Читать книгу Who Fears Death - Ннеди Окорафор - Страница 19

THE SUN HAD JUST RISEN. I was perched in the tree, hunched forward.

I’d woken up fifteen minutes ago to see it before my bed. Staring at me. An insubstantial red sheet with an oval of white steam in the center. The eye hissed with anger and disappeared.

And that was when I spotted the shiny brown and black scorpion crawling up my bedclothes. The kind whose sting could kill. It would have reached my face in a matter of seconds had I not woken. I whipped up my covers, sending it flying. It landed with an almost metallic plick! I grabbed the nearest book and crushed the thing with it. I stamped on the book, over and over, until I stopped shaking. I was fuming as I threw off my clothes and flew out the window.

The vulture’s natural angry look matched how I felt. From the tree, I watched the two boys walk through the cactus gate. I flew back to my bedroom and shifted back to myself. To remain a vulture for too long always left me feeling detached from what I could only define as being a human. As a vulture, I felt condescending when I looked at Jwahir, as if I knew greater places. All I wanted to do was ride the wind, search out carrion, and not return home. There is always a price for changing.

I’d changed into a few other creatures as well. I’d tried to catch a small lizard. I got its tail instead. I used this to change into one. This was surprisingly almost as easy as changing into a bird. I later read in an old book that reptiles and birds were closely related. There had even been a bird with scales millions of years ago. Still when I changed back, for days I found it extremely difficult to stay warm at night.

Using the wings of a fly, I changed into one. The process was awful—I felt as if I were imploding. And because my body changed so drastically, I couldn’t feel nauseated. Imagine wanting to feel sick and not being able to. As a fly I was food-minded, fast, watchful. I had none of the complex emotions I had as a vulture. Most disturbing about being a fly was the sense of my mortality ending in a matter of days. To a fly, those days must have felt like a lifetime. To me, a human who’d changed into a fly, I was very aware of both the slowness and swiftness of time. When I changed back, I was relieved that I still looked and felt my age.

When I’d changed into a mouse my dominant emotion was fear. Fear of being crushed, eaten, found, starving. When I changed back, the residual paranoia was so strong that I couldn’t leave my room for hours.

This day, I’d been a vulture for over half an hour and that sense of power was still with me when I returned to Aro’s hut as myself. I knew those two boys. Stupid, annoying, privileged, boys. As a vulture, I’d heard one of them say that he’d rather be in bed sleeping the morning away. The other had laughed, agreeing. I gnashed my teeth as I walked up to the cactus gate for the second time in my life. As I passed, again one of the cactuses scratched me. Show your worst, I thought. I kept walking.

When I stepped around Aro’s hut, there he was sitting on the ground in front of the two boys. Behind them, the desert spread out, wide and lovely. Tears of frustration wet my eyes. I needed what Aro could teach me. As my tears fell, Aro looked up me. I could have slapped myself. He didn’t need to see my weakness. The two boys turned around and the blank, dumb, idiotic looks on their faces made me even angrier. Aro and I stared at each other. I wanted to pounce on him, tear at his throat, and gnash at his spirit.

“Get out of here,” he said in a calm low voice.

The finality of his tone dashed away any hope I had. I turned and ran. I fled. But not from Jwahir. Not yet.