Jakarta Missing by Jane Kurtz Page B

‘But there are two of you. If I choose one and not the other, I may offend your father who will come and do me harm. And what about this third?’
    â€œThe oldest brother laughed. ‘This son of a hyena? He is our youngest brother, Jama. He never fights but plays his shepherd’s pipe all day and half the night. We brought him along to carry our things.’
    â€œThe father looked thoughtful. ‘I cannot choose,’ he said. ‘Give me time to think.’”
    â€œHow come he gets to choose, anyway?” Melanie asked.
    â€œWell, what am I supposed to do?” Dakar said. “Change the story because we don’t happen to think that’s the right way to do things? My dad always says we have to meet people where they are. He also says, ‘Just be quiet and listen to what people have to tell you about their lives.’”
    She paused. Did it make Donbirra mad or did it make her feel loved? Daughters of chiefs and kings couldn’t reveal their feelings. They had to be secretive to survive. Did Alexander I and Alexander II and those other Russian czars have princess daughters? Why didn’t school teach you the important things, like whether the daughters ever got to choose and how they felt when their fathers were off solving the important problems of Russia.
    â€œAnyway, in the days that followed,” she went on, “Donbirra’s father consulted the Koran and talked to the wadad , who was always wise. Every day the brothers came to him and asked him to make his choice. Every day Donbirra’s father looked at his daughter, but her eyes were cool and smooth as eggshells as she watched the warriors. So he said, ‘I cannot choose.’ The brothers walked by the river, waving their spears and talking. As for Jama, he played his flute so sweetly that Donbirra’s sheep and goats seemed to smile as they grazed.
    â€œFinally, one day when the brothers came to the man, he said, ‘I still cannot choose. But the wadad has made a suggestion. Tomorrow we will begin a contest to see which of you is most worthy to marry my daughter.’
    â€œNext day, when the morning sun was hot in the sky, all the people gathered. ‘Now,’ the chief said to the first brother, ‘what do you have to show us?’
    â€œThe first brother stepped forward. First he boasted of the many battles he had fought. Then he lifted his spear. He took a silver coin from his pouch and tossed it high in the air. For a moment it spun. Then the warrior hurled his spear. Whoosh . The spear pierced the silver coin while it was still spinning. The people cried out. The chief nodded in admiration. But when he looked at Donbirra, she was laughing at Jama, who had charmed some monkeys into throwing their fruit to him.”
    Dakar looked at Melanie. She could tell Melanie was wanting to ask something, but when Dakar frowned, Melanie clamped her hand obediently over her mouth. “If you want to know where he got a silver coin, I don’t know,” Dakar said. “They had silver coins in Ethiopia before Jesus was born, even. Maybe they have in Somalia, too. So, back to the story.
    â€œDonbirra’s father sighed. ‘I cannot choose. Go back to your tents, and we shall continue the contest tomorrow.’
    â€œAll that evening he weighed one stone in his hand and then another. He consulted with the elders and muttered and thought, thought and muttered. As for Donbirra, she helped Jama teach the milk camels how to dance.
    â€œWhen the next day was golden with sun, the crowd again gathered. The people laughed and argued together, favoring first one brother and then the other. Finally the second warrior stepped forward. First he boasted of how fierce he was in battle. Then he said, ‘Look. With my spear I can take the twig that the boy over there holds between his teeth.’
    â€œThe boy stopped chewing and stood up. All the people watched. Almost before they