Ancient, Ancient

by Kiini Ibura Salaam

  Faru climbed on without complaining about Laloro’s warts.

  “You are weak,” Laloro teased. “Worse than a mortal. The great vain Faru begging ugly Laloro to disease him?” Laloro raised his trunk and pointed it at Faru as he flew. “Shall I do it? Shall I put you out of your misery?”

  Faru didn’t respond. >

  Quashe lifted her snout and screeched a series of clicks and trills. Teeth bared, she belched. With every belch, a ripple disturbed the surface of the river. As Sené and Na’s tongues found each other’s throats, tasted each other’s salt, Quashe kept belching.

  The river waters swirled, and finally folded in on themselves. From the folds, a humongous crocodile surfaced. At the point of Quashe’s finger, it lumbered onto shore, barreling between Sené and Na. Sené screamed, as the creature, paying no heed to her belly, knocked her onto her back.

  < Laloro dumped Faru at the entrance to the Old One’s cave. With his trunk, he tipped the bell to announce their presence. The Old One’s voice drifted out in irritation.

  “Who is it calling so loudly?”

  “Oh, honored elder, it is Laloro. I am dropping Faru here at his request.”

  “How rude,” muttered the Old One. He approached the mouth of his cave slowly. His old gnarled hands clutched two ancient wooden canes. His long white cloths trailed behind him in the dirt as he approached at a snail’s pace. Each of his steps was executed with an enormous amount of concentration and energy.

  “Have you no knowledge of protocol?” the Old One said when he finally came face to face with Laloro.

  Laloro dropped to one knee and rubbed the pads of his feet together.

  “Great one, without whom we’d have no accordance, great settler of confusing matters, we are blessed to be in your presence.”

  “Yes, child,” said the Old One, rubbing his groin. “How can I be of service?” >

  Still Na had no eyes for Quashe. He leapt onto the crocodile’s back and locked his arms around its neck. The crocodile shook its massive head and Na went flying into a tree. His head thudded against bark. He lost consciousness, and Quashe laughed.

  Quashe sprang onto the crocodile’s back and looked down on Sené. As the god searched Sené’s face, river snakes slithered up the riverbank. The snakes slid over the crocodile’s back and settled in coils around Quashe’s arms and waist. Quashe stared without a blink of her reptilian eyes. She stared until the secret to Sené’s power was revealed to her. When she recognized it—the force Sené had used to attract Na—Quashe threw her head back and shrieked.

  < The Old One wiggled his nose toward the gourd bowl that rested on the floor near the cave entrance. Faru didn’t move. Laloro sighed and dropped a few coins into the bowl. The Old One sniffed and looked at Laloro disdainfully.

  Laloro dropped a few more coins into the bowl. “So Faru has given away his powers. Now he’s sick and wants my help.”

  “That is correct,” said Laloro, gazing longingly in the direction of Quashe’s river.

  “Why would a vain god do a thing such as this?” asked the Old One.

  Laloro blushed. He scratched a patch of dry skin on his back. It flaked and fell to the grass. The grass wilted. >

  “Faru,” Quashe said, recognizing the mark of her brother. She leaned forward and opened her huge crocodile mouth over Sené’s face. A forked tongue flipped from the flat of her mouth and flicked over Sené’s lips. Sené turned her head away. Quashe’s snakes writhed.

  “Open,” Quashe demanded. Sené clamped her mouth shut. Quashe released a snake. It slid around Sené’s neck in a tighter and tighter yoke until Sené’s mouth burst open in panic.

  Quashe’s tongue wrestled Sené’s. She speared the power Faru had banked in Sené’s body and swallowed it. Pleasure sparked through her divine thighs as she leaned back, satisfied.

  < “And you are involved in this matter?” the Old One asked with certainty.

  Laloro dug into the earth with one huge foot. “I threatened him.”

  “What’s that?” asked the Old One.

  “I threatened to kill him if he didn’t give me his powers. He lost the desire trying to hide it from me.”

  “Ahh,” said the Old One rubbing his nipples. “You have created discord among the gods. I believe you should throw more coins into my gourd.” >

  “Now, let us see who Na finds more desirable,” said Quashe, stretching across the crocodile’s back. She sent her snakes slithering over to Na. Each snake curled around a different limb. Together, they pumped blood through his body until Na’s eyelids flickered and he returned to consciousness.

