As Kent had kicked, Lois's assessment had been that the ball was going wide and she'd relaxed a little. Then it had started to swing, zeroing in on the goals like a guided missile. She had leapt to her left in a desperate attempt to divert the shot.
Too late.
Impossibly, the ball had squeezed inside the post.
Her shout of congratulations froze on her lips as she looked at his face.
His expression mirrored her surprise.
But, then …
From the midst of his amazement, a smile slowly unfolded.
A smile.
Tentative. Faltering.
Glorious.
It dissolved the layer of aloofness, giving Lois her first unveiled glimpse of the man who had dropped into her life.
He was beautiful.
On the inside.
And on the outside, too.
Part 9
"Whew!" Lois said. "It's getting hot." She picked up the ball and bounced it a couple of times as she walked over to Clark. "Want to finish up now?"
"OK."
"What was the final score?"
By Clark's calculations, he'd driven the ball between the goalposts on twenty-three occasions to her twenty-one. "It was close."
"Very close," Lois agreed. "I'm not sure of the final tallies, but I think you won by two."
"Really?"
She put her hand high on his arm, just above his bicep. "You did great, Kent."
Lois had done great, too, displaying both proficiency and guile. Clark wanted to ask her how she had gotten so skilled, but he was wary of the easy rapport that had gathered around them while their concentration had been centred on a twine-bound buffalo bladder.
"You had to adapt to the unfamiliar ball," Lois continued. She grinned. "Not to mention the vagaries of the local terrain."
He nodded, startled by how natural it would have felt to smile at their shared memory.
She went to the water barrel, scooped out two cups of water, and offered him one. He quickly emptied the cup, his dry throat appreciating the cool moisture. He reached into the barrel and re-filled his cup.
When Lois had finished her drink, she dried her mouth with her forearm and untied the strips of fabric holding her skirt in place above her knees. "I'm going down to the river to bathe," she announced.
"OK," Clark said.
She didn't move away. "Coming?"
"No."
"Come on. You must be hot. You'll feel much better."
Clark didn't want to feel better. And he certainly didn't want to bathe with Lois. "You go."
"Now is the best time," Lois said. "There won't be any problems with animals, and the temperature will drop really quickly once the sun goes behind the trees."
"Aren't we in quarantine? What if other people are there?"
"They'll be finished by now. Come on, we don't have long before our four-legged neighbours come down to drink."
"I'm not going."
"Are you embarrassed?"
"I'll go after you get back."
"I'm a medicine woman. I've seen a naked man before."
Clark's cache of excuses had run dry, so he stared at his bare and dusty feet and said nothing.
"If you're serious about leaving, you need to learn as much as you can. Like when it's safe to enter the river. What to look for to ensure water is OK to drink." As she was talking, Lois moved into the hut, coming out with two towels. She offered him one and grinned. "Perhaps I should have mentioned already - there's a partition. One side for women; one side for men. Your modesty won't be compromised."
Feeling cornered, Clark took the towel without a scrap of gratitude.
With a parting grin, Lois walked towards the gate. Clark followed. "We're going down to the river, Tsumbu," she called.
"Malamu, Lois."
She led Clark through the forest, and a few minutes later, they arrived at a bend in the river. Rocks had been piled up, forming a shoulder-high partition. Further out, a series of sturdy tree branches formed a semi-circular barrier, linked together with a net that disappeared into the water. Lois dropped her towel onto the dark sand.
"What's the net for?" Clark asked.
"Ever heard of the tigerfish?"
"No."
"Think man-sized piranha crossed with an angry tiger."
"Oh."
"Two men - Juvin and Padou - have the responsibility of checking the nets every day. I can guarantee your safety."
It wasn't just the thought of tigerfish that had Clark on edge. This was too personal. Too intimate. The only other woman he'd … "OK," he mumbled.
"How about you look over there and I'll undress and go in?" Lois said as casually as if it were normal practice for a man and a woman to bathe together. "Then I'll look away while you get in?"
"Which side is for men?"
She pointed to the left of the partition.
Clark nodded and turned away, looking up to the top of the trees and trying to dull his human-strength hearing.
He couldn't escape the sound of her feet flopping into the water. Then her voice piped up, saying, "OK, I'm in."
Clark quickly slipped the remains of his jeans and his underwear from his body and hurried into the water. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so.
Lois's head appeared on the other side of the rock partition. She rose a few inches, revealing her shoulders. Clark fixed his gaze on her face. "Here's the soap," she said.
"Thanks." He took the block, soaped his body, put it on top of the partition, and splashed himself with water. "I'm getting out," he said as soon as he felt sufficiently rinsed.
"OK. I'll look away while you dress."
Back on the bank, Clark dried quickly, keeping his back to the river. After slipping on his two pieces of clothing, he called over his shoulder, "I'm going back to the hut."
