CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
“Not saying what you want to say,” he reached a thumb to my collar bone to trace the growing redness. “When you do not, your skin turns red.”
I looked away, embarrassed, turning even more red, and huffed a frustrated sigh.
“I’ve never been very good with talking through emotions. In my line of work, sometimes it’s better not to feel things.”
“Your work of being a nurse?”
I nodded.
“Is it truly better not to feel?”
“Probably not.”
He was silent, offering me the chance to share if I wanted, and I found that I did.
“When my dad left, I was only nine. Jonathan, my brother, was thirteen. Dad was never around anyway, and when he was, he and my mom fought like crazy. Still,” I sighed, wondering why it was so easy to share such personal things with him, “I’ll never forget the night he flung a suitcase onto the bed, threw clothes in, and zipped it shut.
One of the pants legs was still hanging out, dragging the grass across our lawn.
I’ll never forget it. He slammed the door of his car and screeched out of the driveway.
He called, occasionally, but even that became awkward because we had no relationship.
Eventually, he stopped calling. He married someone else and now they have kids of their own.
” I shrugged. “It’s like he replaced us. ”
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
“I had five more years with Jonathan before he left for college. He was my hero. We were very close. When I was fourteen, about to start high school, he left. I was so mad that he was leaving, I ran to the attic in tears, refusing to say goodbye. We were best friends. I mean, how could he leave me just like our dad did?” Tears began to well in my eyes ,just remembering.
“On the way to his new school, Jonathan was in a vehicle accident. A single-vehicle accident, meaning he’d veered off the road and lost control.
He made it to the hospital where I sat next to his bed for two days, begging for his life.
But he didn’t make it.” Two tears raced down my cheeks.
Abandoned again. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.
” Jahnu didn’t move, allowing me to continue.
“I used to think there was something wrong with me…like I was the reason the people in my life kept leaving. So, I guess I understand in a small way when you told me everyone you love has left you.” I looked up, sheepish at my vulnerability, but he just nodded thoughtful, and it was my turn to offer silence with the unspoken question between us.
“My mother die when she birthed me, as you know,” he began slowly.
“I never know her, but my father made her known to me with stories. She was a peaceful woman. Quiet, but strong. My father told me he often leaned on her wisdom, for she was not caught up…with…how you say…pride…ego, like others who counsel him,” he sighed, quietly.
“I learned much from my father, and went with him on visits to the other villages when I was just a boy. He say ‘great leadership lie in great relationship’.” There was a brief silence.
“I’m afraid I am not as good a chief as him. ”
I kept silent, not wanting to risk another debate about his choices as chief, but I felt I understood his struggle a little better now. I noticed the gray of dawn had turned to a bright, yellow sunrise peeking up above the tree tops.
“There was sickness in the tribe” he continued.
“Fever, coughing. Already many children die, so we take the sick and separate them. My wife, like you…” he flashed his eyes at me, “she cared for the sick. My fadda, too. He served our tribe and they both became ill.” He gazed into the distance, remembering.
“It was hard for them to breathe. Both cough blood. Other Hundi join the sick. All ages. We sent for medicine in the markets and other tribes. We built sweat huts. Some get better. Some did not.” He shrugged.
Tuberculosis? I wondered silently.
“I watched my father breathe his last breath, knowing there was nothing I could do…but before he died, he told me, ‘You are Chief, now. Keep the tribe together.’ And I try. I try to do what he say,” he said sadly.
“He was the best man I ever know. He cared for his people. He loved deeply. He sacrificed for everyone. I watched him lead, I imitated him to learn. But to be leader without him here, that has been the hardest of all,” he held my eyes, but I could tell he was lost in thought.
“In a strange way, I feel I have stopped growing from the minute he died—stuck in that time, forever. But there is also part of me that has grown more if he had not died. Everything he taught me has become more real now that he is gone.”
There was a long silence, and he held my eyes until I looked away.
I found myself feeling a twinge of jealousy at the relationship he’d shared with his father.
My own relationship had been a strain from the beginning.
Now, as an adult I understood my father fought his own battles that had nothing to do with me, I’ve never stopped wishing for him to come around and be the dad I always needed.
There was a small part of me that hoped we might eventually reconcile, but I knew it was a desire rooted in fantasy.
“And, what about your wife?” I asked, looking back at him, willing him to continue.
“My wife…Alupa,” Jahnu smiled, his eyes closed. “Ahh…” he shook his head.
I watched him, taken by his beauty as he remembered those he loved most in the world.
I felt intrusive on such an intimate memory, but I sensed he needed to tell it, as if sharing it was unburdening him in some way.
Who did he have to talk to now that he was chief?
Who did he have to share his burden with, even if just a listening ear?
I imagined he’d been quite lonely these years without them, and felt an odd sense of intimacy at being someone with whom he could share these moments.
“What was she like?” I asked, encouraging him to continue.
Jahnu opened his eyes and smiled. “She was like you. Pretty. Kind. Stubborn. Feisty. She like to argue with me…like you.” He grinned, playfully.
“Hey,” I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I think I would’ve liked her, then.”
Jahnu reached a hand to touch my face, and caught me off guard.
“She would’ve liked you,” he said, boring his intense black eyes into mine and running his work-worn thumb over the crest of my cheek bone.
I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. My heart was hammering at his touch, and I tightened my jaw to keep from speaking. I roamed the planes of his face, noting the lines that sat deep like parenthesis, emphasizing his wide mouth and lips so thick I was sure they would swallow me whole.
He leaned forward slowly as if to kiss me, but just as he did, the string snagged on the line, tripping the snare and sending the rock flying overhead.
Out of the water a large, sand-colored fish came wriggling on the line, suspended on the string that hung from the limb overhead.
It worked!—it happened so fast we nearly jumped out of our skin from surprise, and gently chuckled at our fright.
Jahnu rose quickly to retrieve his catch and reset the snare once more.
I’m not sure what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted, but I found myself wishing for another chance to find out.