"Matymbou!" There was a pause, and then Lois came through the gate, slamming it with such force the post vibrated. "Bazoba mobali!"
She hurried past Clark and stormed into the hut. He followed cautiously. She was facing the back wall, her shoulders heaving and her head bowed.
"Lois?"
She didn't turn around.
"Is Diddi all right?"
She spun around so fiercely that Clark jumped back. "Of all the infuriating, stubborn, insufferable men …"
"What happened?" Clark asked tentatively. "Wasn't that the ch-"
"That," Lois spat, looking at Clark with eyes sizzling with indignation. "… was my husband."
Part 11
"Your husband?" Clark faltered. "I didn't know you …"
Her grin emerged from her annoyance like a rainbow after a storm. "I guess I should have told you before now. My name is Lois Laka-Matymbou. Matymbou is my husband."
"The chief?"
"The one and the same," she said with a wry chuckle. "The most stubborn man in the whole of Africa."
Clark could find nothing appropriate to offer in response.
Lois patted his arm. "Matymbou is a good man," she said. "A very good man. But once he has made up his mind, trying to get him to change it is like charging headlong into a moabi tree - it's not going to make a whole lot of difference to the tree."
"But you're likely to get hurt?" Clark guessed, although, as he spoke the words, he wondered if silence would have been a more prudent option.
But Lois didn't seem fazed by his comment. "Not hurt," she said. "Just mad. And frustrated."
"Is Diddi all right?"
"Yes," she said. "He wasn't hurt, thank God, but he got scared." She sat on one of the fireside rocks and picked up her half-drunk cup of coffee.
Clark pushed the coffee pot further into the flames before sitting next to her. "What happened?"
"Diddi went out with Sylva early this morning to harvest the cornflower petals for making eyewash. They grow on a sunny bank near where the Mokuse River breaks away from the Bangala River. It's a little further than Sylva usually goes these days, but she thought they would be back by breakfast."
"If you weren't here with me, would you have gone instead of Sylva?" Clark asked.
"Maybe," Lois said with a shrug. She sipped from her coffee, scrunched up her nose, and tossed the rest of the liquid onto the ground behind her.
"Did Sylva get hurt?" Clark said.
"She slipped on the bank and twisted her ankle."
It was his fault, Clark realised. If he'd left yesterday as he'd planned, perhaps Lois would have collected the petals instead of the older woman. "Is she OK?"
"She says the ankle isn't broken. But while she was checking it out, a wild hog appeared at the top of the bank. I've never seen a hog so close to the village - particularly as both Romaric and Matymbou love fire-roasted pork - but it's mating season, so behaviour can be non-typical … and more aggressive than usual."
"Did the hog hurt either of them?"
"No. But Diddi felt trapped. The river was at the bottom of the steep bank, and the hog was at the top. He knew he couldn't leave Sylva. She was injured. He didn't know if she could move. If the hog had charged them, they would have been defenceless."
"What did it do?"
"Diddi screamed. Thankfully, Romaric was out along the river, hunting for black duck. He heard Diddi's shout and ran to help. By the time Romaric arrived, the hog had gone."
"Are Sylva and Diddi back in the village now?"
"Yes."
"You asked Matymbou if you could see Diddi?"
"Yes. But Matymbou was adamant that no one could come into the quarantine area."
"I'm sorry," Clark said.
Lois gave him a little smile. "It's not your fault. Matymbou said Diddi is fine."
"What did Romaric say?"
"That Diddi was pretty upset when he got to them." There was a slight catch in her voice, and she looked down as she added, "I just want to give him a hug and make sure he's all right."
Inexplicably, Clark felt the same. He just wanted to give Lois a hug and make sure she was all right.
"I mean, he's fine," she said as if she were trying to convince herself. "But he's only five years old, and I hate to think of him -"
She jumped up from the rock and rushed into the hut.
Clark stood to follow her, but stalled as a torrent of reservations anchored his feet to the ground.
She'd run away from him. Did that mean she wanted to be alone?
He glanced at the gate. If he walked out now …
Lois wouldn't notice. She was preoccupied with her concerns for Diddi. And maybe, if Clark left, they would let her back into the village to see her son.
He heard a sob. Soft and muffled.
He had to choose. Now.