"Do you know the way?"
"Yes."
"OK. I'll be there soon."
He tramped through the forest to the quarantine enclosure, his mind embroiled in a rear-guard action to recover the sense of detachment he'd lost sometime during the ball game. It had been so easy to empty his mind of everything except trying to attack or defend the goal.
But now, the reality of his situation had returned, pressing heavily against his heart.
Except there was a new and unwelcome ingredient.
The scourge of doubt was eroding his resolve.
The improvised ball game had been … fun.
A day ago, he'd been sure he would never find pleasure in anything again, but he had enjoyed matching his skills with Lois.
He'd found himself almost smiling at her celebrations when she scored. He'd been inspired by her competitiveness and buoyed by her compliments when he had kicked the ball past her.
But he didn't want to be with Lois.
He didn't want to become integrated into the Bangala tribe. He didn't want to meet new people. He didn't want a new life.
But it seemed his only alternative was to live alone in the African jungle. The concerns Lois had raised were valid. If he'd still had his bizarre abilities, he would have been all right. But as he was now … vulnerable with only average human strength … unable to fly … unable to see or hear great distances … unable to move with inhuman speed … stripped of his excessive strength ...
There was a chance he would die. Or be injured.
He didn't care if he died. He didn't.
But the ravages of yesterday's pain had left him with a very human aversion to injury.
In the hut, Clark put his towel on the table and dropped onto the bed, facing away from the door and wishing he could fall asleep and not wake up until his mind had cleared and his heart no longer ached.
He was still immersed in a self-induced fog when he heard Lois enter the hut. "Kent?" she said.
Her voice caused a little skip in his chest. He squeezed his eyelids tighter.
"We have some time before they send dinner over," she said.
He didn't respond. Although the thought of food was agreeable. He was hungry again.
The first indication of her intention came when he smelled something spicy, reminding him of yesterday when the whiff of cinnamon had served as warning of her approach.
The bed dipped as she sat next to him.
Her hand - warm, soft, and slippery - glided over his right shoulder.
"What are you doing?" he snapped.
"Sylva sent some oil. It includes natural healers …"
Clark tensed.
Her other hand landed on his left shoulder, mirroring the first as her fingers and thumbs worked into the knots at the base of his neck. "… like cinnamon."
His mom had put cinnamon in her apple pies.
Lois's fingers splayed and slid up his neck. "And lavender," she said. Her hands drifted down his spine. "Cedar wood." The tips of her fingers spread out, crossing his shoulder blades. "Sage." She edged downwards, gliding easily over his ribs. "Citrus."
He wanted to fight her invasion. He did. He wanted to tighten his muscles to form an impenetrable barrier. But his body refused to obey, melting in surrender to her touch.
"Any sore spots?" she asked.
"No."
"I'm stunned at how quickly you've healed. I was so worried that I'd caused terrible damage with my knife. That you'd be in agony for days. Physical agony."
"It feels fine."
"Do you know what the green stuff was?"
"No."
"How did it get into your body?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm sorry," she said evenly. "I can't help being curious. I'd never seen rock like that before." She paused - her words stopped, but her hands continued, unabated. When he didn't respond, she added, "You don't have to tell me anything."
"Thanks," he muttered. He owed her so much more than a paltry word of gratitude. She had released him from the excruciating torment of Tempus's green rock.
Now she was helping him again. Touching him. Freeing him. Healing him. Restoring him.
He should stop her.
She was a medicine woman. This was no different from her treatment yesterday.
But it was different. Because Clark knew he didn't need the oil. His back felt fine. And Lois had admitted it had healed well.
It didn't matter.
Tomorrow, he would be gone.
She would be merely a memory.
One of his few memories that didn't involve pain.
He would remember the exact touch of her hands. The way her thumbs dug into the valleys of his spine. The way her fingers trailed over his ribs.
The oil, warmed by the movement of skin against skin.
The aroma … comforting, like the woman. Soothing, like her touch.
She enticed him into a place of peace. A place where the claws retracted from his heart. A place where the agony that had racked his body faded into the mist of distant memory.
Eventually, she stopped. Her weight lifted from the bed.
Leaving Clark strung between wretched disappointment and utter relief.
He took a deep breath, diffusing the tingling sensation through his body.
He had to go. He had to get away from Lois.
He had to forget.
Forget everything.
Lois.
Lana.
The other man's child growing in his wife.
Everyone.
He had to be alone.
Because Clark knew his heart would not survive being crushed again.
Tomorrow, he promised himself.
Tomorrow, he would leave.
Tomorrow, he would be free.
~|^|~
"What!"
"Matymbou says the quarantine must be seven days," Romaric repeated. "Not five."
"Why?" Lois demanded.
"He talked with Diddi. I think Diddi said about the green spots."
