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I smiled and sat back in satisfaction. I lifted the cup of tea to my lips and savored the combined aromas of Earl Grey and slightly burnt toast wafting gently through the kitchen. In fact, wasn’t that smoke I could see rising from the toaster? The morning sunshine did cast a homey cheer upon our morning routine.

“Boy, I’m still relishing being nice and warm,” I looked at Alex across the breakfast table. This may have been a slightly mean comment; he still felt awfully guilty about my being stranded in Antarctica, however briefly.

“I’m glad you’re here, too, Janie. What do you want to do today?” Alex refused to be perturbed. “Fancy a hike somewhere?”

“As long as we don’t have to travel past Antarctica to get there.”

“Well, yeah. But you know what I’ve been thinking? I’m feeling a little homesick. In fact, through all my travels, homesickness has been one of the abiding emotions I’ve dealt with. Travel is great, but sometimes you just want to visit your old haunts. Your old friends. Your parents for gosh sakes.”

“I was just enjoying the comforts of home,” I replied. “YOUR home. But I know our parents certainly miss you. We could make them really happy if we stopped by for a visit. I just hope they won’t launch into some ‘friendly reminders’ that you’ve been missing for a long time or that I need to attend to my studies.”

“True. Is it possible we could just take a look?”

“Maybe. You want to leave this morning? Let’s take some extra food, you know, just in case.”

An hour later we were clutching the two colorful feathers and suddenly found ourselves in the leafy backyard of our family home in Southern California. While winter was creeping in on tiger feet back in Oz, in California it was a beautiful, delicate spring day.

We went up to the back door to the house and tried the door knob. Locked. “That’s weird,” commented Alex. “When did they ever lock the back door before? Let’s look in the window.”

We cupped our hands around our eyes as we peered into the dark recesses inside. Nothing happening.

“I wonder what time it is. Here, I mean,” I pondered.

“Drat, I kinda wanted to go inside.” Alex was bummed. We sat there silently for a few minutes just gazing at the yard.

Alex started to say something. He was pointing at the geraniums growing in profusion over in the corner behind the sycamore tree.

“Wait!” I hissed. “I thought I heard a noise from the house.”
We both turned to look. There was Dad at the window staring at us. Then Mom appeared behind his shoulder. She didn’t look so great. Both had very concerned looks on their faces. Dad bent over and began scribbling a note. He then held it so we could see it. We walked up close to the window to read.

“There’s a shooter loose in the neighborhood. Armed and dangerous. We are sick. Don’t come in. Covid-19. Go hide. Love you lots.”

“Gosh.” I breathed. We looked at each other in alarm. “We better get out of here,” I said, “but first we’ve got to give them a greeting through the glass.”

We pressed our palms up to the window and then mouthed the words, “I love you.” Then Dad started shooing us away.

“Hurry!” he mouthed. “Be silent!”

Alex grabbed my arm and we started darting from bush to bush to stay undercover.

We heard a helicopter circling overhead several blocks from our house. It seemed to be coming closer!

“I know the perfect place to hide,” hissed Alex. “You know the creek?”

“Brilliant,” whispered as enthusiastically as possible without raising my voice. I also gave him a thumbs up, though he was still pulling me through the shrubbery so I doubt he saw it.

Whack! “Ow!” I yelped. That branch just nailed me in the face!”

“Sorry,” muttered Alex. “Put your arm in front of your face to protect yourself.”

And so we went. We stayed off the paved trail because that was too visible from the air. We stayed off the beaten track as well, because, yes, that was also too obvious. So, it was through the wild thickets we went, brambles or no. We were both accumulating scratches from branches and getting leaves down our shirts. “Now I know how a racoon feels,” I grumbled, “though I doubt they’re ever in this kind of hurry.”

Eventually we came to the steep slope that led down to the creek. We could have taken the utility road down, a much more easily traversed route, but we didn’t dare—too exposed. Instead, we plunked ourselves down on our bottoms and tried to make a quick, but cautious, descent down the dry, grassy slope without stirring up a dust storm as we slid. Two hundred feet below, shielded by a lush canopy of oaks and sycamores, we knew our riparian hiding place awaited. "I hope we don't surprise any rattlesnakes," I commented as we slithered down through the tall brown grass.

