Gently, Leli moved the tiller and Saka’s ngalawa slid into the green tunnel through arching mangroves. Huru had dropped sail and was paddling the boat slowly, showing Ben and Jack how.
Leli glanced at Ally, savouring her obvious pleasure at being here and that flooding relief he’d felt, seeing her waiting in Shanza when he walked in from school. Now, she was kneeling, watching water ripple by, mangrove roots patterning the depths.
He said, ‘Actually, Ally, I cannot tell Mzee Shaibu of this man who comes to your house this morning, because Mzee Shaibu goes to see the D.O. now to—’
‘D.O?’ she asked, without looking up. ‘What’s that?’
Leli digested this. Some time he must ask her how they organized things in her city. ‘District Officer,’ he explained. ‘Mzee Shaibu goes to say about the strangers on Kisiri. But sometimes so many people from the villages wait to see the D.O. that it takes many days! So I tell Mzee Kitwana and Mzee Issa, for now.’ The news troubled the two old men, he saw. ‘The Elders are happy you tell them this news. They tell their thanks.’
She turned and smiled at him, then returned her gaze to the mangroves drifting by.
He imagined seeing mangroves for the first time: the great tangles of roots plunged into the water like giant claws studded with star shells and oysters. Now she was leaning over the side, turning her head to listen to the little squeaks, plops and splashes in the mesh of wood and plants and mud, noticing the fish crawling on fins in the mud, the green bee-eater bird twisting through the air to its nest in the high bank. She glanced back at him – her look shot a fire through him, as if every one of these things belonged to him, and he had given them to her, and she loved them.
He did not know the English names. Only ‘kingfisher’, the blue-green flash skimming the creek. And ‘fish eagle’. Its dark wings spread shadow as it alighted above them.
‘Kwazi.’ Huru jutted his chin at it.
Jack shaded his eyes to squint up. The great bird sat there, still, silent, regarding them. The yellow beak curved to the black hooked tip. The white head and fiery red and black feathers caught the water-light and gleamed. Yellow talons gripped the low branch. It was close.
‘Is that the one called the Sound of Africa?’ he asked.
For answer Huru made the high harsh scream of its call, and the great bird shook its wings and glared at them.
‘Wow!’ Ben squealed. ‘You should bring people from the hotels. You could sell them tickets and make pots of money – hey, Huru, don’t tip us up!’
Huru was writhing to show how the fishermen swam down to catch squid, letting them wind round their arms, wrestling them on to the boat.
‘Good idea!’ he said, stopping. Meaning pots of money.
Leli thought about money. No more worry for his mother and father about school fees. Huru could pay for Saka to go to the doctor for his bad foot.
‘Haya – Lumbwi and Mosi and Pili will help,’ Huru added gleefully. ‘Eh, Leli?’
‘Lumbwi would have some too big idea, or know someone with a too big idea.’ Leli spoke scornfully. Lumbwi knew boys from other villages who made Leli uneasy. They had brothers and cousins in the city and talked a lot about the money they earned, sending things home – radios, and clothes.
Now Huru was telling Jack about Bwana Fumo, that he was the kwazi, the fish eagle, the eagle of the sea. ‘The big festival – Sherehe ya Kwazi, you see? This bird in the tree is Bwana Fumo guarding us— No, no, like this! Weee-ah, hyo-hyo!’ he demonstrated the yodelling call to Ben, who was trying to make the eagle’s cry.
‘Stories for children!’ Leli tried to sound unimpressed, not wanting to admit to Ally’s brothers how Bwana Fumo was tickling his thoughts. That dream two nights ago – how strong that figure stood there on the shore! How real. How the look lingered, as if the man called Leli with his eyes.
And just this morning, waking early and lying in bed, considering the plan to go out in Saka’s boat: a picture had taken hold – that same figure, but younger, a boy, his white cloth knotted over his shoulder. Beside him a girl holding a spear, moving silently in a canoe in the night through the mangroves towards Kisiri. Bwana Fumo, Leli’d whispered. Mwana Zawati.
