Diondray's Roundabout

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2I did not look back at the Copperwiths as I followed the two men into the woods on the east side of the hotel. I had made another decision without their guidance, and I did not want to see their disappointment. Especially from Mrs. Copperwith. However, Reuel was at my side, and I sensed that going with these men would be okay.

We walked onto a paved path inside the woods. Did these men use this path all the time? I wondered. The taller of the two men carried my suitcase, while the shorter one spoke to him in a dialect I had not heard before. He spoke in rapid bursts, while his companion kept glancing back at Reuel. It seemed like the taller man was still surprised that the leopard would be so comfortable traveling next to me.

I adjusted my travel bag on my right shoulder as the path turned left. The men stopped abruptly, causing me to bump into the taller one. He reached back with his left arm to keep me from falling over him. His grip was firm, and it jerked me into place.

As I watched, the shorter man left the path, heading toward a huge tree. Seconds later, he climbed the tree as fast as I had ever seen a human being do so. Reuel growled his approval. The man scampered back down the tree just as fast as he had climbed it—but now he was holding a black leather bag.

The taller man placed my suitcase on the ground and walked over to his companion, who opened the bag and pulled out two masks—gold-painted leopard faces that reminded me of Reuel.

The leopard growled again as the men took off their uniforms and placed the masks over their faces. Both were wearing one-piece leopard-print outfits made of the same material as the masks. They approached Reuel, and the leopard stepped away from my side to greet them. The men bowed to Reuel, and the leopard purred his approval.

“Diondray Azur,” the shorter man said. “We are Boma-Men. Because you are a friend of the leopard, you have become our friend as well.”

I nodded as the taller Boma-Man picked up my suitcase, and we returned to walking on the path. What was a Boma-Man? Did they travel this path every day before working at the hotel? Did they worship Reuel?

The men remained silent as the path went from the woods to a village. As we approached, a high-pitched sound surrounded me. I covered my ears, feeling as though the sound was piercing throughout my entire body—and lowered my hands slowly as the sound faded and people gathered in the village to watch us arrive. They were dressed just like my escorts and stood erect as we passed by. The people stared at the leopard and me, clearly surprised. Their surprise, however, was not greater than my own! I had come to a place where a group of people worshiped and revered Reuel. I had never thought this kind of thing would mark the first part of my journey to the cities south of the Great Forest. How were these people connected to Oscar’s prophecy?

The village consisted of large trees where the people had made their homes, carving them out of the thick trunks. They walked in and out of their tree homes as casually as I did my duplex back home. I had never seen a tree home before, and I could not help staring as we walked.

My escorts led us to the center of the village, where a lanky man wearing an oversized silver mask was sitting on a tree trunk. They must have cut that tree recently, because it appeared smooth as skin and did not have a weathered look like most trees did. Two other lanky men accompanied him, and all three acknowledged our arrival.

“Omari,” my taller escort said and bowed to the man in a silver mask. “We have brought a friend to the village.”

He placed my suitcase down on the ground as the shorter escort walked up to Omari and bowed as well. Omari grinned through the mask as he stared at Reuel. The leopard purred and walked up to the leader of the village. He rubbed Reuel’s head and looked at me.

“We do have a friend amongst us,” the village leader said. “A friend of the leopard is a friend of the Boma-Men.”

“His name is Diondray Azur,” the taller escort said and brought my suitcase to Omari. He flipped the name tag over for his leader to read.

Omari read the name tag and asked, “Are you from Adrian?”

“Charlesville,” I replied. Reuel returned to my side, and I watched all the Boma-Men stare at the leopard.

The village leader released the name tag and gazed at me. “From the place near the Kammara Sea. Your name comes from there. And you have dark brown skin and treetop hair like us Boma-Men.” Omari took off his mask. His complexion and hair were exactly like mine. The only difference was the gray streaks running throughout his hair. I assumed he was the same age as the Copperwiths.

“Welcome to Boma Village, Diondray Azur,” he continued. “Because of your arrival, it looks like the circle of history will finally close its loop. Micah, take our friend to the guest quarters, and we will resume our discussion at sundown. The leopard will stay with me.”

What did Omari mean about the circle of history finally closing its loop? What was the connection between the Boma-Men and my people back home? Micah picked up my suitcase, and I followed him to the left, away from Omari and the other Boma-Men. Reuel nuzzled my leg and purred as I was leaving. It was the leopard’s way of telling me that he would be okay with the leader of the Boma-Men.

I arrived at a tree home north of the center of the village. Micah opened the door to the tree home and placed my suitcase down next to it. In the middle of the guest quarters was an oval-shaped table with a plate of fruit and green leafy vegetables. Mangoes, brownberries, and sliced bananas filled the center of the plate while the leafy vegetables surrounded the fruit. My escort pointed to the large rectangular cushion that acted as a chair at the table.

“I will return with your drink in a few moments,” he said as I sat down and placed my travel bag on the floor.

