Secrets in the Fire, Page 2

  They lit the fire and Sofia saw that the old woman was sitting motionless, with her eyes open.

  ‘Isn’t she going to eat anything?’ Sofia asked as they ate the last of the dried meat.

  ‘She isn’t hungry,’ Lydia answered.

  ‘Isn’t she going to sleep?’ Sofia asked softly when they’d curled up next to the fire.

  ‘She’s already sleeping,’ Lydia replied. ‘Don’t ask any more. Sleep.’

  The next day at dawn, when Sofia woke up, the old woman was still sitting in the same position.

  Her body was completely stiff. Sofia realised that now she too was dead.

  She roused Lydia, who woke up straight away.

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Sofia.

  Lydia rose and went over to the old woman. She looked at her silently. Then she woke Maria and Alfredo and told Sofia to bring the old woman’s plastic cup.

  When they’d been walking for some time, Sofia turned around. She could see the old woman like a distant shadow. Maybe she’d already turned into one of the twisted, dead roots that lay spread about on the dry, red ground.

  Sofia had many questions. She wondered why she’d been forced into this world of the dead.

  If only I could reach the high mountains, she thought. Beyond them there must be living people.

  They walked for a long time, for several days. Later, when Sofia looked back on that time, it seemed like a dream. Maybe it had been – maybe it was possible to travel in your dreams? Maybe you could climb over mountains and wade through half-dry rivers without waking up?

  But at night the twisted faces returned. The monsters would lean over her and she would wake with a jerk. Then they would retreat. But they were always somewhere close by, she knew that. They watched her but she couldn’t see them.

  They walked for many days.

  Sofia asked Lydia where they were going.

  ‘Away,’ Lydia answered. ‘Away from those who killed Hapakatanda and your relatives.’

  Sofia tried to believe that what Lydia called ‘Away’ was a place, maybe a village, that was already there waiting for them. But she also knew that as she was no longer small enough to be carried on her mother’s back, she had no excuse to be so childish. Away was away, nowhere.

  One day Sofia saw the ocean for the first time.

  They had walked up a hill. It was late afternoon, and Sofia’s feet were swollen and sore.

  Then she saw the ocean. It was like river without a bank on the other side: a lake in shining turquoise that no bridge could cross.

  Sofia had never seen the ocean, but she immediately felt as though she had come home. There was something familiar to be found in the unknown, after all. Maybe she had now discovered one of those secrets that Muazena had told her about, one of the secrets in the fire. Perhaps all those who were driven from their homes by bandits or monsters had another kingdom waiting for them? The important thing was to avoid sitting down as the old woman had done – because just when you think you have run out of your last bit of energy, you might arrive at the home you didn’t even know you had.

  They walked down to the beach. The sand was different, softer under their feet. Lydia sat in the shade, under a tree by the shore. Sofia and Maria ran down to the water together. It was salty when they tasted it. They waded out until they heard Lydia shouting at them to be careful.

  Afterwards, Sofia asked whether they had now arrived.

  Lydia shook her head.

  ‘How would we live here?’ she asked. ‘How could we get anything to grow in sand? How could we plant anything in the ocean? We have to keep going.’

  Sofia never forgot the ocean. The next day, when they continued their journey and were walking inland again, she kept turning around to look at the endless, shimmering water.

  After a long time, they reached a village where Lydia’s husband Hapakatanda had some distant relatives. The town’s leader, an old man who was almost blind, told them they could stay. They built a small hut of straw and clay on the outskirts of the village, and in the mornings Lydia and Sofia and Maria went with the other women to work in the fields. But one day a man came running to tell them that a neighbouring town had been attacked by bandits the previous night. The same afternoon everyone fled the village with their children and their goats. They hid for more than a month, in constant fear of the bandits finding them. They had almost nothing to eat and survived on roots, and the lizards and rats they managed to catch.

  During this time Alfredo was seriously ill. Sofia thought he was going to die, too. When a child started shivering with cold even though the sun was hot, she knew that Death had blown its dangerous breath through his nostrils. But Alfredo recovered. When the villagers decided to return to their homes, Lydia said that she and the children wouldn’t go with them, but would continue their journey.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘To where there are no bandits.’

  ‘Where is that?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t ask so many questions.’

  Sofia was constantly afraid that her mother would do what the old woman had done: sit herself down on the ground and stiffen into a tree root. Then Sofia would be alone with Maria and Alfredo, and she wouldn’t know where to find a home. Every night when they set up camp, Sofia would secretly watch her mother. Was she going to sit down and go rigid?

  Sofia felt she was surrounded by fear. The bandits were both behind and in front of her. Every time Lydia didn’t sit down and stiffen into a tree root, Sofia was scared it would happen the day after.

  But it didn’t happen.

  And one day the long journey actually ended.

  They came to a village made up entirely of people who had fled the bandits. They all spoke different languages. A white man who was a priest looked at them sadly. With help from a man who spoke her language, Lydia explained where they’d run from. She told about the night when the bandits had come to plunder, burn and kill.

  ‘Even the dogs,’ said Sofia. ‘They even killed our dogs.’

