Читать книгу Under Water - J.L. Powers - Страница 14

CHAPTER EIGHT

AFRAID THINGS WILL CHANGE, AFRAID THEY’LL STAY THE SAME

Zi stands before me, a certain begging in her eyes. It’s not that what she wants—money for some little what what what that is all the big rage at school—is such a big deal. But I’m barely holding on as it is, trying to pay for everything we need.

“Don’t be like the hyenas,” I tell her, “the ones who go after the lion’s leavings.”

Her eyes tell me that I am a lioness, she is my cub, and therefore she doesn’t need to be a hyena, she simply needs to wait until I get hungry enough to provide. But she says nothing.

“Now get ready for school,” I say, “or you will be late. Little Man’s taxi is coming now now to take you. In fact, I already received a text saying he is on his way to meet you.”

She hurries into her uniform, a white shirt and green skirt, the same uniform I wore every day before I had to quit. I miss it, all of it. It’s a quiet ache in the back of my throat—always there but barely felt now.

Zi shrugs a coat over her uniform, and then her backpack with her school things. We head outside, locking the door and the gate, even though Little Man’s khumbi will come right to the corner to pick her up, within sight of the house.

But locking up is something I do religiously. Yes, yes, I placed a charm around my place to ward off thieves. Of course, my ancestors will do what they can to keep the place safe. But I still lock up. That’s good sense. If nothing else, training to become a healer has taught me the limits of my powers. I can put a protective hedge around my house but I cannot guarantee that evil will not find a way in. I will never be one of these sangomas that passes out pamphlets in city squares, promising miracles. If people come to me, I will do what I can, the best I can do—the best my ancestors give me in any given circumstance. Sometimes what I have to give them will work. Sometimes what I have to give them will fail. That is all. No guarantees. No false promises.

But the real truth is that sometimes people ask for one thing when it is something else they actually need. And they aren’t always happy to learn this.

The morning is cold enough to see our own breath. Smoke rises from fires in yards as we walk past fences along the dirt road towards the taxi rank. A blue haze hovers low in the horizon, the landscape dotted with houses lining the zigzag streets and going up into the hills in the distance. A flock of squat brown Hadeda jubilate across the road, greeting the morning with joyous squawks.

Little Man’s waiting for us at the corner, sitting on the stone that people use as a bench, hunching into his black hoody against the cold wind. “Hey, Khosi,” he greets me.

“Hey, Little Man.” My voice is still rough with leftover dreams from the long night.

He takes my hand and kisses the palm with his lips, soft soft, and I shiver, just like the first time he kissed me. His calloused hand gently caresses mine, holding it as though he’s holding me. I admit, his presence makes me feel safe. Calm. And I wonder if I could, or should, finally tell him yes. Yes to what he wants. To what he keeps asking me. Yes, come live with us. Yes, let’s be together, always.

But I keep telling him no. Despite everything. Even though I’ve already broken my promises to Gogo, that feels like it would take it one step too far.

“Hello, little Zi.” Little Man and Zi slap palms in a high five.

She’s so tiny, he’s able to lift her across his shoulders and carry her like a bag of mealies. She giggles and kicks her legs and finally cries, “Let me down, Little Man!” so he swings her back down and places her gently on the ground.

“Someday, I’m going to carry you all the way to town that way,” he threatens.

She sticks her tongue out at him and he laughs.

“Maybe I’ll just carry your older sister to town instead.” His eyes appraise me, those eyes that say so much more than the words. “Do you think I could carry you over my shoulder, Khosi?” he asks.

I blush and look at the ground. I won’t answer, he already knows, but he loves to tease me like this.

“Khosi’s bigger than you,” Zi informs Little Man, as if he didn’t know that already.

“I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “She’s perfect.”

“Stop it, Little Man,” I say weakly, looking all around to see if anybody is watching and listening.

“Oh, now, we’re embarrassing her,” Little Man tells Zi. “We better stop before we both get in trouble.”

