Diffusion

by Stan C. Smith

  Bobby looked at Carlos, then back at Addison. “Huh? Kim-backy?”

  “Kembakhi,” Addison said again. He pointed to the pod. “Inside.”

  Bobby snapped the seedpod in two. From inside, a swarm of black ants rushed out and onto his hands. The ants were mad, and Bobby felt stinging bites. He flung the pod away and wiped his hands against his thighs. They both looked at Addison.

  “Kembakhi,” Addison said. Then he turned away.

  Eventually they reached a dirty-brown river. There was a footpath by the river, the first sign of human impact that Bobby had seen since the plane crash. Mrs. Darnell said she was tired and needed to sit down, so they decided to rest. Ashley said she was tired, too. The flies were really swarming and biting the two of them, but no one else.

  They all waded in to cool off. Samuel said they could drink the water, except for Ashley and Mrs. Darnell, because they might get sick. Mrs. Darnell grumbled something about the miracle medicine and just washed her face. Ashley drank some anyway. Bobby didn’t blame her. He was thirsty, and he drank a lot, even though it tasted like mud. Then he noticed Mr. Darnell trying to talk to Addison.

  “… and then we’ll get you out of here, and we’ll go home,” Mr. Darnell was saying.

  Addison looked at Mr. Darnell the way he’d looked at Bobby, like he didn’t really see him. “We can stay here,” he said.

  “Addison, we’re getting you home as soon as we can.”

  “We can stay here,” Addison repeated.

  Mr. Darnell looked around like he didn’t know what to do.

  Bobby spoke up. “Mr. Darnell, do you know what kim… backy is? Kimbacky?”

  “Kembakhi, did you say, young man?” It was Samuel. “The indigenes here speak that word. You have heard them speak it, no doubt?”

  “No. Addison said it. What does it mean?”

  “The word makes reference to Hymenoptera. Ants. Aggressive, biting ants, to put a sharp definition to it.”

  Bobby turned to Addison. “How did you know that?”

  Addison’s eyes looked through Bobby. “Kembakhi live in the lepun melun.”18

  “Young man,” Samuel said. “How can it be that you know words spoken by the indigenes if you have awakened in this place only today? Anggufa diabo?”19

  “Nu khomile-lé-dakhu khosü kha-lé,” Addison said. “But I’m better now. Khi-telo.”20

  Bobby’s skin turned cold. Addison had said the words without even slowing down, like he’d been talking that way all his life.

  “Do you know what he said?” Mr. Darnell asked Samuel.

  Samuel’s eyebrows were wrinkled, and this was the first time Bobby had seen him look completely baffled. “Very curious, indeed. He said, ‘I have died and have gone there.’”

  “Gone where?” Mr. Darnell asked. His voice had an edge of fear.

  “To the place of the dead.”

  Addison stopped speaking after that, so Bobby looked for something else to do while they rested. Mbaiso was drinking at the edge of the river, so Bobby and Carlos sat on the footpath, coaxing the kangaroo to come near them. Soon Ashley and Miranda joined them. Mbaiso approached their group, but then he climbed a tree to watch them from above.

  Ashley said what was already on Bobby’s mind. “Do you think we should be listening to this guy?” She waved a hand toward Samuel. “He seems like a nut job to me. What kind of British guy would want to live in this creepy, hotter-than-hell place?”

  Miranda had been quiet, but she spoke up. “If he’s taking us to the place in my dream, then I don’t think we need to be afraid.”

  Ashley said, “It was just a dream, Miranda.”

  “But we all had it,” Carlos said, like this proved Ashley was wrong.

  Bobby looked at Ashley. Her face was red, and flies were trying to get into her eyes. “Not all of us,” Bobby said. “Ashley didn’t get the medicine.”

  Ashley swiped at her face for the zillionth time. “If it gets rid of the damn bugs, I’ll take some. But I’m waiting to see if it’s turning you guys into monsters or something.” She pulled her hair over her face to keep the flies at bay.

  After a moment of silence she shoved her hair back. “I’m really starting to feel left out. You all have this dream, right? It’s at night and you can see the stars, and then you go—”

  Miranda interrupted, “It’s not really at night, Ash. It was like being in the stars, flying through space. For a long time, it seemed like.”

