To Save a Boy

He had to find him. He had to reach him in time, going back through time, because his thoughts would not let him forget. That boy. That awkward thing with gangly limbs and a brain tweaked by hormones, standing on a rock in the wilderness alone. He had to get to him before the prowlers could. To put his arms around him and tell him that life was ahead of him and not behind–to help him lift his chin and scatter his emotions. To help him see there is a time and a season for everything, and to be young is to be dumb. 

“Did you bring the right ammo, and enough of it?” his partner Reggie said, as the open top land rover pulled to a stop near the two-track road. “They’ll be swarming around him by the time we reach him. You’ll need to aim and shoot fast, Tom.” 

“It’s all here in my backpack,” Tom said. “And the rifle’s loaded.” He patted the rifle case in the back of the rover. Then he stood up and held his binoculars to his eyes. “I think the boulder field is somewhere near the edge of that slope. Looks to be about three miles away.” Then they could almost hear the hyenas echoing far off. They were calling to each other, laughing and circling.

“I don’t like the look of this sand,” Reggie said. “It’s getting deeper and softer by the yard. And the heat only makes it worse.” Reggie gripped the steering wheel, polished from years of travel and sweat through the veldts and deserts. He was the best guide a man could hope for, the best tracker. He had seen it all out here, and he had done this exact kind of mission for himself, to rescue his own boyhood from scrutiny and pain. 

“How did you do it, Reggie?” Tom finally said. “How did you rescue your younger self when he was in trouble? Especially out here, where so much can go wrong.” 

“I just cleared my mind,” Reggie said. “I just dropped the irrational thoughts on the ground. I disconnected the emotions, like a plug from a wall. I saw them for what they are. And then I was able to find him.”

“But how did you get rid of all the shame, the hyenas?”

“I had to get angry,” Reggie said. “I had to decide I wasn’t going to let him down, to let them get to him, or let anyone think he deserved to be got, just for being a kid.”

The sun was rising higher, and the African heat pressed down like an iron on a starched white shirt. In the bush, not far back, they could hear the lions too, huffing and quarreling. Tom could see elephant tracks, going like rails across the path ahead, and piles of dung were scattered at the edge of the sandy ruts. When the breeze blew the scent toward them, it was grassy and pungent in the air.

Just then, they heard the boy calling from far off. His words weren’t clear. It wasn’t clear what was happening. He was too far away. But it was urgent. 

“Come on,” Reggie said. “We have to hurry.” 

Tom sat down in the rover and Reggie fired it up. He dropped the gears and the knobby tires churned. They managed to get another 200 yards before the sand became deeper and very soft. The rover tires dug hard as Reggie feathered the accelerator and worked the gear shifter with all his expertise. But soon they were going less than a walking pace, and the engine was screaming. Then the rover stalled; the tires whirled and spit, going down and not forward. 

“Damn,” Reggie cried. “It’s too thick.” 

“Let’s just winch our way through it?” Tom said. “I see some sturdy trees up ahead. Maybe we can hook onto them.” 

“We probably could,” Reggie said. “But then we’d just have to do it again and again. The track up ahead looks the same the whole way. And we’re running out of time.” 

“Then I’ll just have to run,” Tom said. He didn’t hesitate at the thought, even though his forehead was dripping with sweat, and the smell of grass and wilderness filled his nose, and hot air cooked his lungs. He put the backpack on his shoulders, took a swig from his canteen, slung the rifle and pressed down his hat. 

“Pace yourself,” Reggie said. “I would come with you, but I’ll just slow you down.” Tom looked at Reggie’s strong hands on the steering wheel–hands that had seen years of adventure and sunshine. His hair was gray now, nearly white. Even though he was as strong and brave as ever, he knew a run through the sand would be too much, that he would probably just slow things down. Tom knew that the race would have to be his own.

“I’ll wait for you here then,” Reggie said. “I won’t leave until you come back. And if dusk falls, I’ll come and get you, even if it kills me.” 

Tom pounced down from the rover. His heart sank when his boots sank. He thought of all the hard physical things he had ever done and whether or not they had prepared him for this, now that he was in his forties. His pulse was already rising from the heat alone. But he took another drink and began to run. 

He was mostly on his toes at first, to gain more traction in the deep sand, and because that’s what he had learned from the Navy Seals on the beach. But within minutes his calves were burning and his back was soaked with sweat under the backpack. Birds scattered from cover ahead; they could hear him coming, breathing loud. He kept an eye on the bush nearby, gripping the rifle, knowing that running was foolish, that it would attract unwanted attention from lions or whatever else. Soon he wanted to quit, but he thought of that stranded boy and knew that no one else could help him.

Then the heat became an anvil on his head. He took off his hat at times and tried to fan his face as he ran. He had cinched the backpack straps as tight as he could, to keep it from bouncing too much. The rifle strap was tight too, as tight as he could make it. But his steps were getting clumsier. He reached a point where the road was lined with thick Acacia scrub, making it harder to go fast. He knew how important it was to watch his steps here. 

