The Secret of the Desert Stone (10 page)

All motion in the room ceased abruptly. Chief Gotono and Bengati stared at Dr. Cooper with widened eyes, then looked at each other. The sudden silence scared Jay and Lila. Had they caused a terrible offense somehow?

Bengati was the first to move again as he pressed his palms together in front of him. He opened them up as if opening a book, his eyes upon the chief, his lips quietly speaking words in Motosa.

The chief looked at Bengati's open hands, then at his creative son, and his lip began to quiver.

Bengati made the book opening gesture again, his eyes wide with wonder as he looked from his hands to Dr. Cooper and back again.

Finally, the chief opened his hands like a book, raised them toward heaven, and then, with deep, quaking sobs, he began to weep.

EIGHT

B
ack at Jo-Jota's, Dr. Henderson took a nap while the Coopers visited quietly on the porch, trying to figure out why the chief had suddenly dismissed everyone from his house. Chief Gotono had seemed so troubled, like he needed to be alone with his thoughts. The unveiling of Ontolo's phonetic alphabet had been a special moment, of course. But it seemed to have been the opening-a-book hand gesture that had made the chief weep, and he certainly had not attempted to explain why.

Their little meeting didn't last long. The village drummers, three men and an apprentice no older than ten, took their places outside the big meeting hall and began beating out an intricate, rhythmic song on deep, bass drums, a hollow log, and what appeared to be the steel wheel of an old car.

“It is time!” came a call from across the square. It was Bengati, coming on the run. “Come! We gather for our meeting!”

Lila wasn't ready for socializing. “Right
now?
”

Bengati beckoned. “Come. The chief will speak.”

The Coopers scrambled to prepare. Jay didn't have his shoes on, Dr. Cooper had to put on his shirt, and Lila needed to brush out her hair before she put on the headdress she'd made. As for Dr. Henderson, she didn't feel like going anywhere and started griping about it—whining, actually. But then her four loyal carriers showed up with her chair, and that settled that.

They hurried with the other villagers to the meeting hall and got there just in time. Bengati showed them to a log bench off to the side where he could quietly interpret the proceedings for them.

All the people, young and old alike, had gathered once again, sitting row upon row, dressed in colorful woven garments and dangling, clinking jewelry of leather, bone, and stone. There was a dull murmur in the crowd as people visited quietly; one or two babies cried.

Suddenly, without introduction or explanation, a man stepped onto the large, flat speaker's stone and started singing—or was it chanting? His voice was a powerful tenor, and the melody soared like the flight of a barn swallow. He sang a line of the song, and the people, as one voice, echoed it back with great power and hauntingly beautiful harmony. It gave Jay and Lila goosebumps.

The chanter delivered the next line of the song. The people echoed it back once again. Then came another line and another echo, and so it went. As the song progressed, it built in emotion and volume. As it ended, many in the group closed their eyes as if in prayer, closing themselves in with their own thoughts and feelings, their bodies swaying with the music.

More songs followed, and it was easy to see that these people weren't just having a singalong around a campfire. They meant deep, spiritual business.

Dr. Cooper was totally fascinated, leaning forward in his seat, watching and listening. Finally, he turned to Jay and Lila and said, “I think we're in church.”

Jay and Lila nodded. That's what it looked, sounded, and felt like, all right. They stole a look at Dr. Henderson, and were startled to find that she was quite captivated, unconsciously swaying to the music, a rare smile on her face.

When the singing ended, it left a very sweet and peaceful mood about the place.

“Now the chief will speak,” Bengati whispered.

With his full headdress in place and his arms outstretched, Chief Gotono got the immediate, respectful attention of his people. He began his speech—or was it a sermon?—in his characteristic, booming voice.

Bengati leaned close to the Coopers and Dr. Henderson and began to explain in a hushed voice what the chief was talking about. “The chief is telling the story of his father's father, Chief Landzi, who first brought our people here from across the desert and found water when he struck the rock.”

When Bengati leaned away to listen some more, Dr. Cooper exchanged a quizzical, puzzled look with his kids.

