Do-Gooder (3 page)

“We can sometimes get a station in pretty clear when we’re in Yaoundé, and even Bertoua occasionally, but for the most part, it’s dead air.”

“No CDs or, hell, even cassettes? How can you stand the quiet?”

“I like quiet. When there are no distractions you can clear your head of everything else and just exist.”

That sounded a little too woo-woo for me. He must have caught and understood my expression. “I’m not talking about meditation or something like it, but more along the lines of appreciating what’s around you. Really, look around. What do you see?”

I scanned the empty road and the vegetation that tried to take it over. “I see a whole lot of nothing. No people, no buildings. A whole lot of creepy nothing.”

“That’s the city talking.” Henry pulled to the edge of the road and put the big vehicle in Park. “I see a forest that is as close to untouched by man as most people will ever see. Look.” Henry pointed out past my window. I followed the line of his arm and finger, trying to see what he wanted me to. “Do you see it?”

I found it hard to focus on anything else with Henry practically touching me. He’d leaned close to point, and I could feel the heat from his body. I wanted to lean back into him, extend the contact, but my previous “momentary lack of judgment” thing aside, I wasn’t stupid. I blamed my body’s reaction on jet lag. Jet lag and teenage hormones.

I forced myself to look past Henry’s pointing finger. I saw trees. Lots and lots of trees. There were tall, scraggly trees that looked like oversized bonsai plants, short squat trees that seemed almost bush-like, and thick, leafy trees that towered over them all. The canopy of tall branches stretched out until it almost covered the small road, and pale, sun-bleached grasses sprouted between the bushes. Sure, it was different than I was used to, but I didn’t see anything to get excited about.

“Right there. Do you see it?”

I’d almost admitted defeat when a small movement from one of the branches caught my attention. No bigger than a house cat, it looked like a monkey (or some kind of monkey-like creature—I’m not a zoologist). It had yellowish fur and an almost skeletal face. On the whole, though, it was kind of cute.

“That’s a talapoin. This is one of three countries in the entire world that you can find them.”

“That is so fricking cool.” I leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the critter.

“See that flash of neon green over there?” This time when Henry pointed, it brought his body into even closer contact with mine. I closed my eyes, trying to rein in my frantically beating pulse. Teenage hormones sucked.

It took a minute—there were a lot of different greens in the dense forest—but eventually I noticed the flash of color. A tiny, neon green bird.

“That’s a lovebird,” he told me.

I snickered. “A lovebird? Seriously?”

“People in the States keep them as pets, but they’re indigenous here. See? Sometimes there’s a benefit to the quiet.” He turned his head and suddenly we were face-to-face with barely an inch separating us. I could feel the moist puffs of his breath and see the lighter flecks of color in his brown eyes. For a minute I thought he was going to lean forward, to close the distance between us. I licked my lips. A nervous gesture? An invitation? I wasn’t sure.

“Anyway,” Henry said, pulling back and clearing his throat. “I like it here. It’s easy to forget about your problems, your past, when you’re surrounded by this kind of awesomeness. And here your problems don’t mean anything and your past can’t catch you.” He said the last so quietly I knew he didn’t intend for me to hear. Something about his voice indicated a maturity or life experience that didn’t match his age.

He started the Range Rover and pulled back onto the highway. Neither he nor I said anything for a while. He, clearly, lost in his thoughts while I watched the terrain around me with a new appreciation. I wanted to see more monkeys—or talapoins, whatever—or maybe something equally cool. There were supposedly pygmy hippos in the forests of this area and an assortment of antelope. Pythons were sometimes sighted too, but I really didn’t want to see one of them. Gross. Not that my city eyes were suited for the job. Unless a minihippo came out of the trees wearing a pink tutu and jumped onto the hood of the Range Rover, chances were I’d miss it. But I needed something to do to pass the time.

“ANOTHER QUESTION.”

The sun had begun to set, and the dense forests shrouded the narrow road—no longer paved, only a packed red dirt line barely big enough for two trucks to pass side by side—in shadows. I looked away from the trees at Henry’s statement. I hadn’t seen a hippo or a monkey in the last hour, but a few birds, their brightly colored feathers making them almost impossible to miss, darted in and out of my line of vision from time to time.

