Bringing the Boy Home (8 page)

12 Years, 363 Days
The Amazon

W
hile I lay in my bed, waiting for Sara to fall asleep, I made a deal with the Good Gods: if they wanted me to leave tonight, they would send me a sign. Now, as I cut open the screen with my nail clippers and climb out of our room, a full moon shines down on me—one of the most powerful spirits of all.

The Takunami believe it's impossible to separate the physical and spiritual worlds so, when I was younger, I used signs to make decisions a lot. After a couple of years living in Florida, I stopped looking for them. Now that I've returned, it doesn't feel strange to search for these signs again.

The night animals serenade me, and their Takunami names pop into my head. An invisible hand pulls me toward the river and, after replacing the screen as best as
I can, I head down the path.

Throwing my backpack into the outboard canoe, I untie the boat and push it from the shore. It's heavier than I thought, and I'm thankful the water is high. The current yanks at it eagerly and I barely manage to haul myself into the boat before the river whisks it downstream.

A flock of nesting birds squawks and fills the sky around me. Worried that someone will hear, I hold my breath as I drift away from the research camp and count the seconds until I can start the motor. Joey's dad had a boat we used to take out at night to gig flounder, so I know I won't have any problem cranking this one over, but it seems an eternity until I feel safe enough to even try.

The moon provides plenty of light for me to dodge floating logs, but when the propeller hits something, I realize I have to watch for submerged objects too. The last thing I want is to get tangled in a vine.

After cruising for an hour or so, I slow down and look for a marker that might signal which direction to go. There are over a thousand tributaries; my tribe's village might be down any one of them.

The Amazon is so wide that even with a full moon, I can't see both shores unless I make S turns between the
banks. I head to the left and peer behind me as the black outline of a smaller river disappears from view. Was that my tributary? I reach to turn the boat around, but instead of gunning the throttle, I accidentally shut it off. Slamming my fist against the motor casing in frustration, I jump up to pull the starter cord.

I flinch as I see something large disappear under the boat. Sinking back onto the wooden seat, I inch away from the side and slide toward the center. Caimans have been known to jump out of the water, snatch people from canoes, and then disappear before the person has time to scream. I scan the surrounding water for any sign of the animal.

Unhooking the canoe's spotlight, I turn it on, and squint as the brightness makes the inside of the boat glow. Once my eyes have adjusted, I rummage through the toolbox for a weapon. Wait a minute; that's it! Since I can't see both sides, I'll cruise along one bank and illuminate the other with the spotlight.

Starting the motor again, I position the throttle to slow and flash the spotlight across the river. It beams over the couple hundred feet of water, brightening the trees. Then I shine it downriver and stop at a pair of orange eyes staring at me. A dwarf caiman.

I'm not really worried about the dwarf and the spectacled caiman; they're pretty harmless. It's their big brother, the black caiman, I have to look out for. During the day, the difference between the reptiles is obvious by their size and color, but in the dark, the only way to tell them apart is by the reflection of their eyes. The spectacled caiman has eyes that shine yellow, the dwarf's shine orange, and the black caiman's shine red.

Behind the first pair, another set of orange eyes pops up, then another…and another. Twenty feet to the left, a row of yellow eyes lines up parallel to the orange ones. I have never seen so many caimans, even on TV specials. I speed the boat forward.

What in the world?
As far as the beam reaches, there is a blinking line of yellow and orange irises. I idle the motor. It looks like runway lights at an airport.

I turn the spotlight off and then turn it back on again. The eyes haven't moved.

Blinking yellow. Proceed with caution, like at a stop-light.

I guide the boat between the two rows of eyes. As I turn around a bend in the river, I see a tributary on the left. Is it mine? I steer the boat toward it.

Blink, blink. Red eyes. Ruby-red eyes.

I slam the boat into reverse.

Idling, I stare at the black caiman's eyes blocking the tributary.

RED. STOP. DON'T ENTER.

I turn back toward the main river. Blinking yellow eyes pull me forward.

I keep going straight.

After a while the eyes spread out, and I wonder if I made a mistake. What if I passed my river an hour ago? My heart starts beating faster. What if these caiman eyes aren't really a sign from the Good Gods after all?