Hundreds of foxtails in the socks later, we picked ourselves up to clamber through the trees to the water. I brushed off the seat of my pants. “Good thing we wore jeans today,” I commented. “But I’ll be needing new ones after this.” I ruefully noted that there was a large rip that would only be hidden if I were sitting down.

IMG-7074

“I think these trees will hide us for now,” Alex commented. “Look, there’s a path through the canes.” We picked our way through the bamboo-like thickets that crowded the water’s edge. We ducked and crawled straight into the dark lairs underneath their canopy.

“I usually imagine that this is where the mountain lions hide,” I muttered.

“I’m sure you’re right,” answered Alex. “This Arundo is normally a pest but useful for us now. Let’s just hope the kitties are somewhere else today.”

Suddenly sunlight sparkled in front of us, glinting off the sparkling, burbling water of the creek. Success! We grinned as we stood up straight to stretch our hunched backs. We stepped right into the coursing water and it swirled magnificently around our ankles.

“Aahhh,” we sighed with relief.

“It’s not even cold!” Alex exclaimed with delight.

“And it’s bubbling loud enough we can talk again!” I remarked. What a relief to walk without ducking and talk without being afraid of discovery.

“Well, I think we should still try to be quiet. Who knows who else is down here? Try not to plunk your feet too loudly,” cautioned Alex.

“Let’s keep moving upstream,” I urged. “Let’s put some distance between us and that bad guy.” I had a theory that bad guys were universally lazy. Don’t know if it’s true, but…couldn’t hurt to move further away.

Soon our adventure morphed from being the great escape from danger to the great escape from city life. The sunlight was dappled and the shade was comforting. The creek serenaded us every step of the way. The cool water soothed our hot feet.

“C’mon, Janie, what are you waiting for?” Alex urged me to take another step into the water. “Are you afraid you’re going to fall?”

“I don’t want to step on any polliwogs!” I called out. Indeed, they were so thick that I had to take a giant step to get past them all. “I wish I had a jar so I could collect some! Look! I can scoop up handfuls of them.”

We continued upstream. The best place to walk was often right through the middle of the creek. There would be a basketball-sized boulder and lots of fine gravel would be deposited just downstream from it, providing a more stable footfall that the smaller boulders in the water.

Again and again we’d come to a wide, slow place in the river and Alex would wax nostalgic about building dams back in his youth. “If we could stay a bit, I would definitely build another one.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agreed with him. “I keep picturing having a picnic on one of these banks. I would bring chocolate bars and crispy apples.”

As we put distance behind us, we relaxed mentally. We were actually thoroughly enjoying ourselves. As the day grew later, we sat on a solid sycamore trunk that formed a bridge across the water.

IMG-7076



“Well, Alex, I’m sorry you didn’t get to visit home today.” I put my hand on his back to show sympathy.

“You know, Janie, going back home is not always about actually going back home. I’ve had a wonderful visit back to my youth today.”

“Me too!” I agreed. “This has been totally awesome.” I hesitated a moment. “Too bad about Mom and Dad being sick and that awful shooter. But coming here has been a great way to put that out of our minds.”

“You said it,” Alex agreed. “Do you suppose we could come back here another time, under happier circumstances?”

“Oh, I hope so,” I concurred. “And next time, let’s bring Mom and Dad. I think they’d like it too.”

Alex chimed in, “And have a picnic!”

“With chocolate bars…” I added.

“And apples!” agreed Alex.

“OK, ‘til next time. Ready to go?” Alex pulled out his feather and I pulled out mine. “Feather,” he said, “Next time I say ‘The river,’ this is where I mean. Got it?”

Alex and I put our arms around each other and said the magic words: ”Alex’s house.”

And just like that, we were back where we started.

Though I did note that my jeans were still ripped and I had a very soggy foxtail or two stuck in my socks. I decided I needed a chocolate bar both to celebrate our successful excursion and to raise a toast to Mom and Dad's speedy recovery.

