The Wild Wind

by Sheena Kalayil

  I muttered a reply, but I could barely hear her. The bicycle to my left seemed to emanate hot waves that burned my cheeks. We walked up the driveway and around the side of the house towards the back door, while I glanced around furtively into the orchard, the granny flat, the back lawn, but saw no sign of him, nor Grace. But when we entered the kitchen, we saw that he was sitting at the table, underneath which his long legs stretched, in work-trousers ending in work-boots, as always.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Olikara.’ He smiled, getting to his feet. ‘How are you, Sissy?’

  ‘Jonah.’ My mother’s voice was warm, her pleasure unmistakable, and she was smiling widely. ‘How nice to see you.’ She held out her hand and he took it, gave a little bow. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well, madam, well. And you?’

  ‘We’ve been staying here for some time now. I’m sorry we left without telling you.’

  ‘No, it’s not a problem, madam,’ he said. ‘It is good you are here.’ Then he gestured to her hair loose around her, her face glowing from the fresh air, and smiled into her eyes. ‘And you look well.’

  My mother gave a little laugh. ‘And how are your studies?’

  He made a little show of looking sheepish. ‘I have not looked at my books for some time, it was so busy.’ Then squared his shoulders with a smile. ‘But now I will start again. I have my exam in three weeks.’

  ‘Well, I can help you again, Jonah, if you come this way.’

  ‘I will not come this way often,’ he said and then turned and caught my eye and my heart jumped into my mouth, ‘but thank you.’

  ‘We might be back in Roma soon and then you must come,’ my mother said.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure, madam. I’m not sure the school will open again very soon.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ My mother bit her lip. ‘And the camp?’

  ‘Many dead,’ he said simply, ‘and many injured.’

  We fell silent, all of us, and behind us Grace entered the room, said something to Jonah in Nyanja and then to my mother, ‘Bwana is on the phone, madam,’ adding hurriedly, as if to pre-empt any misunderstanding on my mother’s part, that my father was calling us, ‘Mr Cooper, madam.’

  ‘Thank you, Grace.’ My mother turned to Jonah. ‘I’ll just go and speak to him.’

  He inclined his head, my mother smiled again and glanced at me, and I grinned back inanely. We all stood there smiling at each other, until my mother nodded. ‘Nice to see you again, Jonah.’

  ‘Madam.’

  She looked at me as if she expected me to follow, but I moved to the sink and started running the water as if I had some project in mind, picked up some spoons and started arranging them randomly on the draining board. She left the room and I turned off the tap, turned around. ‘Thank you for coming, Jonah.’

  He was laughing, shaking his head. ‘Sissy,’ he spread his arms wide, ‘how could I not come when you write to me like that?’

  My face grew warm and he laughed again, his shoulders shaking, then he walked over and stood in front of me, his hands clasped, like that day when I was ill, it felt like so long ago.

  ‘You look well,’ he said.

  ‘It was so quiet in Roma. There was hardly anyone there.’ Then I remembered I had seen Ezekiel from afar, but I said nothing.

  He was nodding. ‘I agree. It is good you are here.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  He smiled, shook his head. ‘Grace, she gave me some lunch. And how is school?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Boring.’

  ‘No.’ He looked suddenly upset. ‘No, Sissy. You are lucky to go to school.’

  And I remembered his mother, the story of the fish, and how she had died, how he had left with his schooling cut short. And I felt so ashamed that tears filled my eyes, and I looked down to hide them.

  There was a short silence until he said, ‘No, no.’ His voice was gentle. He patted my arm, then bent himself forward to look up into my face. ‘Do you still know how to smile?’

  I felt my lips move themselves into what must have been a grimace.

  ‘Better,’ he said, smiling himself, with his white, straight teeth, and wide mouth. ‘Beautiful smile from a beautiful girl.’ But his eyes remained grave and he did not pinch my chin this time.

  There was another silence during which I could hear Grace in the living room with Danny, my mother’s voice a murmur. I did not have long, I knew, and my heart began to thump at the thought that he would leave soon. I stole a glance at him and saw that he was watching me, his expression patient.

