Kalahari by Jessica Khoury
I tossed the dried mud in my hand, then pulled my arm back and threw it with all my strength. The time I’d spent playing cricket with the kids in Bangladesh had given me a strong right arm and good aim, and the clump struck the branch the baboon was sitting on. He jumped up with a shriek, showing me his long, yellow teeth. Then he chucked the fruit at me.
I had to dodge aside to avoid being hit, and I shot the baboon a startled look. His aim was impressively accurate.
With a laugh of triumph, I picked up the fruit and bowed to the monkey. “Thank you,” I called out. “Much appreciated.”
“Talking to monkeys, I see,” said Joey.
I turned around to find him twirling a finger beside his temple. He added, “Looks like someone’s had one too many swallows of root juice.”
Indignantly, I threw the fruit at him. He caught it against his stomach like a football and grunted, wincing a little.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now are you going to help me?”
“You mean you want me to throw rocks at a bunch of monkeys in a tree in order to compete for food and prove that I, man, am the superior species? Chica,” he said, clicking his tongue, “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this my whole life. Uh . . . they won’t, like, attack, will they?”
“Unlikely. There are only six of them, and we’re bigger. And look—their male is scrawny and young. He won’t mess with us.”
We gathered an armful of chunky dried mud from the termite mound and spent the next ten minutes lobbing the pieces at the monkeys. My mom would have been horrified to see such wanton zoological warfare, but the baboons were giving as good as they got, and twice I was struck by flying fruit. It was astonishing how quickly hunger could change you, making you forget the high ideals you’d once lived by. Only the fed could afford morals. Out here, it was jungle law: eat or be eaten. The strong survive; the weak become prey.
By this time, the rest of the our group had joined in with gusto. At some point it turned into a contest to see who could elicit the most fruits from the irritated baboons. I was in the lead but Joey was close behind. He had wicked aim. Miranda and Sam weren’t half bad either, but all of Avani’s and Kase’s throws went wide.
Soon the baboons ran out of missiles and resorted to screaming at us and baring their teeth, and I called a stop to our little war.
Victorious, we carried our hard-won spoils a short distance away, where Miranda proudly showed us the water she’d found. It was in a wide pan of hard-packed sand and mud that, when the rainy season came, would be flooded to the brim. The water that was there was left over from the last season, so it had probably been sitting for months and there wasn’t much left. The sand around the pool was riddled with all kinds of tracks: lions, hyenas, leopards, wild dogs, aardwolves, hartebeests, zebra, and the wide, wrinkly prints the size of my head that belonged to our lone elephant.
Joey made an immediate dash for the water, but I called for him to stop.
“That water’s been sitting there for months,” I said. “And hundreds of animals have been walking through it, slurping from it, and defecating around it.”
Joey giggled. “You said defecating.”
I lifted my eyes skyward and dug very, very deep for a scrap of patience. “The water must be boiled before we can drink it.”
“We should do it now,” said Miranda. “We can fan the smoke to keep it from giving away our location.”
Everyone stared at her.
“What?” she said, shrugging. “I can have ideas too.”
“And good ones,” I said. “Let’s do it. Make a fire now, then let it die, and keep the embers going through the night. It’ll still be pretty cold, though.”
We devoured the fruits we’d won in our battle with the baboons, relishing the tangy flavor, and filled the shells with water. After fifteen minutes of blistering my hands by rubbing one stick into the other, I placed the shells around the fire, near enough to heat the water but not so close that they caught flame. While we waited for the water to boil, we sat and stared at the shells like jackals waiting for a lion to finish its meal so we could sweep in and grab the leftovers. We took turns fanning the smoke with a branch in an attempt to dissipate it. Otherwise, it might as well have been fireworks that spelled We’re over here! for Abramo to follow.
Finally, I pronounced the water safe to drink. It was still brownish, but at least any bacteria in it would be harmless now. Infused with the taste of the fruit from the shells, the water actually tasted like a strong citrusy tea. None of us waited for it to cool before gulping it down.
“Baobab,” said Joey suddenly. “Baobab. Funny word.” He said it again, drawing out the syllables in a deep, rotund voice, and then he began to sing it to the tune of a song even I recognized.
“Baobab,” he sang, “bao-bab, baobab! Bao-bab!”
At that point, Kase unexpectedly jumped in with the lyrics, breaking out in a high falsetto. “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight!”
The rest of them exchanged looks and shrugs, and chimed in: “In the jungle, the mighty jungle . . .” while Joey kept up his “baobab” rhythm. Then, still singing in a deep bass, he jumped up and began dancing like a maniac around the fire, stomping his feet and shaking his hips. He looked so ridiculous that we had to stop singing because we were laughing so hard. I felt some of the tension between my shoulders ease; the laughter was like a balm to my weary and frayed nerves.
For the first time since we’d climbed out of the underground lake, my thirst was fully sated. I was still hungry, but it wasn’t the pinching, maddening hunger it had been before. The rich nutrients in the fruit were already boosting my energy, and, obviously, the others’ as well.
