How is Ben?” Matt asked, as he entered the hospital room.
“He’s getting crankier,” Nicolas said.
“I’m not cranky,” Ben said, irritably. “I just want to get out of here.”
“He wants to get back to the village,” Nicolas said. “I’m afraid he’ll try to escape if I turn my back on him.”
“He’ll have to walk then,” Matt said. “Dad’s still trying to get the Huey patched up.”
“Is that even possible?” Nicolas asked.
“I’m not sure. The other mechanics at the airfield are still scratching their heads over how we even made it back. What with the damaged blades, the damaged hydraulic line and only a few drops of fuel left in the fuel line—some of them are calling it a miracle flight. Dad’s eating it up.”
“Your dad has both faith and courage,” Nicolas said. “That’s a great combination for a missions pilot.”
“Yes,” Matt said, fondly. “My dad is also a little bit crazy.”
Another day passed, and Nicolas had sent a message that the doctors said Ben was passed the worst and was slowly gaining strength. That eased her mind greatly.
Now that worry over Ben had eased, the thought of Moawa being only a short walk through the forest began to crowd out everything else in her head.
Cowering inside Ben’s hut until she could escape back to Canada wasn’t much of an option. Especially since Karyona and her own conscience was apparently not going to give her any peace until she went to see the old man.
Deep down, choosing to face him had little to do with Karyona and everything to do with the fact that she was being given an opportunity to neutralize her last great fear. She had a strong feeling that she would never be completely healed of the trauma of the past until she could face the man who had been the root cause of all of it.
She had conquered the bridge. She’d conquered her fear of flying… sort of. She could conquer this final challenge. Chief Moawa was old and blind, she reassured herself. He could no longer hurt her.
It’s like ripping off a band aid, she told herself. Go to his hut. Say whatever it is that Karyona wants you to say. Get it over with and get out. Five minutes max, she told herself. She could bear anything for five minutes.
Put like that, it didn’t sound so hard. Except that it was. It was very hard.
“Time to get a backbone, Moriah,” she said out loud.
Stiffening her spine and squaring her shoulders, she left Ben’s hut and walked to Karyona and Fusiwe’s hut where Karyona was grilling another piece of fish over a small fire.
“Okay. I’m ready,” she told Karyona.
“Ready for what?” Karyona said.
“Isn’t this the time you usually take Moawa’s breakfast to him?
“Yes. I am preparing it now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Karyona glanced up and a slow smile spread across her face. “I am pleased.” She quickly gathered Moawa’s food together and stood.
“The path is narrow. Stay directly behind me… and please don’t touch anything.”
In spite of what lay ahead, Moriah smiled inwardly at Karyona’s admonition. She vowed that if she lived here, she would make it her business to learn every tree, plant, insect and animal so she would know which ones were dangerous and those that were not.
People had survived in this rainforest for years. They’d given birth, hunted, grown gardens, laughed and told stories. It must be possible to live here safely once one learned how to deal with the environment.
Carefully, she followed her friend through the jungle upon a narrow path that had seen but little foot traffic. Karyona carried a wooden bowl filled with what appeared to be a sort of porridge made of manioc in addition to the package of fish. In a small clearing, a tiny, ragged, hut sat utterly alone.
Her first thought was that it would be dangerous to live out so far from everyone. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from any sort of predator, or know if a poisonous snake had slithered into the hut. He wouldn’t be able to call for help if he fell and hurt himself or got sick.
She hardened herself. The punishment was harsh, but he deserved it.
Moriah could feel her heart pounding harder the closer she got to the hut. Her feet began to drag as she forced herself forward. Every step felt as though she were pushing through quicksand. This was a familiar feeling—something she’d experienced repeatedly while crossing the bridge at Little Current.
Karyona stopped several feet from the hut and called out.
A frail voice answered in Yahnowa from within.
It became difficult to breathe.
Her friend politely motioned for Moriah to enter before her. Moriah shook her head, refusing. A memory of gruesome images flashed through her mind.
Karyona entered.
Moriah stared at the opening of the hut. If there was one thing she had learned during her work with Crystal, it was the value of pushing her way past the fear.
Almost in a trance, forcing herself to take each individual step, she made herself move toward the door of the hut. She stood there taking deep breaths as she reminded the little girl within that this old man could no longer hurt her. Then she ducked her head and entered. Once inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the hut. What she saw was disturbing.
An old man huddled on the ground with his back against the circular wall. The interior of the hut was nearly bare except for a hammock attached to the poles at the top.
Karyona spoke softly to Moawa as she offered him the bowl of porridge and then opened the package of fish which she spread out upon the ground. He reached eager hands out to her and grasped the wooden bowl. His clouded eyes stared straight ahead as he hungrily fed himself by scooping the porridge into his mouth with his fingers. The bowl was quickly emptied. Karyona took it from him, sat it aside, then grasped his hand and gently led it to the pieces of fish lying beside him. He smiled widely after tasting the fish, and murmured something to Karyona that Moriah assumed was the Yahnowa equivalent of thank-you.
Moriah stood rooted to the spot, directly in front of the door, struggling to equate this frail, blind man with her parents’ killer. How could this be the man she remembered? This shrunken old man could not possibly be Moawa. There were no similarities at all.
