NEW BLOOD

The boy knew he shouldn't stare, but he had never seen someone like the boy staring back at him. The boy tried to smile. He tried to turn away--his eyes kept jumping back. The other boy never smiled and never turned away.

"You ready?" The boy's father stepped off the porch and gripped his son's shoulder.

As they pulled away from the farm, the tires kicking gravel beneath the truck, the boy glanced out the window knowing he'd meet those strange eyes. For a moment, it seemed the other boy might smile back.

"Where did he come from, Dad?"

"Ethiopia."

"What's he doing at Uncle Albin's house?"

"Your uncle adopted him."

"Why?"

The boy's father sighed. It was just like his brother to bring home an adopted boy without warning anyone. He didn't tell the boy about how Albin's wife and only child died during childbirth--the family never talked about that. The boy knew Uncle Albin spent months of every year in Africa. The boy dreamed about the elephants, buffalo, lions, and unimaginable creatures his uncle talked about. He heard tales of primitive tribes and people who had never worn shoes. Until that day, the boy thought his uncle often embellished those stories. Until that day his uncle, though fascinating and fun to listen to, was a little crazy.

"Did you talk to him?"

The boy shook his head.

"His name is Adunya. His father was a tracker at one of your uncle's safari camps. When his father died, I guess he had few people to look after him."

"What about his mom?"

"I don't know, son."

The boy tried not to think about life without his mother or father. He had been enamored with his uncle. In his young naivety, he even wished once that his own father was more like uncle Albin. He thought those mysterious children in Africa, living off the land, hunting for food, sleeping in huts, had it so much better. Some of them didn't even have to go to school. His envy began to melt that dry morning at his uncle's farm.

"How did his dad die?" The boy had this glorified view of trackers with supernatural abilities that followed lions and fought leopards with their bare hands--an idea his uncle often stoked with stories of men he called "legends nobody will ever know."

The boy's father pulled to the side of the road and turned to face the boy. "Might as well hear it from me instead of one of your older brothers. He was killed by one of his neighbors."

"Why would a neighbor do that?"

"It was over a cow. This boy, Adunya, saw it happen."

"A cow?"

"He comes from a different world than you do, son. We all need to remember that."

"Was his dad shot in the back or something?"

The boy's father stared at him, contemplating his answer. "No, he wasn't shot."

"Spear?"

Knowing the boy may never remove the image from his thoughts, he told him anyway. "Machete."

After a few moments of silence, the boy's father shifted the truck into gear, but left his foot on the brake. "Adunya's had a rough go of it. You understand we need to do everything we can to make him feel at home."

The boy wondered how that kid could ever feel at home in Nebraska--he kept that thought to himself.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Does this make Adunya my cousin?"