  “It’s the thing in the tree,” Bobby said. “It’s trying to tell us how it got here.”

  Ashley sneered. “You mean you think it’s an alien. Great.”

  Bobby paused, embarrassed. “In the dream there was something there—on the tree but not part of it. It was telling me not to be afraid.”

  Ashley said, “What if it just wants you to think that, so you’ll come closer?”

  No one answered.

  The forest grew dark again, and Quentin could scarcely believe this would only be their fourth night since the crash. They had suffered enough for a lifetime. And now, as they approached the Papuan village, led by an eccentric Englishman and a talking kangaroo, Quentin had no idea what awaited them. Getting straight answers from Samuel was like pulling teeth from a toad, and the Papuans had shown a fondness for jabbing their spears into people.

  Quentin had tried concocting escape plans, but they all had similar outcomes: they would either be killed for trying or they would succeed, only to find themselves lost in the remote rainforest. If it was twenty miles to the nearest airstrip, it might as well be a thousand.

  Lindsey walked the path in front of Quentin. She had become quiet. She stumbled on something, and Quentin grabbed her arm. He brushed away the mosquitoes biting her neck. With evening setting in, the flies were resting and the mosquitoes were taking over.

  Addison would hardly speak unless pressed to, and Quentin feared what might come out of his mouth next. Should he rejoice that Addison now seemed healthy, or agonize that the medicine he’d been given had somehow changed him forever? Addison could now speak a second language, something that would make most parents proud. But the language damn sure wasn’t French or Spanish. And most kids don’t learn a language while they are in a coma.

  Lindsey stumbled yet again, this time falling to her knees. Quentin helped her up. It appeared they were no longer on the footpath, and it was difficult to negotiate the vegetation in the growing darkness.

  Quentin called ahead, “Samuel, why aren’t we on the path?”

  Samuel turned to wait for them.

  “I need to rest,” Lindsey said. She settled onto the ground. The kids did the same.

  “As I have told you, Quentin, the indigenes value their privacy. Would it not be to their advantage to conceal the path near to the village itself?”

  “So how do they get plants to grow more on the most heavily used part of the path? Wait—don’t tell me. The same way they get animals to talk and airplanes to turn to dirt, right?”

  Lindsey said, “Maybe he’s not taking us to the village.”

  Samuel frowned. “My Papuan hosts are stewards of a most unusual phenomenon. In their low state of civilization, they are ill-equipped to understand it, but they value and guard it nonetheless. In all the years since I arrived here, there have been few allowed near their village. But you are to receive this privilege. I assure you, the village is our destination.”

  Quentin said, “There isn’t going to be an airstrip, is there? Or a radio?”

  “I am not acquainted with either, but I fear not.”

  Lindsey had been rubbing her ankles, but now she stopped. “Samuel, how long have you been here? Please give us a straight answer.”

  He sighed, as if giving in. “I was once an eager young student of natural history, with interminable wanderlust. As I resided in London, and frequented the proceedings of the Linnean and Royal Societies, I was fortunate to attend a reading by an esteemed natu
ralist, Mr. Wallace, whom I greatly admired, regarding his studies of the flora and fauna of this region. He was a student of the entire Malay Archipelago, as a matter of fact. His tales of the great island of New Guinea particularly seduced me. I persuaded him to give me advice, so that I might travel to this land to discover living things new to science. In his time here, Mr. Wallace only explored the northern coasts. This determined me to forge inland, to collect species new even to Mr. Wallace’s substantial collection.”

  Quentin held up his hand. “Wait. It sounds like you’re talking about Alfred Wallace.”

  “Ah,” Samuel said. “I am pleased that you know of him. A great man of science, surely worthy of such recognition. Upon Mr. Wallace’s counsel I assembled supplies and funds for my own journey. Unfortunately, my resources were—”

  Quentin interrupted again. “Alfred Wallace is long dead. He lived back in the eighteen hundreds. When Charles Darwin lived.”

