[2016] Rubbing Stones Page 7

  “That’s my brother, Japera. Don’t pay much attention to him, he’s just moody. I can handle him.” She closed his fingers over the stones. “You might need them, might get charged by a rhino or something out there, never know.”

  “And these will help? Great.” He stuffed them in the pocket of his jacket. “Are you from here?” He immediately regretted the question. Maybe there were obvious differences in appearance, dress, or accent that he was naïve about and he had just revealed his provincial ignorance. It was embarrassing being new.

  “No, we’re from across the border.” She nodded to her left. He looked out the window in the direction she had nodded.

  She laughed. “It’s a little further than across that street.”

  “I knew that,” he said a bit louder than he intended. He couldn’t understand why this strange girl was making him so nervous. Change the subject. “So, you’re going down the river, too?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I hear it’s a pretty wild river to raft. Should be great.”

  “I guess.”

  Michael could feel himself losing her attention. This was a rafting trip of a lifetime and she seemed pretty indifferent. So maybe rafting wasn’t her thing. They stood in silence and watched Jake bounce the hacky sack off various parts of his body.

  “He does it to practice his skills.” He might as well try again. “Thinks it’ll improve his soccer game.”

  “Looks like it might work.” She was studying Jake.

  “You play soccer. What position?” Then he realized his mistake. “I’m sorry, you call it football.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Although the game is played all over the world and known by one name, your country decided to change that name.”

  “We already had a game called football, we had to distinguish it.”

  “Of course, that’s right,” she said. “Isn’t that the game in which the players rarely touch the ball with their feet, they mostly use their hands to throw, pass, or run with it? I certainly can see why they call it football.”

  He watched her face light up as she spoke—she was having an awfully good time at his expense. She reached up to toss a wandering strand of hair back over her shoulder.

  “And, I’m a striker.”

  “Figures.”

  She glared at him. She really was beautiful.

  They watched Jake play the hacky sack in a repetitive circuit: right foot, left knee, catch, and start over. Kito and Thabani moved back toward the group.

  “The other man’s a senator,” Kito said.

  Michael smiled to himself at the promotion—state legislature probably didn’t translate well.

  Just then Jake lost control of the hacky sack and it came bounding toward Katura. She caught it like a pro, moving the small bag back and forth between various body parts before she finally glanced up at Michael. She bounced it off her right knee toward him. He caught it out of the air with his hand and held it, looking at her. He finally had her attention back.

  “We’re rafting down the Lower Zambezi ourselves. We’ll be back in about a week. But when we’re back here, we have a few days with no agenda. At least, so far.” He glanced over at his mother. “Maybe we can find some locals for a pick-up game.”

  She looked him up and down. “Are you any good?”

  “Good enough. And my brother Jake is an awesome mid-fielder.”

  “I’m not sure what my plans are.” She glanced over at her brother for a moment, then pointed out a nearby window. “Look, there’s a school with a field four blocks in that direction, there’s likely to be kids playing after class. If I’m still around, maybe we can find a game.” She tied her hair back with a scrunchie she pulled from her pocket. “No promises, but if I’m around, I’ll be there in the afternoon.” She turned and casually waved goodbye.

  Jake leaned over to Michael. “Caitlin’ll love to hear about this.”

  Kito and Thabani seemed to be wrapping up their brief conversation. The adults were eager to get to the hotel, and Kito signaled for the group to follow him out the large glass doors to the van parked outside. Jane called for Michael to grab the luggage, but he stood there a moment and watched Katura join her brother. There was something about this girl that he couldn’t put his finger on. It felt weird— hoping against hope to see her again.

  CHAPTER 7

  Lorenzo maneuvered the van through the narrow streets of Vic Falls. It was a slow crawl until they reached the road that led out of town. He was then able to pick up some speed.

  “It’ll be about two hours before we drop into the gorge below Devil’s Cataract,” he said. “That’s a blind spot on the river we want to avoid.”