  Na’s heart constricted at the sight of Sené trapped beneath reptilian heft. Then Quashe called to him. His gaze leaped from Sené to Quashe. Quashe’s voice yanked all of him into stiff hardness. Quashe shook with clicking laughter and leaned over to confront Sené. “You cannot hold the powers of the gods, ugly one. I should let my crocodile eat you for trying.”

  A brief flash of emotion sparked in Na’s eyes, but he remained silent. Every inch of him strained towards Quashe, but entranced or not, he knew the rules—not without Quashe’s permission.

  “Stay there,” Quashe barked at him and commanded her crocodile to back off Sené. “You have refused me. I must find something sweet to clean myself of this bitterness.”

  < Quashe sat stiffly on her crocodile’s back, Na’s betrayal pulsing in her memory. The flutter of Faru’s desire surged through her flesh as she searched the trees for a few men to ravish. >

  Night fell, and Sené had not moved. The sound of Na crying forced her awake. She opened her eyes and saw him standing, immobilized, waiting for Quashe’s return. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the noise and the sensation of hand against skin ran through her body like lightning. Her fingers fluttered. She had thought this day’s delight was done—departed with Faru’s gift, but here she was, still shocking herself with sweetness.

  Sené ran a finger from her forehead to her chin and shivered. She held her hands before her face. They looked just as they always had: dry, cracked, swollen. Yet today, they had done new things. They had stained themselves with berries, lured a husband away from a goddess, and painted the walls of her dwelling with the juices of her own coming.

  < A flapping sound echoed in Quashe’s ears. A dark figure dove and nipped the dip in her throat. She glanced back and saw a throng of fruit bats hovering close. She pressed her human-soft skin—impregnated with the double sweetness of her and her brother’s powers—against her crocodile. Her tough reptilian scales pointed to the sky. Another dark-winged figure swooped down and broke the skin at her elbow.

  Quashe yelled at the top of her lungs. “Aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeeeee.” >

  Sené rolled onto her side and struggled to her hands and knees. She crawled over to Na and pressed her cheek against his calves. A bout of dizziness swept through her. She settled herself against the earth and lay curled around Na’s feet.

  < “Old One, I must go,” Laloro yelled upon hearing Quashe’s scream. “Quashe needs me.”

  “Yes,” said the Old One. “Go to Quashe and bring her here, I believe she can help with Faru’s problem.” >

  Sené nudged Na’s ankles with her charged hands. Her fingers massaged their way up his calves. She pressed her thumbs into the indentations behind his knees. Tears crept down her face. Her fingers shook. But she kept touching him.

  Sené rose on her knees and kneaded Na’s thighs and buttocks. Her hardworking hands drifted up his spine, manipulating immobilized muscles. She spread her fingers over his back and raked her fingernails across his skin. She did not think of pain or pleasure, she wanted only to bring Na back.

  < Laloro flew in the direction of Quashe’s screaming. When he reached the meadow, he could see Quashe’s huge crocodile crowned by a small mountain of bats. Laloro pointed his trunk at the bats and showered them with a plague. Bat skin bubbled and burst into flame. Laloro took a deep breath and blew the burning creatures from Quashe’s back. Q
uashe raised her beautiful crocodile head and looked up at Laloro, eyes glittering in gratitude. >

  Sené stood, her belly brushing against Na’s back. If she closed her eyes, she could feel him shivering, ever so softly. She pinched his shoulders with little bites. Still Na did not move. She walked around to face him and stroked his forehead with thoughtful fingers.

  “Come back, husband. Quashe doesn’t care about you.” She caressed his ears. “Na, please, return to me.”

  < Quashe grazed Laloro’s warted skin with her snout and he almost burst from pleasure. She looked at him with new eyes. What had once disgusted her was suddenly quite useful.

  “I hope…” she said in a quivering voice, “I hope I can call on you again.”

  Laloro bowed. “I am at your service always.” >

  Sené rubbed her lips against her husband’s. Her tongue darted out and licked Na’s lips. His body gave a slight tremor. She sent her tongue out again, this time to enter Na’s mouth, to moisten his dry gums with her saliva. Sené pulled Na’s lips apart with her fingers. She strained to pry open the barrier of his teeth. It had worked for Faru and Quashe. Why shouldn’t it work for her?

