Between Heaven and Earth (3 page)

Your mother always said that you were an old soul. I know you've heard that so often, and at times it even made you bristle, but it's true. You were always the kid who did what he was supposed to do. From sleeping through the night, to toilet training, to learning to read, to being the captain of every team you ever played on. Most kids didn't know what was going on. Some of the smarter kids had questions. But you, well, you seemed to have the answers.

I also remember so clearly when your father died. It wasn't just the saddest day in your life, but one of the saddest in mine. I was powerless to protect either your mother or you or your brother from the pain. I saw you shed tears, but you were so strong. I think you helped your mother through it all more than I did. Let's be honest, I think you helped me.

Maybe that's where your old soul evolved into a leader. You became more than a child. You took care of your mother and your brother and then all of your cousins. I know that sometimes your brother and cousins may have resented having another “parent,” but I know they respect you so much. I expect as each of you completes the requests I've made that there will be communication among the seven of you. I know you will be there to help the others fulfill their challenges, but also hope you'll be strong enough to accept their help too. A good leader knows when to follow, when to accept help, when to go to others for assistance.

I've always thought that the problems of the world were caused because we failed to understand one simple fact: we are all part of the same family. There are not different races of people but one race—the human race. If we were able to trace our lives back through the generations, we'd find the links that connect us all. There are people who speak about the Garden of Eden as if it was a fact, and others who see the theory of evolution as more than a theory. In some ways they're both correct. However, we all share the same beginnings. We started with one mother and father—one Adam and Eve—even if through evolution.

I know I've told you some of my tales from my time in Africa. I flew different types of small planes up and down the whole of East Africa. Those were times of adventure, abandon and excitement. It was where my soul was healed after the horror of war, where I became able to live and love again and go on with life.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—those words were said at my funeral. I believe them.

DJ, here is my request. I want some of my ashes returned to where it all began for mankind, but also where my life began again—to Africa, to the Rift Valley. I want you to go to Tanzania and climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

Some of my ashes have been placed in my walking cane. When you reach the top, scatter my ashes in the wind so that they can be blown throughout the valley and I can once again be reunited with my ancestors.

With my great thanks, and great love,

Grandpa

P.S. Say hello to Elijah for me—he will be there to meet you at the airport, take care of you and make all the arrangements for your trek up the mountain.

He wants me to climb a mountain to spread his ashes? I could hardly believe what I'd just read. I looked away from the envelope. Africa…I was going to Africa…to Tanzania to climb a mountain. I almost felt too stunned to think. But I needed to. I did a quick calculation in my head. My last exam was in three days. I would be starting football camp in August—on a full scholarship. Grandpa had been so proud. As long as I left right away, I'd have plenty of time to do this. After all, how long could it possibly take to climb a mountain?

FOUR

“Don't worry, you'll catch your flight,” my mother said.

“I'm not worried,” I replied. “It's just that for international flights I'm supposed to be there three hours early.”

“We'll be there almost three hours early.”

“What if there's a major traffic jam or we get a flat tire or—?”

“The roads are clear, and if we needed to, we'd fix the tire.”

I sat back and tried to relax. Then again, I'd only be truly relaxed when I was on the plane coming back home, the wheels touching the ground and my task finished. It would take no more than seven or eight sleeps. That made me sound like a toddler, but that's how I always counted being away from home.

“It's going to be strange with both you and your brother gone. I'm going to be worried.”

“There's nothing to be worried about,” I offered. “Remember, Steve is just going to Spain.”

“So I should be worried about you and that mountain?” she asked.

“You don't need to be worried about
either
of us. It's going to be a walk in the park.”

“Climbing a mountain is hardly a walk in the park,” she said.

“No, actually it is. Kilimanjaro is in a national park. How dangerous can a park be?” I joked. She didn't laugh, so obviously she didn't think my little joke was funny.

“Steve leaves soon, right?”

“The day after you.” My mother chuckled. “Your brother reminds me so much of your grandpa.”

“Steve? He's
nothing
like Grandpa.”

“Your grandpa mellowed with age, but think of the stories he told from when he was young. I think that's why the two of them never got along as well as he did with the others. Your grandpa saw too much of himself in Steve and wanted to try to change him so he wouldn't go through the same grief.”

“Grief?” I asked.

“I often wonder what all those adventures of Grandpa's were about. I know the war was hard on him, and I wonder if he was trying to find himself,” she said.

“And what is Steve trying to find?”

“Maybe the same thing. Peace.”

I didn't think Steve would ever find anything except more grief. Well, at least he was an expert at finding and giving it. He was my twin brother, and I loved him, but there were times I could have killed him. We were so different—even physically. I towered over him and must have outweighed him by ten kilograms. I loved sports, and he had no interest in them whatsoever. History was one of his passions, and the only history I cared about was the score in yesterday's games.

“I'll try to keep in touch by texting you when I'm gone. Can you keep an eye on everybody for me?” I asked. “You know—all the guys—to make sure they follow their tasks.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure everybody will be fine.” She paused. “Are you going to contact Rennie?”

“That's what Grandpa asked us to do, so I'll do it. It's just so…so…”

“Yes, it is. I can only imagine the shock your grandfather felt when he found out he had another daughter and a seventh grandson.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I didn't want to think about that right now. “I just want to make sure they'll all be okay,” I said. “I'm a little worried about Bernie.”

“Bunny will do just fine.”

“
Please
don't call him that,” I said.

“Bunny is what he calls himself. It's cute.”

“It was cute when he was four. He's fifteen and in high school.”

