Bringing the Boy Home (6 page)

12 Years, 361–362 Days

J
oey shows up at our house half an hour before Sara and I are to leave for the airport.

“Just came to say good-bye,” he says, watching me throw my backpack into the Jeep. He lowers his voice. “And to wish you luck. Have you figured out a plan yet?”

“Sneaking out shouldn't be too hard, since I should have my own room. And I'm definitely leaving at night. No matter how much harder it's going to be in the dark, I need as much of a head start as possible before they begin looking for me. Besides, it'll be easier to take one of the camp canoes then.”

“Do you remember how to get back to your village?” he asks anxiously. “Will you be able to find your tributary?”

“Well, it's not like I can MapQuest it or anything,
and honestly, that's the part I'm most nervous about…the navigation. I can handle the survival part, but knowing which way to go without getting help from my father…” I shake my head. “I'm hoping to use a combination of things looking familiar, my senses, and, as crazy as it might sound to you, the spirit world looking after me.”

Joey shrugs. “Considering that Sara found you floating in a tiny boat on the world's largest river, I'd say someone is looking out for you…spirit world, Lady Luck, fate.”

Leaning against the car door, I decide to change the subject. “So you guys are still going to dinner tonight, huh?”

“What? To Las Conchitas?” He nods. “Of course.”

For once I wish his dad
had
cancelled. Bad weather, stuck landing gear, dog got loose on the runway…anything. The thought must show on my face, because Joey punches my shoulder and says, “Don't worry, I'll order the Las Conchitas combination platter number three in your honor.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “What are friends for?”

What are friends for?
Friends are for being honest about what's really going to happen tonight,
I think.
Friends
are for warning you that your parents are going to drop a bomb on you. He'd never believe you
, I remind myself.

“You nervous?” he asks quietly.

“Not yet,” I admit. “Strangely enough.”

The front door slams and we both turn and watch Sara lock up. Joey picks up the bike he's left lying in the driveway and wheels it toward me. “Good luck, man. Be careful,” he says.

“I will,” I say. “You too.”

Joey raises an eyebrow and then shakes his head. “You'll do great, T. I mean it. You will.”

“Thanks.”

 

The bright orange ball of sun drops into the horizon in front of us as we approach the airport. I stare out the window at the palm trees lined up like soldiers at the entrance of Miami International. My eyes search the fronds for things that might be hiding, but I know I won't find anything. No deadly snakes or poisonous spiders, no hungry cats ready to pounce. It suddenly dawns on me how safe my life has been since I arrived here.

I shudder as I recall the staring eyes of the dead baby monkey yesterday. Even in broad daylight, he hadn't seen his killer sneaking up on him. He felt safe. Was that a warning from the Good Gods? Were they telling me to
stay away? Like the poison of a curare-tipped arrow, this doubt spreads through my body, and suddenly I find it difficult to breathe.

We park the car and I strap on my backpack. Straightening my shoulders, I welcome the noises that surround me as we walk into the terminal: the clicking of a Seeing Eye dog's nails, the zipping of a suitcase, the polite sneeze of an elderly woman. All the way to the gate and even after we've boarded, I focus on identifying and locating sounds. With each one, I feel more in control.

“Okay, let's go over the itinerary again,” Sara says after we've been in the air for about an hour. “We'll fly directly into São Paulo, Brazil, and then on to Manaus, where Juan Diego will meet us and transport us to the research camp. Each morning I want to visit one of the tribes I'm following up with.” She grabs my arm and squeezes it. “It's going to be a blast, Tirio.” Her face glows as she describes each of the four tribes. “I bet the Ipinipos can teach you that tribal dance you wanted to learn. And the Qwetinatu are great climbers—for your kapok.” Typical Sara, she doesn't push anymore than that, just drops the hint and then goes on explaining how we're going to spend the rest of the time.

I watch the excitement in her movements as she continues to speak and realize how easy it would be to just
hang out with her all day and forget the test. It would be so easy.

