Goro had rumbled then from a rise of dirt on which he stood watching the remaining apes climb down to the earth. He asked Gazda where his mother was, for she had been injured when last he saw her. Days and days had passed since she was seen.
But, Gazda could tell by the silverback’s expression that Goro knew she was dead, had sensed or smelled it upon him.
“She died in the jungle before I awoke. I do not know how,” Gazda lied, and then a part of him shifted in shame, so grasping he added, “I buried her.”
Goro grew grave as did old Baho and other apes that gathered, but the jungle allowed little time for mourning—there was food to find, and young to protect. There was much to do, but Eeda would be missed.
Omag, Ulok and the old queens were not so inclined. The crippled ape and his supporters felt the she-ape’s death was evidence of savage justice. Had she not brought most of her troubles upon herself?
Besides there were the bone-faced apes to think about. The king and the blackbacks did not understand their ways, or comprehend the dangerous pointed sticks they threw.
Baho had found one with Eeda’s blood upon it.
“The stick must have killed her,” the former silverback intoned quietly.
Baho told Gazda where the bone-faced apes had attacked his mother, and Gazda quickly followed the scent, speeding to the place despite his growing day-time weakness, eager to wash his guilt away with more blood.
But when he arrived he found he was too late for tracks or trails. The many days of weather had cleared away all marks made by the invaders.
Except for the large wooden bone-face that peered up at the night ape from the ferns that Baho had described to him. The oddity had been thrown aside by Eeda’s attackers. It had been discovered with a larger flat piece of wood that held little meaning for Goro or Baho.
But this was not a real bone-face.
Gazda claimed the mask, and later took it to his lair to keep. The bone-face was flat and like an ape’s or the way Fur-nose’s was beneath the dried old flesh and skin. Its smooth forehead was wringed with long hair, and a leather strap ran from side to side behind the holes where the eyes would be.
Upon closer inspection, Gazda saw a pair of crossed long-bones sculpted tight under the chin.
On an impulse, the night ape held this face over his own so he could peer through the eye holes. The strange thing smelled of blood and flesh, and had an oily, pungent aroma that came off on his fingers.
Gazda slung the ugly thing over his shoulder, and carried the other strange artifact under his arm as he made his way back to the tribe, his heart sinking as he went. In time, he staggered to the center of the wooded area where the other apes ate leaves and nuts and there he found a depression covered by thick bushes and ferns where he fell into a deep, daytime sleep.
1907-1909
Thirteen to fifteen years of age.
CHAPTER 24 – Life Flies Forward
Gazda’s mother picked through the long strands of hair that grew atop his head, scraping his scalp with her broad fingernails and kissing away flakes of dead skin with her flexible lips.
The young night ape lay calmly against her warm belly, his spindly, white legs draped over her sinewy knees.
“Who is my father?” he asked, yearning to play with the other young apes in the grass.
“No worry,” Eeda grumbled. “You have a mother.”
Gazda snuggled into her lap. “But she has fur...”
“You have fur,” his mother said good-naturedly, pulling out a few strands of his hair to make her point.
“But I am different from you!” Gazda rubbed his tender scalp. “And Goro.” Deep down, he had hoped his father was Goro, but he doubted the silverback could sire a night ape.
At that time, Gazda had wondered whether his real father might have been Fur-nose as some had said to bully him—and he had yet to take pride in his many differences from the tribe of apes.
“Go hunt for bushpigs!” his mother scolded with good humor, pretending to push him off her lap. “I cannot eat these questions.”
Gazda had been having trouble with the young blackbacks again. Such teasing always started him questioning his origins.
“Do not worry about the bullies,” Eeda said. “You are different, and they are stupid.”
“No worry!” Gazda turned his head to grin at her. “I have a mother that will always help.”
“I cannot be everywhere,” Eeda chided warmly, her expression turning grim. “You must help yourself.”
She panted happily then and tickled her son’s thin ribs until he couldn’t catch his breath.
The night ape awoke gasping through his tears. Overhead, the dark leaves told him he had slept through much of the day. Gazda whimpered, sniffing at his hands, arms and shoulders, hoping he could catch his mother’s scent, but what he smelled was in his mind still from the dream...and there was something else...
He rolled over to see that old Baho lay nearby chewing a handful of wild celery.
The former silverback was watching over him as Eeda had before she—she was dead.
Gazda had...he had... More tears came suddenly. Embarrassed, he pretended to claw sleep from his eyes as he climbed from his sleeping place and onto his knees before Baho.
The night ape tried to speak but only moaned like an infant.
Old Baho stirred, rising to his knuckles to look down at him.
“Be strong,” he grunted.
“I am not strong, Baho. My mother is gone,” Gazda whimpered, before looking away ashamedly—unable to accept his guilt beneath the honorable Baho’s gaze. “I am alone. She was...”
The old bull ape did not notice any guilty tremor in Gazda’s voice, for he said: “Feelings are like a river and if you follow them they will lead you to the source. And that place is where your strength comes from.”
“I am weak,” Gazda snapped, his heart shuddering, remembering how his weakness had