  Sené took a deep breath and blew into Na’s throat. She blew the remembered delight of lying together in the grass, her thigh lodged against his crotch. She blew the memories of Na rushing home from the river to hold their new son, of the tickle of Na’s gentle questions about all the things the baby had done that day. She blew all the desire that had been aroused in her after Faru’s kiss. Finally Na began to blink. His tears sprinkled Sené’s face. He worked his lips into a grimace and spoke as if language was unfamiliar to him.

  “Sené. Please, forgive. I’m sorry.” He took her callused hand in his and groped her knuckles with his lips.

  < Deep in the Old One’s cave, old fingers dribbled honey in intricate swirling patterns on the floor. Faru lay, inert at one end of the design. When Laloro delivered Quashe to the cave, the Old One sprinkled brother and sister with cinnamon.

  “Laloro,” the Old One said, “I am calling on my brothers to help. Please stay in the corner until they have safely gone again. You would not want to pay the price if you should accidentally crush one of them.”

  Laloro backed away. The Old One rested one of his canes against his hip and pulled a tiny snail’s shell from the folds of his cloth. He blew out a thin, shrill sound, and a parade of snails slowly crawled into the room. The Old One took the lead, and his brothers followed, treading a circle around Quashe and Faru. The pace was slow, but the Old One’s powers were potent. With each shuffle of his feet, each undulation of his snail brothers’ bodies, Quashe’s wounds healed. Once the Old One and his brothers completed a full revolution, Faru’s powers slipped from Quashe’s body and returned to his. >

  Sené and Na supported each other all the way home. Na stroked Sené’s arms. Sené squeezed Na’s waist. Na pulled Sené up the cliff when her belly became an obstacle to climbing. At the top of the cliff, Sené turned away from home, walking in the direction of Na’s mother’s dwelling.

  “Sené, sweet wife, where are you going?”

  “To get the children, Na. Did you not leave them with your mother?”

  Na shuddered at Sené’s unspoken words. Her intonation reminded him that just that morning he had abandoned Sené and his children in favor of Quashe’s delights.

  He took Sené’s hand. “They are safe with mother, let us go home and be new together.”

  The cave was spilling over with the scent of Sené’s juices. Sené reached into the hanging basket and grabbed an armful of twigs. She dumped them onto the fire pile and kneeled to light a fire. Na stopped her. With her scent vibrating in his chest, he lifted her to her feet. Trembling, as if this were indeed new, he pulled her to the mats. With his free hand, he tipped two mats to the floor and unrolled them with his foot.

  < Laloro flew both Quashe and her crocodile to the river on his great diseased back. Laloro watched as Quashe stepped into the river. The water swirled around her. Quashe paused. “Will you be there waiting for me? Perhaps we can feed together when I rise.”

  Laloro could not speak. Quashe lifted her tail and slapped it hard against the water’s surface. Drops of water splashed Laloro’s face. He lifted his trunk and trumpeted a loud “Yes!” >

  Na kneeled before Sené; he parted her cloth and stroked her bare belly. He pushed his chin between her thighs and kissed her moistness. Sené pulled Na’s head away from her body and looked into his eyes. There was a hard seed-thought hiding out in Sené’s newly juicy body, a dry little nugget of doubt that questioned Na, questioned her own sanity, suggested she had better use for her time than dabbling in fantasy—she and Na would never again be one. But the same scent that filled Na’s nose seeped into Sené’s pores. It drowned that dry little thought and lured Sené into her husband’s embrace.

  < Faru, Faru bounding up the cliff.

  Rocks flew away from Faru’s hooves as he rushed towards Sené and Na’s cave. Desire was once again his, but Faru was not satisfied. He could see the scar he intended to rip across Sené’s face. He would not kill her, he would do worse—he would kill anything desirable about her. Faru’s goat eyes flashed when he reached the entrance of Sené’s home. He reared up on his hind legs, ready to attack. But neither Sené nor Na saw him. They saw only the stretches of each other’s skin.

