “A-1 Plumbing Work Order for Rosa Carson.” His mind reeled with the discovery. This was Rosa’s cabin. No wonder it felt familiar. But if she knew they were here, she may have called the police or immigration services. They may be on the way now. Daudi ran to the living room and shook Masozi and Ramla awake.

  “Get your clothes and packs. We must go. This is the home of Rosa Carson. She is coming to take us away. I am sure of it. The brothers did as she asked and delivered us to her. We cannot stay another moment,” Daudi insisted.

  “Daudi, are you sure?” Masozi pleaded. ”Must we go so soon? We have not even eaten breakfast.”

  “We will be in a car with people from the government very soon if we stay, Masozi. Trust me. There is food in the kitchen, but you must eat quickly and then we are going.”

  Daudi hurried them along and carefully put away all signs of their presence. He knew that the Witt brothers had probably let Rosa know they were in the cabin already, but he hoped she would think they hadn’t stayed.

  The three donned their small homemade packs and left the cabin through the back door. As they walked back to the main road, Ramla suddenly pushed the two boys into the thorn bushes that lined the long gravel drive.

  “What are you doing?” Daudi complained as his shirt caught on a thorn.“Daudi, do as Ramla says. Ramla knows where leopards wait,” Masozi continued.

  They settled down in the brush and waited silently. In less than a minute, a shiny new car bounced down the gravel road. As it went by, they saw Rosa Carson at the wheel, with a most determined look on her face. As soon as the car was past, they scrambled out of the bushes and ran to the main road. They turned eastward and kept walking, as fast as they could go. Within a mile, they had crested a great hill and could see across an extensive river valley. The day promised to be hot and humid, but in the early morning light, the valley sparkled through the heavy dew. It was a magnificent view.

  “It is a beautiful morning,” Masozi observed. “I smell another great water in the distance. Do you smell that, Daudi?”

  “Yes, I smell it. I can see the water in a river. If we are careful, we can get to it down this road, but the way is steep, Masozi. Can you make it?”

  “I am not the Scarecrow,” Masozi complained. “My leg is as strong as yours, maybe more so. I trust Ramla to guide me. I will not fall down and you will not need to carry me.” He laughed. “Our yellow brick road is feeling very much like the yellow rock road, but we will make it, I’m sure.” To prove his point, he started down the gravelly slope. Rolling her eyes at his foolishness, Ramla hurried to catch his arm to keep him safe as they descended into the valley.

  “You walk better than I, Masozi. I am wishing you could see this. It is very green and beautiful here with many trees, but we can see a very long way. From here, I can see the great highway and a railroad track beyond that in the valley. I think maybe we should walk to the train track and use that as our guide instead of the highway. It will be very tough walking, but no one will bother us, I think.” He looked to Ramla for reassurance and she smiled back at him as Masozi was already dragging her down the hill.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosa’s excitement grew as she exited onto Highway 185 and turned right onto the riding stable road and up the hill. When she turned left at the four-way to drive the lane down to lots along the lakefront, she could see her cabin in the distance and thought about what she would do now. She had to take charge and help them without making them feel she was taking over.

  The gravel lane down to the cabin crunched under her tires. It was a sound that spoke of home, always making her feel welcome here. She hoped the kids had felt the same way when they arrived. She parked and bounded to the front door only to find it locked. She dug for her key and opened the door, yelling, “Jambo! Welcome to my—.” With just one step into the dimmed light she knew they were not here. But the Witt brothers had assured her they had left the children here late yesterday. It seemed impossible, but they must not have stayed. She slumped on the leather sofa to think. Where would they go from here? And when did they leave? She looked around the cabin, but could find no evidence they had even stayed the night. Still, assuming that they had, maybe if she left right now she could spot them along the road. They couldn’t have gotten far. She closed up the cabin once more, jumped into the car, drove back to the intersection and then straight across the four-way stop, taking the shortest way to town under the shade of the large oaks that hung over the road. She drove down the hill a little faster than she should, grateful she wasn’t attempting the steeper slope the left-hand turn would have provided, known by the locals as Thrill Hill. It was an exciting drive and a beautiful view from there, but you could see for miles and she felt certain the children would have avoided such an open expanse and hard descent. She slowed the car and started looking into the trees on each side of the road, but saw no sign of the kids.

  When she reached a Y intersection with Highway 185, she stopped and thought again. They could go straight here to the Interstate 70 intersection. She drove as far as the intersection but they were not there. She turned left on Highway 40 to the Highway 51 intersection and then left and north on 51 toward the prison. If they had attempted Thrill Hill, they would be totally evident coming down the road. She was sure she could still catch them. Even if they hadn’t stayed overnight at the cabin, they couldn’t have gone far in the dark of night. She watched the road ahead with intensity, expecting to see them any moment. When she turned left at the prison to go back up toward the lake, completing the loop, the glare of the sun behind her put reflection on her windshield making the road ahead a glaring brown smear of gravel. She strained to see up the hill.

  In moments she was on the ascent and watching the fencerows on each side for anything that might look like a small child. Nothing. When she crested the hill she was back at the turn to her cabin, frustrated and out of ideas. She started to head back to the c
abin, but changed her mind in the intersection and drove to her niece’s house on the road to 185. She had missed them. She needed a friendly face and time to think.

  * * *

  Ramla saw the flash of a car at the base of the hill for just a second before it was obscured by a curve in the road. Without hesitation, she again shoved Masozi toward a ditch, the only escape from being visible, pulling Daudi in after them.

  “What are you doing now, Ramla? Can you see Miss Rosa’s car?”

  “Ramla has turned me into a snake, crawling down a hole.”

  “Just stay down, Masozi. She must see something, even though I have not.”

  They lay quietly in the ditch for five minutes and then Daudi said, “I’m getting up to look. I don’t think a car is approaching.”

  Masozi barked at him. “No, No! Daudi. I hear it. A car is coming toward us. Lie still.”

  Daudi slumped back into the dry ditch and waited. In moments, the crunching of tires on fine gravel began to carry up the hill toward them. The car creeped past and they hugged the bottom of the ditch until the sound was gone.

  “It is passed, Daudi. Take a look.”

  Daudi stood slowly and could see nothing but dust at the top of the hill where the vehicle had disappeared. He helped Ramla up and then Masozi. They continued down the hill and turned right on Highway 51, walking slowly up the gentle slope into Vandalia, ready to hide with every approaching car. Finally, they passed an old gas station and then a motel and they were again at Interstate 70.

  * * *

  Ramla led them quickly across the big highway and then to the left behind Jay’s Restaurant, avoiding cars and people as much as possible. The boys followed her into a quiet neighborhood and onto a trail through the surrounding woods. In a short distance, they came to a small pond fed by a pipe coming out of a stone wall.