At some point, Sam rose and said he was going to look around. He had been quiet through the meal, smiling but not really laughing. I watched him as he meandered through the grass and finally sat down on the edge of the pan, staring at the sunset.
While the others kept laughing and attempting to sing, I stood up and began scouting the area, just to see if the lion tracks I’d spotted were fresh or not. I determined that the pride had come through that morning, which was good news. They wouldn’t be back again for another few days, so we were safe for the night. From lions, anyway. I figured we could handle any other animals that came through.
Pretty soon, I found myself standing near Sam. He was lying on his back, with all the colors of the Kalahari sunset reflected in his eyes.
“Mind if I join you?”
He looked up at me as if I’d startled him, but smiled and patted the ground.
I lay down next to him with my head a foot away from his.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Not bad.” His hand went to his abdomen. “The cuts aren’t bleeding.”
“That’s good. We should use some of the water to clean them properly, though.”
“In a while,” he said sleepily.
We stared up at the sky in silence, watching a pair of hawks circle one another on a thermal, their pale undersides standing out against the darkening sky. I tilted my head back to look at the setting sun and held up a hand against the crimson glow. Light streamed between my fingers.
Sam’s nearness set me on edge. Or maybe it was Avani’s words. You were studying him like you were prepping for an anatomy exam.
I yanked a piece of crowfoot grass from the ground beside me and vengefully nibbled at its seeds. Was not.
“Crazy couple of days, huh?” said Sam. “Is your life always this nuts?”
“You should know,” I said. “You read all about it.”
He said nothing.
I sighed and rolled over, propped on my elbows. “Sam . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, really. I feel like I’m hanging over the edge and losing my grip. I keep seeing Theo and wondering about Dad when what I need to do is conc
“No. It’s okay. I get it.”
“I just . . . I wish . . . I wish we had time, you know? Time when we’re not running or hiding or worrying about what we’ll eat or where we’ll sleep. I wish we had time to talk. To . . .” I hesitated, torn between embarrassment and boldness. “To get to know each other,” I finally confessed, glancing sideways at him nervously, hoping I didn’t sound like a total idiot.
He tilted his head backward to meet my gaze. “What do you want to know?”
Unable to hold his stare, I looked down at the sand and idly drew a circle in it with my index finger. “I don’t know. Like . . . what’s your favorite color?”
He laughed, a soft, husky sound that made my heart leap. “Blue. But not, like, blue blue. Sort of a steel blue.”
I nodded. “Okay. Favorite movie?”
“Dead Poets Society.”
“Never saw it.”
“You’ve never seen Dead Poets Society?”
I spread my hands apologetically. “I don’t watch many movies. Not much electricity out here, remember?”
He shook his head. “Man, that is tragic. About the movie. Not the electricity part. I could get used to the quiet out here.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
“Read, mostly. Nonfiction and history. I love studying ancient cultures—Mayans, Phoenicians, stuff like that. I always imagined I’d go into archaeology or something.” He said it a bit sheepishly.
“You should do it!” I said.
“Really?” He looked pleasantly surprised. “I haven’t told anyone about that yet. But I want to travel first. I’m almost eighteen, so the state will probably put me up somewhere for a few months, and then I’ll find an apartment. Get a part-time job. I’ve got one year left of high school. After that, I’m going to travel.”
“Yeah?”
“Egypt’s top of the list. I want to see the pyramids. They’re the only one of the Seven Wonders of the World that still exists. Kind of sad, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never seen the pyramids.”
“Really? I’d have guessed you’d seen everything.”
“No,” I said softly. “Not everything.”
“Then we should go. You and me and the pyramids.”
I blinked in surprise. “What?”
Sam cleared his throat, looking suddenly shy. “I mean . . . since neither of us has been . . . Never mind, that’s a stupid thing to—”
“No,” I interrupted. “We should go. It would be fun.”
Sam stared at me as if somewhat amazed. “Really? Well, yeah, okay. So the pyramids. Then India. Then Mongolia. Have you been to Mongolia?”
“Once. Briefly. My dad was visiting a friend of his who’s studying snow leopards up there.”
“I want to see it all,” he said. “Just got to find a way to pay for it.”
“You could get a job as a research assistant with a field team,” I blurted out. “My dad had an intern for a while from Boston. His name was Pete. Maybe Dad could—” My throat constricted. “I mean, if he’s still—you know.”
“That would be great,” Sam said firmly, cutting me off before I could voice all my deepest fears about Dad. “I’d love that.”
“Oh, Sam.” My ribs seemed to shrink, squeezing my lungs and heart, making me choke. “What if it’s already too late?”
Sam sat up and looked me squarely in the eye. “He’s out there, Sarah,” Sam insisted.
I smiled, but it was weak.
“You will find him,” he said. “And I’m going to help you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No. In a few days we’ll reach Ghansi, and then you’re going home.”
Sam’s brow creased and he cocked his head, studying me as if I didn’t add up. I lowered my gaze, suddenly shying away from how deeply he seemed to look into me. Then I felt his fingers in my hair, running down one of the tendrils that had escaped my ponytail. I held my breath, lifting my eyes to meet his. Sam gave me a slight, quizzical smile. “You don’t honestly think I’d just leave, do you?” he said softly.
