His Boyfriend the Caveman

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Oscar looked up from the laptop as Radhi walked in the store. The dear boy had had a hard day. Oscar blamed himself for all of it. He shifted uncomfortably on the hot seat and cracked the door wider with no reprieve. Another broiling wind slipped in. At least Radhi had parked in the shade.

He leaned over the driver’s seat in search of the trunk release. It amused him, all the levers and buttons with modern hieroglyphics. Nothing jumped out at him for opening the trunk. It was probably right under his nose.

He resigned himself to what he’d often suspected. Though he did pretty well at keeping up, technology would be the end of him.

Then he remembered the car was unlocked, and he could open the trunk from the back. The only problem though, he couldn’t lock it again once he got the bags out. He shouldn’t leave Radhi’s things unattended.

He’d so complicated that poor boy’s life. Announcing his departure might only make things worse right now. After their stressful day, he sensed Radhi needed him there with him. So much had happened, it overwhelmed the young fellow.

Boating on Lake Mead, as Radhi suggested, did sound interesting, especially after all those weeks he’d spent locked in his room, giving blood every day. He could use an outing but needn’t rely on Radhi for that.

Having made up his mind to turn himself in, now he could travel on his own, at least until they caught up with him, the FDI, or FDA, or FBI, whatever it was. He didn’t have to hide anymore. Nothing held him back.

He’d better have a little talk with Radhi. Until today, they hadn’t spoken at all since the awkward breakup. The mixed signals confused Oscar. When Radhi freed him, he hadn’t expected the kiss from Radhi. It surprised him—as much as its sudden stop.

Radhi had seemed upset about Oscar’s decision to turn himself in, but Radhi’s reason wasn’t clear. Either he worried they wouldn’t see each other anymore, or Radhi thought Oscar’s arrest might lead to his own.

Oscar eyed the nugget on the dash. He picked it up and dropped it in his shirt pocket. It puzzled him why Radhi returned the gold. There were no strings attached to it—he knew that. In any case, Radhi had earned the gift today with his bravery. Oscar breathed deeply, finally free from Killington.

He would talk to the boy, thank him again, and offer to leave if it were best. Too bad. He needed a friend and had found one in Radhi, regardless of their brief affair. He shouldn’t have let that happen. He’d surprised himself that he did.

It wasn’t like he needed romance. Even s*x had lost its appeal. Glad he’d set aside all that business, for over a hundred years, he didn’t miss it much. He’d had enough of love. Then he met Radhi.

After learning a hard lesson over and over again for centuries, he’d made the same old mistake. Given his unusual circumstances, his relationships seldom worked out, and even when they did, every time, his loved one passed away, leaving him behind.

Those romantic novels he used to read never mentioned this. The stories always ended happily with an engagement or a wedding. The authors left out the inevitable funerals. In real life, the characters always died in the end, except for him.

Anyway, now that Radhi finally believed the truth, he’d probably lost interest in an old caveman, young-looking or not. Even if Radhi didn’t drop him, it wasn’t meant to be. Now that Oscar’s secret was out, people would be looking for him.

Oscar had no doubt. He’d been around long enough to know. When they found out, some of them would want to use him. In the past as a soldier or scapegoat, but now that he and others had learned about his blood, he dreaded the outcome all the more.

He couldn’t outrun technology’s reach, ever-expanding. It made hiding impossible. Turning himself in would make the most sense now. That way, at least he could choose who had him and hope for the best.

The authorities in The States might protect him and use his gift for good. On the other hand, that usually hadn’t happened in his other encounters. Either way, he couldn’t hide anymore.

He stroked the keyboard, and it soothed him. His hypergraphia closed in. Only with writing had he found peace. Telling his story calmed his troubles. He ignored the heat and typed…

I’d journeyed yet another day around the lake, when a lion roared. Across the waves the rumble rolled, nothing unusual on Makgadikgadi. Shading my eyes from the glare, up from the water and down from the sky, I looked to shore for the beast.

No lion in sight, only hippos wallowed, and plentiful bluebucks drank cool water or grazed sweet grass, not far from where crocodiles basked. Just a normal day, one of countless others on my journey, in the shallow water, I punted forward.

Another raft launched from the island ahead, the first I’d seen in many seasons following the lakeshore. Kneeling on my vessel, my calloused shins and feet pressed against the deck of bundled reeds. My punting pole reached for the lakebed. Finding the bottom, I pushed forward, and my raft made little wakes.

The strangers’ craft resembled mine, except longer and narrower. It held four men sitting in a row with sticks in the water. My wider raft carried only me with a little extra separation from the crocodiles. They lounged on the mainland shore by swarming gnats and flocks of plovers.

Too far to see exactly what accompanied the strangers, punting poles, spears, or oars, I myself pierced the water with my own long stick until the end lodged in the mud. Shifting the weight on my knees and leaning on the pole, I thrust my raft forward on the planned path, between this inhabited island on the one hand and the crocodile-infested lakeshore on the other.

