Kwendro once again nods at the path and we move away, slowly at first, but then Kwendro waves his arm like a third base coach waving a runner to home plate.
As we move down the path I turn to see Kwendro standing tall and beating his chest. I ask Armel what he’s doing.
“He is preparing for battle,” he says.
Armel is limping, but he scurries ahead of me and I have to work to keep up.
“Why is he preparing for a battle?” I say. “Why doesn’t he lose them in the forest?”
“I know this path,” Armel says with enthusiasm. “This will take us to the army outpost.”
We hustle down the path; plants slap my face as I gain on Armel.
“Why don’t you answer me?” I ask.
He moves another ten yards, then stops and faces me. “Because,” he barks, “the animal knows we cannot outrun the Hutus without help. He will prevent them from catching us.”
“What?”
“Yes,” he says. Tears are once again filling his eyes. “It is his duty. He has no one left to protect.”
“Then he’s—”
But Armel has already moved ahead, his hand constantly wiping his eyes. We move in silence for twenty minutes when Armel recognizes the terrain and guides us to the east.
“There,” he points. “Over that ridge.”
From a distance behind us, we hear the gunfire. Rapid-fire bursts that pierce the jungle silence with a repulsive echo. Underneath the explosion of automatic weapons is a gut-wrenching howl. Kwendro’s final wail echoes throughout the forest with a fatal conclusion to an entire species. It chokes the life from the jungle leaving nothing in its wake. The birds aren’t chirping. The fish aren’t jumping. Even the rain has stopped.
I feel Armel’s hand squeeze my shoulder.
“Come,” Armel whispers. “We go.”
I want to go back. My heart is saturated with guilt.
Armel senses my reluctance and he grabs my arm and turns me around. His face is crazed with fury.
“You don’t understand,” he snaps. “If we don’t make it then his death is in vain. It is our duty to survive these madmen.”
Everything he says is true. I have the journalistic ability to make a difference here. I can affect change. Yet I can’t shake the feeling I’m deeply in debt.
I finally nod and we both turn and move toward our freedom. I barely have the energy to continue. I have my story of course, but it has nothing to do with Hutus and Tutsis. Nor is it about General Busutu and his attempt to murder us and keep the truth hidden from the rest of the world. No, my story is a much more personal. It’s a deeper exploration of humanity. It’s about a father who longs to be home with his family.
My story is about the last mountain gorilla.
The End
A Simple Solution
The stark white laboratory sparkled with rows of stainless steel counters full of test tube racks and glass beakers. Claire Jenson watched her husband flitter between the microscope and the incubator on the main lab bench. He held a micropipette in his left hand while typing data into a computer keyboard with his right. His movements were jerky and forced. His experiment was redundant and everyone in the research lab knew it.
“What are you doing?” Claire asked.
Dr. Brian Jenson didn’t seem to hear her. He busied himself with the fourth extraction of a primate’s DNA molecule. It was exactly two more than he needed.
“Brian?” Claire repeated.
“I’m proving a theory,” Jenson said without looking up.
“Honey, you’ve done everything you could. Now it’s up to the FDA to make the decision.”
Just the mention of the impending FDA approval caused him to glance at the phone once again.
Claire grimaced. It was all she could do to contain herself. She was standing in the room where her husband spent more than half of his day. Every day of the week. She was there to tell him goodbye.
“Honey,” she said, “we need to talk.”
“It’s not a good time.”
Claire was aware of her timing, but if she waited until Brian had a free moment she might be on social security. When they were first married his work ethic was a source of pride for her. Back then Brian would bring his work home and they’d discuss it late into the night, naked, in bed, with a half-eaten box of pizza next to them. But lust could only take them so far. Brian’s work ethic turned into his obsession and Claire became invisible. Unable to compete with his lone mission in life.
Now, ten years later, Brian looked past her and Claire followed his gaze to the west end of the lab where a solitary couch seemed out of place in the clinical setting. Sitting on the couch was Brian’s younger brother, Billy, who stared out of the picture glass window with a huge smile on his face. Even to a casual observer the smile alone could give away his condition.