Micah left the guest quarters. I grabbed handfuls of brownberries and sliced bananas to stuff into my mouth. I had not eaten since the plane ride, and my stomach welcomed the fruit. I wondered if the Boma-Men ate meat. I knew from my studies at school that leopards were meat eaters—mostly hunting and eating smaller animals of the forest. If they were a people who worshiped and emulated the leopard, then meat eating would have to be a part of their diet—wouldn’t it?

Micah returned with a drink of brownberry juice and placed it on the table. “Eat all the fruits and vegetables. There is plenty, especially for those who are friends of the leopard.”

“No meat?”

He frowned. “Boma-Men do not eat meat. Eating meat is forbidden amongst our people. Fruits and vegetables have sustained us for generations.”

“I was taught that leopards eat meat. I thought the Boma-Men would do the same.”

Micah had walked to the far side of the room, where a bed hung onto the tree-bark wall. Several thick ropes connected the bed to the bark wall, keeping it off the ground. It looked like a longer version of the cushion at the dining table.

Micah tidied up the bed. “We are aware that leopards eat meat,” he replied as I arrived next to him. “But Omari and prior leaders of our people believed that eating meat tended to slow humans down and make them gain weight. Even though Boma-Men worship the leopard, eating meat is one leopard practice we will never participate in.”

I cracked a smile. “There are no overweight Boma-Men—that I have noticed.”

Micah grinned. “You have an awareness like us.”

I sat on the bed. It felt firm and sturdy. My own build was lanky like the Boma-Men, and the bed was the right length for my legs. Another thing we had in common.

The surprising contradiction of leopard worshipers who didn’t eat meat reminded me of the contradiction with the people of Santa Teresa, who believed that women must marry by the age of twenty-one, even though the disciple Teresa’s section of the Book of Kammbi said nothing of the kind. I wondered if all belief systems had such contradictions.

I opened my travel bag to pull out my writing pad and pencil. An idea for a themily had come to mind. I had not written a themily since my arrival in Issabella earlier in the month of Coter. Micah left the guest quarters again, and I lay back on the bed to write.

Contradictions

Will we always be susceptible to contradictions?

Are we capable of believing in something totally?

Or will we always compromise our beliefs for convenience?

For tradition?

For fitting in?

Can a person truly believe in something purely when we contradict ourselves all the time?

Or do those contradictions make us who we are?

I wrote an unpolished version quickly as Micah returned. If people from both sides of the forest had contradictions in their belief systems, how could this land ever unite as one, as Oscar’s prophecy foretold?

“You write?” Micah asked.

I got up from the bed and joined him at the dining table. “I do. I write themilys.”

“Themilys?”

I scooped up some more brownberries and banana slices. “Themilys are a collection of thoughts written on a single sheet of paper that are meant to inspire, encourage, or admonish an audience. They are usually delivered aloud by the writer.”

“Words can be deceitful and confusing.”

“They can be,” I replied. “Themilys are not written to deceive or confuse. I don’t write that way for my audience. Do the Boma-Men write?”

“Not Boma-Men. We do read. Omari has made sure everyone in Boma Village can read. The words of city people can be deceitful and confusing. Boma-Men will not be taken advantage of by the words of city people.”

I grabbed a leafy vegetable and wrapped it around several mango slices. Why would the Boma-Men know how to read but not write? Reading and writing were different skills, but they always went together. I had learned both reading and writing together in my studies back home—taught by my mother to read and my aunt Maxina to write. Learning how to read and write were the most enjoyable activities I had as a kid. Were written words forbidden amongst the Boma-Men?

Micah handed me a tablecloth as juice from the mango slices dripped off my chin. “I will be back just before sundown. Bring your writing with you for Omari.”

He exited the guest quarters, and I began wondering how Omari would receive this unpolished themily I had written.

Sundown arrived, and a stiff breeze ripped through the village, making it cooler than I had anticipated. I wore a blue long-sleeved shirt and pants I had received from the konseho of Kammbi just before we left for Adrian. I had explained to Deputy Santiago that I could not wear anything Mr. Cortes had made for me after what happened at the hearing. To my surprise, he understood my position and got me a new wardrobe. I had seven days of clothing in my suitcase and was grateful for the deputy’s gesture.

Micah brought me back to the center of the village, where Omari sat on the same tree trunk from earlier. Dusk had arrived, and I noticed square-shaped lights surrounding the area. Omari’s guards were in the same position as they had been earlier. He motioned for me to take a seat on a stump across from Omari and the guards. All three wore masks, and it felt odd not being able to see their faces.

“Micah tells me that you write,” Omari said.

I nodded and replied, “Themilys.”

Omari grinned through the mask. I could see his pearly white teeth, but I did not feel comforted by his grin. “Themilys. I would like for you to read one of them for me. I want to hear these words of wisdom.”

“Before I do, I would like to know . . . where is Reuel?”

Omari’s guards turned their heads to their leader. I glanced at Micah, who stood to my right, and stared at Omari as well.