Usually I was woken by the clatter of Monsieur Tatagani rummaging through the kitchen pans, grumbling about his hangover. But today I woke to silence, which was worse.

I drew in my legs and sat up as quietly as I could. I was sore all along my back, my tight muscles pulling me into a curve. As I sat up my head hit the shelf, and without thinking I shushed, hoping my sister wouldn’t make noise.

I must have forced Pierre off the bench during the night — he was now lying on his usual spot on the floor. I crept over to the housedress and peered around it.

A creature was in the doorway — a monkey with a silver body and a black face. Hand against the mud wall, he was peering in, the dingy dress-curtain piled on his head.

When he saw me, Omar perked up and squeaked.

The stupid monkey had tracked me. Behind him I saw Prof, kneeling on a small rug he’d placed in the house’s main room, chest touching the ground. His lips were moving silently; he didn’t stop his prayer as Omar chirped away.

I was trapped. The only way out was past five sleeping boys, a man who owned me, a crazy monkey, and a praying Arab.

It was hopeless, but I had to try. As silently as possible, I took the basin down from the shelf and slipped into the main room. Omar grabbed wildly for me as I crept by. He made contact, then wrapped his furry little arms around my leg and let himself be dragged, squeaking triumphantly.

The boys began to wake and stir behind me. Prof opened his eyes, got up from his mat, rolled it, and calmly placed it in his valise. It was strange to see no smile on his face, like his personality had turned sideways since last night.

“Good morning,” he said coolly.

My first thought was to bolt. It must have shown, because Prof held up his hands warningly. “Be careful. Look around before you decide to run, my boy.”

His eyes flitted to the kitchen.

Leaning against the woodstove was Monsieur Tatagani, staring at us with an expression of cold amusement.

He was going to let Prof turn me in. My hands.

Trembling, I stepped back into the sleeping room and drew the curtain, as if some mother’s old housedress could protect me from what was about to happen.

“Stop, Luc,” Prof said, his voice low. “I explained to the hotel desk clerk exactly what happened, and he told me that you lived on the streets but spent the night here with this Alphonse Tatagani. Then the monsieur here told me he would help get my case back if I paid him a finder’s fee, and that as part of that fee he would take care of your punishment.”

Take care of your punishment. My thoughts skittered around everything those words could mean.

I tried to fight it down, but what remained of the rice sludge I’d eaten the night before was crawling up my throat. I heard Monsieur Tatagani tsk as I spat it out on his rub-ber mat.

Once I’d finished retching, I wiped my mouth and glared up at Prof. Why was he telling me all of this if it didn’t change what was going to happen? All he wanted was his stupid metal briefcase back, whatever the cost to me.

Monsieur Tatagani stepped forward, but Prof motioned for him to stay. Surprisingly, the much larger man obeyed. Something about the professor had him spooked.

“You owe a lot of money to Monsieur Tatagani,” Prof said to me. “How did that come to happen? Surely not from the small amount of rice you eat.”

I shrugged and spat bile. I didn’t want to drag my dead family into this. And the reasons for my debt didn’t matter, anyway. The amount was real.

“I have a suspicion that it wasn’t your fault,” Prof said.

I looked up. I’d never thought it was my fault that my mom and sister had gotten sick, or that my father had never returned. But still I felt relieved to have it told to me.

“Why don’t you tell Monsieur Tatagani what really happened with the case?” Prof said. “Then he can explain everything to the police and this will all be settled.”

I didn’t understand. Prof wanted me to confess? But I saw a crafty tilt to his mouth and realized he’d plotted something.

I took my time wiping my mouth, waiting for the right story to come to me. “I was waiting with the bags,” I said, slowly and loudly enough for Monsieur Tatagani to hear clearly. “And a creature came up. I didn’t recognize what it was at first. . . .”