Previous Episodes:

Episode 1 Janie begins the serch for Alex..........................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/458629.html
Episode 2 Alex gets the enchanted feather in Guinea........https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459027.html
Episode 3 The Mysterious Russian....................................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459502.html
Episode 4  Wild Goose Chase............................................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/462960.html
Episode 5  The creek may rise...........................................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/463491.html
Episode 6  The Way Back from Antarctica...................... https://furzicle.livejournal.com/463756.html

The Author:

unnamed

Note, all the risks mentioned in this piece are very real except, thankfully, for the shooter.
fruzicle: (Default)
In the blink of an eye he was gone. And here I was, stranded.

Alex and I left his home in Australia just this morning, a brilliant, sunny summer day. Making use of the mysterious travelling powers of the enchanted blue-black rooster feather, we were headed to Guinea. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite the way we had intended. The feather only got us half of the way there. Which, if you study a globe, you will find is anything but equatorial. Halfway to Guinea from Australia is…wait for it… Antarctica.

So here I was, shivering my buns off. Wind driven ice pellets were hammering my exposed face. Frigid wind slammed right through my sweatshirt. Having prepared for the steamy climate of equatorial Africa, I had no hat, no scarf, not even gloves. With only my jeans, top, and sneakers I felt virtually naked against the frigid gale.

 What went wrong? Our working theory was that the feather wasn’t up to the task of transporting TWO bodies around the world. Consequently, we sent Alex on to complete the mission. Based on past experience with the magical feather, we expected that he would return back to me almost immediately, no matter how much time he spent in Guinea. Well, it had only been a moment since he transported out of here. But I was already wondering anxiously just how long it would take.

My feet felt as though they were already turning to ice. I stamped them.  I put on the backpack containing our meager supply of food. At least it would break some of the gale trying to blast right through me. I began to pace vigorously to keep my blood moving. I began to count off my steps. 1…2…3…4…5. Turn.

Then it hit me. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same thing. Expansive stretches of white. No landmarks. What if when I turn around I actually walk five paces IN THE WRONG DIRECTION?

I couldn’t afford to wander away from the place Alex took off from. I pictured having a severe blizzard roll in that made visibility shrink to zero, making it impossible to spot Alex even if he were inches away from me!

Peering very closely at the ground, I attempted to see some small indication of where I had placed my feet. That’s when I realized that the ground here was more solid, wind-swept ice than soft billows of snow. Try as I might, I could see no clue as to where I had been standing moments ago. Thank goodness it was summer in Antarctica. I couldn't even imagine trying to deal with this without any sunlight.

What time is it? Surely at least a full minute has passed. If it takes him longer than just a few minutes, I’ll officially turn into a human popsicle.

Perhaps if I hunched up into a ball, I would conserve some heat. Less surface area and all that. (Thanks Science!) I scrunched up on the ice. I wasn’t sure which part of my body I should sacrifice to making direct contact with the surface of Antarctica.

Does thinking warm you up? I began to reflect upon this strange journey I had followed ever since Alex disappeared. Maybe if it were a neighbor, I wouldn’t have cared. But Alex was my brother! I’m probably his greatest fan. (Well, my parents, too, I suppose.) But I would follow him anywhere. And what a ridiculously fantastic adventure we had had.

I desperately tried to remember the warm places I had followed Alex to. I remembered the heat beating down on me when I spotted him on the beach in Africa. The balmy days in Australia just in the last few days. But, mind over matter only goes so far. In spite of my best efforts, the icy wind was reaching straight through my meager clothes, through my goosebumpy skin, and, I swear, trying to turn my muscles into something you might find in an ice-cold meat locker. I thought about the woolly mammoths that were flash frozen in ancient glaciers. Would some scientist find my permafrost body in the distant future?

Maybe I had only been shivering violently for two minutes. Or was it five? Longer? I’ve heard cold can play strange tricks on your brain. It felt like a frozen eternity.

My ears felt like frozen flaps of useless skin. However, the sound of pattering ice pellets sounded loud and clear, though muffled somewhat by the general howl of the wind.

Having heard somewhere that food provides calories that our bodies burn to create heat, I decided to try to eat some of my food stores. But I just could bear to take off the backpack or to stick my arms out to reach inside. I comforted myself by thinking about the nice fatty crispy bacon I had eaten for breakfast. Is virtual food a thing?

