Bringing the Boy Home (7 page)

The banging of pots from the camp kitchen harmonizes with the chirping of the crickets as we settle into the bamboo chairs on the porch. Like a show-stealing tenor, a howler monkey interrupts by huffing out a territorial warning.

“Just as Juan Diego promised,” I say.

We sit a little longer in silence until finally Sara starts talking. “There's something I need to discuss with you, Tirio.”

Her voice sounds serious and my heart speeds up. “Okay.”

“I was in your room yesterday, and I found something that you probably didn't want me to see.” She turns toward me, and the beam of her headlamp shines directly into my face.

I look down, not only to shield my eyes but also to hide my shock at what she just said. The letter. Oh my God, she found the letter I'd left in my backpack.

“I'm not even going to pretend to understand why you'd do this,” she continues. “Not only is it stupid, but it's dangerous and you could really hurt yourself.” She's still looking in my direction, and with the light beamed on me, I feel like a prisoner being interrogated.

“You don't understand, Sara,” I say quietly. “I have to do this.”

The howler monkey begins again, and it sounds like a jet engine taking off.

“Why?” She raises her voice, and I'm not sure if it's because she's angry or whether it's to be heard over him. Either way, she sounds mad. “To prove how tough you are? How macho? That's just stupid, Tirio. I mean,
honestly.” She finally looks away, and her beam lights up the makeshift soccer goal in the center yard.

Stupid? I feel the anger well up inside me. How dare she say that? “You have no idea what it's like to be me,” I say.

“You're right,” she agrees calmly. “I don't know what it's like to have a physical handicap. But I'll tell you one thing—if I did, and I worked as hard as you have to overcome it, I certainly wouldn't risk reinjuring myself by hiding the only thing that's keeping me healthy in an old pair of sneakers in my closet.”

The howler quiets, and I imagine his expression being as shocked as mine.

“What?” I ask.

“I found your orthotic in an old pair of cleats, Tirio.” She sighs. “Stuffed under two other boxes in your closet and looking like it hadn't been worn for quite a while—I'm just going to take a wild guess and say…since you took them off last season.”

I let out a short laugh and bury my head in my hands in relief. My orthotic. She hadn't been talking about the letter, she'd been talking about my orthotic. I keep chuckling.

“I'm glad you can find the humor in the situation, Tirio,” Sara says. “Because I don't.”

“No, no, you're right,” I agree, trying not to smile. “It's not funny at all. I just…I just…” I pause, not knowing how to continue. “I just can't imagine how bad those old cleats must have smelled when you took the lid off that box. I thought for sure that would be the perfect hiding place.”

Sara gives a small smile, and I know she's not really mad. “It was pretty noxious, I'll admit. Why aren't you wearing it, Tirio?”

“I'm trying to wean myself, Sara,” I answer truthfully. “I don't want to have to wear it for the rest of my life.”

“Why not? No one can see it. No one knows.”

I shrug. “I just want to be normal like everyone else.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You're never going to be just like everyone else, Tirio,” she says. “And that's a good thing. Believe me. Being normal is boring. And if there's one thing you aren't, it's boring.”

Sara holds out my orthotic. “Promise me you'll wear this from here on out,” she says.

I take it and nod.
As soon as I'm finished with my soche seche tente, I will, Sara,
I think.
I promise.

“I have a bad feeling you'll regret it if you don't.”

“Okay.”

She stands. “I think we should go to bed. We've got a
big day ahead of us tomorrow. You ready?”

The jungle chatters around me, the Takunami names quickly replacing the American ones. The potoo becomes a
qui-ra
; a bay owl, a
kwanho
; the blue-tailed bee-eater, a
tsu-fle
.

I stare out into the darkness of the rain forest for a second, repeating her question in my mind. “Yes,” I say, getting up. “I
am
ready.”

12 Years, 362 Sunrises
The Amazon

M
aha shakes me. “Get up.”

“Where's Karara?” I turn to look at her hammock. Empty. I couldn't fall asleep after we got home because I kept thinking about my sister in the jungle. Every noise I heard, I was sure was her, but I must have dozed off when she didn't come back by daybreak. “Is she outside?”

“She is not home.” My mother sweeps the floor. “She will be back when she gets hungry enough. Karara is a stubborn girl, but pride doesn't feed an empty stomach. Here, eat this, and then we will complete your last preparation test.” She hands me some dried fish and manioc bread.

“Maha, I think we should look for her. I'm worried she might be hurt or…” I look away, afraid to say my biggest fear.

“Don't be foolish. Eat your breakfast. I want to finish the test early so you have time to rest before seeing Tukkita this afternoon.”

