Uncivilized
Page 43
Randall handed me another one. “This is when Zach was three years old.”
This was a photo of whom I immediately recognized as Randall holding the toddler as they posed for a toothy smile at the camera.
“I cared for Zach on the first mission trip that Jacob and Kristen took after he was born. They didn’t want to bring him to the jungle, and their trip was only three months long. They had no qualms about leaving him with me though… Zach called me ‘Uncle Randall’ and I was more than happy to do anything to help out my dear friends.”
Randall and I took a moment to look at the other pictures, and I watched as Zach got progressively older. Randall told me that Jacob and Kristen made another trip to Brazil when Zach was five and, when they returned, they had told him that they felt he was old enough to go on the next one. They even talked about other missionaries having their entire families there, and he’d have plenty of other kids to play with.
“I was not keen on that idea. I knew Zach was their child, but we had grown extremely close, as sometimes Jacob and Kristen would be gone a few months at a time. But, it wasn’t my place to say anything, and I dreaded the day that they would take him away on a trip.”
By the tone of Randall’s voice, I had a feeling this story was not going to have a happy ending.
“But they took him?” I guessed.
“Yes… when he was seven. And they were never heard from again.”
My body jerked because I wasn’t expecting that. I turned halfway on the couch to face Randall, and his face was so sad. “What happened?”
“No one knows. I spent considerable resources trying to find them, but it was difficult. Most of the tribes moved often, going deeper and deeper into the jungle as the rainforest was harvested. I sent a couple of expeditions with no luck. I then contacted every church and missionary organization with pleas for people to keep their eyes peeled. Nothing… not a single thing could I find out about them. Of course, I had feared the worse… that they had been killed by the Indians.”
Taking a deep breath, Randall stood from the couch and turned to look down at me. “My life moved on, and my broken heart healed. I still kept fresh contacts with missionary groups, sending written requests for help, but after a few years, I gave up hope. I assumed they were dead.”
“But they’re not, are they?” I asked because now I was starting to understand what the miracle was.
Randall gave me a small smile. “Sadly… Jacob and Kristen are dead. Killed by dengue fever. I was contacted by a Catholic priest by the name of Gaul a few months ago… right before I contacted you… who has been ministering to the Caraica tribe that live in the northwest portion of Amazonia. He lived his entire priesthood in the rainforest but unfortunately suffered a terrible broken leg. While he was convalescing in a hospital in Sao Paolo, he learned of my search for the Eastons. Another priest had apparently visited him and just in a random discussion, the other priest had asked Father Gaul if he had any knowledge of the Eastons.”
“And he did,” I butted in, because I was starting to get excited.
“Indeed… he had been working with the Caraicans and he said that there was a white man living there as one of the tribesman, who was twenty-five years old and went by the name Zacharias.”
“Jacob and Kristen’s son is alive… after all these years,” I said with awe.
“Yes… Zach is alive and has been living with the Caraican tribe. But I want him to come home. He’s my godson and the closest thing I have to a child. I want him to have a different life.”
Shaking my head, I couldn’t imagine the implications of this situation. An American child having first been raised here, then spending eighteen years living in abject poverty and in an entirely strange culture, now coming back to live in a modern world?
My head was spinning.
“I need your help, Dr. Reed. I want you to travel with Father Gaul to Brazil, and I want you to bring Zach home. Then I want you to help him acclimate. You’re the only one I’ve found that has the skill set to do that. He needs someone that understands the cultural differences and how to learn them. I need you to help civilize him.”
“Zach’s not happy to be here,” Randall said, breaking into my memories.
I give him a kind smile. “He’s not, but let’s give him a chance. He’s been acclimating well, and I think he’s even found some small joys in his time here.”
At least, I think he enjoyed his time with me… when he was f**king me so hard I had rug burns on my knees.
“I want to invite you both to stay for as long as you like. I know you have several months off from your teaching post.”
“I do, and I’ll stay for as long as Zach wants to, or for as long as I’m needed.”
“How hard has it been on him?” Randall asks.
“Actually, he’s adjusting amazingly well. He remembers a lot of things from his childhood. Certain foods, words, and customs. He got lost the other day when he went out on a walk and recognized that a police officer was someone you could trust. The officer brought him back to my home. He’s smart, inquisitive, and soaks things up like a sponge.”
“Excellent,” Randall says with pride. “I’d expect no less of him, though. He was such a bright boy.”
“You might need to give him some time though. Some space. He’s very angry with you for taking him away from the Caraicans. His plan is still to return.”
