Tribes (11 page)

I tried to enter the crowd that surrounded one of the bonfires. I wanted to see the center of the circle of flames. The core. An evolutionary secret I had been denied was there. Maybe the teachings the Ndebele youth learned during their manhood rites.

I fell, putting my hands out too late. My jaw struck the ground. Time oozed. Then the pain hit; my eyes watered. I got up, wiping my face.

I tried to break through at a different place. A male pushed me away, his face blurry. The square jaw and short hair reminded me of Justin. It had to be him, or one of his brethen.

"
Gigantopithecus blacki,"
I slurred. "Species died out. They did."

"Bug off, Einstein!"

"I'm Darwin!" I insisted. "Darwin!"

"Okay, Darwin! Go puke somewhere else."

Vomiting? The mere mention of it awakened gastrointestinal turmoil. I stumbled, turned away from the flame and bent over a log, and my digestive system flowed backward.

"Hey, whazzat," the log said, despite its lack of a larynx. "Oh, Jesus, get away!" Something flew out of the dark, a foot, a fist, a bottle, striking me in the chest.

My eyes stung. I weaved toward the circle of bodies. They were hominids. I was a hominid. We had the same number of fingers, the same number of chromosomes. They would let me enter the inner circle. I wanted to see the flames close up.

I tripped and fell into a group of shadows.

"Aw, back off!" one said, shoving me away. "He's coated in puke." I was pushed again, so that I rolled over into a puddle of mud.

In the past now. Long ago.

Three First Nations males looked down at me. Two large. One bald and thin as a colt. Flickering flames sharpened their features.

Was this pre-Columbian times? Had I crossed the Bering Strait?

The thin one kicked the ground, and dirt clumps smacked the side of my face. "Get out of here—go on."

I held up my hands. "The buffalo are all gone—the bison, I mean."

"What?" a larger lump barked. "What did you say?"

"I didn't kill them," I explained quickly. "The slaughter wasn't my fault. And the Beothuks, I understand how they felt."

"Understand this!" the thin one hissed. "Shove off, whitey!" He stepped toward me.

"Wait," the third one said. He moved into the light. "That you, Percy?" A familiar visage. Young face. Ancient eyes. Delmar Brass.

"Yes. Yes. It is I."

"What are you doing?"

"Elissa left. She left. Left. Left."

They stared quizzically at me.

"You know this guy?" The thin one pointed.

"Yeah," Delmar answered, "I do."

I needed to explain the link between us. "We come from the same tree," I began. "All of us climbed down from the same tree. All skin colors are mutations of our original color.
Australopithecus
is inside everyone. Witness Lucy. We come from the same tree."

Delmar chuckled. "Yeah, we come from the same tree. That's right, buddy. Don't get yourself all riled up. I see."

"You see what?" the skinny one said. "He's drunk."

"How much did you drink?" Delmar asked.

"A vast quality. Quantity. Five beers."

"Five beers?" The thin one again. "That's all it took to get you to barf? What kind of..."

I blacked out. When I opened my eyes again, I was on my back, squinting up, and Delmar was hovering over me, laughing. I giggled. Maybe this was a vision quest. I'd need to find an animal spirit. I thought of an owl, but its large eyes only reminded me of Elissa.

"She went away," I announced. "She left. Left. Left me here. Flew away."

Oh, wait. I'd said that already.

"I'll give you a ride home," Delmar said.

"Just let him sleep it off here," whined the thin one. "He'll be fine."

"No. I have to." Delmar paused, scratched his chin and chuckled. "We come from the same tree."

He helped me up and guided my unresponsive body to an old, dented truck. The interior smelled of sweet grass. Or maybe the scent emanated from the Marilyn Monroe deodorizer on the rearview mirror. Her shape drew my attention, her dress blown up to reveal her famous limbs. So smooth. The engine roared. Delmar jammed the truck into gear. Marilyn wiggled.

Beauty. Beauty and evolution. A connection. Somehow.

I pressed my face against the window. The coolness felt good. The bonfires disappeared. Delmar cranked the radio and a rock song about love tumbled out.

"You play a mean bagpipe," I said.

"Thanks. Always did like the sound. Gets my heart pumping."