Somehow, I began to feel sleepy. How is that even possible? I’m shivering so hard! You’d think the violent shaking would prevent any kind of drifting off to sleep.

I decide to stay awake by counting by threes. Backwards from one hundred. Let’s see:
100
97
94
92
Wait! That’s not right!
97
94
91 (Oh, that’s better.)
93
83
Oh, I’m just too cold.

Alex….

This episode is part of the Janie and Alex series. To refresh your memory on what has gone before, you may refer to previous chapters:

Episode 1 Janie begins the serch for Alex.........https://furzicle.livejournal.com/458629.html
Episode 2 Alex gets the enchanted feather........https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459027.html
Episode 3 The Mysterious Russian....................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459502.html
Episode 4  Wild Goose Chase............................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/462960.html
Episode 5  The creek may rise...........................https://furzicle.livejournal.com/463491.html
fruzicle: (Default)
This entry, like Part I, is a continuation of a longer story.  In it Janie is searching for her brother who inexplicably disappeared a few months ago. In case you forget the details, I have provided links so that you can refresh your memory. When you see a (1) or other number in the text, that will indicate the link you should follow to learn more.

(1) https://furzicle.livejournal.com/458629.html In which Janie begins her search for Alex
(2) https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459027.html In which Alex gets the feather in Guinea
(3) https://furzicle.livejournal.com/459502.html The Majick Sorceror, in which Janie acquires the feather
(4) https://furzicle.livejournal.com/462960.html Part I




For some reason, every time I time travel, I end up ravenously hungry. As I plow through Alex’s cupboards, I find the expected trove of high-quality chocolate. I brew up some tea and carry it out to the back porch. I gingerly find a perch on the obviously second-hand sofa, and settle in to replenish my waning energy.

It’s a spacious, albeit un-tamed, backyard. Yellow straw-like grass serves as a reminder that this season has been drier than usual. I decide to turn on the sprinkler I see set up in the middIe of the yard.

I watch the beehive set up fifteen feet from the porch. Dozens of bees are arriving and departing every minute, It's so constant, you might be excused for saying it was boring. But I soon begin to notice the small dramas that are playing out. I watch one bee dragging out the corpse of one of its hive mates and unceremoniously dropping it over the edge of the hive box. A lizard darts forward from below and gobbles up the carcass. Meanwhile, a jay swoops down and actually snaps up the living bee that delivered the erstwhile bee to its disposal.

The sprinkler is wetting the hive box. Bees abandon their foraging in the yard for the moment and begin to return. There's a bit of a crowd management issue as they gather up, waiting to reenter. Their little bodies are coated with orange pollen they are bringing back to safety. No wonder Alex finds these creatures fascinating.


I glance at the sky. There’s nothing to see there; it’s so filled with smoke and mugginess that it is only a yellow-tinged white. I remember the clear blue sky from my time travel several month ago when I saw the koalas. Not today! In fact, my eyes feel a bit of sting and my nose knows a bit of stink.

I am just beginning to wonder if Alex will even show up today and what I will do for dinner if he doesn’t, when I hear the sound of a car crunching down the driveway on the side of the house. Car doors slam and suddenly there is Alex stepping up onto the porch. And, what is this? Another lad follows close behind.

“Janie!” Alex exclaims. “How’d you get here?”

Far from the suspicious ‘How’d you get here?’ I received from Lynn earlier today (4), Alex’s voice reverberates with joy and delight.

We leap up to give each other a very enthusiastic hug. Though we have thousands of things to talk about, we’re both so stunned, for the moment, we can only stare at each other.

“You smell like you’ve been rolling around in a campfire,” I finally blurt out. “But it must be the firefighting.”

“Yep, you can say that again,” he replies. “All the stink, and no marshmallows.

“Hey, Janie, I’d like you to meet my mate, Duncan."

I turn to look at his companion more closely. I swoon just a little bit. I don’t know, is it just because he, too, is dressed in firefighting gear? Or is it because he’s genuinely handsome?

I actually stammer a little bit as I respond, “Pleased to meet you. I’m Janie.”

My God, those piercing green eyes. I think I’m in love.