I took a deep breath, then rushed forward with my tale. “It was a mock man, from the jungle! Hairy and mean. He grabbed the metal briefcase, and I ran after him. I didn’t want him to steal it, you see!” Now I was getting into it. I kept my eyes wide and honest and nodded gravely. One of the boys listening behind the curtain gasped.

Monsieur Tatagani made a loud cluck. “The case was stolen by one of the kivili-chimpenze? In Franceville? And let me guess: This beast got away before you could stop him.”

“No,” I said. “I caught him. I fought him to the ground. I wrestled the professor’s case away. The mock man escaped, though, and by then it was so late. I decided I would wait for the morning, when I’d walk the case back to the hotel and return it.”

Prof clapped his hands. “See? I knew there had to be an explanation.”

“Why are you even listening to this street rat’s lie?” Monsieur Tatagani asked. I was wondering much the same thing.

Prof tapped his chin. “I am a world-renowned expert on chimpanzees, and this behavior is very likely for one of them. Last night this boy promised to come with me for a very important scientific study. I need someone to carry my things, and he has proven himself to be resourceful and courageous. He wrestled down an ape, after all!”

I stared at Prof, openmouthed. I was being saved with a fable. Why anyone would want me to be part of his life, even at this strange price, was beyond me.

“Isn’t that right, Luc?” Prof asked me. “Isn’t that what you promised?”

I nodded, slowly at first, and then energetically. “That’s right. I promised that I would go with you.”

Monsieur Tatagani grunted. “This boy is not going anywhere until he’s paid his debts. His mother ran up a large hospital bill before she went. She had the worm.”

“Luc,” Prof said to me, his eyes smiling in deep crinkles, “if you tell me where my case is, I can get money out of it to pay Monsieur Tatagani.”

I nodded numbly and pointed to the front door, for the moment beyond words.

As I stepped out, Omar remained clutched to my ankle, like a fur boot. Finally he let go and toddled next to me, my pant leg in hand. Prof and Monsieur Tatagani were close on either side, no doubt ready to grab me if I tried to run.

When I got to the iboga bush and pulled out the case, Monsieur Tatagani coughed. “Why didn’t you bring this case inside the house to keep it safe, boy?” he asked.

“Perhaps because he thought it was safer here,” Prof snapped.

I frowned. All I needed was to get these two going after each other before the transaction was finished.

“Just open the case,” Monsieur Tatagani ordered.

Prof shook his head. “Not here. Come with me.” With Omar on his shoulder, he started down the road. At the corner I saw two men in police uniforms seated at a café table. I was relieved that Prof had already figured out not to transact with Monsieur Tatagani unless there were witnesses.

The policemen frowned when Prof explained that the case had been recovered by me and that he was paying my debt as a reward. “As you wish, monsieur,” one of them said.

Prof laid the case on an empty table and rolled the combination lock. When it opened, we all fell into a stunned silence.

Francs. It was full of francs in paper-wrapped bundles. The kind of cash a movie spy would have had, only this money was African!

“How much does this boy owe you?” Prof asked.

Monsieur Tatagani surprised me by not exaggerating. “Nineteen thousand francs.”

Prof danced his fingertips over the precious notes. I looked at them in awe, a purple drawing of a beautiful woman repeated from one side of the case to the other. “Now,” Prof said, “we can do each other a favor. You would prefer to have United States currency, yes? So would I, but I will need these francs in the smaller villages. Will you accept traveler’s checks instead, drawn from an American bank? For your trouble, I can raise your price to twenty thousand.”

Monsieur Tatagani nodded solemnly, his excitement so intense, it had made his body go rigid. Only really important people spent American money. This might be Monsieur Tatagani’s first time to have any.

Prof reached into his valise and pulled out a floppy leather wallet. As he rummaged through it, receipts and slips of paper fluttered to the ground. I ran around and picked them all up, except for one, because Omar got to it first and ate it. I hoped it wasn’t important. “The National Geographic Society will be happy to pay off this boy’s debts in return for his service,” Prof said with odd formality, like he was in a radio advertisement. “I am pleased to offer you twenty thousand francs’ worth of United States currency.”