  Faru’s anger turned to wonder. How could they be touching each other in that way? Faru dropped down to all four hooves. How could Sené be calling up such desire from Na? He suddenly felt as weak as Laloro accused him of being. He listened to the power of desire pounding in his blood. The same power Sené had held, yet she had not died when it was taken from her. She was moving, breathing, calling forth passion without Faru’s magic.

  Faru, Faru pausing for the truth.

  A moth brushed against Faru’s ear. He turned away from Sené and Na. Behind him a pack of flying night creatures swarmed. Faru laughed and went bounding up the cliff towards the bush. The flying things brushed against his skin, bursting with desire. He leaped and twisted with his throng of admirers. Sené and Na were vague forms, coupling mysteriously on the periphery of his memory.

  Faru sprang to the top of the cliff, and ecstasy exploded in his chest. He heard the hoarse groans of bush animals bellowing in heat. It seemed as if the entire night was singing a love song to him. Faru parted his godly lips and let out a triumphant yell.

  Faru, Faru running through the bush. >

  Of Wings, Nectar, & Ancestors

  1

  On deep purple-black nights, when the whole house has pushed itself into slumber, WaLiLa’s energy flits around her room like a moth. It leaps up to do jumping jacks & turn cartwheels, then clings to the ceiling. It bounces off the walls & jiggles its knees impatiently. WaLiLa is a jitterbugging ball of need about to pop.

  Her energy screams at the top of its lungs. “I want to wake the whole house!” How can they sleep when they know that somewhere the Brugal is being poured, the disco lights are pulsating, the speakers are thumping, & the dance floor is full. How can they sleep?

  WaLiLa’s charged energy frowns & pouts in its boredom. Her fuse is dampened. Her flame reduces to a dim glow; the dynamite doesn’t blow. On deep purple-black nights, WaLiLa’s energy kicks the walls of her insides, sulks to the corner of her chest, & slides down into a deep, defeated slump.

  call malkai me fuse re-flames. me fire burn long way to club. we go in club. i excited. i holding on wrist malkai. i feel air white & thick on me skin. me eyes see sticks skinny people use to spread air thick. glow of light on end of stick make me think home. i feel burn in me nose. malkai tell me is scent: smell of rum. me heart pumps to music beat.

  me fuse is burning me fuse is burning

  me fuse is burning is burning is burning

  sudden we on floor dance. circle malkai spin me in. feet we slide to beat. i mirror malkai mirror i. we dip, we glide, we bump, we grind. we pause…& EXPLODE! malkai wink. i tu
rn & we go spin & spin & spin.

  “I am going to buy a drink Lila, do you want one?” MalKai asked.

  “Yeah, me want rum.”

  “I want rum,” MalKai corrected.

  “I want rum,” WaLiLa repeated & turned back to face the dance floor. WaLiLa saw MalKai’s outstretched fingers cross over her shoulder & impatiently demand her attention. She turned back around with an innocent grin. “Oh, coins you want?” she asked & gave MalKai five pesos.

  As WaLiLa scanned the club with her sharp vision, she fumbled with the waist of her stockings. She still wasn’t accustomed to them. At home, they never used such trappings. As her eyes skimmed the faces of the club-goers, their identifications popped into her mind.

  ◊ Raul Gomez, 21, 5′6″, 150, Dominican ◊

  ◊ Daniel “Chino” Rodriguez, 21, 5′9″, 210, Dominican ◊

  ◊ Edwin “Choco” Cruz, 32, 5′4″, 116, Dominican ◊

  ◊ George B—◊

  WaLiLa was interrupted by a sharp nudge at her elbow. She turned around, & as her eyes collided with the face of the person standing behind her, information popped into her eyescreen.

  ◊ Patrice Johnson, 20, 5’3″, 135, American ◊

  Patrice was staring at her hands. She was about to reach out & touch WaLiLa again when she realized WaLiLa was looking at her. WaLiLa was used to such amazement. Her skin was thick & velvety soft. Almost plush, like fur. She was brown from head to toe. People would look at her & stare. The question was always on their lips. “Where are you from?” WaLiLa would always answer with the point farthest from where she happened to be. When she was in South Africa, she said Seattle, Washington. When she was in Seattle, she claimed Mongolia. When in Mongolia, she said Martinique. No one knew the difference.