Life

He called out the numbers and I scribbled them down in my biology binder, exactly as he asked. “5200, 450, 274, 254, 300, 480 and 604. Next line;1902, 1958, 1972, 1982, 2000, 2010, 2018. We’ll come back to those at the end of the term.”

At 1010 the bell sounds. I grab my backpack and merge into the crowded hallway. We move like salmon heading upstream, swimming off when we reach our classrooms. It is day 1 of Grade 12.

***

“How was your first day?” my dad inquires, dishing out a plateful of spaghetti. That is one thing about my dad; he is always interested in how I am doing in school. For years we moved a lot, mostly for his work, and I think asking “how was your day” is his way of checking in with me, seeing how I am doing overall. He’s done that more since mom left, almost 10 years ago.

“Great. Met some kids who seem nice. We spawned at the end of the day.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just a salmon reference.”

I sit at the table, fork in hand, waiting for dad to take his well-worn seat.

“Were any of the kids you met boys?”

A plate of garlic bread slides onto the table as dad sits down.

“Stop it, please.”

My eyes roll.

“Can I start now?”

“Well, I just want to make sure you are focussed. Boys, well, they can be a distraction.”

“Like you right now? Ding ding! I’m starving.”

“Okay, let’s dig in. But first, put your phone away. It scares me. For all I know, it’s calculating the weight of your plate and is about to tell me I served you too much. Scary AI stuff. What ever happened to the good old flip phone…”

His sly smile. I love it. I slide the phone into my pocket.

“Tell you what. You do well this year and get accepted into college, and maybe you can join me on my next Spring expedition. I mean it.”

Stunned. He never lets me join him. Guess he really doesn’t want me to be distracted.

“Where do you think it will be this year?”

“Not sure, but I am following up on a possible expedition to Rwanda.”

Dad’s expeditions usually result in trophies, which have a home in the garage. Lion, eland, white-tailed deer, brown bear, and many others stare outwards from the walls.

When I was much younger, I asked him about his collection. He explained that all were older animals, no longer capable of breeding, so he wasn’t actually harming populations. The meat went to locals and his hunting money funded many conservation efforts. He still doesn’t know it, but it was his words and his trophies that first sparked my interest in animals.

***

“Digit, Uncle Bert, Macho, and Kweli. Don’t ever forget about them.” He explains it using a series of grunts and subtle sounds. Small, dark eyes show understanding. Content, the old silverback leads his grandson back to the family, where they are eating leaves, shoots and stems. After a few hours, his son, the new dominant silverback, utters a few soft and muted grunts, then looks at his father. It is time to move on. Higher they ascend up Mount Karisimbi, slipping deeper into the cloud forest. Both giant silverbacks sense they are being followed.

***

“Low and slow,” dad whispers as we enter a break in the dense forest.

We creep along as quietly as possible, dad’s rifle strapped across his back. Our guide signals to keep lumbering up the slope. He thinks gorillas are near. All around us, plants are flattened, branches stripped, and shoots broken off. We move ahead, my heart racing. In my ear, my phone speaks: “Target 400 metres ahead.” Dad hired the guide, but I have my AI-equipped phone.

***

The leading silverback turns, scenting the air as his father knuckles up beside him. A few soft grunts explain the danger. They recall the shortened lives of Digit, Uncle Bert, Macho, and Kweli. Son looks into the dark, knowing eyes of Father, and they turn around, ready to protect their family at all cost.

***

“Target 5 metres ahead.”

Her phone directs her as their guide points ahead. The air is tense. Her dad slips into position. Then the piercing screams arrive. She is terrified and wants to run. Her dad turns around and glances over, trying easing her anxiety, even as he hides his. The noise is deafening.

“Go away!”

She hears it clearly and spins around, trying to hold down her panic.

“Go away now!”

Her dad is concerned. She is panicking, swivelling her head around, searching for something. Then she stops. Her eyes grow wide as she looks over his shoulder. Two powerful, black- haired heads stare at her. Her eyes lock with the old, 600 pound silverback.

“Leave our family alone.”

Realization finally hits her, and she cautiously looks down at her phone. A blue light pulses.

“It can’t be.”

The AI-run Translator has been activated. She looks up and hears him, but this time it isn’t with the help her phone.

“You will leave this place. Now.”

‘What the…..”

The sounds of beating chests fill the air and she comes out of her daze. Behind the two silverbacks, barely visible through the brush, are the shadows of others. Both silverbacks rear up. Combined, they are 1200 pounds of solid muscle, capable of tearing flesh apart.

“Last chance.”

“Dad, we must leave.”

Her dad is confused, but also scared. She just looks at him, not uttering any more words. They back away and the silverbacks steer the family further into the cloud forest. It’s over.

***

***

Her last high school biology class, and the teacher asks if anyone has an idea about those numbers they wrote down on day 1. Her hand raises.

“Mountain gorilla populations over time.”

He smiles kindly.

“Yes. They are returning from near extinction.”