  “And the rest of the crew?” Rick asked. “Are they meeting us at the launch site?”

  “Baruti and Andrew will already be there. They set it all up early so we can grab a quick lunch and take off before noon.”

  Lorenzo hit the brakes as he rounded a curve and approached a back-up in traffic. Jane craned her neck to see around the cars in front of them. Their van slowed to a near stop. She saw a bus broken down in the middle of the road with the ubiquitous red cross painted on the side. The bus blocked the entire lane to the point that the oncoming cars could pass only by venturing into the opposing lane of traffic.

  The bus driver had jacked up the large vehicle, aided by several men who’d stopped to help, their cars now adding to the bottleneck. Jane stared out the window at the gaunt appearance of the numerous people sitting on the dirt shoulder of the road, fanning themselves in the heat. She took in a deep breath. There were mothers holding onto young children who looked wasted, cachectic.

  “Is this what the clinic will be like?” Jake was frozen in his seat.

  “We’re working with the men, building walls, putting up a roof. Mom’ll…” Michael’s voice faded. He continued to stare out the window.

  Jane’s eyes stung as she watched an emaciated woman huddle close to a small child with huge eyes. The woman was watching the cars creep by. She bounced another infant on her lap.

  “It’s unbearable,” Rick said to no one in particular. “Things need to change. More has to be done to help those mothers and children.”

  Paul turned to face him. “Does sympathy only go out to women and kids? What about that guy over there?” Paul gestured to a thin, middle-aged man who sat by himself on the dirt with his head slumped over. “He’s all alone, Rick. Isn’t that worse? Maybe he’s already watched his own family die, or maybe he became sick and undesirable before he was even able to enjoy the creation of a family at all.” Paul’s voice was getting louder. “Or maybe he was rejected and thrown out by his family at the first signs of illness. Don’t you realize, not all families stick together in sickness and in health?”

  “I stand corrected. I’m sorry, you’re right. That wasn’t fair of me.”

  “Fair?” He turned back to his window. “Right, fair.”

  Jane made eye contact with Rick and leaned over. “Sounds like you touched a nerve. I wonder what that’s about,” she whispered. They traveled the rest of the distance to the river in silence. She let out a soft sigh when she spotted a truck with River Expeditions painted in fluorescent colors on the side. They had reached their destination and she could finally get out of the van. A simple but adequate picnic was already laid out, and soup was steaming on a propane stove set up near the riverfront.

  “I was beginning to wonder about you guys,” called out a man with a broad smile. He wore a dark green version of Lorenzo’s blue shirt with logo.

  Lorenzo stopped in his tracks. He was staring past the large black man stirring soup. Jane followed his gaze to a tall, athletic-looking young woman.

  “Explain,” he said.

  The woman turned and pulled her shoulder length auburn hair back. She twisted it and fed the end through the hole in the back of a bright orange baseball cap.

  “Andrew’s sick, Lorenzo. 104 fever. Morgan couldn’t get hold of you or he’d ha
ve told you himself. I’m your safety.”

  “Morgan knows what I’m into here. He didn’t tell me because he’s chickensh—”

  The young woman glanced at Jane.

  Lorenzo shifted his weight. “You’ll guide, I’ll safety.” He threw off his backpack and walked down to the waterfront.

  The woman shrugged and let out a deep sigh.

  “Don’t take it personal, Shelly,” the man stirring the soup said. “The kids are young on this one and he’s right, Morgan should’ve told him.” He continued to stir. “You could’ve guessed he’d take safety—it took him a while to let Andrew into that spot too. It’ll come, just give him time.”

  They loaded the boats in silence. Lorenzo then gave a quick but thorough briefing about what to do if anyone got thrown from the raft.

  “Sometimes Shelly will bark out orders in very fast succession. Be ready and anticipate the changes, especially in the rapids.”