RED, RED. RED, RED. I kill the motor. The main river in front of me is blocked by two huge black caimans. The irises glowering at me are the size of my fist. Where do I go now? I spotlight both sides of the bank, looking for a smaller river.

Nothing.

I shine on the red eyes. They're still there. Where are my yellow and orange eyes?

I scan the river. Then I see it: the clay lick. One of the last things I remember before Sara rescued me was a blurry wall of color. When I asked Sara about it later, she told me that parrots gnaw at the clay to neutralize the poison from the fruit they eat. The colors I had seen were a flock of birds. Although the rock barely peeks above the water, I have a feeling this is my clay lick…my tributary.

I spin the boat toward it and almost cheer when I turn the corner and see four pairs of yellow eyes beckoning me in. The small river snakes sharply around the wall and then disappears. I would have missed this if not for the caiman roadblock.

Scanning the river behind me, I look for the red eyes. They are gone. So are the yellow and orange ones. Even if they are dangerous, caimans are the pets of the Good Gods—raised and released for the use of my tribe—and I am thankful.

As the sky ahead of me begins to lighten, I continue up the tributary. Realizing I'm slouched over, I straighten up in my seat and stretch. I made it! I sneaked out of the camp, recognized the animal signs, and the Good Gods are apparently helping me. Three great things. I find myself grinning. For the first time since I decided to take the test, I feel like there's a very good chance that I'm going to succeed. I really might make it back!

I don't know where or when I'm going to stop, but I'm sure there will be another sign. I just have to recognize it. As soon as the thought enters my brain, the boat engine begins to sputter. The gas. I could transfer the hose to the second gas tank and continue, but, as silly as it would have seemed yesterday, I now realize this is my sign—my signal that this is it.

This is my starting point.

This is where I begin my soche seche tente.

In two days I will be back in the Takunami village.

In two days I will see Maha.

In two days…I will show Paho how wrong he was.

12 Years, 362 Sunrises
The Amazon

P
aho is dead. Impossible. The world is spinning and I grab the bench tighter. What am I going to do?

A thousand thoughts ricochet in my mind, making it impossible for me to focus. I know I will have to wait until Tukkita speaks to the spirit world. This is how the Takunami decide what to do with a boy whose father dies before he turns thirteen. In the past, the Good Gods have ordered boys to be abandoned and find their way home alone, or to be paired with their
paholo
, their father's father. One boy, Miniho, was taken five sunsets before his test, but given a bow, some arrows, and a knife to get home.

What will they do with me?

I look over at Tukkita, but his eyes are closed. I know not to disturb him when he is in a trance. Yet I must know what he has found out.

“Tukkita,” I whisper.

The medicine man shows no sign he has heard me.

Wait. What did Tukkita say about Karara? He said she had been there when the Punhana appeared. So she had lived through the night. For the first time since learning about my father's death, I am thankful. My sister has not died because of my lie.

But what about the bird I heard that night? Did the Punhana follow Karara when she came back to see my father?

I stare at my mother, still passed out in her hammock. Maha was right; Karara is always causing trouble.

“She should have just stayed in the woods. She might be dead, but Paho would still be here.”

“What are you saying, Luka?” Tukkita asks.

“Karara.” I turn to face him. “This is her fault. She angered the forest spirits, and now they are punishing us. First she found out who Paho was, and then she led the Punhana to him when it was actually meant for her.”

I expect him to be both surprised and angry, but he just shakes his head. “No, Luka. Your father did not die because of Karara. He actually lived longer because of her. There are some things you need to know.”

The old man looks at me with eyes that are now clear. “Luka, your sister has a very special talent. Karara is
a shaman…like myself.”

Tukkita is the most respected man in our tribe, so I look down to hide my disbelief.

The shaman nods his head and sighs. “When I explained this to your mother, she had the same look.” He pauses. “Your sister is very powerful, Luka. I have never seen healing powers like hers.”

“She went where she didn't belong.”

“
I
introduced her to your father. He had been sick for a long time, Luka. She was his only hope.”

“Why would you do that, Tukkita?” I ask, my voice rising. “How could you betray my family? No Takunami girl has ever”—I stomp my foot—“
ever
known her father before her brother has. No one. Until now.”

