by Pauline Fisk
Kid watched all day as the old woman received visitors as if she really was a royal guest. Her lips were so cracked that they scarcely seemed to move, and her thin, rasping voice seemed to rise up from her chest. But however she managed it, the words kept coming. On one occasion, she started crying, and Kid had no idea why. On another occasion great cackles of laughter broke out of her like flames from a log.
Renata said later that Xa-an had come to tell them of some family member in her village who had died. She also said there were things Xa-an told people about that they’d only otherwise know from learning them in school. Things in history that she’d seen with her own eyes. Things that would go with her when she died because no one else was left who’d witnessed them.
Even when Kid fell asleep that night, Xa-an was still holding court, which meant it wasn’t until the following morning, while she was still asleep, that he had the chance to tell Reuben how he’d got on in Punta Gorda. Reuben said he’d done a great job and should feel proud of himself. It was a Sunday morning – Reuben’s day off from the sawmill – and he was heading off to farm his land on the other side of the river. Did Kid want to come with him, he asked, and see if he had in him the makings of a farmer?
It felt like a reward, and Kid was honoured to be invited. He was pleased to make himself useful and pleased, too, to get away from Xa-an and her court. The two of them set off across the river, fording it at the shallowest point. But Kid had only just arrived when he went all clammy and started shivering. Was his sickness coming back? He hoped to God it wasn’t. He tried all day to hide how he was feeling and somehow succeeded, even managing at times to drive the shivers away. But, in the early hours of the next morning, he awoke with a burning headache and a full-scale fever.
Kid tried fixing it with pills from his med-kit, but they made no difference. For the rest of the night, he either poured with sweat or shivered with violent rigors. By morning, when Reuben got up for work, Kid could scarcely speak.
‘I th-th-think … I m-m-mean … I m-m-might …’
Reuben called for Lydia. The two of them looked down at Kid, their faces swimming before his eyes. Renata’s face appeared as well, and then Renaldo’s. Then Lydia’s mother, Selina, was there as well, and so were half her friends, for some reason, all shaking their heads.
Finally Xa-an joined them, looking down at Kid as if she’d seen it all before. No doubt at her great age, Kid thought, one sick boy looked very much like any other.
‘D-d-doctor …’ he whispered, mustering all his energy for one single coherent word.
But if a doctor came, he never knew about it. For the rest of the day, Kid was out of things and knew very little. Occasionally he sensed people close by, but he was never sure if they were real or if he was imagining them. In his rare lucid moments, he tried remembering what he’d learned about tropical diseases, courtesy of Cassie and Doc Rose. Malaria was contracted from mosquitoes, if he remembered rightly, and there were plenty of those here in Blue Bank Springs, and had he taken all his malaria pills – he couldn’t remember. But dengue fever was meant to be just as bad, if not worse. Then there was cholera to worry about, followed by rabies, hepatitis and even yellow fever which, if Kid remembered right, he wasn’t supposed to catch in Belize …
Kid’s mind rambled on. He pictured his body being flown home with a Union Jack draped over it. Was this real, he asked himself? Was he imagining it or was it an actual out-of-body experience? The plane touched down outside Jet’s Burger Bar, and Jet wasn’t there to greet him, and neither was Nadine – though no surprises there. But Snow was there, dressed in black, followed by Jez who was weeping like a girl and Cassie who kept repeating, over and over, I told him to be careful.
It was the start of a night of wild imaginings. Faces hung over Kid, some friendly, some downright scary. At one point, Kid imagined Jack-the-Goth standing over his grave, dressed in a black leather trench-coat, his hair dyed blue, carrying a cross. Then brujos visited his night – snakes and scorpions with human faces and black human hearts. And there were voices too. Voices from Kid’s past.
Desperately Kid tried telling himself that he was safe now – that all the bad things in his life lay in the past, and he wasn’t back in south London, he was still in Belize. But, if so, why could Kid hear his mother calling out for him? And why could he hear her friends and half-friends, relatives and cousins once-removed all arguing over who would have to take him?