  Shelly reviewed the commands, which were a language all their own. She faced the new rafters throughout her spiel, smiled at the soup stirrer a few times but never once glanced at Lorenzo. She explained how the right and left side of the raft might be instructed to proceed with different strokes in order to accomplish a given move around a rock or turbulence. Other times it would be important for both sides to stroke hard and in unison in order not to change the angle of their approach.

  “I’m not sure you can expect their side to keep up.” Paul was grinning at Michael. “Looks to me like we’ve got all the strength on our side.”

  Tommy, who was sitting directly behind Paul, reached up high as they tapped knuckles. He then turned to Michael and nodded.

  “It’s not a competition, Michael,” Jake said.

  “That’s what losers say.” Tommy slapped Paul’s back. “Right, dad?”

  “I wouldn’t diss my brother.” Michael leaned over the side and dipped his bandana in the river. He tied it around his forehead allowing the cool water to drip down his face and neck.

  “That’s right. Jake’ll make up for us.” Rick turned and winked at Jake, then reached into the boat and grabbed his paddle.

  “Okay.” Paul nodded to Tommy to grab a paddle. “You’re on. We’ll race straight across this flat part and see which side dominates.”

  “Just make sure to keep clear of that rock on the left.” Shelly launched the craft and jumped into place on the back bench. “It’s got a bit of a tow on the other side. Everyone secure?”

  Jane felt Jake’s feet dig deeper under her seat—probably more for leverage than safety.

  “Go!” Shelly yelled.

  Jane grabbed her paddle tightly with both hands and focused on Rick’s board in front of her. The more coordinated her stroke, the more efficient their movement would be. Her paddle glided smoothly through the water, one stroke after the next. Jake seemed to be in perfect rhythm. There was something soothing, mesmerizing about the whole thing. She looked over at Michael as she moved her paddle through the water. He seemed so concentrated, so intent on staying coordinated with Paul, plunging each stroke in unison.

  The changes in Michael had been so gradual that she’d almost missed them. But now, on this river, she could see them clearly. His chest had gotten broader, his arms bulged when he forced the paddle through the water. But most striking was his profile. What had been round and soft had become chiseled, his jaw solid and square. Now concentrated on winning this race, he had a profile remarkably like his father’s. Soon he—

  “Keep your blade flat, Jane!” Rick yelled over the river noise. “You’re falling behind our rhythm.”

  She startled and tried to make up speed by powering faster through the water. It was impossible. The resistance was too much for her. Her grasp slipped momentarily and the paddle popped out, ejecting the blade high above the surface. The raft began to turn left.

  Rick yelled again. “We need to straighten it around! Get it back in and paddle hard.”

  “I’m trying.” The water began to feel like a wall.

  “Don’t go so high above the surface. Keep it low.”

  “I don’t mean to.” The only way she could keep up with his strokes was to allow her paddle to angle slightly under water—less propelling power, but she’d appear to keep up.

  “We’re turning, Jane. Paddle harder.”

  “I know.”

  “Come on, we’re going right into that rock.”

  “Rick!”

  Suddenly she felt a jolt. The raft abruptly turned to the right. Jane looked around and saw that Michael had planted his paddle perpendicular to the surface of the water, which caused resistance to forward movement and turned the raft. They missed the boulder that loomed a few feet from her left knee as they passed.

  “Now, straighten it out,” Shelly said. “Good job. You’ll all get the hang of it. No worries.”

  “What happened back there?” Michael whispered.

  His expression was quizzical. It hadn’t yet dawned on him that his strength had surpassed her. She knew he would notice soon enough. “I must have gotten distracted.”

  The next two days of rafting were more exhilarating than she could have imagined. Each day saw one or two of the kids dumped out into the water by the aggressive rapids, but they were quick to surface and Lorenzo immediately hoisted them back into place. Shelly was a stellar guide. She had them coordinating their strokes and responding to her commands in no time. When they finally pulled the raft onshore, Lorenzo approached the group.

