Michael Devaney - The Elisha Pool

He looked at least sixty years younger and was the spitting image of his grandson. Without hesitation the tribesmen shackled Stephenson to the same wooden post he’d seen used on the village woman so many years before.

Finn and Andria spent the remainder of the day visiting with various missionary outfits in the area. The first two of these missionary groups had never ventured out into the Amazon. Instead, they focused all their efforts solely within the city or nearby developed areas adjacent to known safe zones. The third group, however, had two dedicated teams specifically tasked with trying to reach and serve all the isolated tribes along the river. According to their proud spokesperson, these two teams had found and established a cordial relationship with eight previously unknown tribes within the past year and a half.

Finn was careful not to mention anything about the Elisha Pool. For one, he didn’t want to run the risk of revealing classified information, for another he feared being perceived as an insincere, fanatical “whacko” on some self-serving wild goose chase. Instead, he used the only thing he had: the specific Curar name along with the desire to observe them as a case study for research purposes.

Although none of the eight tribes they’d been able to locate matched the Curar name, the spokesperson explained that each of the exploratory missionary teams searched new areas of the jungle every week. He further explained that to keep things simple from a communications standpoint, these teams were methodically airlifted supplies every Monday to a pre-determined central camp which allowed them to continue without interruption. This gave Finn an idea.

“How about we negotiate a deal?” Finn asked.

“What kind of deal?” the spokesperson asked, suspiciously.

“A generous offer to pay for a month’s worth of fuel for your missionary teams in exchange for a ride into the jungle, to your central camp, and letting us tag along with one of the teams for a week.”

The spokesperson mulled over the idea a moment. “A month’s worth of fuel for one week of guidance,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“Yes,” Finn said. “I imagine fuel is an important commodity in your line of work. If you accept, it’ll pay for one twelfth of your budget for the year. That’s not too shabby in my book.”

The spokesperson thought some more then looked Finn in the eyes and added an additional demand. “I’ll agree on one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?” Finn asked.

“That you also pay for a month’s worth of supplies and medicine.”

Based on having nothing to work with up to this point, the request was still a bargain in Finn’s eyes, but he didn’t want to seem to eager. He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck as though he were struggling to come to terms with the request. After ample time had passed to sell his act, Finn extended his hand and accepted. “You’ve got a deal,” Finn said. The spokesperson returned the gesture and the two shook hands.

“Meet me here at noon tomorrow and I’ll handle the rest,” the spokesperson said.

“Very good,” Finn said. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.

“No, sir,” the spokesperson said. “You are the lifesaver.”

When Finn and Andria got back to their hotel later that evening they used Finn’s cell phone to call Andrew with the good news.

“Hello, Agents,” Andrew said. “It’s good to hear from you. How is your search going?”

“Somewhat better today,” Finn said. “We may have hit a stroke of luck. On Andria’s suggestion we talked to a group of missionaries and secured an arrangement to tag along with one of their teams that systematically explores the Amazon looking for undiscovered villages of which to share the Gospel.”

“Missionaries? Huh. Not sure I would’ve thought of that angle. That’s excellent, improvised thinking, Miss Walker.”

“Thank you, sir,” Andria said.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” Finn said.

“Good. The sooner the better. Just watch yourselves out there; the jungle can be a dangerous place.”

“Noted, sir.”

“And keep me abreast of your situation. I don’t like to wonder about what’s going on with my agents.”

“Will do, sir. Talk to you again tomorrow.”

Stephenson slept all night in the standing position shackled to the post. Although his health and youth had been completely restored, the rejuvenation process for someone of his advanced age wasn’t a typical occurrence and had taken an extremely taxing toll on his inner constitution.

When he finally awoke it was morning and he was alone, save for one tribesman left as a guard to protect him against the many dangers of the jungle.

He looked around, groggy at first, trying to get his bearings. As awareness of his situation crept in, a creepy, uncontrolled smile spread across his face. Once his eyes focused, he spotted the guard.

“Where is everyone,” he shouted.

The guard couldn’t understand him. He only stared back with a look of confusion.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Stephenson said, holding up his shackled hands. “Unlock me from these infernal things,” he said, anxiously rattling the chains.

Stephenson’s actions obviously broke through the language barrier. The guard immediately understood what he wanted and pulled a key from a leather pouch he had strapped across his chest. He stepped forward then paused, observing Stephenson’s eyes. Again Stephenson held his locked hands out and shook them, expressing the universal request for freedom. The guard was cautious and kept his distance trying to monitor Stephenson.

“Here. Right here,” the old man said. “Do you understand? Unlock me, now.”

The guard reached down and picked up a rope he had coiled on the ground at his feet. He showed the rope to Stephenson and nodded. Stephenson nodded back in approval and held out his arms. The guard tied one end of the rope around Stephenson’s waist and left the other end loose on the ground.

Next, the guard pulled out a blindfold from the same leather pouch and it held up.

Stephenson’s demented smile returned. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “Blindfold first. It’s a deal.”

The guard looked uneasy but moved behind him and put the blindfold over the old man’s eyes. That done he unlocked the shackles and picked up the loose end of the rope and led him back to the village at spear point.

Owen was the first to see his grandpa emerge from the jungle and rushed to greet him with a bear hug.

“Grandpa, I was so worried about you. How do you feel?”

Stephenson removed the blindfold and flashed his weird, almost forced, smile. “I feel great, son. How do I look?”

Owen crinkled his eyebrows together wondering if he’d fully recovered from the ceremony. “You look amazing, Grandpa. You look almost as young as me.”

“I feel almost as young as you too.”

“What happens now?” Owen asked.

“How about we eat something?” Stephenson said. “I’m famished.”

“Sounds great,” Owen said. “The Chief has already made arrangements for a feast. He’ll be glad to see you. He’s sent someone by the hut asking about you every hour.”

“Then lead the way, son. Let’s not keep him, or the food, waiting.”

After a quick change of Stephenson’s clothes, he, Owen and the Translator, gathered in the Medicine Man’s hut to celebrate with a bountiful spread of food.

“I can never repay your graciousness,” Stephenson said, between gorging mouthfuls of fish and fruit. “But rest assured I’m going to try. You, nor your village, will have to want for anything ever again.”