These people were meant to be in England, but Kid could feel their presence in the darkness. They were here in Blue Bank Springs, here in this house. Their voices went on and on but none of them spoke to him.
Kid cried out. He struggled to get out of his hammock but hands were holding him down. Where they’d come from he’d no idea, but Kid wasn’t a boy to be held down. He fought against them with his whole strength. People kept telling him to stay still – but it wasn’t until the sudden smell of incense filled the room that he gave up his struggle and calmed down.
What was happening now? Had his body been moved? Was it in church or something? Was he – God forbid – was he waiting for his own funeral?
A still small voice whispered in Kid’s ear. He’d be all right, his mother said, he’d be all right. He fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, the smell of incense was still there but her voice had gone, and so had everybody else’s. Kid whimpered like a baby waking from a nap. Immediately Renata was on one side of him and Lydia on the other.
‘What’s happened to me?’ Kid whispered.
‘Something’s bitten you,’ Lydia said. ‘That’s what Xa-an says. You have poisoned blood, she says, and she’s going to help you sweat it out.’
The thought of any more sweating made Kid feel weak. ‘I can’t …’ he whispered.
‘Can’t what?’ said Lydia.
‘Can’t anything …’ whispered Kid – and fell back to sleep.
Next time he came round, Kid was outside being carried through the heat of the day. People were all around him, but where were they taking him? Dimly Kid was aware of the village passing by and the river coming into view. Trees hung over him, and he was on some part of the riverbank where he’d never been before. A rough-hewn stone building stood in front of him, about the size of a child’s play-house. Smoke was seeping out through its cracks. Its door was open and he could see the glowing embers of a fire inside.
What was going on? Kid didn’t know. Dimly he was aware that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. There was nothing dim, however, about the moment he was slid into the little house like a loaf into a bread oven. He struggled to get out, but wasn’t strong enough. Through the blinding heat, he was aware of somebody directing his body and moving him about. Then a door closed behind them both, daylight disappearing as if snuffed out, and even the sounds outside seemed to be snuffed out.
And then the heat started building up.
Kid lay on the ground feeling himself cook. Breathing was an effort and the heat was so intense that it peeled back his eyes. Not only that, but if sweat was required of him, he was already exceeding expectations.
Kid poured with sweat. It ran off him in rivulets. Steam filled the air around him, and Kid heard the hiss of water being poured on to hot stones. His sense of confinement was overwhelming. He started panicking, but someone splashed the walls with incense and it worked again to calm him down, just as it had done before.
Kid breathed in. The incense was the perfume of his dreams. He closed his eyes and drifted away. His body was no longer his own, and neither was his mind. Dimly he was aware of someone taking up a bundle of herbs and beating him. Their perfume mingled with the incense and filled his head. Then he heard water being poured on stones again, and wood piled on to the fire.
Once or twice the door was opened to call for the water jar to be filled, or more firewood sent in. But, by now, Kid had lost all sense of time. He was aware of steam being directed on to his body as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and aware of being beaten by the herbs.
Once he was even aware of the jar of incense being held directly under his nose. And once he was forced to drink something which tasted bitter but he swallowed it all down.
But, apart from that, the rest was a dream.
It took until nightfall for the stones to cool down. By now the fire had burned out and the door had been opened wide enough for Kid to see the world outside. He felt a mat of woven grasses being slid under him, then hands taking hold of its corners and lifting him out. The evening that greeted him was clear and fresh. Stars stood above him in the sky and a small handful of people – not half the village this time, but just Lydia, Renata, Reuben and Xa-an – stood over him as if waiting for some final thing to happen.
Kid lay before them all, too tired to care what it might be, knowing he was naked but not caring about that either. Xa-an took a step towards him. From her ringing wet hair and sodden dress, Kid realised she’d been the one in the sweat-house with him, whipping him with bunches of herbs, forcing him to swallow that vile drink, feeding the fire, feeding the steam, nursing him all day.