They look at me with such pitiful expressions, I have to start laughing. Little Man elbows Zi and they grin at each other and then at me. I shake my head at them. “You are too much crazy.”

“We are too much wonderful,” Zi says. She leans into Little Man and he puts an arm around her. It reminds me for some few seconds of how much she’s lost—and I’m that glad Little Man has been in our lives these past three years. And that he is here still.

“Khosi, hey! I sent you some customers yesterday,” Little Man says.

“What did they need? What were they looking for?”

“They didn’t say.”

“Did you tell them to go to hospital?” I try to think like this: medicine first, then Zulu medicine. But I don’t always succeed. Being a sangoma is my livelihood, after all, and my dream of becoming a nurse is only getting further and further away, especially now that I had to quit school. So sometimes the Zulu ways seem more important to me…they are certainly more important now now, with my need to make money.

“They were coming from Edendale already,” he says. “She’d just been released. She had medicine but she wasn’t happy with the diagnosis. She said something about a relative that was angry with her and she thinks that relative may be practicing witchcraft against her… She has tried many things to get better and nothing works.”

I nod, grateful that he’s sending people my way.

“Bo’s here,” Zi announces, pointing to the white and tan khumbi that jerks to a stop at the corner. Bo, Little Man’s boss, waves the two of them over, a wordless hurry up.

Swiftly, Little Man reaches out, grips my waist to pull me close. He kisses me so sweetly, my whole body tingles. “Goodbye, S’thandwa,” he says tenderly and holds a hand out to Zi. “Ready, Zinhle?” he asks.

She takes his hand and they board the empty mini-bus, which will soon fill with passengers.

Little Man works for Bo seven days a week, long hours—it seems like twelve hours a day. Bo drives the taxi and Little Man collects money from the passengers.

It feels like we hardly see him anymore. Well, Zi sees him, to and from school.

He works so many hours because he’s saving up. He decided he wants to buy his own taxi and be his own boss. When I ask him about the bursary, and going back to school, he just shakes his head.

Still, even if I wish it was different, I couldn’t do it without his help. He arranged his long hours so he could start when Zi needs to go to school and he accompanies her. They drop her off at the front door of the school. He’s still working when school is over so his taxi swings by the school and picks her up at the corner, and he makes sure she comes safely home too. They’re always there to pick her up on time, none of this “five minutes, five minutes” business, which can mean an hour or even longer. I can’t even say how grateful I am for his thoughtfulness and care, since I can’t take her myself. Plus, he refuses to let me pay the fare. So there’s that too. Every rand I save counts.

He was angry when he learned that I had quit school without borrowing school fees from him first—but he doesn’t understand. I can’t be that in debt to anybody for anything. Even Little Man.

Sometimes I think I’d be happier if I sold the house and we moved to Durban, if I started up my healing practice there instead of here. Zi could go to a good school in Durban. Since water is the main healing tool or power the ancestors gave me, it would be nice to be near the warm, salty seas of the Indian Ocean.

But the thing about the ancestors is that they tell you where to go and whenever I think Durban, they say, No no no no. Or, sometimes, Not yet.

Plus, and this is a big thing, I must think about Little Man too. He’s an Imbali man through and through. I don’t see him leaving this place ever. After all, he wants to establish his own taxi business! Of course, I haven’t given him a chance to say he might be willing to move. I haven’t talked to him about what I want to do. I don’t even know why. Sometimes I’m afraid things will change. Sometimes I’m afraid things will stay the same forever and ever.

Maybe if I’d moved away as soon as Gogo died, like I wanted, I wouldn’t be in so much trouble now. Because something’s happened that I can’t take back… But then I have to wonder—is this thing that happened also the reason they keep telling me no no no? Is it too late to leave?

Tell me, Gogo. Did I make just that one wrong decision and ruin my future plans forever?

I hope not. But it’s possible. I might just be stuck here in Imbali… forever.