I stared, openmouthed, as Monsieur Tatagani took a note into his hand, this one even more fine and intricate than the francs. “I don’t know what you’re on to, old man,” he said, “but the check is good. The boy’s yours.” He leered at me. “What will I do now? My home will feel so empty!”

Unconsciously, my eyes went to Monsieur Tatagani’s house. The other boys were lined up at the front door, staring at us. I wished I could take Pierre and the rest with me, both to get them away from Monsieur Tatagani and to have allies against this odd Arab.

Monsieur Tatagani slipped the check into his wallet.

“I hope,” Prof said to Monsieur Tatagani, “that you will see this windfall as an opportunity to help those in need.”

Monsieur Tatagani laughed. “I am in need! Even a moneylender can need money. This will pay the tax collector.”

With plenty left over for banana beer, I thought sourly.

Monsieur Tatagani scowled at me, his expression angry but also somehow wounded. Then he headed back to his home, scrutinizing his check. My new owner and I stared after him as he swaggered away.

“Hurry up!” Prof said, snapping his fingers. “Get your belongings! The chimpanzees will be disappointed if we’re late.” Then his expression softened and he winked. “Unless that mock man you met last night told you otherwise.”

Numbly, I tripped after Monsieur Tatagani. My knees were limp. I’d thought I’d spend the rest of my short and pointless life laboring under that debt. And this crazy foreigner had paid it on a whim. I’d seen the number printed on the traveler’s check — fifty American dollars! I couldn’t understand it.

As he approached the house, Monsieur Tatagani yelled at the boys lined up in front. “You know you’re not allowed around here during the day! Go! Get hunting!”

They lingered, but when Monsieur Tatagani picked up his stick they hurried along the road. What happened? Pierre mouthed as he retreated, awestruck.

“Good-bye!” I called after them. I’ll come back and help you if I ever can.

Once they got to the tree line, most of the boys slipped into the jungle. But Pierre stopped, staring at me dully. Unable to take the guilt of leaving him behind, I ducked inside the house.

My belongings only half filled the plastic basin. Inside was a hospital form I’d kept because my mother had once signed it, a cloth purse made from an old pair of pants and tied neatly with scrap rope, and a second shirt with a hundred-franc note hidden in the lining. I hefted the basin under the crook of my arm and got ready to leave.

My stomach was fluttery. Monsieur Tatagani’s house had been a misery compared to the home I’d once had. But leaving it still felt like leaping from a cliff into a current.

I left the small amount of money I’d scrounged under Pierre’s bed cloth. Prof had thousands — millions? — of francs, so the money would do Pierre a lot more good than it would me.

Monsieur Tatagani was seated on his couch as I left, staring at his check. I was tempted to leave without saying anything more to him, but felt I had to say some kind of good-bye, despite everything. Having his house to come back to at night had kept me alive. I cleared my throat. “Monsieur —”

“Get out!” he thundered, snapping his head up, wounded fury on his face. I fled.

“Everything fine, Luc?” Prof asked when I returned. I nodded. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I didn’t even want to think about it.

I stared down at Prof’s heavy valise and stretched my arms over my head, hoping my muscles would loosen in the morning sunshine. I’d seen plenty of ancient women trekking home from the fields with babies on their backs and huge bales of greens on their heads. If they could handle those, I could handle this bag. Couldn’t I?

As Prof took the metal briefcase and started forward, Omar chattering on his shoulder, I heaved the valise to the top of my head. Once I’d gotten my balance, it wasn’t such bad going, and the sunshine felt wonderful. I reminded myself that I would always have sunshine, no matter how my life changed.

We didn’t have far to go. Prof stopped us outside of High Fashion Works of God, Franceville’s fanciest store. I put the valise down and sat on top of it, preparing for a wait. Prof, already halfway inside, waved me through.