But as I watch a boy and his father play cards in the row next to us, I know I can't. This opportunity won't come to me again.

The video being shown on the televisions is a
National Geographic
special on the Amazonian rain forest, and my eyes keep searching for monkeys and birds hidden in the trees. The honeymooning couple two rows behind us whisper and giggle until my ears almost twist backward listening to what they're saying. One of the flight attendants is wearing a jasmine perfume and every time she's near, my nose goes into overdrive.

Feeling the weight of a blanket, I look up to see Sara reaching for something in the overhead bin. She pulls out a couple of overstuffed miniature white pillows and hands one to me.

“I'm going to try to get some sleep,” she murmurs as she plops back down. “We're going to be there before you know it, and I want to hit the ground running.”

Hit the ground running.
I'm amazed by her choice of words.

The cabin lights dim, the in-flight movie begins, and the newlyweds behind me finally quiet. I stare out the
window. The blackness of the sky transforms the plastic into a mirror, and I trace the outline of my nose, my eyes, my ears, my mouth. I remember my maha's last words:
If only your body was as strong as your spirit
. “It is, Maha,” I whisper to the face looking back at me. “It is.”

Leaning my head against the pillow, I focus on the humming drone of the engines and finally feel myself falling asleep.

 

“Tirio, we're here.” Sara's shaking me, and I wake to see the passengers around me standing and stretching.

We're here? I bolt up and crack my head on the overhead bin.

Sara winces. “Ouch.”

I wrestle my backpack from underneath my seat and smash my leg into the armrest as I hurry to stand behind her.

“It's gonna be a while, Tirio,” Sara says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward the long line of people in front of us.

“Right,” I say, rubbing my head where I hit it. No need to rush.

Immigration is no problem, and we quickly board a smaller plane for our second leg. We've barely finished
drinking our complimentary passion fruit drink before the pilot informs us we will soon be landing in the city of Manaus.

A grinning, freshly showered Juan Diego is waiting for us outside the airport. He looks exactly like I remember him, except perhaps a little rounder. He gives Sara a long hug before finally turning to me and offering his hand. “I don't think we've met,” he teases.

“Tirio,” I say, playing along.

“No!” His mouth drops in pretend shock. “You are not Tirio. Tirio is a small boy about this tall.” He measures to his waist. “With thin arms, puny little legs, and a voice like a girl.”

Sara laughs. “Them's fightin' words, Juan Diego.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn't want to get in a fight with this young man,” Juan Diego says, looking me up and down. “No doubt I'd lose.”

I stand up straighter and they both laugh.

“Man, oh man.” Juan Diego shakes his head as we walk toward the baggage claim. “Unbelievable.”

Have I really changed that much? My heart swells.

 

After a half-hour ride with a chattering Juan Diego, I'm finally standing back on the bank of the Amazon. I stare out at the massive brown river. It hasn't changed at all.
The water in the cove where we're docked is calm as glass, but a stone's toss away, the current churns and sucks at branches and logs, eyeing our boat greedily. Kneeling, I dig my hands into the mud and breathe in the earthy odor. I shiver. From the water, the ground, and every tree limb, I feel a thousand eyes watching me. The jungle knows I'm back. The question is, will it let me in?

Juan Diego unloads the supplies from town into the boat, and the mud groans in protest as he pushes the boat away from the shore.

“Tirio, I would love to give you some time to reminisce, but we've got to go if we want to get to camp before dusk,” he says.

“Right.” I climb in and sit next to Sara.

“We've come a long way since the last time we were here, huh?” she says, putting her arm around my shoulders and scooting toward me.

I nod.

The roar of the boat engine makes it impossible to speak, so Sara and I just sit in silence for the next four hours—reconnecting with the Amazon in our own ways. I spot flashes of tail feathers in the trees, I listen to the many species of frogs debate the abundance of flies this year, and my stomach growls at the smells of meat cooking in the villages we zoom past. By the time we pull into
the research center, my head is buzzing like a swarm of a million bees, but when I see the thatched huts of the research camp, everything quiets.