  ‘Shall we go outside?’ I asked, and he held his arm out for me to lead the way. We moved together into the garden, and I found a shady spot in front of the orchard. He leant against a tree and folded his arms, completely comfortable and well versed in the dynamics of such a conversation whereas I could not think of another time that I had summoned someone – and a man at that – in this way and had been obeyed. I tried to stand in a nonchalant fashion, putting one foot in front of the other, then decided to clasp my hands behind my back. By now he was smiling again, no doubt amused by my machinations, but when he saw that I had noticed this, he cleared his throat and tried to look more serious, his eyes on the ground near my feet. I let my eyes move over his face, down to the open neck of his shirt; no sign of the thin gold chain.

  ‘Tell me about the camp, Jonah,’ I said quietly.

  He looked up at the sound of my voice, then unfolded his arms, put them behind him so that he was mirroring my stance.

  ‘It is men, mostly,’ he said. ‘There were men, nearly all of them, living without their families. Waiting for the time to fight.’

  ‘How did they die?’ I asked, and I saw him hesitate before speaking.

  ‘There were bombs,’ he said. ‘And shooting also.’

  ‘I saw one of them. One of the soldiers,’ I whispered. ‘From the window. He was in a helicopter. He looked at me.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘He didn’t look like a bad person,’ I ventured.

  ‘What is bad and what is good?’ He sounded almost angry. Now he spread his arms. ‘I saw this in Mozambique when I was younger. The men around me wanted to fight the Portuguese, and some did. Now the Portuguese have gone, and they are fighting each other.’ Then he shook himself and smiled. ‘But why are we talking about this? Tell me what you’re reading now, Sissy. You are always reading.’

  ‘A book that Miss Munroe gave me.’ I did not add that it had been for my birthday; I did not want him to think I was fishing for a gift. ‘It’s set during the Civil War in America.’

  He laughed. ‘A civil war. Like in Mozambique?’

  ‘It was a hundred years ago, but yes.’

  I wanted to continue, but then I stopped. I was not sure what he had learned when he was at school, and I was worried that I would offend him if I asked. It felt anathema to ask Jonah what he knew of slavery, of the politics and the history of a country neither of us had been to, of the world outside Lusaka. Yet he knew of the world, I reminded myself. He had lived through conflict and war, not just read stories in a book; he had only just spoken of it. He had suffered loss and it was more than likely that he had loved too. But I found myself tongue-tied, wishing to relate the tales I had read but at the same time unwilling to speak of them for fear of alienating him.

  He spoke before me. ‘You see, Sissy,’ he was grinning, ‘you see what men are like? Better if the women take care of everything.’

  I smiled back, and as I had hoped he would, he chucked me under the chin, then he held his arm out again, but this time pointing towards the driveway. ‘I cannot stay, Sissy. I have to go but will you walk with me to the gate?’

  We left the orchard and walked down the path. I tried to take as small steps as possible, and just as on that day when we had walked together to return the tools to Moses, he slowed down to my snail’s pace. My motives must have been clear, but he did not query them, just as he had not forced me to match his stride
that day; a day from a different century, when my father was still with us. My heart suddenly ached when I saw ahead to where his bicycle was leaning against the fence.

  ‘I did see someone in Roma, Jonah,’ I said. ‘I saw Ezekiel.’

  He stopped for a moment and then carried on walking. ‘You spoke with him?’

  I shook my head but did not furnish him with the details of how I had willed myself to be invisible, so deep had been my horror of what would happen if Ezekiel saw me.

  Jonah said, ‘He came to help and then they sent him away.’

  ‘The nuns?’

  He shook his head. ‘The others,’ and then, ‘They believe he brought bad spirits.’ He turned to me and smiled weakly. ‘It’s not easy for Ezekiel.’

  ‘Is Grace upset?’

  ‘Very.’

