That night I had a lot to do downstairs in the bakery. A religious sect that was active in the city had placed an order with Dona Esmeralda for a particular type of bread which had to be baked longer than normal. I had made it many times before, so I knew that you had to be more vigilant than usual. But at last I finished the bread for the sect. When I went back up to the roof, Nelio was awake. I gave him water. The night was exceptionally clear, the stars seemed very close. We heard the sound of drums from somewhere in the night. The woman with the corn had fallen silent. Another woman laughed loudly and passionately. Then she too was silent. Dogs howled and mated in the dark; a lorry with a coughing engine passed by on the street below.
*
That was when Nelio returned to the river bank, where he had sunk down to rest after his long flight from the bandits. When he continued his story his voice was different from the night before. Then it had been meditative, at times sorrowful and hard. Now there was joy in his voice because the bandits were no longer right behind him.
Across the river he caught sight of someone. At first he had thought it was an animal, maybe one of the rare white lions he had heard the old people in the village talk about, the lions that heralded great events, although no one could foretell whether the events would be good or bad. Then he saw that it wasn't an animal but a person, a person who was both small and white, a xidjana. Nelio crouched down, because he wasn't sure whether bandits could also be small and white. But the dwarf on the opposite bank had seen him and called to him in a language that was almost the same as the one he spoke.
'What's a child doing all alone by the river?' His voice was squeaky and shrill. 'What's a child doing all alone by the river when there's no village nearby? Have you lost your way?'
'Yes,' Nelio said. 'I'm lost.'
'Then you're going to see things that you hadn't expected,' said the dwarf. 'Come over here. There's a place where you can wade across, below the tree that fell into the river.'
Nelio waded across the river where a half-rotten tree trunk had sunk into the sand bar. When he reached the dwarf, he was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed and chewing on a root which he had washed clean with river water. Next to him stood a big leather suitcase with elaborate metal fastenings. Nelio had never seen a suitcase. He thought that if it had been a little bigger, it could have been the dwarf's house that he was carrying around with him.
The dwarf unwrapped a piece of cloth lying nearby, took out another root and handed it to Nelio, who took it because he hadn't eaten in a long time. Nelio started gnawing on it. The root had a bitter taste. He had never seen that type of root before, and he thought to himself that he was already in a place where the plants that grew out of the ground were different from the ones growing in his village, which had been burned down.
'Don't eat so fast!' cried the dwarf, and Nelio was suddenly afraid that he had fallen into the hands of a bandit after all, disguised as a dwarf and albino.
Nelio began chewing more slowly. They ate in silence. Even though the dwarf, who had not yet mentioned his name, was sitting several metres off, Nelio noticed that he smelled like a flower – a sweet scent, almost like a woman getting all dressed up for a man.
It took a long rime to finish the roots. The dwarf was still silent. But at last, when only the stem remained and he had used it to rub his teeth clean, he started to talk again.
'Have you a name?' he shouted, as if he couldn't speak without trying to make himself heard all over the world.
'Nelio.'
The dwarf gave him an intent look. 'I've never heard that name before,' he said. 'That's no name for a black man. That's a white man's name, short and meaningless.'
'My father's oldest brother gave it to me.'
'That name will never make you happy,' said the dwarf, but he didn't explain what he meant. A little while later he stood up, as if to move on. Nelio stood up too. He discovered that he was taller than the dwarf standing in front of him.
'Where are you going?' the dwarf asked him.
'Nowhere,' Nelio said, and he noticed that he had been infected by the dwarf's shrill voice. 'Nowhere!' he shouted.
'Don't yell!' shouted the dwarf. 'I'm right here. I can hear you. My legs and arms may be short, but my ears are big and deep.'
Then he was silent for a moment, pondering.
'Someone who is on his way to somewhere can hardly keep company with someone who is going nowhere,' he said. 'But we can try. You can come along with me if you carry my suitcase.'
'Where are you going?' Nelio asked. 'Do you have a name?'
'Yabu Bata,' said the dwarf, putting his suitcase on top of Nelio's head. To his relief, Nelio discovered that it wasn't heavy.
'What do you have in the suitcase?'
'You ask too many questions,' shouted the dwarf. 'My suitcase is empty. I have it with me in case I find something I have to take along.'
They set off. The dwarf walked fast, with his crooked legs pounding against the dry ground. They followed the river south.
After they had walked for hours and the sun was already nearing the horizon, the dwarf stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly thought of something.
'I'm going to answer your question now, about where I'm going. I had a dream that I was supposed to set off on a journey in search of a path that would show me the way.'
Nelio put down the suitcase and wiped the sweat from his face. 'What path?' he asked.
'What path?' the dwarf repeated angrily. 'The path I dreamed about. That will show me the way. Don't ask so many questions. We have a long way to go.'