“Well, I remember somebody who used to walk around in a little tiger suit,” my mother said.

“I was three, not fifteen. How cute would it have been if I wore it to high school? And at least I wanted to be a tiger and not a bunny.”

“He likes being called Bunny,” she said.

“It doesn't matter what he likes. Being called Bunny is the sort of thing that gets him picked on all the time.”

“I know your aunt is grateful for the help you've given him.”

“I've tried. As long as I'm there, nobody really dares to pick on him much, but next year I'm not gonna be around. It's not like Spencer is going to step in.” Spencer was Bunny's “big” brother, but he wasn't very big and wasn't much less of a target than Bunny.

“He might,” she said.

“It's not the same. Nobody in the world is afraid of Spencer.”

She laughed. “I'm just glad my little
Tigger
has always been there to take care of his little cousin Bunny, the way Tigger took care of Winnie-the-Pooh.”

There was nobody else in the car, so calling me Tigger, her special name for me, was okay. It wasn't so okay when Steve called me that, especially in public.

“You are a very hard act to follow,” my mother said.

“What?”

“Sometimes I think your cousins feel like they can't hope to compete with you.”

“It's not a competition,” I said.

My mother laughed. “I never thought I'd hear you say the words
not
and
competition
in the same sentence.”

“I just try to do my best, that's all. The point of a game is to win, but I am a good loser too.”

“And how much practice have you had at being a loser?”

“I'll try to lose more in the future.”

“Losing isn't the end of the world.”

“I never said it was.” Although it had felt like it the few times it happened.

We circled around the ring road leading to the terminal.

“Are you sure you don't want me to come inside?” my mother asked.

“No need for you to spend money on parking. I'll be fine.”

She slowed down and pulled into an open spot. I got out quickly, and she popped open the trunk. I grabbed my green duffel bag and my backpack and of course my grandpa's cane with his remains in a secret compartment inside. I held it tightly.

“Are you sure you have everything?” she asked.

“Everything.”

“I'm not even sure why I asked. You are the most responsible seventeen-year-old in the world.” She paused. “But I'm still going to be worried until you get back.”

“Funny, but I'm going to be worried about
you
until I get back.”

She started to tear up. I felt tears start to surface, but I blinked them away. I couldn't let her see me cry or let her know that I was worried.

“I better get inside and check in,” I said.

She threw her arms around my neck. She was small but strong. I gave her a big hug back.

“I love you,” she said.

“Yeah, I sort of figured that. I
am
pretty loveable.”

She made a huffing sound in my ear.

“I know, I know, Mom. I love you too, but I have to go.”

She squeezed a little tighter before letting go.

“I'll text you as soon as I'm on the ground,” I said. I reached out and gave her another hug and then walked toward the terminal. I stopped, turned around and waved. She waved back, and then I went inside.

Now that she was gone, I could let my defenses down a bit, although I didn't want to cry in front of strangers either. I was worried. More than that, I was scared. I was traveling halfway around the world, by myself, to climb a mountain. A really big mountain. Maybe I should be scared. I just couldn't let anybody know.

I had one thing to do before I checked in. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my cousins.

Hey guys. Just getting on plane to Tanzania. Good luck to all. Back soon. Text if you need help. Don't let Grandpa down.

I pushed
Send
, knowing that almost instantly all six would get my message. Each of us had an individual task to complete, but somehow it felt like it was up to
me
to make sure they were all completed. But I'd have to finish my own task before I could help anybody else.

It was just me—me and Grandpa's cane. It was made of smooth brown wood and the handle was two carved elephants, their tusks intertwined. I thought back to him, cane in hand, walking, or leaning on it, sometimes spinning it around or using it as a dancing partner as he did a little jig, his ever-present black beret tipped to one side. I gave the cane a little shake and I could feel the ashes shifting inside. This cane was such a part of him. Now
he
was part of
it
. Here, in my hands.

FIVE

My eyes jerked open as the plane's wheels hit the runway. We bounced up and down a few times, and then finally stuck to the ground. We rolled along the runway. It was so rough, I wondered if we'd landed in a field. I looked out the window. The runway was a narrow strip of pavement lined on both sides by dense bush. Probably good that I'd been asleep as we approached the airstrip and hadn't seen it coming. I was just glad to be back on the ground.

I really didn't like flying at all. It wasn't just about being up high, which I didn't like. To me, flying was less like science and more like magic. How could a plane hang up there in the air? I knew all about aerodynamics, but it still didn't feel right to me.

I'd never told anybody about my fear of flying. Particularly Grandpa. He loved flying almost more than anything else. I remember being up in a plane with him behind the wheel. He loved being up there, and I loved being with him, so I made sure he didn't know how much I hated flying. He'd put me in the copilot seat when I was so small I could hardly see out through the windscreen. Sometimes he'd even let me put my hands on the rudder—a four-year-old flying a plane.

While we flew, he told stories: flying in his Lancaster during the war, being a bush pilot in the North, bouncing around Africa. That made me smile. When I thought about the last time he was in the air at the controls of his plane, my smile left. He knew he was getting too old to fly solo, and that wasn't just his thinking but the government's. As he'd said, “Regulations are regulations, and I can't fight them.” So he allowed his pilot's license to lapse.

I had been there on the ground, holding my mother's hand, Steve holding the other, when Grandpa landed that last time. He went up alone, just him and the plane and the sky.

If I closed my eyes, I could still see him slowly walking away from the plane after he landed. He told me it was one of the saddest days of his life. I was sad for him, but secretly I was grateful I'd never have to go up with him again. And that
still
made me feel guilty.