“The Good Gods did not kill your father, Luka. And neither did your sister.”

“Then who? What killed him? Why did he die?”

The shaman is silent. Finally he speaks. “He was poisoned.”

“Liar!”
my mother screams. She is now sitting up and glaring at Tukkita.

“How dare you come into my hut and say these things? I want you out.
Now!
”

Tukkita does not move. “I have spoken no false words against you, Nunooma. I have only told Luka
what he wanted to know—why his father died. And it is true, he was poisoned.”

“Yes, by you and my daughter.” My mother jabs a finger at him. “You poisoned him. By taking him to the river every day, you made him sicker and sicker. And I never would have known if I had not caught you that day of Luka's sight test.”

“The Amazon was good for your husband. The female spirit of the river combined with the female energy of your daughter was the only thing that kept him alive.”

I think back to the day I found the gate to the wash area unlocked. My mother must have surprised Paho and my sister as they were leaving the water.
They
were the ones who left the gate open.

“Then why did he die?” Maha asks. “If Karara is so powerful, why couldn't she save him?”

“Because you banished her from the village and by the time she came back, it was too late.”

“What are you talking about?” I stand between Tukkita and my mother. “Why did Paho need female energy?”

My mother silently glowers at Tukkita.

“I will give you one chance to explain, Nunooma. Otherwise I will tell Luka what he has asked.”

“You have no idea what you are saying.” Maha storms toward the door. “I will not allow him to listen.”

“One chance, Nunooma.”

“
Mmpah,
Luka, let's go.” She grabs my arm.

I pull it away and look at her. “Maha?”

“Your father was ill and Tukkita could not save him, so he is blaming me. That is what happened.”

“That is one possibility, Luka,” Tukkita says. “Now here is the other. When your mother gave birth to your older sister, she was very disappointed that Karara was a girl. She wanted only one child, the required son.”

“Lies, all lies,” my mother sputters.

Ignoring her, Tukkita continues. “When it came time to try again, Nunooma asked me for a potion to give your father. She was already drinking tea from the ku-ku-pa tree, but that had not worked with Karara, since she came out as a girl. So your mother wanted your father to take a potion also. When I refused, she took matters into her own hands. As you know, all plants and animals in the jungle are filled with a spirit. Even at a young age, your sister was showing signs of shamanism, so your mother made Karara gather plants from the jungle that contained the male spirit. Then your mother brewed all of these ingredients into a tea and gave it to your father every night for the next three months.”

“And it worked, didn't it?” Maha laughs in the back of her throat. “The next child was Luka.”

“Nine months later, you were born,” Tukkita agrees, “and your father was very happy.”

“Aha—” Maha begins.

“But,” Tukkita interrupts, “not long after you began to crawl, he came to me because he did not feel well. He slept plenty, yet he was always tired. I gave him some bark to eat and he complained no more. Twelve moons after his first visit, he returned to me, limping. He laughed, saying he was getting old, but I could see something was wrong. Over the years, your father's body began to weaken—slowly and one part at a time—but soon he was unable to move without assistance. When I visited the spirit world for guidance, I had dreams of your sister picking plants. I asked her about this, and she told me what your mother had done.”

I turn to Maha. “Is this true?”

“Yes. I did make a tea from the plants your sister brought back. But it was her fault your father got sick. She gave me the wrong leaves.”

“All the male spirits that had been in the plants went to war when they entered your father's body,” Tukkita continues. “There were too many, and they slowly killed each other off, taking your paho with them. There was nothing more I could do, so I asked Karara for help. It was she who came up with the idea
of immersing your father in the female body of the Amazon to negate all the masculine energy.”

My mind is spinning.
Karara didn't kill Paho.

“If I hate children so much, Tukkita, why did I have Sulali?” my mother asks.

“You felt guilty. When you saw how sick Honati became, you knew it was your fault. He loved children, so you had another to keep him happy. The masculine spirits were so busy fighting each other, they didn't even stop long enough to give you another warrior. You had a baby girl.”

I run to the door and gulp in fresh air.
My mother didn't kill Paho.

“Enough, Tukkita…” My mother and the shaman continue to argue, but I no longer hear them.

I killed my father. In order for me to be born, my father had to die.