I'd forgotten about my meeting with the shaman. Every boy must receive a blessing before the night of his soche seche tente—in case he doesn't come back. No matter how much a boy has prepared or how strong he is, evil spirits planted by enemy tribes will take a boy down just as easily as a jaguar.

“I heard a bird last night as we were leaving Karara,” I mumble with a mouthful of manioc. “What if it was the Punhana?”

Maha shoots me a look of disgust. “It is
your
life we are worried about, not your sister's. I am going to the river to wash. Wait for me here.”

I watch her leave and count to thirty. Peeking out the front door to make sure no one is around, I sprint past the men's rohacas and down the path toward the garden. I have to find my sister.

“Luka.” Behind me, my mother spits out my name like a bite of bad papaya. “Where are you going?”

I stop and turn. Maha is standing in the middle of the trail with one hand digging into her cocked hip and a woven basket in the other.

“I only hope you can follow directions from your father better than you do from me,” she says, walking up and placing the basket on the ground.

“I just…”

Untying her leather belt, she steps toward me. “Since you don't want to enjoy your morning meal, we'll begin your test now. You'll wear a blindfold for this one.”

The nagging feeling about the Punhana returns. Once more, I am being prevented from seeing.

“Today's test will rely on your sense of touch.” She tugs the leather evenly over my eyes. “You will be doing things with your hands only, things you may have to do in the dark, whether it is the darkness of the jungle or the darkness caused by blindness.” We walk farther down the trail. “Six steps in front of you there is a
kana-puta
tree. Climb it.”

Stretching out my arms, I take six steps and touch the smooth bark of a
stana-kila
. Wrong tree! I jerk my hands back, but it's too late. A swarm of ants races onto my bare skin, and within seconds I feel like I have been thrown into a thornbush. I dance around, pounding and rubbing them off, but like the tiny soldiers they are, they don't give up. They have a buddy system with the stana-kila tree. They live in its trunk, drinking the sweet water it produces and, in return, they protect the tree from intruders—in
this case, me. I fling off the last clinging ant. “Maha!”

“That was my fault; I pointed you in the wrong direction. Lesson learned: now you know what a stana-kila tree
feels
like as well as what it looks like.” She spins me around. “Just stretch out your arm and now you will feel the kana-puta. Climb.”

“Maha?”

“I'm not lying this time, Luka,” she reassures me. “Climb.”

I reach for the tree and jab it with my finger. It
is
a kana-puta this time. Hugging the smooth trunk with my arms and legs, I turn my feet outward and begin to climb. My big toe automatically pulls away from the rest of the foot as it clings to the bark.

“You are going too slowly, Luka. What if there was a peccary charging you? You have thirty counts. One, two, three…”

I push off with my legs and reach my arms up again.

“Six, seven, eight…”

I anchor myself and feel my way up the cool bark.

“Ten, eleven, twelve…”

“How high do I have to go?”

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…I will tell you when to stop. Faster!”

The branches of the kana-puta don't start until pretty high up, but I don't know how tall this tree is. “Am I near the top?”

“Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. You have ten body lengths to go. There you will feel a branch with a bunch of plantains hanging from it. Grab them and start down.”

I pause. Plantains? In a kana-puta? Is this another trick?

“I put them there,” she answers my unasked question. “Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

I speed up my shinny. Push, reach, push, reach. I grope above me for the branch—nothing.

“Twenty-nine, thirty.
Thirty
, Luka…
thirty
.”

Springing off my anchored feet, I feel my head crack as it bangs against a branch.

“Get the plantains.”

Grappling with the knot, I untie the fruit, hold the stem in my mouth, and carefully lower myself to the ground.

“Next time you must be faster,” Maha scolds.

I rub my scalp. “Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“No, I will lead you to the next part of the test.” Maha grabs my hand. Jerking me forward, Maha seems to speed up rather than slow down and gives an angry snort every time I stumble. Finally she stops. “Sit. In the jun
gle, you will need to sleep somewhere off the ground. In front of you are fronds from the wah-pu. Weave a hammock. Go.”

I gingerly reach forward, expecting something to bite me. Maha laughs.

I have been weaving since I could walk, so this should not be difficult, but it will take some time to weave a whole hammock. I arrange ten fronds side by side and begin overlapping them, every once in a while checking for holes. The
swish, swish, swish
of the brushing leaves lulls me into my thoughts.

Over, under, over, under.

Just like Karara braiding her hair.

Over, under, over, under.

She won't be doing that anymore.

Over, under, over, under.

Will she grow it long again?

Over, under, over, under.

Will Maha cut Sulali's hair?