“Here we are,” Juan Diego says, docking the boat. “Just in time for dinner.” He steps out and offers Sara his hand. “Let's eat first, and then we'll get you guys settled.”

I leap onto the shore and spin around. “It feels like we never left, doesn't it?”

Sara scans the area as she considers my question. “You're right, T. Things haven't really changed much in seven years, have they?”

“Well, fortunately for us, the cooking has changed…it's gotten better,” Juan Diego says, patting his protruding belly. “And if we don't get up there soon, there will be nothing left.”

“But what about our bags?” Sara asks.

“I'll send someone down for them.” He starts up the hill. “Since we started housing tour groups, we have people to do that now.”

Sara raises her eyebrows at me. “I guess some things have changed.”

After a delicious meal in which I have two helpings, knowing it will be my last real food for a while, Juan Diego offers to show us to our hut.

We enter the last hut in the compound, and my heart skips a beat when I see both our suitcases inside.

“Since there's no electricity,” Juan Diego reminds us, “you'll have to use candles for light.” He opens a dresser drawer by the bed and pulls out a box of matches, checking to see how many are left. “Sorry about not being able to give you each your own room,” he says, closing the drawer. “We'd normally have space, but it just so happens we're full this week.” He shrugs. “I guess everyone wants to see the rain forest before it is completely destroyed.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, panic rising in my throat. How am I going to sneak out with Sara sleeping two feet away from me? “Sara and I are staying in the same room?”

Sara unzips the front pocket of her purse and pulls out a couple of halogen headlamps. “What are you complaining about, T?” she asks, handing me one and putting on the other. “You're the one who snores like an eighty-year-old grandpa with a deviated septum.”

She winks at me and Juan Diego laughs, heading for the door. “I'm sure you both are tired,” he says. “So I'll let you unpack while you enjoy tonight's musical entertainment, provided by the camp's very own jungle orchestra and led by our resident howler monkey, Kimbo.”

“I can't imagine any sweeter music,” Sara says, smiling.

After Juan Diego leaves, I frantically scan the room
for a backup escape route. The area is much smaller than I remember, and since Sara's already claimed the bed by the door, that's out. The only other exit is through a window. There are two of them, one to the left of the door and the other above my bed. I walk over and run my fingers over the mesh. It's thin enough to cut, and I am thankful that Juan Diego gave us an end unit. Relieved that my plan is back on track, I turn around and unzip my suitcase.

The room is quickly getting darker as the sun sets, and I reach up to twist on my headlamp. A huge roach, disturbed by the light, scuttles from under the nightstand between Sara and me.

“Megaloblatta blaberoides.”

“Mwe-cota.”

We blurt out the names at the same time—Sara giving the scientific; me, the Takunami.

“Is that what your tribe called them?” She laughs.
“Mwe-cota?”

“Yeah,” I say, shocked at how the name had just popped into my head.

“That's pretty amazing that you remember such an obscure word after all these years,” she says as she shoves her suitcase under the bed. “I mean—
food
,
water
,
sky
,
river
—those words I understand you being able to recall,
but…
roach
?” She stands and dusts off her hands. “Wow…”

“Yeah, I'm surprised too,” I say, ducking my chin to avoid blinding her with my light. How did that just happen? Are things truly coming back to me like I'd hoped, or is someone else helping me? And if so…who?

Disappearing into the darkness of the bathroom to put away my toothbrush, I see something skitter across the floorboards and shine my headlamp toward it. A thin gray tail disappears into a hole behind the toilet—a
sumiha—
the name of a mouse rests on my tongue. Unbelievable. I smile in the darkness. Not that knowing the name of a roach or a mouse is going to help me with my soche seche tente, but these sudden shots of memory give me the confidence that anything is possible.

When I return to the other room, it's empty and I find Sara outside on the porch.

“The perfect Amazon evening,” she says, leaning over the railing.