Bringing the Boy Home by N. A. Nelson Page A

just…”
    Untying her leather belt, she steps toward me. “Since you don’t want to enjoy your morning meal, we’ll begin your test now. You’ll wear a blindfold for this one.”
    The nagging feeling about the Punhana returns. Once more, I am being prevented from seeing.
    â€œToday’s test will rely on your sense of touch.” She tugs the leather evenly over my eyes. “You will be doing things with your hands only, things you may have to do in the dark, whether it is the darkness of the jungle or the darkness caused by blindness.” We walk farther down the trail. “Six steps in front of you there is a kana-puta tree. Climb it.”
    Stretching out my arms, I take six steps and touch the smooth bark of a stana-kila . Wrong tree! I jerk my hands back, but it’s too late. A swarm of ants races onto my bare skin, and within seconds I feel like I have been thrown into a thornbush. I dance around, pounding and rubbing them off, but like the tiny soldiers they are, they don’t give up. They have a buddy system with the stana-kila tree. They live in its trunk, drinking the sweet water it produces and, in return, they protect the tree from intruders—inthis case, me. I fling off the last clinging ant. “Maha!”
    â€œThat was my fault; I pointed you in the wrong direction. Lesson learned: now you know what a stana-kila tree feels like as well as what it looks like.” She spins me around. “Just stretch out your arm and now you will feel the kana-puta. Climb.”
    â€œMaha?”
    â€œI’m not lying this time, Luka,” she reassures me. “Climb.”
    I reach for the tree and jab it with my finger. It is a kana-puta this time. Hugging the smooth trunk with my arms and legs, I turn my feet outward and begin to climb. My big toe automatically pulls away from the rest of the foot as it clings to the bark.
    â€œYou are going too slowly, Luka. What if there was a peccary charging you? You have thirty counts. One, two, three…”
    I push off with my legs and reach my arms up again.
    â€œSix, seven, eight…”
    I anchor myself and feel my way up the cool bark.
    â€œTen, eleven, twelve…”
    â€œHow high do I have to go?”
    â€œThirteen, fourteen, fifteen…I will tell you when to stop. Faster!”
    The branches of the kana-puta don’t start until pretty high up, but I don’t know how tall this tree is. “Am I near the top?”
    â€œEighteen, nineteen, twenty. You have ten body lengths to go. There you will feel a branch with a bunch of plantains hanging from it. Grab them and start down.”
    I pause. Plantains? In a kana-puta? Is this another trick?
    â€œI put them there,” she answers my unasked question. “Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”
    I speed up my shinny. Push, reach, push, reach. I grope above me for the branch—nothing.
    â€œTwenty-nine, thirty. Thirty , Luka… thirty .”
    Springing off my anchored feet, I feel my head crack as it bangs against a branch.
    â€œGet the plantains.”
    Grappling with the knot, I untie the fruit, hold the stem in my mouth, and carefully lower myself to the ground.
    â€œNext time you must be faster,” Maha scolds.
    I rub my scalp. “Can I take the blindfold off now?”
    â€œNo, I will lead you to the next part of the test.” Maha grabs my hand. Jerking me forward, Maha seems to speed up rather than slow down and gives an angry snort every time I stumble. Finally she stops. “Sit. In the jungle, you will need to sleep somewhere off the ground. In front of you are fronds from the wah-pu. Weave a hammock. Go.”
    I gingerly reach forward, expecting something to bite me. Maha laughs.
    I have been weaving since I could walk, so this should not be difficult, but it will take some time to weave a whole hammock. I arrange ten fronds side by side and begin overlapping them, every once in a