  And I thought how she did not show this on her face and in her behaviour. She had not laughed at my request: silly girl. My son is unwanted and you are asking me to play postman! But as I felt sympathy for Grace and her troubles, I also longed for some comfort, even if nothing had happened to me. I longed to put my hand in Jonah’s and feel him squeeze it, but too quickly we arrived at the fence. He did not take my hand, but put his into his pocket and drew something out.

  ‘I also came to give you this.’

  It was a thin, dark leather cord on which hung a small shape carved out of a sliver of wood: a tiny hand, the twin of his own gold pendant.

  ‘I made it for you,’ he said.

  My voice was somewhere in my stomach, I could not speak. He slipped it over my head, and then the cord was lying cool against my neck and the amulet was lying near my chest. I fingered the delicate hand with wonder and looked up at him, wordless.

  ‘Do you like it?’ He was smiling again.

  I nodded, then managed, ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Wear it and it will protect you.’

  ‘From what, Jonah?’ I croaked.

  He shrugged, then grinned. ‘From whatever gives you fright, Sissy.’

  ‘Makes me frightened?’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, that makes you frightened.’

  I fingered the pointed edges of the tiny hand. It was exquisitely made, varnished so that the wood glinted softly in the sunlight.

  I found my voice. ‘What scares you, Jonah? What makes you frightened?’ And I looked up at him, to see that his eyes were on me.

  ‘If I say,’ he smiled, ‘I worry I might make you even more.’

  ‘So, you do get scared?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He was still smiling.

  ‘I’m scared my father will not come back.’ The words came to me suddenly, and with them a realisation that I did feel a fear, a deep fear.

  His smile faded and he stayed still in front of me, his eyes running over my face as they had that day before, as if he already knew what lay ahead, that my smooth, soft skin was on borrowed time. And I let mine do the same; take in his features and the gentleness in his eyes which contrasted against his strong straightness.

  ‘He will come back,’ he said suddenly. ‘He will.’ Then he reached forward and tapped my nose with a finger, ‘Não te preocupes. Do you remember what that means?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to learn something else?’

  I nodded, and he said, ‘Adeus is goodbye.’

  ‘I don’t want to learn goodbye.’

  ‘Okay, then what about até a próxima – until the next time?’ He seemed determined to placate me and was speaking quickly as if he wished to sweep my worries away.

  I felt embarrassed about what I had said and fingered the amulet again. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ I repeated.

  ‘It looks beautiful on you.’ And now he laid the palm of his hand against my cheek, his hand so large against my face that his fingers brushed the nape of my neck. I could have turned my head and pressed my lips against his skin, but I did not. A momentary touch, and then he was walking around the gate, to his bicycle, and mounting it smoothly.

  ‘Will you come again, Jonah?’ I called out.

  ‘I will try.’

  He glided off without looking back, and I let my fingers caress the tiny hand before dropping it into my dress, so that it nestled against my heart.

  18

  I TOOK the necklace off before my bath, worried that the leather would spoil if it got wet, but soon after, slipped it back on so that under my pyjamas I could feel the cord lying around my neck, the amulet brushing against my chest. That night, I was already in bed when Mr Cooper arrived back from work. I listened to my mother’s voice as she joined him in the kitchen, presumably to reheat his dinner, sit with him while he ate, which seemed to be becoming a routine of a kind. But I felt no inclination to take myself to the hallway, tune in to what they were talking about. Their voices were low, but I heard them both laugh at intervals; they were not like the earnest conversations I had heard between Mr and Mrs Cooper. I lay on my stomach, deliberately, then lifted my pyjama top to check whether the tiny hand had made an imprint on my skin. It had, and I watched in wonder as the makeshift tattoo faded, thinking as I saw my skin spring back that I would never, never, forget how full my heart had felt when Jonah had told me that he had made this exquisite necklace for me. I slept, clutching the tiny hand in my fist. In the morning it stroked me under my school uniform, out of sight, although I slipped my hand inside my dress at times through the day to make sure I had not imagined the whole affair, once catching the eye of a friend who stared quizzically at me. I looked away.

