Ch 2 - Children of Tegalupa

A Girl and Her Tribe of Boys

While the Western oceans are frozen, the coast of South America is quite steamy. The rain falls in black bands that turn standing land into small lakes. The storm rages for a time until she grows tired. Black turns to gray, then bleaches under the growing heat of the sun. Steam rises from the wet earth and rugged coastline far below.

Breakers roll along the coastline, constantly crashing and carving the land. Mangrove knees trap and reclaim in small measures. Eventually, new islands will form. The game is quite slow, but the land seems to be winning. A steady wall of growth has matured. This fortifies the line between land and ocean. It is a crooked thing marking what is and what might be.

Water drips off of the banana shaped leaves of the kapok trees. Along their grey arms, white flowers bloom in tight bunches. Yellow stamen bring the promise of nectar to hummingbirds and insects. The red highlights upon the hummingbird’s blue wings give praise to life.

Below the trees, the land is in shadow. Within these shadows, there is a path. The path is rough hewn, well traveled, and stable. Cobbles fill the center of the rustic road and allow horses to gain footing along a basic line. Dark planks of wood filling the sides of the path manage to keep much of the road from washing away.

It is the receding current of the recent rain that flows along the curving edges of the path. Flowing water shushes stones to be quiet. Small stones click together as the water bubbles and pops.

A small band of children make their way down the sticky wet ribbon of earth. Twelve in total, they move as a one. Jumping and skipping merrily, the kids kick what seems to be a crushed can. It is colored in blue and laced with white. A small fleck of red dances as the can spins and jumps. Possibly it held fruit once. Now it smells like old fish. The boys do not care about the origins of their toy. Their laughter tells us that the game they play is much fun.

The capuchins in the trees warble and shriek as the metal thing tings and dings on rounded rocks. The tone of the curious monkeys turns to ecstatic whooping. Excitement fills their chatter. Curious is their tone.

One boy catches the kicking can in the air, not with his hands but with his feet. Quickly, he begins bouncing the metal thing on his knees. His legs and feet have a dexterity that rivals some who use only fingers and hands. The can hangs in the air because the boy moves so fast. The dented can with flecks of color and rust never comes close to touching the ground. The action is easy to describe, but far more difficult to perform. The other boys surround their friend and immediately begin to count: first “One!” then “Two!” then “Three!” The goal is to reach eleven.

Before that feat can be obtained, a competitive monkey intervenes. There is a ruckus in the tree as the curious beast swings by prehensile tail. The boys scream obscenities as the creature snatches the toy in mid bounce. The monkey quickly scrabbles away invecting his own high pitched victory yell.

The boy that was performing now has nothing with which to compete. He raises two open hands to the capuchin. His face is clearly stressed, “It is a can you stupid monkey! This is a game that we like to play. If you ask us nicely, we might teach you. Silly monkey, give us back our toy!”

The capuchin monkey eyes the small earth things. He flips his head back and forth listening to their sounds. He sniffs for a moment, scratches, then spits. There is a loud rustle in the leaves. The thief rushes off. A war among the monkey nation quickly erupts. There is a question over ownership. There is much heated debate. The prized can is tossed about amongst nimble fingers as monkeys jostle and jump.

The trees above the children shimmer as the issues are expressed. Leaves fill the air like strange rain, spiraling and twirling, dancing down crooked paths. The trees above the children seem ready to erupt. Children run, scream, and skip amongst the flurry of greens, yellows, and reds. The screaming amongst the monkeys continues much longer than seems sane. Abruptly, the warring ends. Silly clicks and whistles still. The wizening monkeys now realize that a kicking can is not food.

The boys that were playing sulk for a bit. The thing that has given them much pleasure remains lost. The little boys seem unsure of what to do next. It is the bright laughter of a small girl that draws the eyes of the young boys around. She grabs the hand of one child who is just a bit taller than she. She smiles at him and he smiles back. The mood visibly lightens. Laughter spreads through the crowd. The journey continues. The curious group of twelve continue winding down the jungle path.

A large boy on the outside of the group stands much taller than the rest. His shirt strains against his belly and his pants ride up too high. His clothes are for a person much smaller than him. The large boy is happy. That is visible on his face. He deliberately begins to walk funny and make strange motions with his hands. An odd cackle escapes his lips, somewhere between a gargle and a deep chirp. The smaller boys giggle. The little girl crosses her eyes. The older boy nods at the giggling group.

He continues his strange performance as they near a throng of birds perched on top of a stout tree. The creatures are bright blue and quite large. Large feathers ruffle and fluff. Bright reds and yellows appear. Birds bob their heads and extend their necks. They dance and shake their tails in response to the strangely behaving boy.

Birds ruffle and fidget as the boy moves underneath. The louder the boy calls, the more frantically the birds roll their heads and bounce in the tree. Angst builds within the flock. It erupts in chatter that is seriously annoyed.

The mass takes flight in a wave of blues and rainbow colored flickers. Thousands of the creatures fill the sky. They loop up high and do several turns. The colorful birds plummet downwards brushing the tops of trees. The canopy above begins to shake violently. The larger boy motions the smaller boys to crouch and cover their heads. Branches shake and a blizzard of leaves falls. Unlike the monkeys, the birds provide a reward. Reddish yellow ripe fruit falls from above.

The smaller boys huddle as fist sized fruit pelt the ground. The braver boys pull out their shirts and catch what they can. Some dive and roll. A few arguments break out, but these are usually short lived. There is no need to fight. There is enough food here to feed an army.
Boys settle in. They feast on their red-golden treats. The flesh inside is yellow and pink. The taste is part honey, flowers, and definitely sweet. The boys bite like great sharks. They inhale more than chew. Gorged, the little boys smile widely and find seats in the shade. They stretch out long and take short naps.

A tithe must be paid for such easy food. Each little boy tosses one piece to the tormenter of birds. The tall boy skips and dances until he too finds a spot at the bottom of the towering trees. The ripest sweetest piece of fruit he passes to the little girl.

There is peace for a time until an argument erupts. Two of the smaller boys have begun arguing over the proper name for a kind of toad. One boy is now “stupid.” The other child “smells like the back side of a cow.” Words and insults are cast about that are all just silliness to the extreme.

The moment is predictable. The little girl just smiles. The culprit of the boys disagreeable behavior is too much sugar mixed with fatigue. Disgruntled as the two boys are, they are still natural brothers. After a few moments, the argument disappears. The two boys find shade and drift off for a short nap.

Now that the troop is rested, they embark once more upon their trek. With a throw like a boy, Cloe lofts another crushed can into the air. It bounces upon the rocks that shore up the winding path. There is a moment of amazement. Then the game once again resumes. Flecks of red rust mix with flashes of green and yellow. Who knew there was so much potential trapped inside of a rusty old can.