“Dad,” said Jay, “doesn't this sound like the story of Moses?”

Dr. Cooper had no time to answer. Bengati was leaning toward them again, quietly recounting the chief's message out of the corner of his mouth. “Now the water is gone, but the chief says that if we turn from evil and seek after God, God will answer us and bring us water from the mighty Stone in the desert.”

The chief raised his voice even louder and pointed west toward the mountain-sized Stone. Bengati explained, “The chief says that God has sent His holy mountain to speak to the tribe. Just as He sent Ontolo to save Mobutu, He has sent this Stone.”

“Ontolo? Are you talking about—” Jay started to ask, but the sermon ended and another song began. This time the people stood to sing, clapping and waving their hands.

When the meeting ended, Dr. Cooper suggested, “Let's get back to Jo-Jota's and compare notes. The whole idea of the Motosas being savages and cannibals just doesn't hold up.”

They sat on the big front porch and watched the village kids play while Jo-Jota brought them slices of bread and melon to snack on.

Dr. Henderson took a refreshing bite of melon and commented, “Sure, I found their rituals fascinating and their music enjoyable, but I see nothing unusual about their religious beliefs. They believe they've offended their god and so their god has taken away their water. It seems an appropriate myth for a primitive, agricultural society.”

“That's not what's unusual,” said Dr. Cooper, “What's unusual is that their religious system has no trappings of paganism: no magic rituals, no appeasing of evil spirits, no nature worship . . .”

“No idols,” Lila added.

“That's right,” said Jay. “And they only have one god, not several.”

“That's the first thing that caught my attention,” said Dr. Cooper, leaning forward in his chair. “They don't have a rain god, or a sun god, or a god of fertility, or a god of the crops or seasons or whatever. Their god is bigger than all that. Consider that Stone out there. Any other pagan culture would have fallen into worshiping that thing, sacrificing to it, chanting and using magic to appease it. But these people have a god big enough to have created it and put it there. Their god is bigger than nature, bigger than creation.”

Dr. Henderson finished chewing her piece of melon. “Dr. Cooper, I suppose you want to believe that these people are Christians or something?”

Jay, Lila, and Dr. Cooper all checked each other's eyes and knew immediately that they shared the same suspicion. Dr. Cooper put it into words. “They may not be Christians in the way we would think— not Baptists, or Methodists, or Pentecostals. But considering that no modern-day missionary has ever come to these people to preach Christianity, I can't help wondering about the similarities.”

“What similarities, if I may ask?” said Dr. Henderson.

“One god, bigger than all creation, who created all things, who tells these people what is right and wrong.”

Jay piped in, “He teaches them that stealing is wrong, that they should work hard and share.”

“And it's obvious that these people have a personal relationship with their god. They love him.”

Jay asked, “So who's the Ontolo the chief talked about? I mean, I don't think he meant his son when he spoke about how God sent Ontolo to save Mobutu.”

“And who is Mobutu,” Dr. Cooper asked, “other than our somewhat shady host on the other side?”

Jay had already decided, “I'm going to ask Ontolo. I want to hear that story.”

Dr. Cooper nodded. “And I'm going to have a heart-to-heart talk with the chief to find out where their religion really came from, where they got their stories and traditions.”

“Like the one about the snake,” said Lila.

They looked at her curiously.

“Don't you remember? When Renyata thought Ontolo had stolen Jay's pencil, she said that Ontolo was bitten by the snake, and that's why he did wrong.”

Jay's and Dr. Cooper's faces brightened with recollection.

And then, like a bolt of electricity, the possible meaning of that expression hit them all.

“Ooohhhh boy . . .” said Lila.

“Where's Bengati?” Dr. Cooper asked, jumping to his feet.

The chief agreed to meet with Jacob Cooper the next morning. When Dr. Cooper arrived, the chief was sitting outside behind his home, carefully carving another staff, this one for his son.

“The staff of my father tells the story of our family in pictures,” he said through Bengati. “But now I think Ontolo will want a staff on which he can make his own marks.”

