Part 24 (1/2)
Bokenga stood over her, holding a large bowl. She hadn't heard his footsteps. Sam licked her dry lips when she saw him and sat up. The old man smiled as he knelt in front of her. When he set the bowl down, she saw to her dismay a small cloth floating in the water.
Bokenga lifted the dripping rag and squeezed it. He tucked the corner against his finger and stuck it toward her, an inquisitive look requesting permission. She nodded, disappointed. The old man touched the wet cloth to her cheek, very gently wiping at the dirt and blood there. The fresh water felt good on her sticky skin.
”Parlez-vous francais?” Sam asked.
Bokenga shook his head.
She sat in silence as Bokenga cleaned first her face and scalp, then her fingers, feet, and legs. His tender touch relaxed her, as did his dark, heavy eyes. After he finished, he collected the rag in the bowl and stood up.
”I'm so hungry and thirsty,” Sam called after him.
Bokenga turned and looked at her, a torn expression on his face. She suspected he was under specific orders.
BaMbuti have no chieftains or leaders. They have only one master, The Forest.
”Please,” she pleaded.
For a moment, she thought it might work. Then the old man shook his head. Sam's shoulders slumped. As an afterthought, she lifted her hands into the air. ”My wrists, they hurt. It's too tight.”
Bokenga leaned closer, studying the deep chafe marks in her skin. After a moment, he held up a finger. He carried the bowl out onto the porch and disappeared from sight. Sam sat alone until he returned with more cloth.
He knelt in front of her and tugged gently at the bonds on her wrists. Then he slid a piece of cloth underneath each thong, so the tough leather no longer touched her skin. It wasn't what Sam had been hoping for, but the cloth soothed her wrists.
”Thank you,” she said. And then, just in case, she added, ”Merci.”
Bokenga nodded, rose, and left her alone.
Thunder crashed across the jungle and soon the sky opened.
Temba slipped to the edge of the forest. The thick undergrowth at the tree line made it hard to creep quietly, but also s.h.i.+elded him from view. The strange power lines descended to a stone building in the middle of the clearing, but what drew his attention was the scattering of BaMbuti huts to the right and to the left.
He recognized Kitu, even through the rain. The traitorous Mbuti stood next to Polomo, Mbogo's son. Temba couldn't recognize any other faces from this distance.
The last hour in the jungle and the falling raindrops had done much to quell Temba's initial rage. At first he intended to jump in and attack Kitu and the others, but now he was beginning to see reason. He knew these people after all. Even after Kuntolo's murder, Temba refused to believe that they were so far gone. Besides, it looked like a whole camp lived in that clearing, far more than he could handle on his own.
Temba crept back from the wall of brush. If he was going to do this peacefully he had better do it right. He picked out a distinctive tree trunk so he would remember it later and tucked his bow and arrows behind it, out of sight.
Temba walked toward the clearing again and took a deep breath. He wondered how they would receive him. Would they attack him as they had the previous night? Just in case, he picked out an escape route through the forest that would bring him past his weapons.
He almost stepped out when he glanced down and remembered the white polo s.h.i.+rt. BaMbuti sometimes regarded his choice of fas.h.i.+on with contempt. If Mbogo's people truly feared outsiders he should look Mbuti. Temba tugged his white s.h.i.+rt off and tossed it on the ground at the edge of the undergrowth.
He walked casually through the foliage and into the clearing. Kitu and Polomo and a few other recognizable faces turned to look at him, eyes wide. Temba's fists clenched into tight b.a.l.l.s and then opened, held out to his sides in a gesture of peace.
Spearheads rose in his direction.
The raindrops drumming overhead should have been a soothing sound, but to Sam they felt as if they were pounding on her temples.
A sound at the porch made her lift her head. As rain poured in sheets outside, Guy appeared in the doorway, holding a beaten umbrella. A young Mbuti man stood next to him, spear in hand. She recognized the man as the one who had carried her through the forest.
Guy stepped inside, half-closing the umbrella. He said something, and the Mbuti man drew a long steel knife and knelt next to Sam. She recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but he grabbed her wrists and slipped the knife under the leather thong, cutting her free. He prodded her to her feet.
”Just in case the spear isn't enough to stop you,” Guy said as he gestured to a small pistol tucked into his belt.
”Where are you taking me?”
”I imagine you're getting uncomfortable on that hard floor.”
She couldn't argue; her whole body felt stiff. It felt good to stretch her legs. The young Mbuti placed a hand on her bicep to push her along, but Sam resisted.
”Where are we going?” she demanded again.
”Somewhere you'll be more comfortable,” Guy replied with a sly grin. ”My hut.”
”I think I'm fine right here.”
He s.h.i.+fted to better expose the pistol at his belt. ”I don't believe that is your decision, Sam.”
The threat was clear. She clenched her fists and bit down on her lip. She stood her ground and refused to budge.
The young Mbuti looked to Guy, unsure what to do.
”Temba. You should not have come.”
Polomo stepped forward from the ring of Mbuti men. They stood in the rain, droplets sliding down their naked chests. Water splashed on their scalps and shoulders, like a thousand tiny bullets exploding on impact. Temba stood before them, his eyes intense despite his relaxed posture.
”I am not allowed to come and speak to my friends?” Temba asked. His voice trembled, originating high in his throat.
Kitu stared from the background, but Temba could see the guilt on his face.
”You shouldn't be here,” Polomo insisted. ”You brought strangers into the forest.”
”Who here killed Kuntolo?” Temba demanded. He turned to look at the faces of the other BaMbuti. ”One of you did. I found his grave and a poisoned arrow.”
They stood in the rain, watching, as Temba paced back and forth like a caged animal.
”Why have you taken Sam and Alfred?” Temba asked suddenly. ”Where are they?”
”You mean the white girl and the one-armed man?” Kitu asked.
”I want to see them,” Temba demanded. He pointed to the ground in front of him with a firm index finger. ”I want to see them here in front of me. You have taken Kuntolo. You can do this for me.”
Polomo shook his head. ”We can't do that, Temba.”
”Why not? I will take them out of this forest. We will go far away from here, and I will forget all about what you did to Kuntolo.” Temba wasn't sure he could keep that last promise, but he made it anyway.
”We cannot. I'm sorry,” Polomo insisted.
”Then bring me Sam, the woman. You can keep the other one,” Temba reasoned.
The gathered Mbuti exchanged glances. Polomo spoke for them. ”I'm sorry, Temba. We cannot release them.”