Over, under, feel for holes.

Is Karara back?

Over, under, over, under.

What if she dies?

Over, under, over, under.

The spirits will be angry.

Over, under, over, under.

They probably already are.

Over, under, over, under.

They'll never let me complete my soche seche tente.

Stop.

Maybe I don't deserve to.

“Luka?” my mother asks.

“Maha, I think you can see I know what I'm doing. Do I really need to finish?”

She is silent. “You are right. It is almost noon and you still have one more test. The last part is perhaps the most dangerous, but I won't let anything bad happen to you.”

I stand and she grabs my elbow. We walk for a while until she shoves a narrow vine into my hand.

“Fifteen steps in front of us is the den of an agouti,” Maha whispers. “Except an agouti is not living there; a
wa-chu-chu
spider is.”

I take a step back, but she yanks me forward.

“Silly boy, I told you I would not let anything happen to you,” she hisses. “My future is also at stake here. Why would I be so stupid?”

“Maha, the bite from a wa-chu-chu is deadly.”

“You will not get bitten.” Her nails dig into my arm as she tightens her grip.

I step back again. “We have enough food; it is not necessary to kill one. Doing so will anger the Good Gods.”

“We are not going to kill it. You are just going to lure it out.” She stands behind me and with all her weight pushes me.

I stumble forward. “There has to be another way.”

“Stop talking and listen. If you get bitten, it will be your own fault,” she says. “As you know, the
ku-stuh
wasp lures the spider out by walking over its web. That is all you are going to do, lure it out. Once I see the spider fully, we will let it know who we are; it will retreat and we will leave.”

I have seen a wa-chu-chu devour a fer-de-lance by sucking it dry until there was nothing left but skin. I shudder in the midday heat.

“Now kneel, and I will guide the vine to the lair,” she murmurs. “The rest is up to you.”

I lower myself, and she directs my hand. At first I don't move. Takunami boys are taught to lure wa-chu-chus out of their lairs from a very young age, but it feels wrong attempting it without all five senses. Maha flicks my ear as a signal to begin.

I lift the vine off the ground and skip it across the silky web. I skip it back, my actions becoming those of
a struggling insect. Two more times across, and Maha pokes me. She sees it. I do too. I have done this so many times, even blindfolded I can visualize the spider peeking out.

Skip, skip, skip.

It cautiously creeps forward.

Skip, skip, skip.

A hairy leg probes for the intruder.

Skip, skip, skip.

Not easily fooled. The spider scurries back inside.

I begin again.

Skip, skip, skip.

Feeling threatened, it hisses and shoots out tiny hairs from its body. I jerk away.

Skip, skip, skip.

The vibrations are too much of a temptation. The hungry spider sneaks out again.

Skip, skip.
My “insect” is getting tired as I pretend to be caught in the web.

I feel weight on the vine and Maha yells. The spider jumps off and scuttles away deep below us.

“Very good.” Maha takes off the blindfold. “Don't you feel silly now for making such a fuss?
Mmpah
—let's go.”

I grin and stand. I didn't really think I could do it.
And now Maha is letting me walk home without the blindfold. Things are starting to look up. The birds sing around me and the howlers hoot their approval. The jungle is happy for me.

I follow Maha home, every once in a while closing my eyes to test myself some more. My stomach growls and my throat is dry, but I smile and wave the vine around like Sulali. I
am
ready.

As we enter the village, Tukkita pulls my mother aside and whispers something into her ear.

I chuckle. He is probably telling her where they are going to take me tonight.

My mother's eyes widen, roll back into her head, and she collapses.

“Maha!” I rush over. “Tukkita, what happened?”

“Not here,” he says.

We carry Maha to our hut and lay her down in her hammock. “It's Karara, isn't it?”

Tukkita stares out the open door with faraway, bloodshot eyes. He has been talking to the spirit world.

“Tukkita—please,” I plead with him.

“Someone has seen the Punhana,” he says.

My stomach drops. “Karara?”

“No, although she was there.” He sways back and forth.

“Who? Sulali? No, not Sulali!” I spin around, looking
for my younger sister.

“It was not Sulali.” Unable to stand any longer, Tukkita sinks onto the hammock next to Maha.

“Who?”

“Your paho.”

“What?”

“At midday, your father saw the Punhana.”

Paho? What about my soche seche tente?
Guilt washes over me. I just lost my father, and I am worried about a test?
I can't do it without him. He has to live at least three more days.

“How long does he have?”

“He is already gone, Luka.” The shaman searches the rafters, as though watching the spirit of my father float above us. “Soon after he saw the bird, your paho died.”