Friday Fiction is hosted this week by Vonnie, over at My Back Door. Be
sure to visit, and if you have some fiction to share, feel free to jump in!
When I was in High School, I went through a phase of reading books by
Edgar Rice Burroughs, including many of the Tarzan stories. They were pulp
fiction – outrageous stories even for their day, but they were imaginative and
fun. They offered adventures far removed from the urban jungles we’ve built for
ourselves, and a hero that seemed to embody the best of both animal and human. When
the Faithwriters Challenge topic of “Africa” came up, my mind harkened back to
those stories, and I wrote this short scene. It didn’t place, but I still
enjoyed writing it, and I think it’s just a fun piece. I hope you enjoy it.
The Face of Africa
Topic: Africa
Challenge entry; week of 5 March 2009
The
old man leaned on the walker, making faster progress down the ramp than I
expected. He flashed a wrinkled smile
beneath blue eyes that twinkled with mischief.
I met him at the base of the ramp, and he reached a hand for mine. His grip was deceptively strong.
“Is
it really you?” I asked.
“Now,
that’s a silly question, isn’t it? Of
course it’s me; who else would I be?”
Releasing my hand, he turned away from the house. “Let’s walk, shall we?”
“Should
you be out here like this?”
“Oh,
posh; if I’m the person you came here to meet, then you should ask if I really
belong in there.” He withdrew the letter
I’d sent from his shirt pocket. “I used
to get letters like this all the time, but not much anymore.”
“I
must confess, I’m a bit surprised. I
didn’t expect to see you in a cotton shirt and twill slacks.”
He
laughed. “I’m over a hundred years
old. You don’t want to see me in nothing
but a loincloth now.”
We
stopped at the trees. “I’m just happy
you’re still alive to meet, sir. From
the first time I read the books about you, you became the face of Africa to me. My
dad said you were the face of Africa to his
entire generation.”
“Funny,
that, really, since I’m English.” He
patted my hand. “Don’t put much stock in
those stories, though. If I could have
done even half of what they said, I’d never need this home or a nurse.”
“The
stories captured our imagination; even Jane Goodall cited them as inspiration
for her life’s work.”
He nodded. “I know, but I have a confession. It’s not me that caught so many people’s
imaginations; it was this land. If the
stories about me had taken place in the swamps of Louisiana Africa ,
though, still draws us in with possibilities to be explored.”
“You
might have a point there.”
“Of
course, I do; I’ve had a long time to think about these things, you know. Look around you; this land has been known
since before Egypt was
mentioned in Genesis, but say ‘Africa ’ to the
average chap, and he won’t think of modern cities and agriculture. He’ll think of jungles and the
Serengeti. He’ll see Kilimanjaro and the
Sahara .
To most people, Africa is synonymous
with wild and untamed.”
“You’re
right; most people I know could name more wild features about Africa
than countries here.”
“I
can even tell you why you came here.”
“I
thought it was to meet you.”
“You
didn’t come here to meet an old man; you came here to meet yourself. You’re here because – like most people – you
have a deep awareness that humanity has lost something, and you saw traces of
that in the stories about me.”
“What
have we lost?”
“We’ve
lost our purpose. You see, God created
man to reach between the physical and the spiritual. We are grounded to the Earth, with hands to
reach towards Heaven. We are flesh like
animals, and spirit like God.”
“We
haven’t lost that.”
His
gaze was penetrating. “Modern man has
insulated himself from both sides. We
have pavement and shoes isolating us from the Earth. We build roofs over our heads to shield us
from the sky, and hide from Heaven behind our science. Our food arrives in plastic packages, and our
salvation in pill bottles.” He touched a
hand reverently to a tree trunk. “You
saw me as the face of Africa not because I lived here, but because I lived Africa . I moved
with the land and the trees and the animals, and reminded you of what man could
be if freed of society’s expectations.
When a man is that close to the Earth as God made it, that spark of the
Holy in him becomes more obvious.”
“Mr.
Clayton,” the nurse interrupted from behind us.
“You know you’re not supposed to wander away like this.”
He
winked at me. “They’re afraid I’ll die
in the jungle.”
“Uh
huh,” she said. “Then I’d have to
explain to the Greystoke Estate what happened to you.”
He
put his hand on my chest. “Stay here;
stand barefoot and see if the spiritual becomes more obvious to you.” He turned back to the house, and added, “See,
then, if you find your mirror holds the face of Africa .”
4 comments:
Oh BOY. As if my imagination didn't have enough to go overtime on. LOL.
What a fantastic little encounter. I really liked the MC's interaction with this mystery Tarzan of sorts. The details really helped me to picture this scene and I loved the line with being over a hundred years old and not showing up in a loincloth. Lovely job! Now I'm going to be thinking in the African-themed Tarzan-esque world for a while.
How did this NOT place? I absolutely adore it! Awesome writing!
Well, in fairness, I'm sure it must be a tough job for the judges, because some weeks there are just that many great entries. For me, the Challenge was about the exercise and fun of writing. If I placed, that was just icing on the cake.
Love this.... (I enjoyed that series of topics too.)
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