  For the second time they found a clearing and built a hut of straw and clay. A river rippled not far below it. The first night they spent under a roof again, Sofia lay looking out at the darkness. She noticed that Maria, who was lying next to her, hadn’t fallen asleep either.

  ‘This is where we’re going to live,’ Sofia whispered.

  ‘Why don’t the bandits come here?’ asked Maria.

  ‘They might not be able to find their way,’ Sofia answered. ‘Think of how many days we’ve been walking. Our feet are swollen and covered in sores.’

  ‘The bandits might have shoes,’ Maria said. Sofia could hear that she was frightened.

  ‘I don’t think the bandits have shoes,’ Sofia said. ‘We’re going to live here. Nothing is going to happen.’

  Maria moved closer. Sofia could feel the warmth of Maria’s body against her own.

  This is where we’re going to live, she thought. But I’ll never see my father Hapakatanda again. Nor any of the others who were my friends and my family. I won’t see the dogs again, either.

  Suddenly she realised she was crying. It was as though she hadn’t dared to feel the grief she carried inside until now. If all the sorrow she felt had been put in a basket for her to carry on her head, she would have collapsed. She was too small to carry such a heavy burden.

  Still, she knew she had no choice. It would always be there, the basket of sorrows, throughout her whole life.

  Finally she fell asleep and dreamt about Muazena and secrets in the fire.

  ‘We’ve arrived,’ she whispered to Muazena in her dream. ‘We’ve arrived and we’re still alive. And I’ve seen the ocean.’

  The next day Sofia woke early, but Lydia was up already. When Sofia came out of the hut, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Lydia was squatting down making a fire. She looked up at Sofia and smiled. Sofia thought how long it was since she had seen Lydia smiling. It filled her with happiness. She knew now that th
e long journey was over.

  They had finally arrived.

  Here they would begin to live their lives again.

  *capulanas: colourful pieces of fabric that women wrap around their bodies like dresses

  CHAPTER THREE

  ONE DAY, when Sofia was sweeping around the hut and Maria had gone to fetch water from the river, Lydia called out to her. She was crushing corn with a thick stick and needed to stretch her back.

  ‘You and Maria look so much alike,’ she said and laughed. ‘Not even I can always tell you apart. Yet you’re not twins.’

  ‘Which one am I?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘Of course, now I can see that you’re Sofia,’ Lydia said. ‘But sometimes I’m unsure who’s who, even though there’s a whole year between you. Maria will always be a year older than you.’

  Then she went on crushing the corn with the thick, heavy stick.

  Sofia kept sweeping and thought about what Lydia had said. She thought it was strange that a person couldn’t catch up with someone else. Everything else in the world that she knew about could. Corn plants sooner or later reached similar height, tomatoes the same redness, chickens the same size. But not people. Not her and Maria.

  She saw Maria coming along the path from the lake with the heavy water bucket on her head. Sofia put aside the broom and hoped Lydia wouldn’t notice she was sneaking away. Lydia didn’t approve of people leaving their work before it was finished. Maria would never do that, she thought. She would finish sweeping. There, at least, is a difference between us.

  Maria was grimacing because of the heavy bucket on her head. Sofia helped her put it down. They carried the bucket between them up to the hut. Meanwhile Sofia told Maria what Lydia had been saying.

  ‘When we have children they might look like each other too,’ Maria said.

  ‘That probably depends on who their dads are,’ Sofia answered. ‘The reason we look so alike is because we both look like Hapakatanda.’

  Then she almost bit her tongue. Horrified, she realised she’d done something you should never do: she’d mentioned their dead father.

  Maria signalled that she wanted to put the bucket down. Then she sat on the ground, and Sofia did the same.

  ‘I dream about Dad every night,’ Maria said. ‘I dream that it’s morning and he’s sitting outside the hut.’

  ‘You know that he’s dead,’ Sofia answered. ‘The bandits killed him with an axe.’

  ‘Then why do I dream he’s alive?’

  Sofia didn’t have an answer. Most of the time it was Maria who asked the questions and Sofia who answered. It should really have been the other way around, since Maria was the oldest and ought to have known more.

  But now Sofia didn’t have any answers.

  ‘Are we always going to live here?’ Maria asked, and Sofia could tell she was sad all of a sudden. She was huddled up as if she had a pain somewhere in her body.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sofia. ‘But one day when we grow up, perhaps we can go back home. Even if Lydia stays here.’

  ‘How would we find home?’

  ‘It’ll work somehow. If we wish for it strongly enough, we’ll find our way back.’

  They sat talking for a while beside the water bucket. They promised each other that no matter what happened they would one day return home to the village that the bandits had burnt down.

  When they arrived at the hut carrying the water bucket between them, Lydia was angry. She talked fast and loud and pointed at the broom and told Sofia that a real woman would have finished sweeping before she put the broom away. Sofia didn’t say anything. She knew Lydia was never angry for long.

  But neither Sofia nor Maria forgot what they’d talked about beside the water bucket.

  One day they would go back home. That was a promise neither of them was allowed to break.

