THE SOUND OF terrified chickens fleeing from the yard was invariably the tell-tale sign that a hunt was about to begin. I rolled out of bed and padded sleepily out to the sunlit front porch where I walked straight into something soft and wet. The dog's nose quivered as it inhaled my scent, then apparently deciding that I was not today's quarry it gave me a long lick with its hot, rough tongue.
"Good morning to you too Salami," I giggled, pushing his face away. Salami loped off to re-join the pack, his long, elegant legs covering the ground effortlessly. He was the tallest of the twelve hunting dogs, with a handsome reddish-brown coat that might have inspired a more suitably noble name from anyone who wasn't my father. All of his dogs were named for food or items related to food; Salami, Sausage, Hook after a fish hook. A generous observer might suppose that Moises was simply hungry when he named them, or else sitting in the kitchen and feeling inspired by his surroundings. But the truth was that, even though they were only dogs, he wanted to make sure they knew their place. No dignified names for them, nothing that might give the impression that they were beautiful, powerful, graceful animals in their own right. No, they were his possessions, his tools, and their names would reflect his contempt for them.
I turned my head and spotted my father's hunting rifle propped against the front of the house. Feeling a sudden rush of excitement I reached out to touch the long, black barrel and found the metal so cold underneath my fingers that it made me shiver. For a brief moment, I experienced a fraction of the power I supposed Moises must have felt carrying it around. The power to end any life you chose to with the slightest squeeze of a finger. If only I could use this gun...
"What do you think you're doing?"
I jumped and snatched my hand away from the rifle as a shadow fell over me. I smelled my father's breath, worse than the dog's, before I felt it on the back of my neck as his long arm reached past me to pick up the weapon. As he drew it back, the muzzle hovered menacingly in the air over my shoulder.
"Do you want to shoot something?" he asked. I didn't look around, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smirking.
Yes, you! I wanted to reply, but I held my tongue.
"Maybe I will teach you sometime," said Moises. I did turn around now, unable to disguise my surprise. "If you behave yourself," my father added, turning away before I could speak. He put his fingers to his lips and let loose a piercing whistle, and the dozen hyperactive dogs that had been pacing impatiently about the yard all raced together as one in the direction that he was now walking. My two eldest brothers followed obediently, leaving Lorin standing by himself.
"You're not going?" I asked. Lorin shrugged.
"Our father prefers a challenge," he replied.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.
"If I went with them it would be too easy," said Lorin, casually. "There would be half a dozen dead boars by lunchtime and we wouldn't be able to carry them all."
"You're an idiot," I replied flatly. "You can't shoot. The boars would be eating you for lunch."
"Ah, you're just jealous," he said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Jealous of what?" I asked, incredulously.
"Of my expert hunting skills," replied Lorin.
"Please!" I put my hands on my hips, looking for a moment alarmingly like my mother. "You couldn't catch a cold." I knew this wasn't true in fact, Lorin was pretty good at catching fish in the river with a spear and most likely would have been just as comfortable stalking boar through the forest given how much time he spent in there. But I couldn't let him get away with a statement like that.
"Don't you have something to do?" Maria appeared in the doorway carrying a bulging linen bag and peering hawkishly at my brother.
"Not really," replied Lorin, "those new boys are working the plantation, we showed them how this morning.”
"I'm sure they would like some company," his mother replied. "Why don't you go and get to know them a bit."
"There's plenty of time for that," said Lorin, taking a seat on the porch and putting his feet up.
"So when your father comes home," said Maria, "I should just tell him that you sat around here all day doing nothing?"
He shot her a startled look that clearly said, 'you wouldn't!' and she replied with a raised eyebrow which indicated in no uncertain terms that she would. Finally Lorin gave in, got sulkily to his feet and trudged off towards the trees.
"Would you really tell on him?" I asked once he was out of earshot.
"No of course not," my mother admitted. "I just didn't want him to know what we were doing."
"What are we doing?" I asked.