'How do you know that?'
Yabu Bata looked at him in astonishment before he replied.
A path that you dream about and that's supposed to show you the way can't be nearby,' he said at last. Anything important is always hard to find.'
*
When the evening light was glowing on the horizon, they set up camp. They had stopped near an abandoned termite mound, in the middle of a vast plain. In a solitary tree sat an eagle, regarding them with watchful eyes.
'Are we going to stop here?' Nelio said. 'Shouldn't we climb up in a tree? What if the wild animals come?'
'You don't know anything,' Yabu Bata said angrily. 'You haven't learned a thing. You've lost your way, and you should be glad I'm letting you carry my suitcase. We're going to sleep inside the termite mound, of course. Give me a hand now, and don't ask so many questions.'
With great vigour, Yabu Bata attacked the hard shell of the termite mound with a crude knife which he wore on his belt. Nelio could see that he was very strong. He helped out by shovelling away the hard clay that Yabu Bata hacked loose. At last he had cut an opening to the hollow inside the termite mound.
'Throw some grass inside,' the dwarf said.
'Why?'
'You're still asking too many questions. Just do as I say.'
Nelio gathered up grass until Yabu Bata told him that was enough. He took a piece of flint from his pocket and struck fire. The grass inside the termite mound began to burn. Nelio leaped backwards and stumbled over Yabu Bata's suitcase. Two snakes slithered out of the termite mound and disappeared into the grass.
'Now we're alone,' chuckled Yabu Bata. 'Now we can crawl inside and go to sleep.'
It was stuffy inside the termite mound when Yabu Bata placed his suitcase in front of the opening. Their bodies brushed against each other, and Nelio smelled the strong scent of perfume, which prickled his nose. But he didn't want to ask Yabu Bata why he smelled like a woman. A dwarf and an albino might possess many secret powers, which shouldn't be unnecessarily provoked. Instead, he ought to be grateful to be allowed to accompany Yabu Bata and carry the dwarf's empty suitcase on his head.
'You were fleeing from the bandits,' Yabu Bata said suddenly in the dark. 'You didn't lose your way. Why did you lie to me?'
Nelio thought that Yabu Bata must be able to read his thoughts. He couldn't keep a secret from an albino, who would never die. Everybody knew th
at about albinos: they lived for ever. They had no spirits, they never had to cross over to the other life, they existed for all eternity, white and visible. How could he have forgotten that?
'They came in the night and burned down the village,' Nelio said. 'They killed many people. They also killed our dogs. They wanted me to kill my brother. That's when I ran.'
Yabu Bata sighed in the dark.
'They kill so many,' he said sadly. 'In the end they will have killed everybody. The snakes will rule the earth. The spirits will search anxiously for all those who are dead and cannot be found.'
'Have the bandits always existed? Who are their mothers?'
'We have to sleep now,' Yabu Bata said crossly. 'You should ask questions when the sun can laugh at all your stupidities. Tomorrow we'll no doubt have a long way to go. Who knows?'
They lay close together in the dark. Nelio could feel Yabu Bata's breath on the back of his neck. His steady breathing made the terror disappear, as if it too had retired for the night. Nelio's last thought before he fell asleep was whether Yabu Bata might be able to help him find a pair of trousers.
Many days passed under the searing sun without Yabu Bata finding the path he had dreamed about. They often had very little to eat, and even though Yabu Bata had promised to get him a pair of trousers, Nelio was still wearing the ragged capulana wrapped around his body. They put more and more distance between themselves and the high mountains, but that didn't mean they were getting farther from the bandits. They passed other villages that had been burned down, where solitary ghosts sat staring straight ahead. Several times Yabu Bata stopped when he saw people in the distance. If he had the slightest suspicion that they might be bandits, they would lie in the grass and stay there until they were alone again. Usually they walked in silence; Nelio realised that Yabu Bata was prepared to answer questions only rarely. Since he was afraid that Yabu Bata might suddenly tire of his company and chase him away, Nelio said nothing until he was absolutely sure that Yabu Bata had time for him. He learned that Yabu Bata's mood depended on whether or not they had food. One time, when they had corn and also several fish they had managed to catch in a river and they had eaten their fill, Yabu Bata began to sing in his shrill voice. He sang so loudly that Nelio was afraid the bandits a long way off would hear him and come up on them. But no bandits came. Later, after Yabu Bata had taken a nap in order to digest his food, snoring sonorously, he sat up without warning and looked at Nelio.
'I come from the Hunchback Mountains,' he said. 'If my father is still alive he certainly must have more animals than when I left. My mother wove mats, my uncle carved sculptures of black wood. I learned to be a blacksmith even though my arms are so short. If I hadn't had my dream, I'd still be a blacksmith. My wife may still be waiting for me, and my four children too; they're all tall and just as black as you are.'