"The green spots were not because of disease," Lois said. "There's absolutely no danger that he's contagious."
"Matymbou has made his mind."
"Can you tell him I'd like to see him?"
"He won't come to here. You're in quarantine."
"He could come as far as you do," Lois pointed out.
"He said to tell you the quarantine was seven days. He said he wouldn't change his mind."
Lois let loose a sigh of frustration. "How's Diddi?"
"He's in Gislane's hut, eating his food."
"I had hoped to see him today."
"Matymbou said only Tsumbu and me are to be near the quarantine area."
"Did he say that Diddi couldn't come?"
"Yes. And he told Diddi that."
Lois groaned. She wasn't sure how she was going to manage a whole week away from her son. "What did he do today?"
"He went with Sylva. They collected leaves and herbs and things."
Romaric's knowledge of remedies was scant. "Does he seem happy?" Lois asked.
Romaric looked blank. "Yes," he said, sounding as if he hoped he'd given the right answer.
"Is he missing me?"
"I didn't ask him."
"OK," Lois said, trying to pat down her exasperation.
"Are you all right? He hasn't done anything to worry you?"
It took a moment for Lois to realise that 'he' referred to Kent, not Diddi. "I'm fine. He is no threat at all."
"Has he spoken?"
"Yes."
"Has he said why he is here?"
"He hasn't said much."
"Do you understand his language?"
"Yes," Lois replied. "He speaks English."
"So he's like you? From the same tribe?"
"No. Not like that."
"Then like what?"
"The tribes in my country are really, really big," she said. "Just because two people speak the same language, it doesn't mean they know each other."
"Has he said why he came?"
"No."
"There won't be trouble?"
"No. I think he got lost."
"Is he going to stay?"
"I don't know," Lois said. "But if he decides to go home, I won't be going with him."
Romaric looked relieved. "That is good," he said.
"Thanks for bringing our dinner."
"You are welcome. I am here all night. Call if you need me for help."
"I will. Thank you, Romaric. You have a good night."
Kent stepped out of the hut as Lois arrived back at the campfire with the tray. She smiled at him, trying to dissolve all traces of her lingering annoyance. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
"Not really."
"What happened?"
The brittleness of his question jerked Lois's attention to his face, where his closed-off expression confirmed her failure to mask her heightened emotions. "Let's eat our dinner, shall we?" she suggested brightly. "While it's still hot."
Kent took the plate without further comment. Lois sat on a rock and stared grimly at her food, exasperated at herself and Matymbou in equal measure.
Why had he ordered two extra days? Why had he specifically instructed Diddi to stay away? Medically, it was unwarranted. Socially, it was going to prolong Kent's seclusion right at the time when she figured he would be ready to expand his horizons to include other people.
Why hadn't she answered Kent's question? Simply and honestly?
Because she'd been worried that he would assume her indignation was due to being forced to spend extra time with him.
If he believed that, Lois had no doubt he would try to strike out into the rainforest, alone and hopelessly ill-equipped.
If he did that, he would die.
Instead of shielding him from her impatience, she had jeopardised the progress gained throughout the day.
She had to reclaim that progress. She had to get them back to the comfortable atmosphere of the rug making. Or the energetic camaraderie of the soccer game. Or even the tentative trust when he'd finally relaxed as she'd applied the oil to his back.
Did she trust him?
She'd told Romaric there would be no trouble, but was she sure Kent hadn't come from the gun runners? Did she believe that his presence on Bangala land was mere coincidence?
Keeping her head lowered, she glanced across and into his face.
She could still feel it. There was something about him. Something more fundamental than place and time and circumstance. Something that drew her to him. Something that compelled her to protect him. To heal him. To trust him.
But despite all that, she would continue to be guarded about her former life. She wouldn't reveal details such as her full name, her former location, her job.
She had no way of knowing how her disappearance had been reported. Did every American know the name 'Lois Lane'? Had they been caught up in the mystery of her disappearance? Or had it - like so many other stories - been the victim of a shadowy authority that seemed to have the power to silence the press?
Kent had given no indication he recognised her name or her story.
She couldn't see any potential difficulties if she told him how she had joined the Bangala.
Except for one detail - the one thing she had vowed she would never tell anyone.
If he asked her, she would lie. As she had lied to everyone. Even Matymbou.
~|^|~
They began their meal in silence as the dusk settled around them, emboldening the flickering flames of the campfire. Clark told himself he was glad Lois had refused to answer his question. Something had happened at the gate. He'd heard the aggravation in her raised voice. He'd asked her about it, and her brush-off had been almost … reassuring. They weren't getting closer. He had no business enquiring into her life. They were just two people who were making the best of an awkward situation.
He was nothing more than a stranger - a stranger who would be gone tomorrow.