"Taking the new girls some lunch," replied Maria, patting the bag. "Come on."
We set off through the forest, towards the clearing where we used to live. I could have made this journey blindfolded by now, so well-worn was the path between the trees, and soon enough we found ourselves standing in front of the building we used to call home.
"I can't believe we all used to live in there," I said, staring at it as though seeing the place properly for the first time. It was little more than a shed really, the kind of place you might expect to find a few chickens or a collection of tools maybe, but not people. It looked a world away from our current house. "However did we manage?"
"You managed by being very small," Maria smiled at me. "You hardly took up any space at
all."
"Now I have a whole room to myself," I mused.
"I know," my mother replied. "Aren't you lucky?"
I thought this was a matter of opinion, and declined to answer. Instead, I ran forward and knocked enthusiastically on the wooden door; rat-a-tat-tat. It opened before I could even lower my clenched hand, and I found myself looking up at one of the blackest faces I had ever seen. The woman's skin was so dark that for a split second I was reminded of my own father, and I shuddered involuntarily.
"Hello," said Maria cheerfully, stepping forward to greet her. "I'm Maria, and this is Emilia," she nodded towards me.
"Georgina," replied the woman in a quiet voice. "And my daughter Sandra."
I only noticed Sandra when Georgina half turned to look at me. The little girl I had seen outside their house the other day was hiding behind her mother, her dusky skin blending into the gloom inside the shabby wooden building. Only her eyes gave her away, bright white circles tinged blood red as though she had just been crying.
"We brought you a few things," my mother said, offering the bag, "to help you settle in." Georgina hesitated before accepting it. I thought she had a strange expression on her face, as though she were looking at my mother and yet trying not to see her at the same time. I looked up and saw that my mother's face, too, didn't look quite right. She was smiling, but it was a hard smile, a forced smile. What on Earth was going on?
"Thank you," said Georgina finally, taking the bag and peering inside. "We are very grateful."
"It's just a bit of food and some old clothes," said Maria. "You didn't seem to have much with you when you arrived, so I thought they might come in useful."
"Yes," replied Georgina, managing a strained smile of her own, "very useful, thank you." There was a long, awkward pause before I blurted out, "will you be coming to school?" I was peering at Sandra curiously. The little girl didn't answer, but looked up at her mother instead.
"I don't..." Georgina began uncertainly.
"Of course she must," said Maria quickly. "All the children here go to school." She looked from Georgina to her daughter. "Come up to the house early on Monday and I will show you where it is." Sandra gave the slightest of nods to indicate that she understood.
"Thank you," Georgina said again. I thought it sounded like it was costing her some effort to say the words.
"Well," said Maria after another awkward pause, "let us know if you need anything else.”
"Yes," replied Georgina. "We will, thank you." And with that, she withdrew inside the dark little house and closed the door.
&nb
sp; "It was so strange," I said, plucking another plump, shiny little brown leech from Salami’s belly and tossing it into a large glass jar that was already half-full of the things, writhing and squirming as one large mass. This was the worst part about hunting in the forest; having to clean the dogs afterwards. "I wonder why they're here."
"To work obviously," replied Lorin, picking a leech from the patient dog's front leg and squeezing it between finger and thumb before adding it to the jar.
"Will he be paying them?" I asked, glancing over to where their father was sitting on the front porch, cleaning his rifle.
"Does he pay us?" asked Lorin bitterly.
"That's not the same," I said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"We're his family," I replied, realising as I did so that this answer wasn't quite as satisfying out loud as it had sounded in my head.
"Is that why we do it?" asked Lorin. I frowned.
"And Sandra looked like she had been crying," I said.
"Sandra?" asked Lorin.
"The girl," I said, impatiently. "Pay attention."
"I didn't know her name!" he replied, defensively. "Is she cute?"
"You're as bad as the rest of them!" I snapped, throwing a leech at him.
"The rest of who?" he laughed, catching it and throwing it back.