‘Leli, do not dream!’ yelled Huru and rolled his eyes, copying Ben, who was always rolling his eyes, or crossing them. He signalled to turn the boat, and Leli moved the tiller so that the ngalawa slipped between the great roots into open water. Huru signalled again – across the deep channel. Towards Kisiri.
Very strong, very strange, Leli had the image of Bwana Fumo again, as if he was there, now, standing in the prow of Saka’s boat, turning and looking at Leli. There – and then gone.
He glanced back at the mangroves. Ancient trees like that had once seen the people’s canoes pass silently, secretly, in the dark, long, long ago.
Then the fish eagle threw back its head and rose up with that long, trailing shriek. And it felt as if the cry was just for him, and Leli shivered.
Ally trailed her hand in the silky water, feeling the ngalawa glide forward with every stroke of the paddles. Water rippled across the side-floats, slapped the hull. Mosaics of light and shade in the coral slid below.
‘The island’s two miles west to east, a mile north to south, roughly.’ In the glare, Jack peered at the map.
They were already across the deep water from the mangroves, close enough to the island for Ally to see the small coves and fringing palms, the beach littered with fallen coconuts; scarlet-flowered creepers binding the sand; a lone baobab. Towards the open ocean, trees climbed a hill, became a denser spread of forest upward.
Closer still, she saw the hill was a great coral bluff, hunched forward over a space of darkness, that, as they drew level, she could see was a cave boring deep into the coral.
‘We could land just for a while, couldn’t we?’ Jack said. ‘I know it’s forbidden for strangers, but we’re with you – that counts for something, right? We’re not really strangers any more. Shame to come all the way out and not even land for a minute!’
Huru flicked a look at Leli. ‘True, Leli! They are not strangers.’
‘Why do you look at me?’ Leli demanded. ‘It is not me that says yes or no!’
There was a long, taut silence. Leli looked at Huru and Huru looked at Leli. In a flash Ally understood. The Elders’ll be furious! It’s really serious for them.
‘Leli—’ she began, but Jack cut across her.
‘Look, don’t want to get you two into trouble!’
Leli gave a nod. He turned to look at the island. They were entering the shadow of the coral bluff and its cave, and he looked up, to where a lone bird soared from its heights. Ally saw how he followed its flight. The bird wheeled over them, veered towards the mangroves, and vanished.
Again, Leli looked back at Kisiri; then at Ally.
Abruptly he said, ‘We tell Mzee Shaibu, so it is not secret. Tutafika, we must arrive quickly. Now the tide is gentle, but it will change. We must not be long, or it will be difficult to go against strong water.’
‘Haya, yes, yes, we go!’ Huru at once began to paddle the boat round. Ben eagerly followed his lead; within minutes the boat was skimming back along the island’s northern shore.
Ally sounded the island’s name under her breath. ‘Kisiri.’ Secret. Secret and sacred.
As if he’d heard her, Leli caught her eye, for a moment held it.
The land sloped down again, trees thinned, the first of the small island coves reappeared. Swiftly they swung the boat inwards and pushed towards the beach, hitting the shallows, jumping out and hauling it high and dry up the sands.
A frisson passed through Ally, a prickle of chill. She glanced at Leli. This time he didn’t return her gaze. But he moved to her side – she could feel the warmth of his arm against hers – and they turned to face the island.
Six
Pu
rple lizards watched them from a fallen tree, the island full of sound, trills and warbles and hums and clicks. Clouds of yellow birds floated among the palms.
The sun was hot, the air fragrant.
Already Ben was running between the bushes gleefully, jumping back with a shriek at a frantic scrabbling and a long body sliding away.
‘A crocodile!’
‘Lizard!’ Huru flung his arms wide. ‘Bigger than this!’
‘Wow, it’s brilliant! We could live here! Why’s no one here?’
‘No good water to drink.’
‘But if we brought water, we could camp. Here!’ Ben tore round in a circle, arms wide, marking the camp out.
Huru shook his head. ‘No, we come all together, just for Sherehe ya Kwazi festival, when we thank Bwana Fumo and Mwana Zawati, singing, dancing, dancing, the whole night like this! Come, I show you where . . .’ He ushered Ben and Jack into the trees.