Alex, of course, is completely oblivious. ”I picked up some snags at the corner grocery,” he says, holding out the bag. Turning to Duncan he remarks, “I guess we won’t get three each like we planned.”

I am torn. I want to ask Alex how he traveled all over the world (1) and what he knows about Alexei from The Majick Sorceror (3), and what’s up with the time starting and stopping. Perhaps most importantly, what does he know about the beautiful blue-black feather? (2)

But then I look at Duncan and I swoon again. I am forced to put my questions on hold while his friend is here. Smelling the sausages as they sizzle on the barbie is a helpful distraction.

I indicate the dried out yard. "I guess I better turn off the sprinklers now. Boy, is everything dry."

“Yeaah,” says Duncan. Did you know this is the lowest three-month rainfall total we’ve ever had? That’s why the fields and forests are so dry and why there’s less water to fight the fires with.”

“Alex,” I tease him, “I guess you shouldn’t have been wishing so hard for warmer, dryer weather all last winter.”

“Well, right now I might wish for some rain to help put out the fires,” Alex replied.

As if on cue, the sky darkened a tad and, unbelievably, a rumble of thunder reverberated in the distance.

A stricken look passed over Alex’s face. “I gotta be more careful with my wishes.” Then he smiled wryly. I could swear he winked at me when he said that.

As the pitter pattering began, Alex and Duncan gave each other a high five. Maybe this would slow the fires down. We all squeezed onto the porch sofa to continue our chat. I didn’t mind too much. The guys didn’t want to sit right next to each other so I got wedged between the two of them. Except for the wet campfire smell, I didn’t mind a bit.

We’d been telling tales of the day for another half hour when suddenly both guys’ phones emitted a warning buzz. “That’ll be the volunteer fire line. Could be lightning started something,” explained Duncan.

Simultaneously, Alex and Duncan pulled out their phones to read the alert. Surely there wasn’t another fire, was there? Both guys looked up and stared at each other with some alarm.

“Can you believe that was actually a FLOOD WARNING?” Alex announced. “Runoff is flooding the town of Inverleigh. We have to take the boat down and stand by ready to transport people out of their swamped homes.”

“Well, good thing we ate.”

An hour later we had picked up the trailered vessel at the fire station and driven out in the direction of Inverleigh. We were backing towards the boat ramp to lower it into the quickly rising Leigh River.

None of us were expert boat trailer handlers so somehow someone had inadvertently unclipped the cable that connected the boat to the winch that holds the boat onto the trailer. In repositioning our truck, we had to move forward. Suddenly, with a quick scraping noise, our boat was no longer on the trailer.

Neither was it in the water!

There it was, high and dry. Its naked hull was resting on the rain-slicked concrete ramp.

OK, this was a game changer. If we were here for a day of pleasure boating, then we’d have to delay our fun. But as people’s safety was at peril, we had to swiftly solve the problem.Our first reaction was to stare dumbly at the marooned boat. But then, ideas started flowing.

First, we each grabbed a gunwale and attempted to lift the boat to man handle it into the water. That was a no go. It’s amazing a vessel as heavy as that can even float.

We watched the water rising, even as we stood there. One of us suggested simply waiting for the river to rise high enough that the boat would begin to float on its own. However, we had to eliminate that option as we realized that we would be sacrificing people’s comfort and safety while we waited.

Duncan pointed out the life preservers. “Maybe we can set those down and use them as cushions to roll the boat on into the river.”

So that’s what we did. Nevermind those preservers had sacrificed their lives to put the boat in the water. Every one of them had been disembowelled in the process.

Hours later, well after midnight, we had relocated dozens and dozens of panicky citizens. Many were in tears and most were shivering. For such an uncomfortably warm day, it’s remarkable how chilled one gets when it is dark and you are wet. Add in nerves, and shivering is what you get.

At the end of that long night, we were driving back home. Duncan fell asleep leaning against the window right away. Once he was snoring, Alex and I finally got to share some words. I told him how I had fallen into this search and he told me how he had suddenly found himself inhabiting the body of an aging Russian. It turns out he had only shared a body with that persona for a couple months, which still didn’t explain how the old Cossack had had Alex’s name. Was there some Greater Being directing this particular adventure?