"Boys!" I hissed, batting the leech away and then picking it up and dropping it into the jar.
"You're all disgusting."
"Speaking of disgusting," he said, running a hand over Salami’s leg, "is that the last of them?"
"I think so," I replied, checking underneath the animal. "Alright Salami, you're done." I patted his backside and the dog trotted off lazily. Lorin picked up a can of petrol and began to unscrew the lid, while I made a grab for the box of matches lying on the ground between us. "Hey, hey!" he said, pulling the can away from me. "Wait ‘til I'm finished pouring! Do you want to kill us both?"
"Maybe we'd be better off," I shrugged.
"Don't be ridiculous," he frowned.
"Well go on then!"
Lorin tipped the can, and the sting of petrol burned my nose as it spilled into the jar. The leeches began to squirm a little more energetically.
"Do you think they know?" I asked, thoughtfully.
"Know what?" asked Lorin, screwing the top back on the petrol can.
"What's about to happen to them?" I said.
"Of course they don't know," he said. "They're leeches. They don't have brains."
"Neither do you," I replied.
"You're not funny," said Lorin, "give me those." He reached for the matches, but I snatched them away.
"No," I said, "I want to do it."
I didn't know why. Maybe it was to know what it was like to cause pain to another animal. Maybe I wanted to understand why my father seemed to enjoy it so much. But as the glass jar burst into flames, and the unfortunate creatures within hissed, and popped, and shrivelled, I found no answers.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Hat Trick
THE MORNING SUN shone down, making the colours of the rainforest burst into life as my exotic new friend and I made our way towards the schoolhouse. The rich brown earth, lush green trees and deep, blue sky all hummed with joy like a cartoon, even the dull, unpainted wood of the school building seemed to take on a new vibrancy as it basked in the golden rays. But I felt far from joyful. I had that uneasy feeling in the depths of my stomach that told me something was about to go badly, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The other children were playing outside in the few minutes before class began as they often did, but their laughter and shouting died down as, one by one, they noticed the two of us approaching.
Don't stare, don't stare, don't stare, I willed them all, silently. Even my friends Paul and Laura had stopped what they were doing, their eyes fixed on Sandra, who had now fallen a couple of steps behind and seemed to be trying to hide behind me. For a moment, I was angry with them. Laura especially ought to know how it felt to be ogled because you looked different. But then they were only children after all, and Sandra was different. I myself had stared the first time I saw her standing outside the house, I remembered. But I had gotten over the shock, and the others would too if they could just make it through the day without—
"What is that?!" cried a voice that rang with nastiness. I glared warningly at Joabe, but he wasn't looking at me. His narrow, wolf-like eyes were fixed upon the new girl, and the horrible smirk on his face appeared to be broadening by the second. "It looks like a lump of charcoal!" he exclaimed. "But charcoal can't walk..."
Yvonne laughed, and I shot her a dirty look too. "Shut up Joabe!" I snapped, my little fists trembling down by my sides. "Just shut up, nobody asked you."
"I can talk if I want," he shot back. "Don't pee your pants, mijona."
I glanced around at Sandra, who was looking at me quizzically, but decided I didn't feel like explaining the history of this insult. Years ago, I had excused myself from class to go to the toilets, which were basically just a couple of tiny sheds with holes dug in the ground and a foul smell emanating from them. There was nothing unusual about this occurrence of course, children asked to be excused from class all the time, but on this day for some reason I had waited until the last moment before I asked and as I ran outside, something about the warm rain pouring down all around, made me lose control, and instead of making it to the toilets, I squatted down by the side, of the side of the school building. Unfortunately for me, Joabe had also asked to be excused right afterwards, and when he saw me crouched there his beady eyes lit up and he ran towards me, making me lose my balance and topple over in alarm. Ever since that day, the nasty little boy had called me mijona - 'pee pants.'
"Hi!" said Laura, approaching them with a smile on her pale face.
"Hey," I replied. "Sandra this is Laura, My--"
"Oh my god, it has a name?!" said Joabe loudly.