Ally trailed behind with Leli.
Across the powder sand of the upper beach, between palms, among feathery ferny bushes. Trembling blue butterflies greeted them, a chirrup of birdsong, a well of sunlight in a circle of trees.
‘Leli, are we near their burial place?’ Ally whispered. ‘You haven’t told me properly about Fumo, yet. And I want to know all about Zawati.’
He gazed at her with a strangely pensive expression, and she wondered why. But he didn’t explain, as if thinking something over.
‘They are the first people of Shanza,’ he began, as she reached the centre of the sunny glade. ‘They have lost their mothers and fathers in a terrible killing time before. They escape terrible things. The big tides carry them from their burning city to Kisiri. They bring many others with them, to hide away in the mists. They stay one night, and when the sun is up they go across the water into the forest of the land, and after many months, when it is safe, they build Shanza.’
‘Safe from what?’
A gust of wind plucks at her. Then she’s holding her breath, as if the world holds its breath. As if she’s alone, Leli gone.
She looks for him. She sees the clearing around her thronged with movement – a shifting of texture and shape, dark, flickering like firelight. And murmuring sound, though is it just the wind stirring the palms?
She’s held by the strangest idea: if I move too fast, something will break, something will be lost.
A touch on her shoulder – she’s swayed slightly, almost a dizziness, and she turns to tell Leli it’s all right, I’m OK, really.
Leli is too far away to have touched her.
That familiar coldness whispers over Leli’s skin.
He’s felt the strangeness of Kisiri before, but always in the higher places, among the forests and rocks.
Never in the warm spaces of the lower island.
Now the strangeness is here – stillness, no birdsong, no fluttering or rustling of animals. A darkness, growing to blot out the sun. Yet across its centre, fire.
Or the lowering sun. He turns to look at it, great and red, falling into the forest behind Shanza and throwing its long shadows at him.
Lower than it should be.
A butterfly quivers against his cheek; the wings brush the air; everything seems to move and take a new place, and Ally turns back to him, wide-eyed, a question and fear in her face.
Jack, walking fast out of the trees towards them, is white-faced.
‘Feel that? The tremor? D’you get earthquakes here?’ he asks Leli.
‘Not earthquake,’ Leli says.
‘Well, so – waves hitting the coral below?’ Getting no reply, ‘Leli, could it be?’
Huru arrives, breathless, Ben running beside him. ‘The sun is going fast! The mists are coming!’ He’s sharp. ‘We go now! Leli, we are here too long!’
‘We are here a short time, only a short time,’ Leli answers. But the sun is already lower than when he looked just now. As if an hour has passed. Sharp, cold fear spikes through him.
‘Leli!’ Huru’s voice jerks him to movement. They heave the boat into the water, everyone springing to help and splashing in, and Huru pushes them off with a long pole, till the tide takes them, swings them into a strong current – but the wrong way, away from the mainland, out towards the open sea.
‘The water is strong. Leli, the water should not be strong yet,’ Huru mutters.
Leli looks back. Kisiri, moving away from them, is wrapped in a fierce orange glow.
Against the thrust of the running tide, they fought the boat round.
‘It’s not working,’ Ally gasped, clumsy with the unfamiliar paddle, struggling to take the rhythm from Huru.
‘Don’t stop!’ Jack said it through gritted teeth and she could tell he was frightened too. Ben looked terrified – even a moment’s pause in the paddle-strokes let the current sweep them back with startling speed.
‘We’re getting even further away!’ She tried not to show her panic.
‘No, no. It is OK,’ said Leli. ‘Truly, OK,’ he repeated, holding her gaze to make her calm.
‘We just go, go,’ Huru nodded. He paddled firmly, rhythmically, and pointed with his chin to the approaching bulge of the mangrove swamps. ‘They make the water not so strong soon.’
But minute after minute stretched. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Only the rasp of their breathing, the rush of water, the mainland shore a pale white shimmer in the fast-gathering dusk, Ally’s vision narrowing to the paddle in her hands, to stilling her terror, to holding on to the calm certainty of Huru and Leli.
