Read Online Jakarta Missing by Jane Kurtz - Free Book Online

could breathe, the spear shot through the air and knocked the small stick right out of the boy’s mouth.
    â€œThe crowd clicked their tongues in awe. The chief looked at Donbirra. But she picked up her water jug and started down to the river to get water. ‘I cannot choose,’ the chief muttered. The warriors shuffled impatiently.
    â€œSuddenly two eyes rose up out of the river like bush fruits, and the water began to ripple. Just as Donbirra lifted her full water jug from the river, a crocodile sprang half out of the water, twisting its head sideways to open its mouth.”
    Melanie gave a satisfying gasp.
    â€œDonbirra leaped back,” Dakar said dramatically. “The crocodile’s mouth crashed shut, catching the corner of Donbirra’s maro . With a cry Donbirra dropped the jar.
    â€œâ€˜Your spears,’ the chief shouted to the warriors. ‘Throw your spears.’
    â€œBut the oldest brother said, ‘In my clan only slaves and outcasts hunt animals. It would be beneath me to kill a beast.’
    â€œâ€˜For me it is just the same,’ the second brother said.
    â€œNo one noticed Jama running toward the river. The crocodile opened its huge mouth again.” Dakar moved her arms wide apart to show the crocodile jaws, just the way Dad would if he were telling the story. “Donbirra fell backward against the bank. The crocodile’s teeth flashed in the sun.
    â€œThen Jama was there. Kneeling close to the crocodile and putting his flute to his lips, he began to play. The music tickled the leaves of the tamarisk tree and set the goats frisking in the grass. Slowly the crocodile closed its mouth. Then it slid back into the river and rolled over and over in the water, rippling bubbles as it went.”
    Dakar paused for just the right moment. “As for Donbirra,” she said triumphantly, “perhaps the music charmed her also. In any case, her eyes, as she looked at Jama, were soft as moonlight on leaves. And when Jama stood before the chief and asked, ‘Do you give me your daughter?’ the chief smiled and called to his people, ‘Let us all celebrate. May the feasts begin. At last I think I can choose.’”
    Melanie sighed and flopped back. “How romantic,” she said. “Even if the dad did get to think he was choosing. Or do you think he knew?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Isn’t it cool that we’re having a sleep-over? I can’t believe that I’m sleeping in the same room with someone who has slept in Africa. The most exciting thing I’ve done until now was wearing socks that don’t match.”
    Dakar closed her eyes. She had done such a good job telling the story. She could just imagine the audience clapping and clapping. Thunderous applause, the books always said. But tonight something about the story made her sad. Something about Dad. It wasn’t that Dad would ever choose anything important for her. He was too big into JUSTICE , with capital letters. But would Dad study her eyes, trying to see if there was any softness in them? No, he would be busy thinking about something much more important, like finding a cure for river blindness.
    â€œTell me something you really, really remember from Africa,” Melanie said.
    Dakar slid off the chair with her eyes still closed and balanced on one leg like the tall warriors she used to stare at, fascinated by their blue-black skin and their clay hairdos. Where should she start? Could she make the exact sound the lizards made when they woke her up in the morning, sliding down the tin roof? Could she explain about mornings Jakarta was gone, when Dakar scrambled up the hill to the village through a lion’s mane of fog, the lion’s tongue licking her all over, leaving her dripping wet? The sweet mist of eucalyptus smoke over the town? The thicker, warmer smoke smell inside Wondemu’s house, and Wondemu’s grandmother leaning over