And now she was the one who spoke to him in Kekchi-Mayan – and Kid understood. How did she do that? He understood!
Renata started translating, but it wasn’t necessary. Already Kid was on his feet, staggering towards the river, attempting to do what Xa-an had bidden:
‘For your cure to be complete, you need to bathe. Only when the river has soaked into your body will your blood be cleansed and the burning heat be cast out of your bones.’
Kid didn’t need to be told twice. Finding a strength within himself that he didn’t know he had, he waded into the cool water and let it carry him downstream. Then slowly he started swimming back, gaining strength with every stroke. The river seemed to caress him. He felt it soaking into him. He was enveloped in freshness. He felt safe. And, more than safe, he felt alive.
Even more than at Natural Arch, when he’d unburdened himself to Jez about his past, Kid knew this was the swim of his life. He remained in the water for a long time, not wanting it to end. When he did finally wade out, he found the riverbank empty. Even Xa-an had gone. Clean clothes had been left for him, but Kid stood alone.
He dressed slowly, cool-bodied and clear-headed, savouring how good it was to be restored to health. Then he walked back through the village, taking stock of everything around him. Fireflies danced in the air. Smoke rose from thatches and melted into the darkness. The distant Maya Mountains, lit by the moon, looked as if they were covered in snow.
The world was beautiful. For days Kid had been too sick to see it, but now he could. That’s what being healed was all about.
28
RENATA
Next day Kid tried to make himself useful by filling in forms. His desire to give something back to a village that had fed, nurtured and now even healed him was greater than ever. He even talked about going back to the school, pleading with Teacher Betty to give him another chance.
Xa-an, however, insisted that he wasn’t ready. Maybe Kid felt better, she said, but there was a difference between feeling better and returning to one’s life. For the next few days, she watched Kid like a hawk, taking on the role of nurse and supervising what he ate. Renata was her assistant, dancing in attendance as if being trained up. In particular, she was put in charge of keeping at bay the endless stream of visitors who wanted to see the miraculously healed boy.
Everybody wanted to touch Kid, as if his good health might rub off on them, and to congratulate Xa-an who had proved – as if any proof was necessary – the wisdom of her years. Blue Bank Springs was enveloped in an atmosphere of celebration. Lydia was delighted to show off her guest, but Xan-an had spoken and Renata wouldn’t be budged.
On the third day, however, after keeping Kid indoors the whole while, Renata announced that she had something to show Kid, and took him off into the forest. Every day, Renata said, even before the rest of them had known that Kid was sick and would be in need of a cure, Xa-an had been to the copal tree collecting sap. They stood before it now and Renata explained that first Xa-an had prayed in church for the tree to give it up. She’d prayed to the Virgin Mary, and her prayers had been answered – either that or the Duende had heard her, because never had a tree given up so much sweet-smelling incense in such a short time.
This sounded different to any religion Kid had ever come across before. He said something about trees as givers of life, and Renata agreed.
Trees were all about giving, she said. Each had something to offer, even if some didn’t look as if they did. Take this spiky tree, for example, which everybody called the ‘give and take’ – its spikes were used for darts but its leaves provided healing. Then here was the allspice tree, whose leaves smelt good enough to eat. Then here was the sapodilla, whose milky chicle went in to making chewing gum. And here was the coco plum, not only good to eat, but excellent for extracting oil to make candles.
Renata moved with ease through the forest, naming everything she touched. Kid was impressed. She certainly knew her plants and shrubs, he said. Renata replied that so she should because trees and Mayan people went back a long way.
‘Once this forest garden was known by our people’s name,’ she said. ‘It was called the Maya Forest, but then the people disappeared and then the forest started disappearing, too. Logging companies moved in. Trees started coming down. Citrus walks replaced jungle. Roads started going up.’