I timidly edged inside the store, stashing the valise in a corner. I’d studied the shelves from the outside many times before, but now I could see them up close. Rows and rows of treasures were lined on shiny brown shelves. Ties and tie pins; lace christening dresses; bottles of medicines in identical green glass bottles, each with its own cork stopper and hand-printed label. Omar scampered along an aisle, his tail knocking down a whole row of straw dolls.

The shopkeeper, a famously beautiful woman who wore lipstick and had her hair swooshed to one side like some boyfriend was pulling on it, smiled tightly at Prof and then frowned at me. I got ready to apologize for being there.

But Prof spoke first, his French suddenly more sophisticated. “My research assistant will need to be outfitted. Only first I must ask him a few questions.”

He leaned into me. With the beautiful shopkeeper staring us down, I found it hard to meet Prof’s eyes. “Do you own any shoes?” he asked.

I shook my head. I’d had shoes until a year before, when my feet had grown too large and I’d passed them along to another boy. I suspected I’d never fit into shoes ever again — my toes had splayed from being barefoot all the time. The littlest ones made sharp turns at the end of my foot.

“Then we’ll need to get you shoes,” Prof said. “Next: Do you have any worms?”

I nodded. I had seen the things crawling after I relieved myself. It was perfectly normal, though — all the boys had those.

“Do you have the worm?”

I shook my head. Missionary nuns had driven through on a bus last year and tested people for HIV. I went in and let them prick me because it was free and I got a cookie afterward. When I went back the next day, they told me I didn’t have the virus. Then they wanted me to find God. But I said no because I didn’t know how; besides, there was no cookie involved in that.

Prof turned back to the shopkeeper, who was still frowning, her disgust so big, it was almost funny. I thought it was just me, but her most severe looks were at Prof. They say the only person a Gabonese hates more than a European is an Arab. I hadn’t thought that was true, but it certainly seemed to be the case for the beautiful shopkeeper of High Fashion Works of God. “My assistant has spoken,” Prof said. “We need a pair of shoes and a set of boys’ clothes and a bottle of anti-worm medication. The pill form, if you please, madame.”

I left there with brand-new shoes slapping the ground and an exquisite green glass bottle in my pocket. My smile was as huge as the shopkeeper’s frown had been. In one pocket I had another bottle, filched rubbing alcohol. I knew by now that treating a cut quickly was key to staying alive. The shopkeeper would never miss the bottle — and deserved what she got, anyway, for the nasty looks she’d given Prof.

Even though mud and garbage no longer squeezed up between my toes, my new shoes didn’t make carrying the valise easier. They were hard and unforgiving, and my feet seemed to find a new edge inside them at every step. I was happy that Prof stopped us once we got to the edge of the road that headed into the interior. It was paved for only a short way before turning to dirt and mud, then led only to . . . green. For that reason, very few people took it, unless they were cutting down trees or escaping people.

In Gabon, we called the places men live the Outside and the jungle the Inside. Humans weren’t supposed to go Inside.

“Now we wait for our ride,” Prof said cheerfully, stroking the top of Omar’s head.

I thought right then about running away. Now that I was free of Monsieur Tatagani, I could visit every village until I found my mother’s family, even though I’d never met them. Maybe they would let me farm a small plot of land. The idea of four walls that gave onto a little garden, of people nearby who cared about me, was so wonderful that it hurt.

But I couldn’t abandon Prof. Not yet. My side of our bargain was to split my destiny with this bizarre old man. I had betrayed him last night, and we both knew it, and yet he’d taken another chance on me, even paying my debt. He’d bought me clothes and shoes! I looked down at them proudly, taking in their neatly threaded seams, though they caused me such pain. I would help this professor until he was set up. Then I would leave.

We waited a long time by the side of the road, until Prof hailed a rattling lumber truck. He spoke to the driver for a while, then out came that floppy leather wallet and more traveler’s checks. I would have done anything to have even one of those meaningful slips of paper, and he had so many. It nearly set my mind reeling, the scale of it, like I was a beetle and Prof was a mountain.

