Читать книгу Under Water - J.L. Powers - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

THREE YEARS AGO

I don’t know how or when the amadlozi choose someone—if you are destined from birth or if, at some point when you are growing, they notice something, they point to it, they say, There, there, right there, that one—she is meant for us. She will be our voice to the people.

Chosen.

Chosen means you don’t choose. Somebody else chooses for you. In this case, all the people who come before you. Your ancestors. Your mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, all the greats backing up for all of time to the beginning of earth. They will not give up until you answer. And your answer must be “yes” or you will go crazy.

Mina, I was chosen three years ago. Mama was dying of the disease of these days. A neighbor sent a witch to curse us. A man was stalking me. And through all of that, they came. They spoke. Hamba, they said. Hamba.

They spoke the same word over and over until I obeyed, until I started walking—not in any particular direction, just wherever they said to go. Here, there—a circuitous journey that finally led me right back to my home here in Imbali, the place of flowers.

They led me to the mountains. I scaled boulders, slipped on icy slopes, froze fingers. They led me deep inside a bowl of sandstone rock that looked as though only the Lord of the Skies could live there in its cold, barren beauty. I soaked in its silence until they led me out again.

They led me into the forest. I sat at the foot of a tree, for days, waiting. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. But then the trees spoke, not with human voices but something deeper that I felt through the earth and the trunk and the leaves. They told me which plants could heal bronchitis, which could give the sick an appetite, which could cure depression and loneliness. I gathered winter herbs, crushed and dried them, and stored them in bags that hung from the belt slung around my waist.

And then they led me to the river. The Thukela.

It was swollen with spring rains—the waters choppy, angry. I sat on the edge, knowing I could not cross. I do not know how to swim, and what about the crocodiles? This is what I told Mkhulu, the ancestor who first called me, the one who spoke to me more than any other. I imagined myself flailing around. Sucked under. Water filling my lungs. Choking me. Perhaps a crocodile grabbing me with its powerful teeth and making a meal of me.

Step into the water, Mkhulu said.

I sat very still in disbelief.

Go into the water, he said.

I will drown, I said.

You will not drown.

Tiny drops of water flicked up from the swirling rapids and rained down on me. A giant rapid swooshed directly toward me and drenched me. I retreated.

It was almost as if, the longer I sat there, the angrier the water grew. And then it was swelling and growing, overflowing its banks, little rivulets reaching me where I stood.

Go into the water, he said.

I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared that this might be the way I die. That after burying Mama, after leaving Gogo and Zi behind for this journey, that I might be saying goodbye forever. That my crazy, rabid ancestors were actually out to kill me.

A snorting, shuffling sound from behind. Hot breath on my ankles. A crocodile lumbering toward the water. Toward me. Dear God, hopefully it isn’t hungry, I prayed. I hoped it wouldn’t follow me into the water—because that was where I was going, even if I didn’t want to.

The water was ice cold. Bumps sprang up all over my skin. The crocodile let loose a long, low growl.

I was in as deep as my waist, hesitating. You didn’t have to send a crocodile to push me in, Mkhulu.

It opened its mouth, snapped its teeth.

Or maybe you did.

I wanted to believe I wasn’t afraid of death. After all, I had seen my Mama cross the river and join the amadlozi on the other side—the ancestors, so numerous they were like a herd of black and white striped amadube crossing the plains. They welcomed her with joyous cries. My very bones were certain of this truth: that death is just the next thing after this thing.

But still…

Mkhulu, I said, as the crocodile nudged me deeper into the watery depths. I’m not ready to die.