  They’d built their hut and they had a new home. But for a long time everything remained unfamiliar and strange. It was difficult living in a village where no one knew each other or spoke the same language. In the beginning, both Sofia and Maria were shy of the other children. But they were lucky because they found a friend almost straight away – a boy called Lino, who was a couple of years older than they were. He lived in a hut nearby, along the dusty road which led to the house where the white priest and the two nuns lived. Lino spoke the same language as Maria and Sofia. He was tall and thin. But the remarkable thing about him was that he was cross-eyed. He could look at both Maria and Sofia at the same time.

  One day, there he was, standing outside their hut. It was a Sunday and they weren’t working out in the fields. His clothes were just as ragged as everyone else’s. He had a shoe on one of his feet. As he owned only that one shoe, he had painted a shoe on the other foot. Lydia had gone to try and get a bar of soap by trading a basket she’d been weaving in the evenings, and Maria and Sofia were home alone looking after Alfredo.

  ‘How is it that you look so much alike?’ Lino asked. ‘You can use each other as a mirror.’

  Sofia thought she ought to reply, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘How can you look in two directions at the same time?’ she finally said.

  ‘That’s my secret,’ Lino answered.

  Then he told them that he’d come to the village with an aunt and uncle. His parents had been kidnapped by bandits in an attack far, far away. He didn’t even know if they were still alive. Maria told him what had happened in their village.

  ‘We saw the ocean,’ Sofia said. ‘Have you seen the ocean?’

  Lino shook his head.

  ‘I’m going to travel all over the world one day,’ he said. ‘And I’ll be seeing twice as much as everyone else.’

  Then he told them about the school. The white priest and the two nuns had an educational program for the children in the village. They wanted all the children to come every day to learn how to read and write and do sums.

  ‘We don’t have any money,’ said Sofia, who really wanted to go to school.

  ‘We have to work with our mum,’ said Maria.

  ‘It doesn’t cost anything,’ Lino said. ‘Do you think I’ve got any money? Would I be wearing one shoe if I had money?’

  ‘It won’t work anyway,’ Maria said. ‘We have to work. How else would we eat?’

  ‘School is only in the afternoons,’ Lino said. ‘Three hours a day. I can almost read already.’

  Later, when Lino left, they sat in the shade at the back of the house.

  ‘I don’t think he spoke the truth,’ Maria said. ‘A school can’t be free. And besides, we only have ragged clothes. I don’t think you can go to school if your clothes aren’t whole.’

  ‘The most important thing is that you’re not dirty,’ Sofia said. ‘I don’t think he lied. Why would he have done that?’

  ‘It won’t work anyway,’ Maria said. ‘We have to help Lydia. Who’s going to look after Alfredo while we’re in school? We can’t take him with us.’

  ‘We could maybe go one day each,’ said Sofia hesitantly.

  ‘And learn every second letter?’ asked Maria. ‘And every second number?’

  They kept talking it over, back and forth, and completely forgot about Alfredo. Neither of them had ever dreamt they would be able to go to school. There had been no school in their old village. Only the village secretary, who’d gone to a missionary school, could read and write. He was the one who had written the letters whenever anyone in town needed to write, and he was the one who read out the various messages from the governor and other important people.

  Was it really possible that they could go to school? If that were so, Sofia thought, their having run away wasn’t a totally bad thing. Something positive might come out of it after all.

  She had seen the ocean.

  She might be able to go to school.

  It could never make up for the fact that Hapakatanda and Muazena and their relatives were dead. It couldn’t even make up for the fact that the bandits had killed their dogs
.

  But, even so, it was something.

  ‘Alfredo!’ Maria exclaimed suddenly and jumped up. Lydia was always afraid he might drown in the river or be swallowed by a crocodile. She was also scared a snake might bite him. The girls rushed around the side of the house. But then they relaxed – Alfredo had fallen asleep beside the wall. Dust was blowing across his face and, in his sleep, he brushed at a fly that was trying to crawl into his nose.

  That evening they told Lydia what Lino had said. She had returned late in the afternoon with a bar of soap. First they went down to the river to wash. While two of them looked out for crocodiles, the third one washed. Then they swapped around. Lydia was in a good mood. She stood half-naked in the water, singing as she lathered herself.

  ‘We’ll talk to her tonight,’ Maria said. ‘When she’s singing she’s in a good mood. But you’ll have to ask her.’

  ‘Me?’ Sofia said with surprise. ‘You’re the oldest.’

  ‘You’re better at talking,’ Maria said. ‘And since I’m the oldest, I decide. You’ll ask Mum.’

  At dusk they were sitting around the plates of maize porridge and greens, helping themselves to food with their fingers and eating in silence. Maria looked at Sofia and frowned. It was a sign that now was the time to speak. Mama Lydia never sat still or idle for long. After the meal, she would start preparing for the night straight away, rolling out the thin quilts they slept on and arranging the capulanas they covered themselves with.

  ‘There’s a school here,’ Sofia said. ‘It’s free. You can learn to read and write and do sums. It’s only in the afternoons.’

  Lydia looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked.

  Sofia closed her eyes and braced herself.

  To ask something difficult was like trying to make a huge leap.

  ‘Maria and I would like to start school,’ she said.

  Lydia finished chewing and wiped her fingers before she answered.