BOHIDEUS: CHAPTER X
MOTHER
Written by Warren Scott Foster
Illustrated
by Adrienne Potter
No. of visitors since Aug. 13, 2000:
Bo's mother was about to retire to bed. One last time before
turning in she cast a sad, longing gaze out over the river in the distance. It
had been over a year. Many times each day, and always before turning in, she
looked out over the river to the same place where she had last seen her son. She
had watched him paddle happily away in his canoe, in search of their supper.
Father had been away on a hunting trip, and together they had decided that Bo
was still too young to go. It was supposed to be safer here at the village. If
only they had let him go, she sighed. If only.
She wiped away a tear. Bo had been such a good boy. He never complained.
True, he had a few foolish dreams. It was mostly the influence of that crazy Old
Man Schmoe, she muttered, shaking her head, but then caught herself. He was a
harmless old man. And besides, boys are made of dreams, she admitted. Bo was so
happy with his few possessions. All he had in the world was his canoe, a rope, a
knife, and a spear. How he had loved to use them. Every chance she gave him he
paddled away in search of adventure. Every time he had soon paddled back and
reported in, usually bringing a fine supper to go with his stories.
Then one day he didn't come back. The other children said they had seen
him go below the village on the river. But he had done it before and seemed to
know what he was doing. A search was made, and messengers were sent to Father's
hunting party to let him know. He had returned immediately and taken up the
search for weeks for his son. He traveled back across the mountains to the upper
river where he crossed and searched the other side. Then he traveled down river
to the edge of the world where the great waterfall dropped into a vast
nothingness below. He risked his own life scaling the cliff, going farther than
any man had gone before and making it back. He, too, could now confirm some of
Old Man Schmoe's wild and crazy stories. He also knew that if his son had gone
over those falls, he would not be coming back.
No trace of his son was ever found. No canoe, no spear, not one shred of
clothing. Bo must have gone over the falls. His poor son had fallen off the edge
of the world. Bo's father had finally returned to his wife, and together they
mourned their beautiful son.
It was foolish to keep hoping, Bo's mother knew. It had been over a year
now, yet she couldn't accept the fact that he was dead. Father left on more and
more hunting trips now to chase away his pain, leaving her to mourn alone. Each
time she looked out over the river she fully expected to see Bo come paddling
up, grinning from ear to ear with a great fish in tow. One more look of longing,
one more sigh, then sadly she returned to the house, weakly crawled into her
bed, and cried herself to sleep.