He told me how he hadn’t been aging since this whole thing began. Shockingly to me, who had only been embroiled in this for a few months, Alex had been caught up in this never-ending time travel for years.

“But you look exactly the same today as you did the day you disappeared!” I whispered with surprise.

“What do you think will happen if I come home?” he asked. “Will I suddenly age into an old man? Not sure I want to do that. I’ve already been old once, when I was Alexei. Too many aches and pains.”

“I don’t know if I CAN come home,” he continued. I used to have a gorgeous rooster tail feather. I think when I “died” at the Majick Sorceror it got left behind.

“No, I’VE got it.” I corrected him. How do you think I got here?”

“Seriously?” he interjected. “Maybe we can use it together to get back.”

“Yes, I think it’s too risky to be near it by yourself and think about a faraway land,” I replied. “Perhaps if we both hold it at the same time.”

I continued, "That could work. But I’m not sure I want to leave. I’m kind of liking it here.” I thought about Duncan squeezed in on the seat of the car next to me…swoon.

“I like it here, too. How about this,” Alex suggested. “I’ll tell my boss here that I’m going back home for a visit. Then we both go home using the feather. Then later, we both come back.”

“I’d probably have to finish high school,” I say glumly. “I’d probably have to come back the old-fashioned way—with a plane.”

I continued. “Well, I probably could stay a few more days. Time doesn’t seem to pass while I’m gone.”

“Really? Awesome.” Alex was intrigued.

The sun was just rising amidst the gray clouds as we drove up to Alex’s house. We pulled into the driveway.

Duncan awoke and stretched his arms. “Man, did I have the strangest dreams,” he said. As he climbed out of the car, he turned to look at both of us with the strangest look on his face. We, in turn, gave him an inquiring look.

"Well?" we pumped him for more.

“Nah, you’d never believe it in a million years,” he shook his head. “Just a very weird dream.”

He took my hand. “Are you still going to be here tomorrow?”

I caught my breath. Swoon. “Oh yes, by gum, I think I will.”

“Great!” he said with a grin.

I smiled and thanked the Greater Being.

Editorial note: The boat stranded high and dry on the boat ramp really did happen to my father, my friend and I. It was a sailboat and the rising water we were waiting for was the rising ocean tide. Not wanting to wait that long, we did end up using the life preservers, just as Duncan suggested. And yes, they did give up their lives in that service.
fruzicle: (Default)
This story is a piece of fiction. It is based upon some very real people. Names have been changed to bridge the gap between reality and creativity. The story was created as an entry in the Livejournal idol writing competition. Additional photos follow the story.

Hi, this is Alex.

I’m in a real pickle. I wonder if you can help me figure this out. As I told my sister Janie recently, by my reckoning, the problems seem to have started after I consulted the witch doctor back in Guinea. I was back in Africa on another one of my USAID projects, helping the locals find ways to wring more wealth out of their local resources, namely their honeybees. I was only supposed to be in that village for three weeks, but while I was there, my little buddy, Mamadou de Baro, stepped on a thorn while we were exploring termite mounds. I was wearing heavy boots so didn’t face the same risk, but he in his little four-year-old feet was not so lucky. He screamed like the devil when it happened. (Frankly, if I had had my heel punctured, I would have yelled, too, and I’m three decades older than Mamadou.) Anyway, the village, having a whole lot more experience with small feet and thorns, insisted that the doctor be consulted immediately. Even so, there was a great deal of pessimism about how the whole thing would turn out. I should have taken the warning myself.


(Photo description: Here you meet a very real little four-year old boy who is so enamored with the visiting beekeeper that he insists on dressing in his big black boots, wearing his big green rubber gloves, and carrying his smoker with which he magically calms the honey bees. His name is actually Mamadou and he lives in a family village in Guinea, Conakry.)

Mamadou’s uncle, Big Baro, invited me to squeeze onto the rear seat on his dirt bike after I insisted I wanted to help. (It had, after all, been kind of my fault we had been kicking in termite mounds in the first place. What can I say, we don’t have those behemoth dirt towers at home.) I clutched Mamadou in my arms as we sped through the thick green jungle dodging chickens and stray dogs, not to mention other small children. All along the way, Baro kept his hand on the horn to clear the path. The panic and concern the villagers had shown to Mamadou manifested in his screaming wildly all along the way. I’m not sure we really needed the horn.