We are one,
I thought.
We are all one.
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, we were home.

"You ever get that article published?" he asked.

"Still trying." Both words were a struggle. "
National Geographic
next. Or
Modern Science
. Someone will take it."

"Keep on keeping on."

I have to, I wanted to say. We all must keep on. Then I leaned on the heavy door and stumbled out, and he sped off. I slouched across the lawn and crawled through my window, shedding mud all over my bedroom.

sixteen

NDEBELE RETURNS

My bladder was a giant, expanding Zeppelin.

I woke up in the middle of the night with one desperate need. I blink-walked to the bathroom, relieved myself, then cranked open the sink tap. The first blast of H2O was rust-stained, but I didn't hesitate. I drank deeply. A lost desert nomad at the oasis.

My brain expanded/contracted/expanded. Painfully. Some scientists say that if the spaces between everything were collapsed, the universe could be condensed into a cantaloupe-sized object. Not a grand watermelon or royal pumpkin: a measly cantaloupe. They suggest that was the dimension of the universe before the Big Bang. Well, another universe was inside my skull, rushing to obliterate the present.

I put my lips to the tap and gulped again. Looked into the mirror. Mud stained my face, a charcoal streak blackened my brow.
Australo-ugly-Percy-ithecus
. Sobering up stripped layers from my humanity. De-sapienization. Soon I would be reduced to grunting.

Elissa didn't want to go to Grad with me.

We hate you, Percival.

I had clouded my anthropological eyes with alcohol and succumbed to imitating their behavior. I did not need a mate. I did not need them. I had to stay pure and prepare for the next great revelation. The Yanomamo call themselves
waiteri
. It means fierce. From now on I'd be
waiteri
in the pursuit of my goal.

I doused my face. My mind remained foggy. Embrangled. I needed something else. I thought of the Ndebele rite of passage. I dug in the drawer, grasped a pair of scissors. I clipped and cut, dropping hair into the sink.

I reached for the razor.

seventeen

REBORN

Mom examined me from her side of the breakfast table. When I'd first sat down she'd displayed shock, but like a stone dropped in the ocean, that shock sank below the surface. Placidity ruled.

She set down her tea. "So this is your last day as a high school student."

"Yes."

"And you've chosen rebirth?"

I spread almond butter across my toast. The pungent scent drifted up and my stomach tightened. I forced a bite. Masticated. "I am not sure what you mean, Mom."

"Why did you shave your head?"

I palmed my smooth skull. It was hot. The coils of my brain blazed and every razor nick tingled. My fingers were cool, which was comforting because my head ached. My first hangover; I would make notes later.

"I...uh..."The reasons had been lucid last night. Now: vague. Something to do with the Ndebele manhood rites. Krep. Krep. My thoughts conglomerated slowly. "It. Was. A. Dare," I said finally. "A dare."

"Who dared you?"

"Elissa."

A frown flickered across my mother's lips. Disbelief and anger nearly gained a foothold, but the placid look won.

She stared at me. I ate. A memory spilled out my lips. "Did Cindy Mozkowski come to our door?"

Mom turned pale. "When?"

"Three years ago. To tell us...about Dad. Was she here? Crying?"

"I've only seen
her
once. At the airport. Why are you asking this?"

"I. Just. I seem to have mixed up a memory of her. That's all. Nothing." I looked down at my toast.

"Your father is coming tonight."

I shivered. "Oh," I said. "Oh." I hadn't committed to an emotion. Then I felt it. Impossible. The genitor—father—would
not
be there. His body had been reduced to its basic elements. "Will he float down from heaven, Mom? Rise up from the Netherworld? Reincarnate as a butterfly and flip-flap through the ceremony? Will I wear him as a brooch?"

"Why are you so mad, Perk?"

A primordial anger soup boiled inside my skull. "We go back to the earth. That's the way of things."

"What are you talking about?"

I stood up. "Why do people keep asking that? No one ever knows what I'm talking about. What it means. No one! Stupid, stupid hominids."

"Percy, what is it?"

I shook my head. How could I explain everything from
Australopithecus afarensis
to modern man? "It's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Then I pulled my backpack off its hook on the wall and banged the door shut behind me.

eighteen

LITTLE BANG

Let's begin at the beginning. The real beginning. The early universe had ten billion and one protons created for every ten billion antiprotons. What's the big deal about that extra proton? Simple. Without it, matter and antimatter would have destroyed each other and there wouldn't have been a universe.