This was a photo of whom I immediately recognized as Randall holding the toddler as they posed for a toothy smile at the camera.
“I cared for Zach on the first mission trip that Jacob and Kristen took after he was born. They didn’t want to bring him to the jungle, and their trip was only three months long. They had no qualms about leaving him with me though… Zach called me ‘Uncle Randall’ and I was more than happy to do anything to help out my dear friends.”
Randall and I took a moment to look at the other pictures, and I watched as Zach got progressively older. Randall told me that Jacob and Kristen made another trip to Brazil when Zach was five and, when they returned, they had told him that they felt he was old enough to go on the next one. They even talked about other missionaries having their entire families there, and he’d have plenty of other kids to play with.
“I was not keen on that idea. I knew Zach was their child, but we had grown extremely close, as sometimes Jacob and Kristen would be gone a few months at a time. But, it wasn’t my place to say anything, and I dreaded the day that they would take him away on a trip.”
By the tone of Randall’s voice, I had a feeling this story was not going to have a happy ending.
“But they took him?” I guessed.
“Yes… when he was seven. And they were never heard from again.”
My body jerked because I wasn’t expecting that. I turned halfway on the couch to face Randall, and his face was so sad. “What happened?”
“No one knows. I spent considerable resources trying to find them, but it was difficult. Most of the tribes moved often, going deeper and deeper into the jungle as the rainforest was harvested. I sent a couple of expeditions with no luck. I then contacted every church and missionary organization with pleas for people to keep their eyes peeled. Nothing… not a single thing could I find out about them. Of course, I had feared the worse… that they had been killed by the Indians.”
Taking a deep breath, Randall stood from the couch and turned to look down at me. “My life moved on, and my broken heart healed. I still kept fresh contacts with missionary groups, sending written requests for help, but after a few years, I gave up hope. I assumed they were dead.”
“But they’re not, are they?” I asked because now I was starting to understand what the miracle was.
Randall gave me a small smile. “Sadly… Jacob and Kristen are dead. Killed by dengue fever. I was contacted by a Catholic priest by the name of Gaul a few months ago… right before I contacted you… who has been ministering to the Caraica tribe that live in the northwest portion of Amazonia. He lived his entire priesthood in the rainforest but unfortunately suffered a terrible broken leg. While he was convalescing in a hospital in Sao Paolo, he learned of my search for the Eastons. Another priest had apparently visited him and just in a random discussion, the other priest had asked Father Gaul if he had any knowledge of the Eastons.”
“And he did,” I butted in, because I was starting to get excited.
“Indeed… he had been working with the Caraicans and he said that there was a white man living there as one of the tribesman, who was twenty-five years old and went by the name Zacharias.”
“Jacob and Kristen’s son is alive… after all these years,” I said with awe.
“Yes… Zach is alive and has been living with the Caraican tribe. But I want him to come home. He’s my godson and the closest thing I have to a child. I want him to have a different life.”
Shaking my head, I couldn’t imagine the implications of this situation. An American child having first been raised here, then spending eighteen years living in abject poverty and in an entirely strange culture, now coming back to live in a modern world?
My head was spinning.
“I need your help, Dr. Reed. I want you to travel with Father Gaul to Brazil, and I want you to bring Zach home. Then I want you to help him acclimate. You’re the only one I’ve found that has the skill set to do that. He needs someone that understands the cultural differences and how to learn them. I need you to help civilize him.”
“Zach’s not happy to be here,” Randall said, breaking into my memories.
I give him a kind smile. “He’s not, but let’s give him a chance. He’s been acclimating well, and I think he’s even found some small joys in his time here.”
At least, I think he enjoyed his time with me… when he was f**king me so hard I had rug burns on my knees.
“I want to invite you both to stay for as long as you like. I know you have several months off from your teaching post.”
“I do, and I’ll stay for as long as Zach wants to, or for as long as I’m needed.”
“How hard has it been on him?” Randall asks.
“Actually, he’s adjusting amazingly well. He remembers a lot of things from his childhood. Certain foods, words, and customs. He got lost the other day when he went out on a walk and recognized that a police officer was someone you could trust. The officer brought him back to my home. He’s smart, inquisitive, and soaks things up like a sponge.”
“Excellent,” Randall says with pride. “I’d expect no less of him, though. He was such a bright boy.”
“You might need to give him some time though. Some space. He’s very angry with you for taking him away from the Caraicans. His plan is still to return.”