  “Mr. Darwin was also an esteemed naturalist. But I hadn’t the occasion to meet him.”

  Quentin stared. “That was over a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Lift your shirt, Quentin,” Samuel said. “Examine your wounds there.”

  Quentin felt his chest. There was no pain. The wounds were healed.

  “Examine your own son, Quentin, and your students who have reaped the benefits of our medicine. Do you find it so difficult to believe?”

  Quentin sank to the ground, overwhelmed. He held his head in his hands.

  A voice came from behind him. “We’re there now, father.”

  Quentin turned. “What did you say?” Addison had always called him dad.

  “We’re there now. Khosükhop, khaim.” Addison pointed up.21

  “He is correct,” Samuel said. “We have arrived at the village.”

  Quentin turned. Around them was forest, no different than everywhere else.

  “As your son attempted to tell you, the village is there.” Samuel pointed up.

  Quentin looked. He could see only dark foliage.

  “There, Quentin!” Lindsey pointed and he followed her finger—still only darkness. In fact, the place where she pointed was especially dark, with no gaps where the sky peeked through. He looked around and saw another spot that was too dark, and then another. The Papuans’ village was far above them, hidden in the rainforest canopy.

  Quentin turned back to Samuel. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The kids became very quiet as they followed Samuel. Quentin tried estimating the height of the tree houses, but the darkness made it difficult. He sensed a slight rustle from the trees above. Something was moving up there. If these were indeed huts, the people in them were keeping to themselves.

  He poked Samuel and whispered, “Do they know we’re here?”

  “Your excessive noise long ago declared our approach. They are a deliberate people, and there is little they do not observe. You will also find them exceedingly shy. Do not anticipate a welcoming party. You have been allowed to come here, but most assuredly not for a social visit. That concept is unknown to them. You may not see the women at all. Even I am not certain I have seen all of their women, and you are now privy to the duration of my stay here.”

  “Privy to your claims, anyway,” Quentin mumbled.

  Samuel turned. “As I’ve said, Quentin, my hosts are aware of your presence. Whispering is without warrant.”

  “If they won’t show themselves or talk to us, why are we here?”

  “You ask too much of me, sir. As a visitor, I am not told all things.” Samuel stopped, resting one hand on a massive buttressed tree. “We have arrived.”

  Quentin had hoped the hut prepared for them was actually touching the ground. Almost afraid to look, he gazed upward. If there was a tree house there, it could have been ten meters above them or fifty.

  “We don’t have to go up there, do we?” Miranda said.

  “Sinanie has returned before us to prepare this hut,” Samuel said. “I trust you will find it adequate.” Samuel clicked his tongue repeatedly.

  There was movement in the foliage above. Something swooshed by Quentin’s ear, and he ducked involuntarily.

  “There we are.” Samuel reached for a rope that had evidently been dropped for them.

  “We have to climb that thing?” Lindsey’s voice had an edge.

  “It is quite safe, I assure you.”

  Quentin took the rope from Samuel. It was absurdly thin and light. Loops had been tied in it every half-meter or so, like rungs in a ladder. Quentin tugged at one of the loops, which were held open by rigid cross-weaving so hands and feet could grip them. The rungs were woven into the main rope rather than knotted on—an impressive piece of handiwork.

  Ashley said, “I guess there’s not going to be a shower up there, is there?”

  Samuel grabbed the rope ladder. “I will demonstrate. Please follow me when I call out. The yebun is sturdy, but it is unwise to burden it with more than one climber.” With that, he swiftly climbed up the rope until he became a murky gray shape above them.22

  Quentin held the end of the rope, feeling it jerk about as Samuel climbed. Finally the rope was still, and Samuel called down for the next climber to begin. Several of the kids immediately volunteered, but Quentin wouldn’t let them climb the rope without testing it himself. But he also didn’t want to leave Lindsey to climb on her own in her weakened state.

  “I’ll climb up first and make sure the tree house is safe. Then I’ll come back down and the rest of you can climb up.” No one argued with this.

