After almost an hour of walking the tree and bush came into sight. Just like the day he was bitten there was no one in the area. The near huts looked unattended. The sun above looked lonely. Joab looked back; no incoming cars. Those two women who were walking ahead of him have disappeared somewhere. 

Joab paused from his limp-walk. He sat down under the shade of a haystack roof of some house. He was tired. He saw a boy appear opposite where the tree and bush faced. Joab then bowed his head and wiped the sweat off his face using his shirt. He looked up, saw that boy. The boy wasn’t walking in a normal direction. Joab opened his mouth to yell but a big cough came out. He saw the boy walk in the bush. The boy strolled, like he’s entering a playground or his home. Was it that bush? Joab shifted his eyes up to the tree. The fat orange peaches shining in the sun. Only one tree had those types of peaches. Indeed it was that bush.

Joab cleared his throat, found his voice and yelled. “Hey! Hey!” but he was sixty-eight and the boy didn’t hear him. Joab got up with his walking stick and hobbled towards the bush. His sack was still slung on the shoulder. “Hey!” he screamed the loudest tone he can pull from his old lungs. Then he coughed again, almost fell. 

The boy seemed to know where every branch of the tree was. He never missed a step on his climb. The boy grabbed two big peaches and climbed down slowly, taking his time. Afraid to hurt his lungs by screaming again Joab used his hands to wave sideways. A signal for the boy to get away from there. 

The boy just walked slowly without looking down on the bush. He left the bush with each hand holding the peach. 

“What?” Joab croaked. He went down on his knees. The walking stick and the sack collapsed. One apricot rolled out on the soil. Soon Joab felt himself in the shade. He was under the shadow of the boy now. He looked at the boy’s legs. They were unharmed. Almost as if he was never at the bush at all. Joab looked up at the boy. The boy made a hiss sound. His tongue came out quickly. A tongue so black and so thin it had two tips, like it was tearing. 

“A snake tongue,” Joab said. 

When the boy, Tibby, opened his mouth to bite the peach Joab noticed that his teeth weren’t normal. They were sharp and small. Very sharp. Fangs. Tibby looked down at the bandage on Joab’s left leg and extended his arm to offer him the other peach. “I’m sorry about the leg,” Tibby said. Smiling. 

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