Peering up ahead, we would occasionally see women walking the path to the next village. Like colorful birds, their brightly flowered skirts punctuated the gloom of the lush growth with their reds and gleaming yellows. They would scatter as they heard us coming, steadying the bundles perched on their heads with the slightest of finger touches. With every group we passed, Mamadou would renew his plaintive cries.

After a jarring thirty-minute ride, we spun into the clearing that was Mama Owusu Mkanni’s home. There was no need to announce our arrival, what with the horn, the screaming, the racket of the motorbike, and the disapproving squawking of the chickens surveying her yard.

Through a torrent of their native language of Pular, Baro explained the situation to the ancient woman. While listening, Mamadou felt compelled to howl to punctuate important words. Meanwhile, I stood there clutching the sobbing child. I felt really bad for him but he was starting to get heavy.

Mama Owusu’s brow furrowed and she shook her gray head.

Baro turned to me to explain in Guinean French, “She says the spirits can’t be rushed and they need certain requirements for the spell to work. Mamadou is to sit here and we will build a fire and also dig a hole.”

In no time at all, Mamadou had fallen asleep on the blankets I had set him down on.  Baro built a small fire while I dug a hole. When Baro had described that I had to dig it This big and This deep, I feared we were preparing to bury Mamadou. Dread filled my stomach. Good thing the little guy had collapsed into a deep sleep from the panic and exhaustion.

Mama Owusu Mkanni had disappeared into her round hut. Eventually she emerged carrying a pot and a leather bag. She calmly strolled over to her well and ladled out some water into the pot. She then added pinches of powders and herbs from her leather pouch, all the while muttering phrases. Prayers? Incantations? Curses?

The last thing she held over the pot was a single bright red beetle. Holding it by one leg, she intoned several mysterious words and then she

Dropped it
Into
The pot.

She placed three rocks around the edge of the fire and placed the pot on top of them. Her muttering never ceased. As her concoction began to boil, she fetched two drinking gourds from her hut. One she handed to me while continuing her conversation in Pular. Baro explained to me that since I was involved with the misadventure, I would need to participate in the cure. “Well, of course,” I replied. I glanced over at the hole and wondered with a prickle just what all was going to be entailed. I shivered involuntarily.

“Wake him,” commanded Mama Owusu. She stabbed a stern look at Mamadou.

I gently shook his arm. He began to hiccup as he woke. His eyes widened as he saw the lively fire.

Mama Owusu ladled brew into the second gourd, but instructed me to hold it for Mamadou. Then she got a stout branch and used it to lift the pot off the fire. She set it to one side.

“Drink the medicine,” she commanded. She used enough hand signals that I didn’t need to understand her Pular words.

Bracing myself mentally, and remembering the red beetle, I cautiously sipped the steaming gourd. It wasn’t terrible. On the other hand…

Mama Owusu pointed at Mamadou. I blew on his “medicine” before helping him take a sip. He was about to spit it out when Mama Owusu began to scold him vehemently. With a pained look, he gulped it back. She waved her hands, urging us to finish our drinks. Not easy.

Mama Owusu turned to Baro and gave him a string of instructions. He dutifully got up and began walking in a crouch, stalking the chickens in her yard. After a spell of loud disagreements from the birds, he got the idea to sit down and hold out his hand with some crumbled crackers. One very hungry rooster overcame his distrust and cautiously approached the food. Baro’s hand moved like lightning to grab the old boy’s neck. Following Mama Owusu’s instructions, he then stood up and began swinging the gorgeous multi-colored fowl in circles over his head, breaking its neck. Inwardly I flinched.

Mamadou was instructed to cut the bird through its belly to release the guts into the hole. I knew Mamadou was especially fond of chickens and this would be hard for him, and he also had a great deal of trouble managing the big knife, so I stepped forward to help. I, too, am very fond of chickens, so, even though I had an easier time with the knife, I was still sad for the chicken.