Nelio thought he must have been looking for his path for several months, maybe even since the rains had stopped. But when he asked, he received an answer he hadn't expected.
'You're still so young that you think a month is a long time,' replied Yabu Bata. 'I've been looking for my path for nineteen years, eight months and four days. With luck I'll find it before another nineteen years have passed. If I'm not lucky, or if my life is too short, I'll never find it. Then I'll have to continue my search for it when I begin my life with my ancestors.'
Nelio sat in silence, pondering what Yabu Bata had said. He began to worry that Yabu Bata might be counting on him to go on carrying his suitcase until he found the path he had once dreamed about, maybe for another nineteen years. Nelio hesitated for a long time, wondering whether he should say what he was thinking, since Yabu Bata was so quick-tempered. But finally Nelio realised he had to tell him.
'I can't follow you for nineteen years,' he said tentatively.
'I wasn't counting on that either,' Yabu Bata said angrily. 'I'm getting tired of seeing your face every day. When we reach the sea, we will go our separate ways. You'll have to manage on your own.'
'The sea?' Nelio said. 'What's that?'
His father may have told him a few times about a river that was so wide you couldn't see across to the other side. Nelio had vague memories of hearing about a gigantic body of water that could roar and heave itself up on to land, carrying off both people and animals. In those days he thought it was just one of the tales that his father liked to tell. Did the sea actually exist?
'I'd like to go with you to the sea,' Nelio said.
'It won't be long before we get there,' Yabu Bata said. 'At least, it won't take nineteen years.'
They reached the sea on an afternoon one week later. They had climbed up on to a ridge when Yabu Bata suddenly stopped and pointed. Nelio was following several paces behind him. He stopped short and didn't even have time to put down the suitcase before he caught sight of the blue water spread out before him. There and then, he had a strong feeling that he had arrived home.
So a person could feel at home in a place where he had never been before. Or is it imprinted on our consciousness, from the moment we're born, as a fundamental human trait, that we all must feel at home near the sea? Nelio stood next to Yabu Bata, gazing out over the water, which seemed to be growing bigger and bigger before his eyes, and thought about these things. They were thoughts that rose up of their own accord, effortlessly, thoughts that surprised him, since they were like nothing else he had ever thought in his life.
He didn't get far before Yabu Bata scattered his musings. 'If you can't swim, the sea is dangerous,' he said.
'Swim? What's that?'
Yabu Bata sighed. 'I'm glad we're going to part soon,' he said. 'You know nothing. And you ask questions about everything. I'd grow old very fast if I had to answer all of your questions. Swimming means floating in water and at the same time moving forward.'
Nelio, who had grown up near a river that was full of crocodiles, had never even imagined that a person could move around in the water. Water was for drinking, for washing, and for giving life to the corn and cassava. But to move around in it?
They walked down to the shore and to the sea, which was rolling back and forth.
'Don't put the suitcase down where it'll get wet,' Yabu Bata said. 'I don't want to be carrying a wet suitcase when I leave here.' Then he walked out into the water, after rolling up his trousers on his short, crooked legs. Nelio stayed behind with the suitcase so that he could move it quickly if the sea rolled farther in. The white sand was quite hot. Yabu Bata waded here and there, splashing water on his face. When he straightened up, he told Nelio to do the same.
'It's refreshing,' he said. 'Your heart slows down, your blood flows more quietly.'
Nelio walked into the water. When he bent down to drink, it tasted bad. He spat as Yabu Bata laughed gleefully from where he was sitting on the sand.
'When God created the sea, He did it with great wisdom,' shouted Yabu Bata. 'Since He didn't want human beings to drink up all His blue water, He made it salty.'
Nelio came back from the water's edge and sat down next to Yabu Bata on the sand. They sat there for hours without speaking and looked at the water, which was constantly changing, constantly moving. From several fishermen who passed by with nets and baskets over their shoulders Yabu Bata bought fish, which they cooked over a fire in the shelter of a sand dune. That night they stretched out on the sand and looked up at the stars. In the distance the water lapped the shore.
Yabu Bata suddenly broke the silence. 'Tomorrow I'm going to leave you. I brought you to the sea, as I promised.'
'You also promised me a pair of trousers.'
'You're an impudent young man,' Yabu Bata said crossly. 'People make lots of promises they'd like to keep. But it's not always possible to do everything you want to do. You want to live for ever. But that's not possible. You want to see your enemies perish from their own misfortune. That's not possible either. You want a pair of trousers. Sometimes that's possible. When you grow up, you'll understand.'
Chronicler Of The Winds Page 7