  Climbing the rope ladder was harder than it looked. Whenever Quentin let his hands bear too little of his weight, his foot would push the rope away from his body, and he would end up dangling horizontally. But soon he found his rhythm and began making steady progress. It was difficult to judge the distance to the ghost-like faces watching him from below, and he was glad it was dark. Finally he approached a mass of foliage. But the rope passed through it, and he climbed even higher. “Samuel! Where are you?”

  “Just above you,” came the reply. But Samuel’s voice was still distant.

  Quentin could no longer see the ground. Suddenly the rope seemed ridiculously thin. One weak spot would send him falling to his death, perhaps even landing on Lindsey or one of the kids. His arms were now shaking, but still he kept climbing. Finally he entered another darkened mass of foliage, and there was Samuel’s face, like a pale beacon above.

  “You were lying,” Quentin puffed. “You were not just above me.”

  “One’s notion of height shifts while living among the trees. I intended no deceit.”

  Quentin climbed through a black opening, and Samuel helped him step from the ladder to a solid surface. He sensed that he was in a room, but it was very dark. The air was extremely humid and smelled faintly of wood smoke. Quentin felt around him. Two walls of entwined fibers or vines joined to form a corner near the opening in the floor. The rest was black, empty space. He hopped up and down, testing the surface beneath his feet. The walls of the room rustled from the movement, and the floor bounced like a stiff trampoline.

  “These huts are remarkable achievements of structural design and of cultivation,” Samuel said. “They are quite safe.”

  “It’s the climb that worries me most. I don’t think—”

  At that moment a figure appeared in the opening.

  “Welcome, young Addison,” Samuel said.

  Addison climbed nimbly into the hut. “Hey n-até-o.”23

  Quentin was sure Addison had not started up the rope while he was still on it. He would have felt the weight. “Why didn’t you wait, like I asked you to?”

  Addison moved away into the darkness of the hut. “I can climb the yebun, my father.”

  Quentin gazed at his son for a moment then decided to begin his descent. Most difficult was finding the rungs with his feet, particularly with his cumbersome hiking shoes. It was no wonder the Papuans and Sam
uel went barefoot. Just before reaching the ground, he heard something. He paused. From above, the sound grew, like a soft ocean wave. It was raining. Perfect—as if this weren’t hard enough.

  Bobby climbed the ladder next and made it safely to the hut, followed by Carlos, and then Miranda. But in their weakened state, Ashley and Lindsey would need help. Maybe he could tie the end of the rope around their waists. But this wouldn’t stop them from falling.

  “Hey!” It was Bobby’s voice, from far above, almost drowned out by the rain. “We have a plan. Ashley, get on the rope and hold on.”

  Quentin realized what they wanted to do, and he wished he had stayed in the tree house to help. He ran the scenario through his head. There were five people up there, but Samuel was the only adult. How much help would the kids be?

  Ashley shoved her foot into the lowest rung, pulled herself up, and placed her other foot in the next rung. Then she was on her way up, rising at a surprising rate.

  As she receded into the gloom, she yelled, “If you guys drop me, you’re dead!”

  “Just hang on, Ash.” Miranda’s words were punctuated by the effort.

  Quentin held his breath, trying to transfer his own strength to the arms of his students. At last there was faint laughter from the tree house, and Quentin sighed forcefully.

  “Major Tom to ground control. It’s your turn, Mrs. D. Look out below!”

  The rope snapped the air beside them. Lindsey mounted the two lower rungs as Ashley had. Her face was pale even in the darkness, and Quentin sensed her trepidation.

  She said, “We’ll laugh about this someday, right?”

  Quentin forced a smile. “The time Lindsey was at the end of her rope.” He turned to the canopy and shouted, “Ground control, ready! Guys, please don’t drop my wife.”

  Lindsey whispered something unintelligible as she rose into the darkness.

  Stars surrounded Quentin. He’d been here before, in another dream. The long aloneness returned. The stars passed by him, and he waited, knowing one would grow brighter. And there it was, distant but beckoning. As the star swelled, the planet appeared like a tiny blue sapphire. The sun grew and passed by him, and the blue planet filled his vision. Something about the planet was familiar, but not quite right. The continents were misshapen, and mostly desert brown. The planet drew nearer, engulfing him in its vastness.