Excerpt from The Flame Tree by Richard Lewis, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"No, not exactly -- "

"Isaac, that river is filthy with disease. And what's this?" She grabbed his arm and looked at his upper shoulder. She turned him around and inspected his back. "You're covered with mosquito bites."

"There was a swarm, it wasn't even sunset -- "

His mother overrode him. "Since we've been back, I've already seen five shantytown children die of malaria," she said in a low, dense voice that did not bode any good for Isaac. "That's why we have the rule that you stay away from the river."

"I know, but -- "

"No buts. You shower out here; I'll get some clothes for you."

Fifteen minutes later Isaac, clean but still itchy, was being hauled away by his mother to the hospital clinic. They crossed the front lawn, big enough to be used for helicopter landings when high government dignitaries came to visit the hospital. Robert the Slobert stood on the porch of his house. His dad, Dr. Higgenbotham, was an oncologist, and his mother was the head nurse trainer. Slobert was thirteen years old, the closest in age to Isaac of all the school students, and the meanest.

"What's up, Dr. Williams?" he called out to Isaac's mother.

"Don't answer," Isaac muttered, but his mom replied that Isaac had been eaten alive by mosquitoes and that she was taking him to the clinic for some medicine.

Isaac kept his gaze on the ground. Great, now Slobert's going to tease me about malaria and think of a stupid trick to pull on me.

She added, "You boys remember to stay away from the river."

Slobert laughed and said, "Only Isaac ever goes to that stupid river."

Mr. Theophilus, on compound duty this evening, opened the grilled gate for them. They crossed Doctors' Alley. The narrow lane separated the hospital from the rest of the compound and dead-ended in a large empty lot slated for future hospital expansion. Mary took Isaac into the bright dispensary, its walls painted a canary yellow, the air rich with the smell of alcohol and antiseptic. She gave Isaac some chloroquine tablets and a cup of water. Isaac dutifully swallowed them without comment, although he knew that the bad malarial strains were chloroquine-resistant. She handed him another tablet. Lariam. The nuclear-bomb pill.

"Oh, Mom, please not that," Isaac begged. "That makes me sicker than a dog."

"Better sick for a night than dead forever," she said grimly. "Drink it down."

Isaac did. The Lariam started to erode his hunger with an ache that later would turn nauseous.

It happened quickly. By the time he got back to the house, he was gagging. His mom told him to keep it down, or he'd have to have another Lariam pill. She escorted him into his bedroom and helped him onto his bed. "Just stay still and think of something nice," she said.

The Lariam's radioactive fallout overwhelmed all thoughts, whether nice or not, and he groaned with misery. He finally couldn't take it anymore. He got up and raced to the bathroom, where he retched as quietly as he could. He didn't want his mother to hear and make him take another pill. The nausea subsided to a tolerable level, and he crawled back to bed. His dad came in to check up on him, a dark, lanky shadow smelling of germicide detergent.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Lariam should be outlawed."

Graham Williams chuckled. "That's what you get for breaking the rules. We're going to have a little talk about that tomorrow."

"I didn't do anything wrong wrong -- "

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Your mother asked me to see if you want to eat something."

"Are you kidding?"

"Okay." His father moved to the door.

"Oh, Dad, wait."

Graham Williams paused. "Yes?"

Isaac closed his eyes, seeing again the cunningly made secret gate in the compound wall. If he got grounded, it might come in handy. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

Copyright © 2004 by Richard Lewis