“Shoot.”

“Why are you here? I mean, what made you decide to come and stay with your father now? It seems like you’re not one of his biggest fans.”

“Decide? I didn’t decide. I was forced to.”

“Forced? Why?”

“I got caught with a gun at school.”

“
What?
You brought a gun to school?”

I slumped a little in the seat and stared ahead. Though darkness shadowed the trees, the sky glowed vibrantly pink and orange in the distance. “Not exactly,” I muttered.

“How do you
not exactly
bring a gun to school?”

“I wasn’t exactly at school.” I hadn’t been able to tell anyone the full story, and the reasons for my silence were complicated. “I have this friend,” I started.

“A friend or a
friend
?”

“A friend. Wendy.” I shifted in my seat, turning so my back pressed against the door. I wiggled a bit, trying to return sensation to my butt, which had long ago gone numb. “Things had been rough for her lately. One day—right before the end of the semester—I found her at the bus station near the school.”

“You were looking for her?”

“Yeah. She’d skipped homeroom, and I was worried.” What I didn’t say was that I’d suspected that someone—someone close to her like her son-of-a-bitch father—had been abusing her. Not like she’d come to school with a black eye or had any mysterious bruises from running into the door or anything. She’d just started getting quieter and quieter and losing weight she couldn’t afford to lose. “When I found her, she sat there on the bench holding a gun—some kind of handgun. You know, like you see on television?” I didn’t know any more about guns than I did about African animals.

“What was she going to do?” Henry’s voice was soft, husky. Comforting and sincere.

“I don’t really know. I don’t think she knew for sure. Debating, I think, about either killing herself or going after… someone.”

I looked up from my clasped hands in time to see something dart from the trees in front of the Range Rover. The headlights illuminated a deerlike animal with a smallish body and tall, delicate legs. “Watch out!”

Henry slammed on the brakes, making the big vehicle fishtail in the red dirt. Sitting sideways as I was, I couldn’t brace myself against the forward momentum. Henry flung his arm out, keeping me from hitting the dash.

The deer, or whatever it was, jumped into the trees on the other side of the road, oblivious to the mayhem it almost caused.

I grinned at Henry. “Did you just soccer-mom me?”

He looked at his arm, which still held me back. “I guess I did. Should I apologize?”

“Nah. I mean, I lost a few macho points, and if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but mostly I’m glad I didn’t hit the dash.” I shifted to face forward again while Henry accelerated the Range Rover. “How close are we? To Doumé, you said, right?”

“Not too far. Maybe another half hour. You do know what to expect, don’t you? The guesthouse is the best way for us to go. Cheaper than the tiny motel, but it’s not really more than a lean-to with a couple of cots and a kerosene lantern.”

“So it’s like camping?”

“Kind of. Mrs. Okono is a friend of your father’s. When your dad comes through, he usually makes it a point to stock her up on supplies and things. In exchange, we get to crash at her place, and she’ll feed us.”

My stomach grumbled at the thought. It had been way too long since our late lunch. “Whatever. As long as I can get horizontal for more than an hour or two, I’ll be fine.”

HENRY HADN’T
mentioned Mrs. Okono was gorgeous or that there was no Mr. Okono. A small, slender African woman, about the same age as my mom, she appeared almost delicate when she met Henry and me in front of her tiny house. She had a round face, with wide cheekbones and huge dark eyes. A broad multicolored scarf covered her hair. “I worried you would not make it tonight. It is not good to be on the road so late at night,” she chided in a lyrical, accented voice, even as she waved us into her house. She focused her attention on me. “You are Isaiah, yes?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

“You look like your father with that hair the color of sunset and that smile. So handsome.” The warmth and affection in her tone made me wonder about her relationship with Chuck. All poetic about his hair? Yeah, that totally screamed romance. It might have been her way, but I definitely picked up on a vibe. Henry had mentioned she was one of Chuck’s friends. I didn’t know how I felt about the idea of my father being “friends” with this woman. I wasn’t one of those kids who had the eternal hope that his parents would get back together, but it should have been weird, right, meeting someone you suspected was your dad’s girlfriend before actually meeting your dad?

