IN THE FIRE

“I never wrote him a letter.”

“Have you ever written anyone a letter?” The boy’s father asked.

“He wrote me four.”

“It’s not a competition, pal. Adunya wrote letters to you because he’s your friend. But even without the letters, he would still be your friend.”

“What if he’s mad I didn’t make an effort?”

“Would you be?”

The boy shrugged and stared into the fire. He would be. He knew it. And it made his gut feel hollow. If Adunya had not sent letters, the boy would think he had been forgotten.

The boy’s father leaned back and rubbed his chin. The fire demanded attention in quiet moments. And the boy’s father, like the boy, did not resist.

The flames led them into a dance, a soft rhythm--the seduction of warmth, the threat of destruction. It held them in a quiet trance and almost stole their thoughts.

But for the boy, the dark part of the flames, the blue, the almost black, felt like a mirror. It stared back at him and pierced his heart.

Yet inside that darkness, the boy also saw visions of lions and buffalo, deer and bears. He did see fear. But when he thought about hunting and fishing with his friend again, he saw hope.

GOOD NEWS

Dear Steven,

Uncle say we come back to America soon. He say maybe we stay for long time. Do Jon Jon learn to throw spear yet? I hunt my first warthog with Uncle now. He give me lesson with rifle. We shoot target every day. Then Uncle tell me to sit by tree and shoot when warthog come. I miss first one, but Uncle say we wait for number two. When it come, I make sure I no miss. Uncle say I natural. But it much work to cut meat from big animal. Men with Uncle no touch pig because they say it no clean. I think it taste much good. I want to bring some to you and Jon Jon. Uncle say it not possible. I am happy to come back to America. I am sad to go from the home of my father.

The boy re-read the first sentence. Adunya was coming home. With new stories about Africa, about hunting, about beasts the boy had never even read about. And he could show Adunya the flock of turkeys he discovered in the breaks. And Adunya could see that Jon Jon was practicing with the spear every day. And the boy wanted to show him the new fishing hole where he hooked into a big catfish. And he wanted to show him his new shotgun.

He read through the letter again. No mention of when they’d be coming. He’d have to ask his father.

The boy pumped his fist in the air and ran to find his younger brother.

SPECTATORS

The spear hit the water again and Jon Jon lifted it without a fish, again. He waded to the mossy south end of the pond and tried to stick one of the bullfrogs croaking half out of the water. They all splashed off.

“Throw it, Jon Jon,” the boy said from the shore.

Jon Jon feared losing the spear. He worried it might break. What if he threw it awkwardly and looked like a fool?

“There’s a big one. Throw it.”

Jon Jon noticed the bullfrog half out of the water.

“Throw it, Jon Jon.”

He stared at the frog, its bulbous eyeballs glinting above a body the color of the moss that hugged the pond’s edge. Its eyes shifted, the amphibian aware of the hunter’s menacing presence.

“Throw it before he jumps.”

A throaty scream jumped from Jon Jon’s mouth and heaved Adunya’s spear. The frog plopped below the surface. The spear landed shaft first and bounced onto the shore. He turned to his brother. “Stop yelling at me.”

The water lapped like a whisper and a breeze rose into the big cottonwood and made the leaves grumble. A layering of clouds glowed with a sun not quite ready to set.

For a moment, nothing.

Then, Jon Jon sloshed over to the spear Adunya had thrown with such accuracy and grace. Half a dozen more frogs croaked and disappeared below the surface. He wrapped his fingers tight around the spear, wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist, and waded back to where the water was clear. A bluegill darted past and he jabbed at it. Not even close.

He sensed his brother watching from the shore and then he missed again.