"Hello," said Sandra quietly to Laura, trying to ignore him.
"And it talks!" Joabe cried. "Talking charcoal!"
"I said shut up!" I shouted at him.
"You shut up," he snapped back, "mijona."
I couldn't remember launching myself at him, but I must have done because the next thing I knew, Joabe and I were on the ground and I was punching and kicking at him for all I was worth.
"Enough," said a voice nearby, but it barely registered over the excited shouts of the other children as they watched us fight. "I said enough!" Raimundo repeated more loudly this time. I froze. I was straddling Joabe with my fist raised ready to strike again. "Get inside now or I'll tell your parents you've been fighting," said Raimundo. Joabe pushed me off of him, scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the schoolhouse with one last, angry look back at me.
"He left his hat," said Paul, prodding the dirty grey thing with his foot as I stood up and brushed the dirt from my clothes. I coughed as it swirled in a dusty cloud around me, then looked down at the crumpled cloth hat.
"Disgusting," I said, kicking it away before turning to the still scared-looking Sandra. "Come on," I said, "you can sit next to me."
They went inside and took their seats, and things seemed to have calmed down until Raimundo came walking around the desks, handing out sheets of paper and pencils with which to work.
"She doesn't need a pencil," said Joabe, turning around in his chair to grin wickedly at
Sandra. "She can just write with her finger."
"That's enough Joabe," said Raimundo in a tired voice. I glared at the teacher's back as he made his way back towards his own desk. Was that it? 'That's enough'? If he were a proper teacher, I thought, he would put Joabe over his knee right there and give him a good beating!
That's what I would have done.
"Can I go to the toilet?" Joabe called out, raising his hand after he had spoken. Raimundo peered at him irritably.
"Why didn't you go before school started?" asked the teacher.
"I tried," Joabe lied, "Sh
e stopped me," he threw out an arm to point at me.
"You're a liar!" I snapped. "You weren't going to the toilet, you were just standing there."
"I was too," he replied.
"Alright," said Raimundo quickly before I could retort again. "Fine, go on."
Joabe made a point of knocking my chair as he passed, then bent down to whisper 'mijona' in my ear. I kicked out towards the voice, but he was already out of reach. Then an idea popped into my head.
"Can I go to the toilet?" I asked, my hand raised. Raimundo eyed me suspiciously.
"Are you going to continue your fight?" he asked.
"No," I replied, truthfully.
"You can go when Joabe returns," said Raimundo. I fidgeted in my seat, not because I had to go to the toilet but because I was excited at the thought of the plan now coalescing in my mind. I waited patiently until Joabe had taken his seat and turned his attention to his paper, then slipped back out into the morning sunshine.
Sure enough, sitting there in the dirt where I had kicked it, was Joabe's dirty, grey cloth hat. He must have forgotten about it. His tiny brain was probably too busy thinking of new ways to annoy me, I thought with a triumphant grin. I snatched up the hat and ran not to the toilets, but in the opposite direction towards the little room where Raimundo stayed during the week. As I pushed open the door, my plan was simply to drop the hat on the floor and get Joabe into trouble for being where he wasn't supposed to be. Raimundo would recognise the hat straight away, I knew. Everyone knew Joabe's stupid hat. But as the sunlight fell through the open door, something shiny glinted under the bed and, glancing around to check that nobody was watching, I darted inside the room to find out what it was.
I had seen a magazine before. My older sisters would occasionally bring one back from the
village and it would quickly become shabby as they all combed it for juicy details about the world outside of the farm, about music, and food, and fashion, and the sofas that Lorin liked so much. But I had never seen a magazine like the one that now slid out from under Raimundo's bed. The picture on the cover was of a naked lady, with her name spelled out in big bold letters just covering her most private area. I picked it up, sat on the bed, and opened it to the middle pages. My mouth fell open. There was the same lady as on the cover, but there were no words now to conceal her modesty.
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