Lights flared in the village, like a beacon. Ally fastened her eyes on them.
And abruptly the tide surge slackened, as if releasing them. Instantly the boat picked up speed, skimming past the glow of the city kids’ fire, Grace and Joseph running to the water-line and waving as they slid by.
They swung the boat inwards, steering in utter relief for Shanza’s shore.
Seven
Shanza was in uproar.
‘Leli!’ Eshe tugged him from the boat. ‘Where were you? D.O. is here now!’
Leli could see him in a knot of people by Mzee Shaibu’s house, listening to questions, waving his hands about. Koffi and Lumbwi were in the audience, and Lumbwi beckoned Leli urgently, announcing, ‘The D.O. says at first he tells Mzee Shaibu not to worry about strangers, it is what tourists do, visit places, make noise! But Mzee Shaibu is fierce, fierce! He sits down in the D.O.’s office and will not go till the D.O. telephones someone to ask questions—’
‘Lumbwi, you make all the noise so we hear nothing!’ hissed Koffi.
The D.O. held up his hand for silence. Leli pressed in closer to hear.
‘If something is happening in my area, if something is going to happen,’ the D.O. proclaimed, ‘I must know! How can I look after everything if I do not know? But when I ask questions about Kisiri island, quickly no one is in government offices to answer! Eh-eh, something is not right, I tell you! But we get to the bottom of this!’
Sudden commotion behind Mzee Shaibu. Leli pushed further forward and stood on his toes to see better.
Eshe pulled Ally close and whispered in English, ‘It is your auntie coming from the hospital with Saka,’ and Ally could just see someone half-hopping on one foot, being shunted forward by people and waving a scrap of paper. It was plucked away and delivered over the heads to Mzee Shaibu.
Her aunt materialized beside her. ‘Good, you’re all still here! What’ve you been up to? Everyone’s fired up, aren’t they? Like an alarm bell’s ringing.’
‘Just got back from the island,’ Ally said, peculiarly relieved to see Carole. ‘It was . . . weird,’ she finished lamely, alert to Jack listening beside her.
‘How d’you mean?’ Carole quizzed, looking at them both.
Ally shook her head. How can I possibly explain? She changed the subject. ‘Saka’s jumping about, is his f
oot OK?’
‘No bones broken, happily. He’s more worried about the Land Rover we passed close to the village. A couple of men with it, marking a map. Saka wrote down their numberplate— Who’s that?’ She broke off, as two small boys squirmed past, pushing expertly through the forest of bodies up to the D.O. Ally recognized the pair who’d joined Joseph and Grace on the beach below the house that morning. The taller boy made an announcement in a high, excited voice. Then triumphantly he poked his companion, who closed his eyes and recited something.
‘The city kids living in Shanza’s boat,’ Ally said. ‘Collins and Dedan.’
Mzee Shaibu checked Saka’s scrap of paper. He nodded. A babble of comment broke out.
‘Well, they’re saying they saw a car at the Tundani hotel with the same numberplate Saka just wrote down,’ translated Carole. ‘Now everyone’s debating that the hotel people are bad, wandering about here where they shouldn’t, not bothering to speak to the headman or anyone else.’
Reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse. Ally scanned for Leli, spied him in heated discussion with Eshe, Lumbwi and others.
Look this way, Leli! You can’t forget what happened on Kisiri already! Talk to me, you felt it too, I know you did! she willed him.
He glanced at her. As if she’d spoken aloud.
But then simply went back to more passionate arm-waving discussion with the others. Even if she could hear it, she wouldn’t understand a single word!
Frustrated, she turned back to Carole and Jack. He was recounting the story of the visitors to the house that morning.
‘They said what?’ her aunt interrupted him incredulously.
‘Something about, you can’t refuse! Right, Ally?’
‘Yes, and they called Kisiri “our island” and—’
‘Oh, did they?’ Carole said grimly. ‘Tell me the whole thing on the way home.’
Leli was turning away. He’s about to just go! Ally started towards him.
Song Beneath the Tides Page 5