To go. To seize the isolation that had been his manic ambition since Lana had told him their marriage was over.
Or to stay.
With Lois.
He knew something for sure - the longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be to leave.
In fact ...
If he didn't leave now, he doubted he ever would.
Unless Lois banished him from the Bangala.
He couldn't imagine her doing that. But then, he'd never imagined Lana would …
In the hut, Lois hauled in a rickety breath.
Lana had often used tears to control him. When he'd said something she hadn't liked … or hadn't said something she'd expected … or hadn't been human enough to know what she'd wanted from him.
Her eyes had filled like a bathtub.
But this was different.
Lois's tears were for someone else.
Someone she loved.
Lana's tears had been for someone she loved, too.
Unfortunately, that hadn't been him.
Clark glanced at the gate again - his pathway to freedom.
Stay. Go.
Lois was married. That provided a safety valve.
She had been frustrated with her husband, but even in her annoyance, she had been swift to defend him.
He was a good man, she'd said.
She'd treated Clark's wounds when he'd been injured. She'd given him hospitality when he'd been destitute. She'd done nothing to suggest she was offering more than friendship.
Perhaps his decision to live without friends had been a little hasty. Friendship couldn't shred your heart like love could. Perry had been his friend - until the editor had abruptly left the Daily Planet a couple of years ago, just after pulling out of the Mayoral race.
Clark shuffled a little closer to the gate.
If he left, he would die.
Just thirty-six hours ago, that was all he had wanted. To be free from life. Free from the despair of rejection. Free from the pain of belonging nowhere.
But now …
If he stayed, he could meet Diddi - the little boy who had captured Lois's heart.
He could meet Romaric - the courageous man who had disobeyed the chief rather than leaving his brother's body to rot on foreign land.
Gislane - the cook who had supplied them with such tasty food.
And Sylva - the woman who had treated Lois's shotgun injury and taught her about motherhood and medicines.
Clark felt as if he knew them already.
His heart said to run. His feet refused to obey.
Feeling as if he were in a dream, Clark walked to the doorway of the hut.
Lois was facing away. Her head lifted, and she pulled in a deep breath as if she were trying to gather her emotions.
"You said everyone will look after Diddi," Clark said. "You told me the Bangala people are caring and kind."
She turned around and gave him a watery smile. "I know," she said, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes. "But I’m his maman and I hate the thought of him needing me and my not being able to be there for him."
"You said he wasn't hurt physically," Clark said. "And from everything you've told me, he seems like a resilient kid."
Her chin wobbled as she nodded. "When the hog appeared, he would have known he had to protect Sylva because she's old and she was hurt. But that seems like such a huge responsibility for a five-year-old."
"It is," Clark said. "But he knew to call for help."
"Matymbou said he was fine, but I'd just like a couple of moments with him to make sure he's OK."
"Matymbou will do that, won't he?" Clark tried to recall what his own father would have done in these circumstances. "He'll talk to him? Tell him he did well?"
Lois looked at Clark blankly for a moment, and then she said, "Matymbou isn't Diddi's father."
"You said Matymbou is your husband."
"He is. But that doesn't make him Diddi's father."
"Not biologically."
"Not in any way."
"Oh."
"Matymbou's the chief," Lois said. "His refusal to break the quarantine is about protecting the entire village. It's even more important now that his most experienced medicine woman will be incapacitated for a few days."
"Matymbou won't care that Diddi is upset?"
"It's not that he won't care," Lois said quickly. "But Diddi isn't his son."
Clark rustled through his mind for words that might console her. "I'm sure Diddi knows you are proud of him," he offered tentatively. "His quick thinking saved Sylva."
Lois nodded, her tears springing again. She turned her head a few degrees. Clark stepped forward. She turned back to him.
And the next thing he knew, she was in his arms.
Pressing into his chest.
Dragging in deep, quivery breaths.
He consciously loosened his arms from where they had fallen across her back.
He hauled in a breath to steady himself and smelled the aroma he associated with her - cinnamon, something citrusy like lemon, and just a dash of something that induced memories of his mom's flower garden.
He knew that for the rest of his life, the smell of cinnamon would always bring him back to this moment.
Africa.
The mud hut.
And the extraordinary woman in his arms.
~|^|~
Her tears dried. Her breath stopped. Her heart reeled.
She was where she belonged.