And there it was. The thing he needed to watch for. It was long and smooth, olive-colored, with an open mouth full of pale black death as it hissed in the road. The mamba had been sunning itself before being interrupted. Tom came to a quick stop and the sweat poured into his eyes, like rivulets down the windshield of a suddenly stopping car. From an early age, he had learned that snakes don’t chase people. Even the venomous ones have no desire to pursue humans. Of course, he remembered the “dead” rattlesnake that almost bit him when he tried to open its fangs with needle-nose pliers one day. But mambas were different. A mamba would chase you, especially if surprised.

Tom held very still, despite the screaming muscles in his legs, the dripping sweat and his pounding heart. He looked around, but there were no sticks close by. He wanted to just shoot the snake, but knew that would be harder than it seemed, and he needed to conserve his shots. For a moment, he just stared, and the snake suddenly became an embodiment of all his obstacles and insecurities, all the voices that told him he wasn’t good enough, strong enough, changed enough.

“Get the hell out of here,” he finally said, in a low, determined voice. “I’ll kill you if you don’t. I’ll waste every bullet I have to kill you. I don’t care if I have to fight the hyenas with my bare hands, but there will be nothing left of you but wrecked scales and open flesh, if you don’t move away.” 

The mamba must have sensed the universal energy, that invisible ferocity that can be communicated in times like this, whether the recipient is man or beast. Slowly, the mamba shifted its attention and moved out of the way, trailing off like a whisper into the bush. Tom put the rifle back over his shoulder and continued on.       

He had gone about two miles when he crested a hill on the two-track, and the sand was not so deep then. Maybe it was the increasing shade, or maybe it was just a stroke of good fortune, or maybe it was God coming to give him some reprieve. Maybe God wanted him to rescue that boy–to forgive him–and scatter his tormentors.

“I can’t take much of that again,” Tom said aloud to himself, gasping for air. But he focused ahead, taking heart in the slightest change for good, and quickened his pace. He could hear the hyenas laughing, the dumb things growing louder, filling his mind almost continually. He was almost ready to call for the boy, but he wanted to see him first. He didn’t want to call into the bush for no reason–to be heard only by the animals and the thorn trees.

And then he saw him. He saw the boy, just as he imagined, stranded on the boulder. Tom got closer, and he could see the look on the boy’s face. It was the look that someone has when they feel betrayed and duped by life. The boy didn’t see Tom at first. He was watching the hyenas, listening to them laugh and feeling the shame that they wanted to give him before they killed him.

“Hold on!” Tom called, his voice quavering. “I’m coming to help you.” 

The boy stumbled back against the slope as a hyena lunged, nearly catching enough ledge to scramble up. Tom leveled his rifle, piercing his eyes through the sweat and tears, to see the front sight settle into the notch of the gun sight. Then he pulled the trigger. And a hyena dropped. He fired again. Another fell. Then the others reeled and stumbled away into the bush, giggling.

He climbed the boulder to embrace the boy, whose arms hung down until they felt the strength and warmth of his embrace. Then his hands came up, and Tom felt them clasp around him, gripping his backpack. Tom cried. The boy cried too. Then his shoulders heaved, he took a deep breath and sighed.

“I didn’t think anyone would come,” he said. “I never knew it would be you. I never thought I would someday save myself. I would be my own rescuer.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Tom finally said. “There was someone else, and God too. We couldn’t let you down, let you think you were the only one who struggled, the only one they would try to come for.”

“I thought I deserved it,” the boy admitted. “I was about to give up, and just let them take me.” Tom grabbed his arms and looked at his own face across from him.

Just then a bull elephant appeared out of the trees, not far away, moving slowly toward them. His confidence was as immense as his frame. He was almighty, but not agitated. His ears fanned gently and his eyes were relaxed, and his great tusks nearly touched the ground, nearly furrowing the surface. They watched his huge feet splay with each plodding step. But he was almost silent as he came. 

Then he paused at the dead hyenas, tossing his head. With a rumble, he spread his great ears and kicked gently at the ground. When he was satisfied that the hyenas were lifeless, he waved his trunk toward the boulder, not in any way trumpeting or threatening. He blinked slowly and continued on. His great head went up and down like a battleship on the sea, and his trunk blew little swirls and puffs into the sand. It was the most magical sight of their lives. He was so close, and there was no barrier. Yet he held no ill-will. His countenance, and even his infrasonic vibrations, conveyed that everything was right and good between them.  

When the elephant had gone into the scenery, they climbed down and walked back through the shade and the sand. At times, Tom put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, whenever he caught him looking down. Then a few clouds covered the sun, and a cool breeze stilled the wild sounds. They could see the rover ahead, getting closer, still where Tom had left it. And they could see Reggie waiting, smiling through his own watering eyes. Reggie helped them climb in. The sun dropped, red and cooling behind the broken trees and the thin clouds. They waited to see the victory of sunset. And they went home together.