After he had finished the fish, Karyona removed a hollow gourd from a peg, dipped it into a container of water in a corner, and handed it to him. After he had drunk deeply and noisily, Karyona spoke to him again at some length, glancing from time to time at Moriah.
His face lost the look of pleasure he had worn while eating his simple meal. He grew sober, his head lifted and it seemed as though he was looking straight at her even though he was obviously blind. Then he spoke and Karyona translated.
“He asks if I am completely certain that you are the little girl who got away.”
“Tell him that I am. Say that I still hold the memories of him killing my mother and father,” Moriah said. “Tell him I survived only because of the courage of your father and brother.”
Karyona translated, then listened carefully to his reply. She questioned him again, as though clarifying his answer.
“He says you did not get away. He says he let you go.”
“Really?” A laugh of disbelief burst from her lips. “I seriously doubt that.”
Moawa spoke a few more words as though he understood what Moriah had said.
“No,” Karyona said. “He did let you go. He says he and his men tracked my father and brother planning to kill all of you. They caught up with you when you were crossing the long rope bridge at the big waterfall. He says my father was at the midway point when Moawa called his men off.”
Moriah was shocked. “Why didn’t he kill us?”
Karyona spoke with the old man a few more moments and then translated.
“He says it was because you cried out so pitifully. Moawa says it reminded him of his son’s cries the first time Moawa carried him across. His son had been about your age.”
“His son?”
“The one Nicolas’ mother could not save.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh? I thought you knew. Moawa’s son developed gangrene after breaking both his legs in a bad fall. Moawa carried him to the missionary clinic, hoping the good doctor could save his life.”
“And she couldn’t.” Moriah voice was dull.
“It was too late. He died here. Moawa didn’t understand. He believed the people at the clinic had deliberately killed him. He blamed himself for not trusting the Shaman, for trusting his son’s life to Western medicine.”
The old man spoke again. Moriah didn’t understand the words, but she heard the sound of regret in his voice.
Yet again, Karyona translated.
“Moawa says he was crazy with grief and anger at the death of his only son. He knew only revenge killing and so he killed.”
Moriah rubbed her hand across her face. The knowledge that Moawa had killed out of misdirected grief was a revelation. She had experienced enough of grief herself to have some idea of the control it could have over someone’s emotions.
“Tell him it was an evil thing he did.”
Karyona spoke softly, listened and then turned back to Moriah. “He says he knows that. He says that he and his people suffered much because of his actions.”
Moriah had come here out of duty to Ben and friendship to Karyona. She had come to overcome her fear, to prove to herself that she was brave enough to face anything, even her parents’ killer.
Now, to her surprise, she felt her heart softening toward the old man. This was not something she wanted to happen. She had not come with the intention of forgiving him. It had never even occurred to her that she could.
Deliberately, she tried to harden her heart against him. “Tell him I hate him.”
Karyona glanced up at her friend, shocked. “I won’t!”
“Then tell him I’ve been a prisoner on an island for twenty years because of the damage he did. Tell him he nearly destroyed three families.”
Karyona sat back on her heels, gave it some thought and then began to translate.
The old man interrupted her, his voice cracking with emotion.
Karyona’s gentle eyes filled with sadness. “He says he knows. He wants you to forgive him.”
Moriah looked at the sad old man sitting in the dirt, heard the pain in his voice and felt her heart shatter.
The old man waited in silence.
Moriah stumbled back out the door, her body shaking, her chest heaving, her thoughts tumbling wildly.
She had overcome so much. Wasn’t it enough? Did she have to forgive him?
That was not possible.
A child’s two-year silence.
A family torn apart.
Nightmares. Wet beds. Terror…
She paced back and forth in front of the hut, fighting with herself. Fighting the desire to start running and not stop. Away from this hut, this man, Karyona, the village, the heat, the danger. When Ron came back she was going to climb on that helicopter and get out of this place. She’d been a fool to come, regardless of Ben’s illness. She suddenly craved the crisp, pure, lake air flowing over her beloved island instead of the smothering humidity of this place. Homesickness flooded her.
The suddenly, instead of Manitoulin Island, a different image flooded into her mind. That of a man forgiving his murderers even while he hung dying on a cross.
Who was she to do less?
This pitiful old man was no monster. He never had been. He was nothing more than a father who had lost a son, and who had lashed out against the foreigners whom he believed to be responsible.
Once again, she entered Moawa’s dimly-lit hut.
Three steps in, she felt her legs give way and she fell to her knees onto the dirt floor of the poor hut, her bitterness draining away from her broken heart, her head bowed in submission.
“Tell him that I understand, and I forgive him.”
Karyona spoke to Moawa. His face creased into a smile. He stretched his arm out into the space reaching out for something.
Moriah knew he was reaching out to touch her.
On her hands and knees, as though propelled by a force outside herself, she crawled the four remaining feet across the dirt floor between them and allowed him to lay his hand upon her head. He held it there, speaking with dignity and purpose. The years that he had led his village was in his voice.
“Moawa says for you not to grieve anymore,” Karyona voice was choked with tears. “He says that he will be a father to you.”