The men wore wraps of some sort at their waists and shoulders, so I paused for a moment and threw on my python-skin skirt. Before picking up the pole again, I dabbed my finger in a gourd and scooped up some ointment for touching up my face. Adding to the morning’s application, a thin clay layer sheltered my skin from the sun and biting flies.

With their swift craft, and the wind in their favor, the strangers might intercept me. If I didn’t soon pass between their rocky island and the muddy mainland, they would meet me on the way. Whether friend or foe, I should soon find out.

Though unsure about the men’s intent, I had no doubt about the crocodiles. Their open snouts gaped at me from the mainland. Where the waters had receded from the distant forest, mudflats baked in the hot sun. Unable to land there, I had to decide on two other choices, go forward or turn back.

The crocodiles always made me think of Arrow. As my punting pole broke the water, and its point found the bottom, I pushed forward against the wind. Arrow would have liked my daring. Little waves broke against the reeded raft as I pressed on the pole.

Though so long ago now, his memory clung to me, most often softly, but his death bore claws that wouldn’t let go. It ripped at my heart. In the end, I couldn’t save him.

I don’t know why he did it. As if he knew his time had come, he stood too near the water’s edge. He wasn’t young anymore. I’d told him not to.

From nowhere, the crocodile lunged and clamped down on his arm. I grabbed his waist and pulled. The monster rolled and twisted. Arrow’s screams couldn’t cover up the popping and crack at the elbow. His lower arm broke off and dangled in the creature’s jaws.

I shook off the memory. The strangers approached ahead of me from the side. I still might make it past them and pushed hard. If I punted fast enough, they couldn’t cut me off.

Clearly paddling now in the channel, they’d put their long sticks flat on their raft. The tips, obscured in the haze, hung over the edge. Whether sharpened points or not, I couldn’t tell and would soon find out. I put all my strength in pushing past them.

My name sounded from the sky in Arrow’s voice. I looked up. I didn’t have to. It had rarely happened but enough for me to know. I wouldn’t see him. Yet, I couldn’t resist the glance.

No one else called me Diver anymore. The others all named me words familiar with them, in their languages I struggled understanding, but Arrow called me Diver as my parents had. He used my true name our whole life together and now in the sky.

When I’d pulled him away from the crocodile and tied my belt above his elbow, the bleeding stopped. He healed enough to live, but pain dragged him to the grave. The crocodile’s teeth still stung an arm no longer there. Suffering an endless bite, only death released him.

As if I, too, had lost my arm or leg, I grieved Arrow like a phantom limb. His loss still hurt to this day. Though he wanted me happy when he left, I let him down in this way.

I let my labor with the punting pole distract me. If not for the dubious welcome, I would have passed up this island without a thought. For many generations I’d lived on countless islands like it. The stony outcrop, not far from the mainland shore, presented little appeal on my journey.

After Arrow, nowhere was home. I only stayed until my secret surfaced. If friendly, I might lodge with these strangers for a while. Arrow would want me keeping an open heart. Though after him, I’d never found love again.

His good nature couldn’t comprehend the dangers. Too often in my travels, the few men who showed an interest in me merely took advantage of a lonely wanderer until they cast me back on my way. So, no, I hadn’t planned on stopping here.

Besides, the water level was falling so fast. I might never reach my destination before the distant island joined the mainland.

The sun rose this morning from the land behind the lakeshore, like it did in my childhood, unlike the lake’s opposite side where I’d left Arrow. There, the sun rose from the water not the land. Near my journey’s end, every day, I yearned more and more for my childhood home and its sunrise from the forest. Now I was near.

I hoped that lovely island hadn’t met the mainland yet. Punting faster, I had to hurry and get there before it disappeared as I’d known it, a world apart.

The strangers approached from the side. I struggled hard outpacing them and calmed myself with wandering thoughts. For countless seasons, the waters receded. I longed for the place of my birth, that sweet island with my family.

So long ago now, they would have all passed on, but my hope in their descendants drew me toward them. For untold generations, I dreamed of returning.

The strangers came closer. One of the men put down his oar. He picked up a long, narrow stick, the end now clearly pointed. Punting as hard as I could, I might still pass them before they blocked me.

I kept going. If I had to turn around, I might never make it back home. Too often, I’d retreated and taken the long way. If I did it again, they might follow me anyway. I should just as soon face them.

A spear whistled through the air and splashed beside my raft. A bigger splash came from the mainland’s muddy shore, where a giant crocodile had plunged in the water and drifted my way. I put my pole down behind me and swiveled on my knees until facing the direction from where I’d come. Picking up the pole again, I punted back that way, retracing my path. When I dared peek behind my shoulder, the strangers and the crocodile gained on me…