She'd come home.
The feeling was intense.
And irrefutable.
She belonged with Kent as surely as dill and fennel belonged together.
Lois took another breath, relishing a moment of pure belonging before her practical mind began its assault.
Kent was grieving for his wife - someone he had obviously loved deeply.
Although he had denied it, Lois believed he was also grieving for a child - or perhaps the promise of a child. Perhaps Lana had been pregnant when she'd died.
Lois withdrew her arms, placing her hand on his bare chest to ease some distance between them. She looked up into his face, where his brown eyes shimmered with concern. "Th…thanks," she said. "I…I'm all right now. Thanks."
His arms dropped away.
"Sorry," Lois said. "I was overwhelmed for a moment. It was silly. I'm sorry."
"I don't think it's silly that a mom cares for her son."
A mom.
Not a mother. Or a maman. But a mom.
It compounded the feeling of home.
Her hand was still on his chest. The connection flared, scorching her palm, and she jerked away.
"I …" Lois stepped back, her hand fluttering in a gesture that she hoped would explain everything because she knew she was never going to have the words to describe how she had felt when she'd fallen into Kent's arms.
Had he felt it, too?
She connected with those brown eyes again, and her body hummed in response. "I … I should …"
"Would you like a fresh cup of coffee?" Kent asked. "I pushed the pot further into the flames."
"Yes," she said, grabbing the idea like a drowning woman grabs floating debris. "Yes, please. That would be great."
Kent gestured to the door, and she went before him. Out into the quarantine yard. The place where Matymbou had ordered them to stay for another five days.
Alone. Together.
Outside, the world seemed brighter. The grass greener. The trees more majestic. The sky bluer. The scents of the rainforest sweeter. The fire warmer. The air crisper.
Life fuller.
Lois stood in the haze of heightened senses as the world sang around her. But it wasn't just the flaky emotions of infatuation.
It was destiny.
His. Hers. Theirs.
Eternally entwined.
~|^|~
Clark picked up Lois's cup, rinsed it with water from the barrel, and poured more coffee. "This one's hot," he said as he handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said, sitting on one of the rocks.
He re-filled his own cup and sat next to her.
He had never felt his ineptness as acutely as when Lana had been upset. He'd plied her with suggestions, but she'd spurned every one of them. And she'd made it painfully clear that she blamed him for her distress.
Now … well, he didn't know what to do or say, and this was his doing, indirectly at least, but …
When he'd apologised, Lois had said it wasn't his fault.
But he couldn't help feeling a degree of responsibility. Not for the injured ankle. Or the presence of the hog. But for Lois being separated from her son.
Was there anything he could do? Suggest?
There had to be something he could do to make Lois feel better.
She had said she was teaching Diddi to read. Perhaps she could write him a note. If he were able to reply - or even draw a picture - perhaps they would both feel better.
Clark could suggest that, but …
But he wanted to do something. He wanted to give something back. Lois had given him so much.
Clark looked at the surrounding ring of trees, searching for inspiration. "Lois?" he said.
"Uhm?"
"You said Diddi is five?"
"Yes."
"Do the Bangala people have tools?"
"What sort of tools?"
"A hammer? A saw?"
"Yes. Clyde and his sister, Ines, are skilled carpenters. They make most of our furniture."
"Would it be possible to borrow some tools?"
Her head shot up. "You want to build something?" she asked, doing an admirable job of stifling her surprise.
"I can't leave if you're going to be stuck here alone," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Not now you’re worried about Diddi."
She jumped up from the rock so abruptly that her coffee sloshed onto the ground. "Tsumbu?" she called, hurrying away.
"Ozali, Lois?"
"Yes, Tsumbu, I'm fine," Lois replied. "But I need to talk to you." She disappeared through the gate. When she returned a few moments later, she sat on the rock and announced, "The tools will be here soon."
Clark wanted so badly to smile at her self-satisfied expression. Maybe he did, because her smile reached out to him, encompassing him in her good mood.
"What are we making?" Lois asked.
"We?"
"I suppose I could continue with the rug," she said. "But if this mystery project of yours needs two people …"
"It's not really a mystery," Clark said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "But perhaps it would be better not to say anything until I see whether it's going to be possible."