  “Special treat today,” he said. “We came in early, still several hours of daylight. How about if we relieve you of all the duties of camp set-up and you take a trip to the market?” He turned and pointed to a small path on the far side of the beach. “It’s only about two hundred meters down that trail. Just be back before dark.”

  “We’re not much into shopping,” Paul said.

  “But dad—”

  “Tommy, we’ll help build camp then take a hike, just you and me—give these folks some time to themselves.”

  “What do you think you might want?” Michael stood over trinkets laid out neatly on a blanket in the dirt, organized into displays of musical instruments, carved animals, masks, and jewelry.

  “Maybe a drum, or a cheetah.” Jake leaned down to examine the small painted drums.

  “How about a mask?”

  Jake crinkled up his nose. Michael held up one darkly painted mask after another. They were at least two feet long, made of balsa wood with slits cut for the eyes, nose, and mouth, most of them painted in black and red with accents of white.

  “I’ll look around,” Michael said to the merchant as he approached. “Got to see them all first.” Jake had just picked up a small, carved animal when Michael grabbed his arm. “Let’s see what they have further back in the market, there’s lots of booths.” He looked over at his mother. “We’ll meet you in there.”

  “Stay together,” she said.

  Jake smiled apologetically at the merchant, then set down the painted lion on the blanket. They headed toward the more concentrated area of the market.

  Suddenly the merchant stood directly in front of them. He’d moved faster than they expected and blocked the boys’ path to the market entrance.

  Michael grabbed Jake and jumped back. The man’s stony face broke into a big, toothy smile.

  “I think you like this one?” He held an onyx elephant up to Jake. “Or this?” It was a carved giraffe. “Maybe you like music?” He held up a wooden flute as he moved closer to Jake, who stayed behind Michael. The man blew the flute loudly, backing the boys toward his goods.

  “Excuse me, mate. Mind if we get by you?” Two tall, gangly, sandy-haired young Australians walked up in khaki shorts and tattered T-shirts. Their olive green backpacks had water bottles on the sides. Sleeping bags were strapped to the bottom.

  As the merchant moved out of the backpackers’ way, Michael grabbed Jake and followed the young Aussies into the large market center.

  “Praye
r,” the toothy salesman yelled after them. “Remember my name, it’s Prayer. You look around, but when you buy, I give you best prices.”

  “Did he say Prayer?” Jake said.

  “Yeah, I read somewhere that when they translate their tribal names into English, they’re often names like ‘gift,’ or ‘joy’ or even boring stuff like ‘born on Tuesday’ or ‘eighth child.’ I saw one name that meant ‘destined to die after birth.’”

  “Ew, that’s gotta hurt,” Jake said. “Guess Prayer’s not so bad.” He turned back to take one last look at the man, who stared after them.

  The entire market was a large labyrinth of blankets on the ground spread with goods, organized by category. One shop’s area was not well differentiated from the next, and nearly all of them required stepping through very small dirt spaces to get to the items for sale toward the back. It was hard to tell which shopkeeper belonged to which sectioned-off area, as they stood around talking with each other until a potential customer showed up—then they’d surround the new arrival and thrust goods in their direction. The shops further back were more sturdy, open in the front, but they had three sides to them and a roof for shade. Articles were hanging from the top and sides for display.

  Michael and Jake wandered past several until they saw a stall showing a variety of items that caught their attention. Michael examined the various masks’ color, size, and shape but was reluctant to touch any of them. Picking up an item might imply a commitment he wasn’t ready to make. He eyed the wares with caution until he spotted a long string of small, colorful stones that led to a central giraffe carved from onyx. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the local currency Rick had given him for souvenirs.

  “A necklace?” Jake said. “How about that mask?” He pointed to one.

  Michael shrugged.

  “Which one are you getting?” His mom was looking at the dozens of masks hanging down from the walls of the stall.

  “I’m not sure.” Michael palmed the necklace out of his mother’s sight.