They walked back towards the village, Renata pointing out things all the way. Breadfruit, poisonwood, gumbolimbo, frangipani, hibiscus and finally the black orchid, Belize’s national flower – she knew them all. Kid felt like a voyager being carried along on a vast green sea. Only when Renata asked about England’s trees, and he couldn’t name a single one apart from oak, did he finally come in to land.
‘I’m a London boy myself,’ he said. ‘Where I live there aren’t any trees.’
Renata was astonished. She couldn’t imagine a place where there weren’t any trees. Kid could have corrected himself, explaining there were some trees but he didn’t know their names. But it was nice having Renata’s sympathy.
She wanted to know all about England after that. But England was boring, Kid said. Why didn’t they talk about something else?’
‘Like what?’ Renata said.
‘Well, like you,’ Kid said. ‘Why you’re always smiling, even when you’re tired. And why your face shines even when it isn’t smiling. That’s a mystery I’d like to solve.’
Renata blushed at that. She blushed like a woman being paid a compliment by a man, and then Kid felt himself blushing too because it was a soppy, thoroughly wet thing to have said. But, even so, Renata’s face did shine. It shone all the time and there was a gracefulness about her – an air of confidence that made her stand out.
Perhaps it was to do with living in a forest that had once been named after her people, in full view of mountains that had been named after them too. But there was a rootedness about Renata, a sense of belonging that made her beautiful, and Kid wished he could be rooted too.
He, on the other hand, was always on the move. Always heading for somewhere new. That’s what life had been like back in London, sofa-surfing as a way of life. And it had been the same here, hopping restlessly from one place to the next.
Renata, however, had been born here in this forest garden whose trees she knew by name, and she would die here one day.
‘You never tell me about yourself,’ Kid said. ‘You always talk about other things. I want to know about you.’
Renata looked puzzled, as if she didn’t know what to say. But, before supper that night, she dug out the family scrapbook full of black-and-white photographs, and the two of them sat on the bench outside and looked at them. This was her as a baby in her mother’s arms, and this was her on Reuben and Lydia’s wedding day and here she was in her white dress on the day the bishop came to Blue Bank Springs for her to be confirmed. And here she was, holding Renaldo when he was born.
Finally Renata finished, clo
sing the book as if to say now you know it all. The sun had set by now, and the first few stars were coming out. Kid had never seen so many of them, and never so bright. He asked Renata for their names in Mayan. But, unlike the trees, she didn’t know them.
Lydia called them in to eat. There were hot tortillas steaming under their cloth, and rice and beans with a lump of meat on top which Lydia said was gibnut. After they’d finished eating, the only argument Kid ever heard in Blue Bank Springs suddenly blew up. It was between Xa-an and Reuben, and conducted in Kekchi-Mayan, which Kid no longer understood because the moment of enlightenment by the river had gone and Renata had to translate.
Xa-an, apparently, was saying that once the Maya had been powerful warlords, and they could be powerful again. There were people, she had heard, who wanted all the Mayan people in the Americas to rise up and fight for their rights.
Reuben, however, said, ‘We Kekchi aren’t just Mayans, we’re Belizeans too. All we people in this country – Garifuna, Creoles, Mestizos, British, Americans, even Taiwanese – if each forgets the others and fights for its own rights, that’s the end of Belize.’
The patriotism left Kid cold, but the simplicity of Reuben’s argument really got to him, and so did its sheer unselfishness. Reuben might have few rights by many people’s standards, but a longing washed over Kid that his life might be like his.
Lydia broke up the argument, saying that Reuben and Xa-an were too alike. They both talked too much and should retire to bed. When they’d done just that, however, Renata confided to Kid that she stood by every word her brother had said. He was a wise man, she said. One day, after Joseph, he’d be Alcalde. Anyone with any sense could see that.
Kid said some people might think loyalty to country over personal gain was a crazy way of living one’s life. But Renata said the way they lived made perfect sense to her.
