The Last Mountain Gorilla(3)

Blood is trickling from the soldier’s ears, nose and mouth as Kwendro continues his assault. The Hutu is merely a rag doll in the hands of the massive gorilla. I watch in amazement as nature takes its course. And for a moment I feel somehow aligned with the animal. Our closest relative gaining a small amount of revenge for the murder of his family. His entire species.

As Kwendro dances around the Hutu’s corpse he steps on the soldier’s machine gun and stops. He reaches down and grabs the gun, first holding it at arms length, then tossing it backhanded into the jungle like a piece of foam.

That’s when he takes us in his sight. I shiver as he slowly knuckle-walks in our direction. As he approaches, he wrinkles his wide, black nose and smells my neck. I can feel his breath on my face like the blast from a cars exhaust pipe. My entire body trembles as he gives me a full examination.

When he appears satisfied, he moves towards Armel who was stretching low to the ground in a subservient manner. Kwendro looks down at my guide’s leg and leans close to the wound. He seems frozen, his head just above the gash. At first I can’t tell what was happening. Then I hear a sound I’ll never forget. Kwendro whimpers. There is no mistake, the gorilla is crying. He reaches under Armel’s knee and pulls up on the remains of his pant leg. Armel cringes, but remains motionless.

Kwendro cocks his head, as if in deep thought. Then he gently places Armel’s leg to the ground and wanders off into the brush. I am no longer afraid of this massive beast. He is showing no sign of anger or threat. He isn’t baring his teeth or rising up to show us his size. I look at Armel and he’s in pain. He needs help.

“Keep still,” he says. “He has no family anymore.”

After a few minutes Kwendro returns with a handful of leaves. He places a few small, oval leaves directly onto Armel’s wound and applies pressure. Armel cringes in agony, but remains quiet. That’s when I realize Armel was right. Kwendro was the patriarch of his family. Once they had been destroyed, he needed to fill that void and here we were.

Kwendro focuses on Armel’s expression and we both seem to notice the same thing; whatever is in those leaves is working. Armel’s head is back and facing up into the trickling rain that sneaks through the heavy foliage. He is smiling. The bleeding has stopped.

Kwendro takes my hand and places it onto the leaves. He wants me to keep applying pressure and I do. He takes a piece of vine from his pile of leaves and wraps it around Armel’s leg to bandage the leaves against his skin. He is far more sophisticated than even Dian Fossey could have imagined when she first discovered these creatures used tools to catch termites.

Kwendro moves the back of his hand to the side of Armel’s face and gently strokes his cheek. Armel’s eyes gloss up and fill with tears. The jungle is still, the three of us are hunched together like boy scouts at a campfire. I study the lines of Kwendro’s face. His eyes are small and imbedded within deep pockets of wrinkled skin. Patches of gray hair sprout from the fur around his head. He seems weary, as if he’s personally witnessed all of the world’s troubles.

Kwendro takes notice of my gaze. He reaches for the side of my head and I feel large fingers picking at my hair, grooming me, searching for imaginary bugs that could cause me harm.

The stillness is broken by the crackle of a radio. Kwendro jumps around and quickly locates the source. It’s coming from the dead soldier’s belt. He grabs the radio from the Hutu’s belt just as a voice calls out over the speaker. “Nickoli,” a voice says. “Where are you?”

Kwendro squeezes the radio in his hand until it snaps into several pieces and the voice stops. As if understanding the consequences, Kwendro pumps his chest and screams. He points down a narrow path and waves for us to go. Armel gets to his feet and nods in agreement.

“He is right,” he says. “We must leave. They will come for their man.”

Kwendro is jumping frantically and grunts with a low pleading tone.

“He must come with us,” I say. “They’ll kill him.”

“No,” Armel says. “He will not survive outside of the forest. He has eluded them for this long, it is his only chance.”

“He will die,” I say.

Armel will hear none of it. He’s been a Park Ranger for more than a decade so his understanding of this environment is far greater than mine.

We both stand there awkwardly, wondering how to respond. Armel finally leans in to the gorilla and Kwendro cradles the Ranger into his chest with a tender hug. I follow his lead and feel Kwendro’s massive hand caressing my head as I reach my arm halfway around his chest to return the hug.