Within minutes we were sitting in the back of the truck, Prof’s belongings mounded around us. The truck had no sides, so we held on to the thick rusty chains that would eventually be used to secure lumber on the return trip. Despite our best efforts, we bounced and swung as the truck rumbled forward.

Omar leaped from one side of the truck bed to the other, excited and squawking, sometimes disappearing under the vehicle to investigate its workings and then returning triumphantly, ranting and baring his teeth.

We faced out the rear. I’d never traveled on a vehicle before, and the wind blowing past felt as thrilling and upsetting as my freedom. I held my hand out over the side, let it be lifted by the too-fast air. Prof leaned against his valise and closed his eyes, the metal briefcase pinned securely between his knees.

“How did you get all that money?” I risked asking.

Prof groggily opened his eyes and looked down at his prized possession, as if surprised to see it there. “This? Nothing worth spending a thought on.” Then he changed the subject. “I was advised by my fellow scientists that I would need an assistant. So this has worked out very well. You will be a great help to me, and to science. We will have a life with great purpose! Our mission is to set up camp in a part of the jungle with many chimpanzees. Most of my time will be used to make crucial notes and observations for the National Geographic Society, so I will need you to maintain the camp and help me keep us and the chimps safe. Your payment will be your food and the solution I’ve provided you for your impossible situation in Franceville. Not that you’re in any position to refuse, but do you at least acknowledge my terms?”

A fat mantis whizzed through the air and landed on my arm, and I flicked it off into the hurtling wind. Prof was right. I was in no position to refuse. But he was forcing me into this choice all the same, and because of that, I figured I would feel no guilt when I abandoned him later. For now I nodded. I acknowledged his terms.

Tall trees rushed by on either side, as if fleeing the liana vines strewn between them. Shrieks of birds, monkeys, and insects filled my ears, even above the roar of the truck. “Why did you do it?” I asked. “You could have hired someone much more skilled than me with all that money.”

Prof was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “A terrible man, that Monsieur Tatagani. I knew it the moment I met him. He deserves this.”

“Deserves what?”

Prof pulled out his leather wallet and showed me a thick wad of those American traveler’s checks. “See these? We make much better fake money in Cairo; he’d never seen a forgery that good.”

“What you gave him wasn’t real?” I asked, my insides dropping away.

Prof nodded and began chuckling again. “Trying to extort twenty thousand francs out of an AIDS orphan,” he managed to get out. “That Monsieur Tatagani truly does deserve it.”

I imagined Monsieur Tatagani arriving at the tax collector’s that very moment, and pictured what would happen when they discovered the money was fake. He might be imprisoned. I was horrified by the thought of his fury. He’d cut the hands off that boy who’d run away, and this was much worse. I didn’t feel like laughing. Not at all.

Our truck drew off the road to let another pass. As if frustrated at being confined, the machine thrummed angrily. “What about the cash in the case?” I sputtered. “Is that real?”

“Hmm . . .” Prof said. “Some of it!”

“You gave these loggers fake money, too?” I whispered, glancing nervously at the hulking men in the truck’s cab.

“All in the name of science, Luc,” Prof said. “All in the name of science. Besides, they should not be cutting down these trees. Look at it this way — they are donating their services in the name of chimpanzee conservation. It’s time they helped endangered animals instead of destroying their habitats.”

I lay on my side, feeling sick. A few things were clearer now. One, I could never return to Franceville — whether he had meant to or not, Prof had guaranteed my doom if I showed my face there again. Tatagani, if he was free (or the police, if he was not), would destroy me the moment he saw me. If he could, he would hunt us down. I had no doubt of that.

Two, Prof was far more clever — and dishonest — than I’d first thought.

And three, there was a reason he’d picked me to be his assistant: I was a lot like him.