“We had to stop and pick up supplies at the university,” Henry said. He sniffed the air and turned on Mrs. Okono with a grin. “
Ndolé
?”

“Of course.” Her huge smile made her even more beautiful. “I knew you would be back, and it is your favorite meal.”

“Mrs. O, you are a goddess among women.” Henry pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. While what he said had been over-the-top, true affection glowed in his eyes when he looked at the woman. Like she was a favorite aunt or something.

I’d never heard of ndolé, but if it was the source of the delicious aroma, I was more than ready to give it a try. My mouth watered at the scent of exotic spices and roasting meat.

Mrs. Okono and Henry bustled around, setting a small table for dinner. Because there wasn’t enough room for me to help without getting in the way, I sat on the worn love seat in what passed for a living room in her house. The familiarity in the way Henry and Mrs. Okono moved together as they pulled out plates and eating utensils told me this was a common thing for them. It reminded me of the way my mom and I moved together when we did chores.

The space might have been limited—I could totally see why we’d be sleeping outside—but it felt like a home. A cross hung on one wall. Brightly colored pottery pieces sat on the counter, and a small bookcase held an assortment of books and photos. Everything was clean and tidy and colorful.

Mrs. Okono invited me to the table and served heaping portions of rice and ndolé, which turned out to be a spicy stew of vegetables and meat. I was pretty sure the meat wasn’t chicken or beef, but I wouldn’t ask.

“Goat,” Henry said when he saw me eyeing a bite of meat on the tines of my fork.

I did my best not to show my relief as I ate the forkful. I could handle goat. Had it been python or something equally exotic, maybe not so much. “It’s fantastic,” I told Mrs. Okono, using a piece of thick flatbread to sop up some of the hearty broth.

Her plate only had rice and vegetables.

“Aren’t you having any?” I asked, scooping up another bite of stew-covered flatbread.

“There is not much,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “And two young men need to eat well.”

Henry’s fork dropped. “Oh, hey, Mrs. O, there’s enough to share.” He went to scoop some of the stew onto her plate.

She waved him aside. “Do not be ridiculous. I have plenty, and it is a special treat for you and Isaiah. And,” she said, standing up, “I have another treat for you.” Mrs. Okono crossed the room to one of the bookshelves. She carried back a stack of three books and handed them to Henry. “For you.”

Henry took one look at the books and dropped them next to his plate before jumping up. He grabbed Mrs. Okono up into another huge hug and whirled her around. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She giggled like a little girl even as she pressed her hand to her scarf to keep it on her head. When her feet touched the ground, she batted at his arm. “You are welcome.”

One was a dingy, well-worn book called
African Mammals: A Zoological Study
. Another was a newer, glossier field guide to African wildlife. The third was
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
. Seriously? I handed the novel to Henry when he sat back into his chair.

“It was my favorite book before… I mean, when I was younger.” He shrugged.

I took another bite of the ndolé and didn’t say anything as he traced the title with a finger. He put the book in one of the cargo pockets of his shorts and turned his attention to the other two books. He flipped through
African Mammals
, stopping occasionally to read a caption.

“Eat.” Mrs. Okono reached across the small table and shut the book. “Reading can wait. Your food will not.”

“Where did you get them?” Henry asked. He stirred his rice and stew but didn’t take a bite, his mind clearly on the gifts in front of him.

“I have my ways. You have such a thirst for learning, how could I not pick up a few things?” Her smile was so full of maternal pride, Henry practically glowed.

“You like to read?” I asked around a bite of rice.

He shrugged.

“Do not be so modest.” Mrs. Okono looked at me and said, as though confiding a big secret, “He is so smart. I do not think your father could do without him anymore. He learns so much, so fast. Henry will be running the camp soon.”

“I just like to know stuff,” Henry said to his plate. The tips of his ears grew red.

My mind started to wander as Henry and Mrs. Okono talked of people and places I didn’t know. I didn’t realize that my eyes had closed until Henry took the last piece of flatbread from my hand. My head jerked up, and I blinked blindly at Mrs. Okono’s smiling face. I turned to see Henry standing next to me.