Part 12 (1/2)

Does it ever not rain? Ike wondered.

He realized he was not alone when he heard Nessa clear her throat. She stood only a few feet away. Her face looked blue in the dim light.

”Can I help you with something?” Ike asked.

Nessa nodded and stepped forward. Ike could feel the lesson coming.

”I think you might be a little confused about your role here.” Nessa stepped close, speaking in low tones. Their difference in height forced her to look up at him.

”My role? And what's that?” Ike asked, not hiding his amus.e.m.e.nt.

She locked her brown eyes on his. The sudden connection took Ike by surprise. He was not used to her staring him down. If this was a contest of wills, she would lose to a hardened soldier.

”Yes. You work for Delani. You do not work for H. Hurley.”

”You're right about that.”

”You're here for our protection and nothing else.”

Ike felt her body heating the air around him. The winds were distant and far away.

”You're not here to talk. We didn't hire you for your negotiation skills, understand?”

”I hear you. Shut up and look pretty, right?”

Nessa glanced away. ”Just know your role. That's all I'm asking.”

”Right,” he spat. He took a step closer, reveling that he towered over her. ”Was that all you needed?”

She shrank from him and slid her palm along the crook of her neck.

He gripped her side with his hand, leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. Her back stiffened. Her lips tasted sweet and sugary-like the plantains. They softened slightly under pressure. She didn't push him away but neither did she reciprocate.

As he was about to end it and apologize, her lips parted and she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. The tip of her ponytail brushed his fingers.

A small cough startled them. Nessa quickly wrested herself out of Ike's strong grip. She wiped her lips and fell back into her frosty pose. Gilles stood off to the side, an amused smile on his face.

”Mister Tabibu wishes to speak to you,” he told Nessa.

She nodded curtly and walked away. Ike followed her with his gaze until she disappeared into Marcel's hut.

”Do all BaMbuti use bows like that?” Sam asked.

She had begun the evening referring to Temba as a pygmy, but the young man had politely corrected her. She hadn't uttered the word ”pygmy” again.

He shook his head, rocking back in his chair as he picked up his bow. ”The proper way to hunt is with nets and spears,” he explained. ”But you need a lot of people to hunt that way. I am usually alone.”

Sam reached down, scratching her leg through her skirt. The numbness had turned to fierce itching, and the once taut skin was dry and scaly.

”You don't stay with your tribe at all?” Brandon asked.

Although speaking English left Raoul out of the loop, the Frenchman didn't seem to mind. He sat to the side humming quietly and sipping palm wine.

”I have too many friends to stay in one place,” he bragged, grinning widely.

Raindrops pattered on the roof, rolling off the s.h.i.+ngles and falling in long spears outside the windows. The wind felt good as it blew cool air into the house. The lamps flickered in the swirling breeze.

”How did you come here, into the forest?” Temba asked. ”Not many Americans walk through here.”

”It's sort of a long story,” Sam replied.

”Ah.”

”We were flying over in our plane-”

”A plane?”

”We were shot down by a militia, we think.”

His eyes widened.

”Actually, we were going to ask Raoul if he knew anyone who could help us fix it.”

”Raoul can, of course,” Temba exclaimed.

”He can?” Brandon asked in surprise.

”Yes,” he replied proudly. ”He can fix anything.”

”An airplane's a highly specialized piece of equipment. Are you sure?”

”If he cannot fix airplanes, then why would he keep a ru-?”

Raoul called out to Temba suddenly. ”Did I hear someone say 'militia'?”

”Oui, mon Francais,” he replied. ”Poor Sam and Brandon were shot at by a group of them near here.” He switched to English again. ”Do you think they followed you?”

Brandon shook his head. ”We don't think so. Even if they saw where the plane crashed down, we left the area so quickly that they couldn't have followed us. ”

Temba nodded and turned to Raoul, asking if he could fix the plane.

Raoul became hesitant. After much deliberation he said that he would have to see the damage to know for sure and, even then, the plane was probably in militia hands anyway.

”We would really like to try,” Sam insisted, ”if we can. It's our only way out of here, and we still haven't finished the survey.”

Raoul shook his head. Temba muttered in French, ”Frenchmen are even lazier than pygmies.”