After the Big Bang there had to be exactly enough matter to clump into planets and stars, but not so much that it would all be pulled back together by gravity into the cantaloupe. The sun had to burn at least three and a half billion years to aid the creation of life. The earth had to rotate the perfect number of degrees from the sun, have enough gravity to hold an atmosphere, and the proper conditions to produce water. Only then could life begin. Without any of these factors, you get nada. Nil. Zero. No sane sentient being would bet on life forming on the third planet.

Which made it a miracle that I was at the front doors of Groverly High for my final day of Grade Twelve. I strode inside, head erect, eyes darting back and forth, eager to capture every significant event. A few students stared at my new visage—a Back-to-Buddha look. Most ignored me, including Elissa, whom I twice glimpsed in the hallway. She didn't even glance in my direction.

There were no classes, only a final goodbye from each teacher. Some classmates exchanged gifts or cards with each other, but I didn't receive anything. I report this to keep the facts straight. I felt no envy.

After lunch my peers dressed for photographs. I declined since I didn't want my soul sucked into the camera. I would forever be remembered in the yearbook as "no picture available."

There was a break between school and the graduation banquet. I went home, retreated silently to my room and wrote in my field journal. I scrutinized my words until my stereoscopic eyes ached.

"You're here," Mom said, entering my room without knocking. "Did you go to the banquet?"

"I didn't have time."

"Time?" She paused. "I hope you're not mad because I decided not to go. I—I just couldn't be in the same room as all that roast beef. You know that."

"I'm not angry. I missed it for my own reasons."

"Are you feeling better? This morning you were so upset."

"I was tired. That's all. There's so much to do." I looked at my watch. "I have to get dressed; the ceremony's going to start soon."

"I'd better get ready too. I found the perfect outfit at Value Village." On her way out my door she added, "Your father will hate it, though."

Dad, again?
I thought.
Just let it go, Mom.

I clad myself in the gray suit she'd purchased at the Salvation Army. It was too small for my frame. Had I grown overnight? I clipped on my tie and slipped into a pair of black herbivore-hide dress shoes.

Mom met me at the door in a white robe that only a Vulcan would wear. She straightened the shoulders of my suit and let out a sigh. "You look beautiful, Percy. I can't believe you're graduating."

"Me either, Mom," I said, quickly kissing her cheek. Then I ran the three blocks to school.

The recently assembled Grad Tribe was in a hallway near the back of the stage. Various females had caked their features with makeup and preserved their hair with gel and spray. Males stood uncomfortably in their new suits, hands in pockets, tugging ties, inspecting their shoes as if trying to recall why they weren't wearing sneakers.

I approached the sign-in desk. Ms. Nystrom looked up, frowned.

"You're late, Percy."

"I am aware of my tardiness," I answered. "It was unavoidable. It won't happen again, I promise." I winked. Her face was blank. "Get it? School's finished so I won't be back, therefore I can't be late."

"Yes, that is funny," she replied flatly. "I'll miss your sense of humor."

I thought of all the times she'd indulged me in class when I'd expounded on my theories regarding literature and evolution. She deserved a final gift, so I offered, "A birthmark on the left cheek is a sign of intelligence and good luck in Thai culture."

She looked up, eyes guarded. Then: a slight smile, making her birthmark crease together. "Good luck to you, Mr. Montmount," she said, handing me a graduation gown. I slung it over my arm and joined the crowd, amused that the males would submit to such effeminate dress.

Clusters of visibly nervous students chatted hesitantly, straightening each other's gowns and fixing their tresses like monkeys hunting for head lice. I retrieved my field notebook and jotted notes.

No Elissa sightings. No surprise. We were packed in the hallway like lab rats in a cage. The masses parted for the walking monolith, Justin. He lumbered through the students, his robe draped over one shoulder,
Gigantopithecus blacki
on a mission. He paused to inspect me; his eyes revealed no warmth, no anger, just contentment—an odd expression on his square-jawed face. Graduation agreed with him; maybe he'd won a football scholarship.