  And then, that evening, returning from my bath, wrapped in a towel, I found my mother in the bedroom, a stack of ironed clothes in one hand and my necklace in the other. She smiled at me as I entered. ‘This reminds me of something a girl in college had,’ she said, holding the tiny wooden hand in her palm. ‘I’ve never seen one made of wood before.’ I said nothing, pulled my pyjama top over my head, a pair of knickers over my hips, and let the towel fall off me, suddenly feeling giddy. She was still smiling, and murmured absently, ‘Hang your towel neatly, mol.’ Then she put the clothes on the bed before placing the necklace back on the top of the chest of drawers where I had laid it. ‘Is it one of the girls’? Ally’s? Do you think she forgot to take it back with her?’

  I mumbled something, my mouth dry, and watched as she left the room, catching a glimpse of her retreating form through the door as she entered the bedroom she shared with Danny. I turned away. I should have told her, I knew, but I slipped it back on over my neck, and tucked it carefully under my pyjama top, so that the leather cord was well-hidden.

  The next morning, Mr Cooper took me to school, like he had so many times before, only I was more acutely aware than ever that his daughters were not in the car and that I was sitting in Ally’s place, in the front seat. As if he was thinking the same, he mentioned that he had phoned the girls the previous afternoon, from work, and that they sent their love. There had been an early snowfall which they had been excited about, although their mother was less so. They were planning the Christmas holidays, less than a month away now, when he would be going back. This last piece of news reminding me that Mr Cooper was not ours, that we had our own Christmas celebration ahead to think of, but one which I could not yet picture: where it would take place, and whether it would include my father.

  And so, there we were in the blue car together: Mr Cooper, a father without his daughters, and me, a daughter without her father. A swap of sorts, as if our families had been jumbled together and their members rejigged. Perhaps, I thought, my father was in Virginia, standing behind Mrs Cooper on the phone. Ask how Sissy is. Is she well? I felt a familiar shiver of fear, but at the same time I had a strength inside me as my thoughts swirled in my head, no doubt because of the tiny hand nestled against my chest. I was quiet, in my strength, but perhaps Mr Cooper regretted his earlier comment about Christmas, because he fell silent, too, and I could sense him glancing at me during the last stages of the journey. And when I opened the door to climb out, he stop
ped me with a hand on my arm, which he then raised to clasp the back of my head in a quick caress: have a nice day, honey.

  It was Tembe who picked me up from school, deposited me outside the house, and as I walked around the side of the house I saw Grace bringing in the washing from the line. She smiled when she saw me, but made no mention of the letter, or of Jonah’s visit. My mother was at the dining table, books and papers scattered around her. She told me she had gone to the bank that morning to withdraw some money – this mentioned in a casual tone that did not fool me. Perhaps she had found the account empty: he has given it all away. And she had gone back to Roma, to check on the bungalow – it was fine – to bring back some more clothes, and to talk to the Mother Superior – still no date for the re-opening. She had collected some work from the laboratory; at least she could use the time to prepare for when classes resumed. I did not repeat what Jonah had said, that he believed the school would not re-open soon, nor did I mention Mr Cooper’s plans for Christmas. ‘Could you take Danny into the garden, mol?’ my mother asked. ‘I brought back his swing, did you see?’ So she had reached upwards to untie the ropes, or had she met Jonah, asked him to do it? ‘Grace helped me,’ she added, as if she could read my mind.

  I lifted my brother into my arms, and he immediately plunged his hand into the opening of my dress, into my chest, as he always did with my mother, and before I could remove it myself, he withdrew his hand, clutching the leather cord between his fingers and then shoving it into his mouth to chew on. I tried to pull it out of his hand, but he was surprisingly strong. He tugged furiously, so that the cord was now digging into the back of my neck. I dumped him back down on the floor hoping he would then release his grip, but he pulled even more fiercely, the pendant now clamped in his fist. The tears of frustration that had gathered in my eyes meant that I could not see clearly, only hear my mother join us, then unpluck Danny’s fingers one by one from the amulet. Her fingernails scraped the back of my neck as she slid the necklace over my head.