The Adventures of Indiana Jones and Short Round

5

The first thing Short Round's sluggish mind realized as he returned to consciousness was that the ground beneath him was soft. Secondly, he recognized that it wasn't soft ground, but a couch.

His eyes shot open and he quickly sat up onto his elbow. As he glanced around the room, the memories resurfaced. That's right, he had tried to steal from an American tourist Indiana Jones, who happened to be an archeologist and not a tourist. Lo Che sent his goons after Indy and now they were hiding in Wu Han's home.

Speaking of the man, Shot Round craned his neck behind him to find the tall Amrican sitting at the kitchen table. His cool hat and leather jacket were draped on the chair beside him. His whip and gun rested on the table among the maps, notes, news clippings and tools spread out before him on the limited surface. Dressed in a slightly soiled white shirt and plain, straight pants, he looked less like a cowboy and more... human, real, in a way.

Short Round threw off the blanket and quietly padded up to his new friend. Wu Han was nowhere in sight.

Indiana lifted his head from his papers and smiled wearily at the boy. His eyelids sagged as if he didn't sleep much and there were stress lines in his forehead.

  "Hey, kid. You hungry?"

  Short Round nodded eagerly, then asked, "Where is Wu Han?"

  "He's finding us a ride to the Himalayans. He'll be back tomorrow."

  "Will I come?"

  Indy looked him in the eye seriously. "It'll be dangerous, Shorty."

  He guessed that, especially after being chased last night. "I know karate, Dr. Jones. I can protect you." He grinned a toothy grin.

  Indina smiled too. "Sure thing, kid."

With another long look at his collection of clues, Indiana sighed and began clearing the space.

  "Sit down, kid. I'll whip you up something."

While Short Round sat patiently, the smell of eggs and rice began to fill the air along with the sound of sizzling oil. Short Round's stomach clenched eagerly. The last person to cook a hot meal for him was his mother before the bomb hit. Since then, it has been restaurant leftovers, dumpster edibles, and cheap purchases whenever he had a coin.

Once the plate was set before him, Short Round immediately dug in after a hasty, yet heartfelt "Thank you."

As he shoveled food into his mouth, Indiana casually turned on the television and switched the channel till he satisfied. The screen projected a wide green field with a dirt path cut into it. At each point of the diamond shaped path was a white square where someone stood. Everyone on the field wore a cap and large leather glove except for one person who wielded a bat.

The man standing a few feet away from the man with a bat threw a ball. The bat connected with it and the ball sailed across the field. The crowd surrounding the field exploded into cheers and clapping. The man who hit the ball instantly dropped the bat and started sprinting down the dirt path.

Short Round's food was temporarily forgotten. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion at what was playing before him.

  "Dr. Jones?"

  "Hmm?" He sounded relaxed, sitting on the couch peacefully watching the television.

  "What's that?"

Indiana glanced back and followed his finger only for his eyes to return to the black and white screen.

  "That's baseball. It's an American sport."