Through all this Mama Owusu kept a running commentary to the spirits. She plucked several good-sized red and green and iridescent black feathers from the body and then dropped the bird in the pit. I was relieved to see her finally toss some dirt on top of the rooster in the hole. I guess Mamadou was not meant to be entombed. At least not yet.

Mamadou and I had to stand over the buried bird after the hole was refilled. Mama Owusu chanted and chanted.

Finally, Mama Owusu set Mamadou up in a comfortable seat and had him immerse his foot into the cooled pot of brew. She gave him a feather and then drank quite a bit herself. There must have been something about that brew because she went into a trance like I’ve never seen. Moaning, singing, some shrieking, and low cries, she carried on for the rest of the evening.

Now, here’s the thing. You remember I said I was real fond of chickens. That rooster had some magnificent plumage. While Mama Owusu drifted off in her delirium, I decided she wouldn’t notice if I took just one of the bird’s beautiful feathers. Hopefully she hadn’t counted them or something. I slipped the feather inside my shirt.

Mamadou and I both slept off our “medicines.” Mama Owusu undoubtedly slept hers off whenever she stopped chanting, probably very late that night.

Mamadou got better, no doubt thanks to soaking the foot and perhaps ingesting the brew. The chanting was picturesque, but we westerners don’t fall for that so-called magic, do we?


(Photo description: This photo is taken by someone looking down on Mamadou from above him. He is grinning up at the camera with a white ballcap sitting sideways on his head. His skin is chocolate brown, his eyes are glittering black, and his teeth are brilliantly white. They may be slightly worn down in front. Mamadou is wearing a pale brown T-shirt and jeans that are a little worn. His shoes show his toes, though maybe they are some kind of open-toed sandal. Mamadou is clutching his fists in front of his chest. He looks very happy.)


I prepared to go back to my home in the First World. But something came up, another assignment.

Things are different now.

Strangely, I missed my flight and received new, written instructions to remain in Guinea. Strangely, the note was written in blue-purple berry ink on paper. Strangely, my new mission was to search for an exotic creature called a bhuree, though I don’t know what that is. I am also to seek the elusive Toh, presumably a wise man with all the answers. Or it may all just be the ultimate meal, like manna from heaven.

I’ve wondered about my family back in California. I’ve wondered about my mates back in ’Straya. Years have gone by. I sent my sister a note, but never received an answer. Though it’s been perhaps three years since I left home, I did actually run into her on one of my missions to Slovakia. That was odd. But she kept fading out and her voice was very hard to understand. It really sounded like she was underwater. It was hard to tell. I thought she said “two weeks ago.” Two weeks and three years, maybe. I’ve wondered how long I’ve really been away. With one mission after another and frequent location changes, I may have been gone more like five years. I really can’t tell.

Maybe the strangest thing is that I haven’t had to cut my hair this whole time. My beard? The same. It’s like I’ve been caught in a time warp. If my hair isn’t growing, am I?

Everywhere I go is interesting. But I’d like to go back home. Sometimes there’s this person or thing following me. It’s very frightening. Especially when I hear the voices.

I’ve kept the feather. Somehow, I can’t get rid of it. It’s beautiful and it’s kind of a souvenir. Every time I think I’ll leave it behind, something makes me stop. And that’s one of the times I hear the voices.

ooOoo



(Photo description: This regal looking woman stops to have her photo taken. She has deep brown skin, is wearing a nice white blouse. Her skirt is the traditional brightly colored wrap-around cloth (blue, red and yellow). She is wearing a pearl-like bracelet and huge earring hoops. Most importantly, she is balancing a tray on her head without using her hands for support which holds as many as three dozen eggs as well as three tins which look like sardine tins. She is standing in front of one of the village huts. The hut looks fairly large and is supported by poles. The thatched roof does not reach all the way to the ground.)



(Photo description: A Guinean hut which, like the previous photo, is conical with a thatched roof that does not come all the way down to the ground. It is supported by poles. The floor is dirt which is at a higher elevation that the surrounding ground. There has recently been a rainstorm and the reddish earth is wet with large puddles. Standing at the peak of the roof are at least two chickens, one of which is a rooster. There is lush greenery beyond the hut and a man stands outside, smiling.) All photo credits: Kris Fricke

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Julie R Fricke

March 2022

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