Dr. Cooper and Bengati sat with Chief Gotono under the shade of the big tree his house was built around. It was just the three of them, and the chief seemed quite relaxed. Dr. Cooper hoped this would be a good time to ask some big questions. Through Bengati, they began to converse.

“Chief Gotono, I hope all is well.”

“All is very well, Dr. Cooper. I have had much to think about in a short time. You are right. Ontolo's strange marks can capture words that will remain for all time and can bring us the words of other men. Our God has chosen many ways to speak to us, but I never thought He would speak through the little marks created by my own son.”

“Chief Gotono, can you tell me how you came to know your god?”

The chief looked thoughtfully at the staff he was carving as he spoke and Bengati translated. “There was once a young man who had many gods. His gods were in the sun, and in the moon, and in the trees, and in the crops. Some gods helped his people bear children, and some gods took the children away through death. But there were too many gods, and they were too small, and they would not speak. They would not tell the people what is right and what is wrong.

“So, this young man knew in his heart that there had to be one God who made all things and supplies all things and can teach the people how they should live.”

The chief looked toward the rugged mountains that rose above the grassy plain, his thoughts going back into history. “I journeyed into the desert and knelt in the sand, asking this great God to reveal Himself. And God spoke to me and said, ‘Because you seek me with all your heart, you will learn of me, for I will reveal myself in everyday things.' And so it has been.” The chief smiled, but his eyes were still sad. “We have heard from our God, but we still wait to hear His name, to know who He really is.”

Dr. Cooper's heart went out to this man. “Chief Gotono, there is a wonderful book you must see.”He pressed his palms together, then opened them as if opening a book. He could tell the chief recognized the gesture immediately. “It will tell you the name of your God.”

The chief held up his hand. “First, I must tell you a dream I had. But you must tell no one else.”

Dr. Cooper agreed and listened to the dream.

Lila and Beset sat together in the grass in front of the chief's house, working on a headdress even more lovely than the first.

“Beset . . .”

“Yes, Lila?”

“Do you remember when your mother thought Ontolo had stolen the pencil from Jay?”

Beset cocked her head and focused on Lila with her huge, dark brown eyes. “Yes. What is in your thinking?”

“Your mother said Ontolo was bitten by the snake. What does that mean?”

Beset smiled, removed the headdress from Lila's head, and then spoke as she adjusted its size. “It means, Ontolo has done a bad thing. Ontolo did not steal pencil, but my mother did not know, so she say Ontolo bitten by the snake.” She looked at Lila directly. “You are good. Your father, your brother, they good. But many people are bad. They do bad things, they are not kind. We say they are bitten by the snake. It is a story we tell.”

Beset put the headdress on Lila's head again to check the size. “Long ago, we all had the same mother. You, me, my mother and father, all had the same mother. One day, a snake say to her, ‘Come to my tree, and I give you something to eat,' but she say, ‘I cannot eat your food, it will kill me.' But the snake say, ‘No, you eat my food, you be very wise, and you never die.' So she come to the tree to get food, but then the snake bit her. He poison her. He put in her bad things: hate, and stealing, and bad thoughts and anger. And then she die.”

She removed the headdress, satisfied with its fit, and picked up more yarn to weave around the headband. “Now all her children have the same poison. They do bad things, think bad things, and they die. So when someone do something bad, we say, ‘They are bitten by the snake.'”

Lila could feel her heart pounding and her hands shaking. She tried to relax, not wanting Beset to be concerned, but her voice still quivered just a bit when she asked, “Beset, where did that story come from?”

Beset shrugged. “It is a story we tell. And now Ontolo has made the story on skins with his little marks.”

“We have a story like that. It's—”

“Dad!” came a cry from the forest beyond the village. It was Jay's voice, and he sounded absolutely beside himself. “Dad! Lila!”

Lila and Beset leaped to their feet, expecting something terrible, and ran to the edge of the forest. Dr. Cooper and Chief Gotono had heard Jay's cry and also came on the run.

“Dad!” came Jay's voice again.