There were many other stolen pens returned and many other adventures that happened along the way which I have not the time to recount, but the very last pen which the old man set off to return was not exactly a pen (for it had no ink) and had not been stolen. It was a two foot long writing utensil, carved from ivory in the shape of a staff, except the tip was sharpened to write in the dirt as the people from the place it came were unfamiliar with books or paper. It was traded in the uncivilized jungles of Africa for a pocket-size old testament which the old man had been given by a transient with unmatched eyes during his layover in the Amsterdam Airport in exchange for the five dollars the old man had put in his begging tin,"Bless you, and whomever this Bible touches,"said the Amsterdam bum handing over the book.
Indeed, the Bible reached many hands when it was traded for the ivory staff where the old man spent two days living with the Shetobi tribe–not to be confused with the Shenobi plateau where the tribe lived, deep in the Shobeti rain forest of Central Africa near the dam of the Shelobi River. But, as stated, it wasn't stolen. In fact, the curious villagers stole the old man's curious book several times and when he found it each time he told his interpreter, who spoke Shemoni dialect natively but was not exactly proficient in English,"Please tell them this book of Moses belongs to me." To which the interpreter would spout off a series of sounds that resembled spitting, coughing, and sneezing. Yet when he saw the ivory writing staff, he fell in love with it and offered to trade and the trade was accepted fair and square. Still, the old man felt compelled to return this not-exactly pen, as well.
Upon his return to the Amsterdam Airport he put the same five dollars in the same tin of the same bum with unmatched eyes that had been there five years previous and this time he was handed a pocket sized New Testament and once again declared,"Bless you, and whomever this Bible touches."
But when the old man reached Africa he was met with resistance,"I cannot take you there, sir," said the same guide and interpreter as before, at the elephant rental outfit where the last road ends,"Shetobi tribe no longer tourist attraction."
"And I am no longer a tourist,"said the old man,"I have come to simply return something."
"Too dangerous, sir. Shetobi surrounded all sides of Shenobi."
"By whom?"
"Sheboti tribe."
"Savages?"
Another Englishman was just returning his elephant and caught the conversation,"No, they are not savages,"said the Brit,"they rob them of their crops,
enslave their children to work in the mines. Make
human sacrifices of them to the God of Shenobi. They make savages appear as English gentlemen."
The old man asked,"What is Shenobi the God of?"
"Diamonds. And you, sir, would be worth a gold mine of them."
But the old man insisted, for he did not fear death, and with a bribe the price of an elephant, he was soon tromping deep in the jungle by night with the guide for it was only possible way to sneak thru on pachyderm.
When the old man arrived he was warmly greeted by the Shetobis."We have waited long for your return,"said the elders thru the interpreter.
"Well, tell them I apologize,"said the old man to the guide,"If I had known this staff was so valuable, I would never have traded it in the first place."
As the old man held out the ivory staff to give it back the tribesmen and women all bowed their heads.
"Come,"said the chief elder of the tribe,"Tonight we celebrate. For deliverance is soon at hand."
The old man was confused, for the staff seemed to be the object of their worship, yet they did not want it back. Still, being respectful of native cultures–no matter how odd–and remembering how delicious roasted hyena tasted, he went along with the celebration.
The old man and the guide sat in the middle of the elders around the bonfire. The flames were bright, garnished with dancing and chanting, and the roasted hyena was as good as ever. The old man exchanged a smile with one of the very energetic young female dancers who seemed pleased at his approval.
Noticing, an elder sitting nearby said thru the interpreter,"She is my daughter."
"Tell her she is very good at dancing,"said the old man. The guide did to which the elder sneezed, coughed, and spit twice..
"He says she is yours to wed," said the interpreter.
Pretending he had not heard this, as he had no interest in a new wife, the old man changed the subject,"Who is their deliverer?" he said to the interpreter.
The interpreter asked the elder and the elder was about to speak but then swallowed hard, eyes wide and pointed as a small Sheboti (not to be confused with Shetobi) army came marching into the village by torchlight. "Sheboti!" the elder cried, which sounded like a very loud sneeze. The guide threw a blanket over the old man as the celebration turned to panic.
The Sheboti soldier at the front of the line pointed to the young female dancer that had been offered to the old man as two others with spears grabbed her.
The elder who was the girl's father tried to stop them but was thrown on the ground.
"Where are they taking her?" asked the old man, helping the elder up.
"To the offering mound,"said the guide as the elder cried in agony,"his only daughter..."
The old man ran to catch up with the soldiers."Wait-take me instead,"he demanded.
The leader put the torch up to the man's face and then grabbed it and laughed for some time with delight, rousing the others.
Then, triumphantly waving his hand in the air he yelled what in English would mean,"The great white sacrifice will bring us wealth untold!"–but which sounded like a very bad case of the flu–and the girl was let go.
The old man was then dragged thru the forest, his interpreter being left behind, down off the plateau to the Sheboti village (not to be confused with the Shetobi on the Shenobi) and to the sacrificial mound where he was bound at the top to a stake. The wood below him was then set on fire and an even louder celebration with chanting and dancing began than the one he had previously attended, except that he was the one being roasted. Yet he did not mind dying, especially to save such a helpless young dancer rather than marry her. Still, he thought being burned alive was not his first choice and he smelled the souls of his shoes melting...
Then, the old man had another thought that could perhaps get him out of his predicament. His arms were tied in such a way that he managed to pull out the ivory staff from his coat and he held it up as high as he could in hopes that the Sheboti would reverence it as the Shetobi did–for their names were quite similar. But apparently they had not received the holy memo, for they laughed and threw more wood on the bonfire.
Then, as the socks of the old man began burning, a low rumbling noise like the sound of a train began to compete with the noise of the sacrificial ritual at hand, and when it had drowned the celebration out entirely, the old man saw walls of water coming in every direction.
Most of the Sheboti did not even have time to scream before they were swept up in the flash flood from the broken dam along with the entire Sheboti village.
As the sun rose hours later, the old man awoke on the mound, his staff still raised, as two Shetobi guards and his guide took him down off the mound toward the crowd of praying Shetobi villagers.
"What are they saying- thanking Sheboni for saving me, I suppose?"asked the old man.
"No, they praying to you,"said the guide,"they think you are Moses."
"What?? Where did they get that idea?"
"I read to them the book you left. I not so good at English."
Then an elder brought the pocket Old Testament book that the old man had left.
"Moses hold up staff. Children of Israel pass thru Red Sea on dry ground. Deliver from bondage,"said the chief elder thru the interpreter. He pointed to the destruction all around and then up towards the undisturbed plateau. "You do same for Shetobi. Great and last sacrifice. We thank Moses!"
"Tell them they are very kind,"said the old man,"But I am not Moses." Then he pulled the copy of the New Testament from his coat pocket. "In here is your true Deliverer, for Deliverer is His name. He is the Great and Last Sacrifice."
That evening, the old man read from the pocket-sized book to the Shetobi–not to be confused with the Sheboti–of the babe born in Bethlehem to a virgin as fair as the young dancer and of loving their enemies even those who make savages English gentlemen, and of the crucifixion on the cross for all mankind who are, in the end, all savages. And he read to the tribe until sunrise and then he and the guide got back on their elephant and went on their way.