"Kent," she said, pointing her finger at him. "You do know it's possible to die of curiosity, don't you? And I'm particularly susceptible to attacks of extreme nosiness."
He appreciated her remarkable restraint in not questioning him more extensively, but he couldn't resist retorting with, "You mean you like to know everything about everyone?"
"You got it," she said with a tinkle of laughter. "So, spill."
"Has Diddi ever seen a truck before?"
"A truck?" she said, appearing to consider that idea in light of his request for tools. "He's never seen a real one." She grinned. "Although he's never seen a rocket, either, but that doesn't stop him talking about them. He's enthralled by space."
"Space?" Clark asked, hoping a quick sip from his cup would be enough to make it sound like a casual enquiry.
"He loves the moon and the stars. Sometimes, when it's a warm night, we move our beds out of the hut and lie there, looking up into the sky."
Imagining that made Clark want to smile again.
"Are you thinking about making a truck?" Lois asked. "For Diddi?"
"When we were using the branches to build our goal yesterday, I noticed how circular some of them are. They would make great wheels."
"Have you made anything from wood before?"
"Yes, I made things with my …" He swallowed. "With my dad."
Her sympathy flowed over him. "I guess you miss him, too," she said.
"He died a long time ago," Clark said. "My mom, too."
"You were an orphan?"
"Yes." Twice, he added silently.
"Oh, Kent, I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"How old were you?"
"Ten."
"Aww, Kent," she said. "Who looked after you?"
"Various people." He stood up. "I thought that if I made a truck, you could send it to Diddi, and he'd know you were thinking of him."
"That is such a nice idea, Kent," Lois said. "He'll love that."
"I should check out the branches," he said, moving away.
"There are some sapelli trees in the back left corner," she called after him. "They look a bit like mahogany, and the wood should be hard enough for what you want. One of the saplings might be suitable for wheels."
"Thanks." Clark hurried over to the trees, his footsteps light, and his mind whirring with plans for the truck. He would model it on the one his parents had given him for his fifth birthday.
If he could work out a way to make a hinge, perhaps the back could swing open. Then Diddi could load things onto the tray. Perhaps Clark could make a ramp, as well.
Ahead, there were about a dozen trees of varying heights with long, smooth trunks. Clark pushed between them and found a mid-size tree. He used his forefingers and thumbs to gauge the uniformity and roundness of its girth.
Deciding it was perfectly suited to his needs, he noted the position of the tree and began to search for something he could use for axles. He'd need twigs, slender but strong. He looked up and scanned the branches of the tree high above him. They were too far away to see much detail. He tried to zoom in, but his eyes refused to obey.
"Here are the tools."
Lois was walking towards him, carrying a wooden tray containing an array of implements. Clark hurried to her, running his eyes over the tools. There was nothing he recognised as a saw, but there was an implement that looked more like a sword, with its shiny black blade attached to a wooden handle.
"I think the stone is obsidian," Lois said. "Kahindo is the flintknapper."
Clark ran his fingers along the cheek of the blade, admiring the fine workmanship.
"Did you do much woodwork?" she asked. "With your dad?"
"Some." As he should have expected, the tools were different from those he had used all those years ago in Smallville. Wanting to guard against disappointing her, he added, "I hope I remember some of what he taught me." He replaced the saw and took the tray from Lois. "Thanks for getting these for me."
She gave him a warm smile, slid her hand along his arm, and walked back to the hut. A minute later, she laid out her rug and sat in the sun.
Clark crouched next to the tools, picking up each one and examining it.
But his attention never wavered too far Lois.
~|^|~
Lois watched Kent.
He wasn't going to leave.
Whether he felt their connection or not, whether he was willing to acknowledge it or not, it was real and it would keep him here.
But healing was going to take time.
Lois chuckled as she glanced up to where the sun was halfway to its zenith.
She still couldn't push it across the sky.
But had it been possible, she would have flown up there and given it a little shove.
Because she was yearning to see Diddi again.
And she wanted to see Kent emerge from his grief. She wanted to see him smile. Be happy. Be free to relive good memories without being overwhelmed by the crushing pain of his loss.
She wanted to know the man without the layer of grief.
And most of all, she wanted to know how this bond between them would touch their lives.
Was he a doctor? Would he become a Bangala medicine man? Would they work together?
Would they be friends?
Or something else?