“I don’t need protection,” I retorted, bristling a little.
He raised his hands in defense. “I think it’s obvious that out here, you’re the one taking care of me. What I mean is, nobody should be alone through something like this, Sarah.”
That left me at a loss. I felt as if a hole had opened inside me, sucking away all my words, all my defenses. He was right. I had no one. He’d seen right to the core of my misery, and I suspected it was because he knew exactly what I felt.
“Were you alone?” I asked in a whisper. “When you found out . . . you know. Adam.”
“Yes,” he said. His eyes turned to the ground. “I’d been in Pittsburgh for less than a month. I didn’t know anybody. No one to call, no relatives.” He lifted his eyes. “You don’t want to go through that. Let me help you.”
“I—I can’t. It’s better if you go.” I was already too close to him. My eyes searched for him too often, too instinctively. I blushed too deeply when his voice turned soft and his skin brushed mine. I reminded myself that he would leave sooner or later, and when he finally did, I didn’t want to be the girl left behind.
“Why?” Sam asked. The pain in his eyes made me look away. “Is it because you think I’m some charity case delinquent?”
“I don’t think that!”
“Because it’s true. I’m only here because my history teacher convinced the Song Foundation to grant me a scholarship. I could never afford a trip like this.”
I blinked, absorbing this, then let out a small, soft laugh, which elicited a look of surprise and puzzlement from Sam. I explained, “The whole reason we agreed to take you guys on is because the Song Foundation promised to give us money. What do you think I live on? Every bite I eat is paid for out of someone else’s pocket. Our whole operation is run on grant money and donations from zoological societies. If you’re a charity case, then so am I.”
He frowned, taking this in, then a slow smile made his eyes brighten. “So. One charity case to another: Will you let me stay and help you?”
Our eyes held, and I forgot about silver lions and black helicopters, and hunger and time and my aching heart, and whether we’d reach Ghansi or if we’d even live through tomorrow.
My eyes fixed on his, and it was like looking into the starry night and realizing for the first time just how deep and wide and impossible space is. His eyes went on forever, tempting me, drawing me toward him. I felt the pull of an urge so primal, so natural, that I didn’t need to think. I only needed to act, to give in to that intoxicating impulse.
I leaned toward Sam, he met me halfway, and we melted into a kiss that made my thoughts shrink together into a nucleus of vibrating sensation before they burst outward like a thousand stars. As soon as I felt his lips, I realized I’d wanted it for a while, maybe since the day I first saw him. My skin glowing with heat and longing, I surrendered.
I reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand slipped around my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. His lips tasted of baobab fruit, sweet and tangy like an orange. I could feel his heartbeat against the palms of my hands, its pace as frantic as my own.
He drew me in to him, his other hand pressing against the small of my back, and my lips parted against his. He felt like fire and the cool Kalahari breeze, making my heart pound and my thoughts whirl like leaves in the wind.
The kiss felt like a moment, but it must have lasted much longer, because when we finally broke apart, breathing hard, our foreheads touching, the sun was already below the horizon and the sky blazed from scarlet to purple.
I looked back toward the fire, wondering if the others were missing us, but he caught my chin with his fingers and turned me back to him.
“
I studied his face, the freckles on his nose and cheeks, the cleft in his chin, the faint crease between his eyebrows. His sandy hair had fallen across his forehead, and I couldn’t resist sweeping it back. My fingers lingered on his face, trailing downward to his jaw, which was rough with stubble after days out here without shaving. “Okay.”
The crease vanished when he smiled. He reached up and pulled me into his chest. “Tell me a story.”
“A story? What kind?”
“Something about you. Something not in the book.”
We were talking in a hush, even though we far enough away from the others that they would have heard us only if we yelled. Sam’s face was inches from mine, so close that I could see the dark flecks in his green eyes.
“Okay. Um. One time, in Australia, I stole a baby kangaroo.”
“What? No!”
I laughed. “Yeah. It was just so cute! I was only, gosh, six, I think? Anyway, these roos were pretty tame, you know. Used to people being around. It was great, except for when they kicked you.”
“Did they ever kick you?”
“Several times. They kick like mules, but it’s the funniest thing to see as long as you’re not the one they’re kicking. But that’s not the story.”
“So you stole the baby.”
“The joey. Yeah.” I giggled, thinking of our Joey by the fire. “Baby kangaroos are called—”
“Yeah, Sarah. I know.”
“Okay. So it was only nine months old, but it was almost too heavy for me to carry. It had gotten tangled up in an old rabbit fence, and it couldn’t hop. So I thought, in my six-year-old brain, that I could help it get better. I stole it when the other kangaroos were sleeping and took it back to our camp to put Band-Aids on its injured leg. Then I knew I couldn’t hide it in the tent or my parents would find it. So I . . .” I paused and ran a hand over my hair, laughing in embarrassment. “Um, I hid it in the toilet.”
“Wait.” Sam held up a hand, palm out. “You hid the baby kangaroo in the toilet.”