"I'm sorry, Kent," Lois said.
He looked up from his study of the plate. "Sorry?"
"It sounded as if I didn't want to tell you something. I just thought we should eat our meal."
"It was more than that."
Her soft smile shook him more than the expected rebuke would have. "And I needed some time to cool down a bit," she admitted.
"You sounded irate."
"I was. But not because of what Romaric told me. I was annoyed because I didn't get any reasonable explanation."
"For what?"
"The chief, Matymbou, has decided we need seven days of quarantine before we can go into the village."
"Two extra days," Clark said. They were using delaying tactics because they didn't want him. Which was OK. He didn't want to stay. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"If I leave, will they let you back in?" he asked. "Or will you have to wait out the rest of the time alone?"
"I'm not sure," Lois said. "We don't have enough visitors to establish precedence."
Could Matymbou have discerned something about Clark? That he wasn't normal? That he didn't belong anywhere on planet Earth? Lois had said the Bangala people welcomed everyone. But not him, apparently. "Did he give a reason for the extension?"
"No. That's what got me frustrated." She smiled across to him. "It's probably just Matymbou trying to protect his people."
Surely, Tempus's influence couldn't reach to the middle of Africa, could it? "From me?"
"Not you," Lois said quickly. "Romaric said Matymbou had spoken to Diddi."
"Who's Diddi?"
"My son," Lois said with evident pride and affection."
"You have a son?" Clark said, tasting envy in his question.
Lois nodded. "Didier - but everyone calls him Diddi."
"Just one child? Or more?"
"Just Diddi."
If she had a son, there must be a … "Who's looking after him now? His father?"
"No," Lois said. "His father is dead."
So, she had known heartache, too. "I am sorry for your loss," Clark said.
"It's not what you're thinking."
"It's not?"
"I wasn't married to Diddi's father."
"Oh." Now Clark didn't know what to say.
Lois took a mouthful of food, chewed slowly, and then said, "It's a long story."
"You don't have to tell me," Clark said quickly. He couldn't imagine telling anyone about Lana and the baby that wasn't his.
Lois put her plate on the rock next to her and turned to face him. "Romaric had an older brother called Rufin," she said. "Rufin had the sort of upbeat personality that made everyone around him feel good. But he was small and sickly, right from when he was a young child."
Rufin was dead, Clark realised. He searched Lois's face for signs of grief, but found only a wispy film of sadness.
"The Bangala have a custom they call the 'mobembo'," she said, "which as far as I can figure means the 'journey'. A man can decide he wants to make a mobembo before embarking on a major change in his life - before getting married or as a means of marking the end of his childhood and the beginning of adulthood."
"It is something only men do?"
"It's usually men. However, there is nothing to stop a woman if she wanted to make a mobembo. Just as there is nothing to force a man to do it."
"What does it involve?"
"Basically, it involves leaving Bangala land," Lois said. "Which is a huge thing for them. They really do see the world as two distinct entities - Bangala land and non-Bangala land. They know every inch of the former and almost nothing of the latter. When a man makes a mobembo, he ventures into the unknown. He stays away for three days, facing all the dangers of unfamiliar territory by himself."
"Then he returns?"
"Assuming he survives and doesn't get lost, yes." Lois shuffled forward on the rock, moving closer to Clark. "I don't think you can possibly realise how daunting this is for the Bangala," she said. "For them, entering the world outside evokes similar feelings to migrants leaving their homes and moving to a new and unknown country. Or astronauts venturing into the vastness of space. But the Bangala do it alone, which is contrary to every other significant life experience."
"Is that what happened to Rufin?" Clark asked. "He went on a journey and didn't return?"
"Yes," Lois said. "He had never made a mobembo before, but with impending fatherhood, he felt he wanted to go."
"Are you sure he died?" Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps he would return.
"Yes. Romaric went against Matymbou's counsel and left Bangala land in search of his brother. He found his body."
"I'm sorry," Clark said. "Do you know how Rufin died?"
"Not exactly. Sylva believes his heart was weak. Perhaps he suffered a heart attack. Perhaps he became prey for animals. Perhaps he fell and suffered fatal injuries."
"That would have been a traumatic time for Romaric," Clark said. He had always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. To lose a brother would be heartbreaking.
Lois nodded, her eyes glimmering with tears. "Yes. He wrapped up Rufin's body and brought him home to be buried."
"And you were waiting?" Clark said. "Praying for a different outcome?"
"Not me," Lois said. "Adeline. Diddi's birth mother."
"You adopted Diddi?"
"Yes. Adeline died during childbirth."
"Diddi's an orphan?"
"He was for two days," Lois said with a smile that tugged poignant yearning through Clark's heart. "But since then, I have been his mother, and he will always be my son. I love him more than I have ever loved anyone, and I can't imagine life without him."
