The chief and his warriors had offered one of their cows to feed the children. They were grilling pieces of meat, skewed on long sticks, which they stuck into the ground at an angle over the fire. Most of the kids had eaten. The younger ones were sleeping in the tent, while the older kids stretched out by the fire, on pieces of cowhide that the Maasai were carrying.
“What is it?” I asked, when I caught Jack staring at me.
“I love watching you in the firelight. The way your skin glows, the way your eyes dance, the way your hair comes alive.” He drew me into the crook of his arm and pulled a blanket around us. “The first time was that night we stopped over by the crater. Dancing with you around the bonfire. I thought you were the most exquisite thing I’d ever laid eyes on. It was the first time I’d paid attention to anything or anyone after Lily. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.”
A warm glow spread over me as he spoke. It was like being wrapped in a cloak of invisible warmth. “Is that when you decided to play hard to get?” I poked him with my elbow.
“Doesn’t matter what I decided, or which way I turned. There was no denying this thing between us.” He shifted so I could lean my head on his shoulder. “Get some rest, sweetness. You must be exhausted.”
We stared into the inky black plains around us. A train whistle blew in the distance, followed by the chuggah-chuggah-chuggah of its engine, and then a vast, deep silence. The kind reserved for oceans and mountain peaks and the craters of the moon.
“Do you think the men in that van will backtrack or keep going?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be back, but I don’t know when.” He stroked my hair softly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”
The crackling of the fire lulled me into a strange dream. I was flying over coffee farms with a flock of dove children. We were racing a storm that was brewing on the horizon. Clouds of blood rain broke loose, splattering their ivory wings. I screamed as they fell from the sky. And then I was on the ground, ankle deep in scarlet mud, when something sharp pierced my foot. I picked it up and held it to the sky. It was a mangled crown of twigs and hay.
“Jack!” My eyes flew open, heart racing.
“Jack!” Olonana’s voice echoed mine. “They’re coming.” He pointed to twin spotlights in the distance. They were faint, almost impossible to make out, but they left a telltale glow in the dark.
“How can you be sure it’s them?” Jack got up and reached for his rifle.
“It’s them.” Olonana turned to Jack, his eyes full of ancient wisdom.
“We can take them. You, me, the two morans.” Jack gestured to Salaton and the other Maasai warrior. “How many can there be?” He peered through the lens of his rifle.
“No,” replied Olonana. “My men and I do not fight. Ironic for a tribe of warriors, but peace is our way of life now. Every time my people get involved in a confrontation, it affects all of us. We get branded as savage and barbaric. I won’t play into that anymore. I’m sorry, Jack. We can delay them for you. Maybe even throw them off. It’s possible that they’ve turned around because they’re calling it quits, in which case they might just drive right by. And if they’re tracking us, that’s who they’ll expect—us, not you. Take advantage of that. Take the children and go.”
“I can’t just leave you here,” countered Jack. “This could get ugly. Especially if they figure out you took the kids.”
“It could. Either way, I’m responsible for my men, and you’re responsible for the children. That’s two versus thirteen. I’m pretty sure I’m getting off easy. You need to get the kids as far away from here as possible. Go. Take down your tent and go.”
We woke the children up while Olonana and his crew rolled up the cowhides and righted the campsite.
“It will be a while before they get here,” said Jack, heaving his backpack over his shoulders. “You have some time.” He gazed at the flickering lights snaking their way through the night terrain. “Traveling in total darkness is slowing them down. Or maybe they’re stopping to check for tracks.”
“Don’t worry about us,” said Olonana. “Do you have a plan?”
“The train,” replied Jack. “I heard it pass through a couple of times. If we follow the track, we can get on at the next station, and then head to Wanza from there.”
The chief nodded and spit into his hand. “God walk with you, Jack Warden.”
“And with you.” They sealed their goodbyes with a spit-filled handshake.
Then Olonana turned to me and extended the same hand. “Taleenoi olngisoilechashur.”
Well, shit.
He was showing me the same honor he reserved for Jack.
I spit in my palm and shook his hand, all the while thinking hand sanitizer, hand sanitizer, hand sanitizer.
Olonana seemed to see right through me, because he laughed and said to Jack, “I hope she doesn’t make this face when you do the . . . what do you call it? The French kiss.”
Jack grinned and hooked his arm around my hip. “I love all her faces. Every single one of them.”
“Then you should marry her and keep all the children.” Olonana and the morans laughed.
That was how we left them that night—Olonana grinning with his two bottom teeth missing, the fire silhouetting his perfectly round head, and the morans standing by his side. That night, my definition of hero grew bigger and wider. Sometimes heroes were found between the pages of a book, and sometimes they stood on a hill, their checkered togas fluttering in the wind, holding fort for the rest of us.