voice became much louder right then – my hands could no longer touch each other as his neck grew thicker to make the sound – and he raised his head as if he was shooting the words straight towards Mum. At this she slowed down even more and cocked her head to one side, as if my dad’s great words weighed heavy on one of her ears.
‘…IMPRESSED BY HER BEAUTY AND BRAVERY, the king asked for her hand in marriage. She agreed with a smile; they were married and lived happily ever after.’
Jeanette and I both cheer at the happy ending, but Jeanette’s cheer is a little breathless – I think she has had enough of carrying the can up the hill.
‘Why do we tell the story of Sebwgugu and his wife, Clementine?’ Dad says seriously, like a teacher at school.
I think I know the answer, but I am scared to say it, just in case it is not right after all and I disappoint Dad and look silly in front of Jeanette.
‘Clem?’
The pathway stops rising as we enter our village and Dad puts his one free hand behind his head so that I can hold on as he lowers me to the ground. As my feet feel warm hard earth again, Dad, crouching down, is looking straight into my eyes. He is looking for the answer to his question. And now I do not mind trying to tell him, because I can start my answer slowly and I can see from his face – the way his nose moves and the way his eyes change shape – whether or not I am getting things right.
‘It tells us…to not waste…the chances,’ I can see that I am right and I just want to kiss his cheeks as they rise with his eyebrows, ‘the chances given to you in life.’
‘And…?’
The words come rushing fast, now I am sure, ‘And be satisfied with what you have.’
‘Very good!’
I take my kiss and he returns one on my forehead, holding my shoulders as he does so, otherwise I am sure I would fall over with the force of it.
‘And…?’ Mum has stopped outside our house. She sounds stern like a teacher now. ‘What else does the story of Sebwgugu and his wife tell us?’
I look to Jeanette – she is too busy shaking her aching arm about. I look to Dad – his lips are squeezed tight. Either he wants another kiss or he is trying to stop a smile.
‘Respect what your wife has to say!’ I did not hear Pio come to the door. Mum does not seem surprised, though. She does not even look at him. She keeps her big eyes on me – and Dad – and says,
‘Well done, Pio. Respect what your wife has to say. Remember it well.’ And she turns and steps past Pio’s smug face, with both her shadows following closely.
‘Remember it well,’ whispers Dad like an echo as he rises – I cannot tell if he means me to hear it or if he is only telling himself.
‘It is no great thing that you know the answer,’ I say to Pio’s face which is frozen in its know-it-all grin at the door. ‘You are older than me. Four years older than me – you have probably been told it hundreds more times than me.’
‘Or perhaps I am just smarter than you, my little sister,’ and he says these last words in English as if to prove how smart he is.
But I understand it. I am doing very well at English in school, so I say – in English – as I step inside,
‘Excuse me, brother, I will take my breakfast now,’ and I prod him in the stomach and run before he can return it.
We stop running almost as soon as we start because of the look Mum gives to us through the doorway to the back yard where she prepares the porridge.
‘What shall I do, Mummy?’ If I help then it will feel like that look was more for Pio than me.
‘Bring the sorghum.’
I prefer the porridge when it is only made from corn, but we grow the sorghum ourselves so we have it nearly all the time. Dad is good at growing things. Everyone says so. People come to him for advice about their fields sometimes. They say he is a natural. They say it is his ‘Hutu blood’, whatever that means.
The porridge is OK today – I put extra milk on to make it sweeter. The milk comes from our cows. Granddad gave them to Mummy when she married Daddy.
‘Miam miam! The porridge is lovely!’ Jeanette says to Mum. I am not sure whether she really means it. She says it every time. Her family does not have any cows though. I know I am luckier than her.
And that makes me think of this morning down by the river and the birds with the red eyes – and the one that seemed to blame me for the things that Jeanette did. And the eyes make me think of Uncle Leonard so I say,
‘Where is Uncle Leonard today?’ because he has been sleeping at our house so often for the last few weeks.
Mum gives Dad the look that she gave him when she asked me the meaning of Sebwgugu’s story.
Dad adds more sugar to his tea and as he stirs it says, ‘Uncle Leonard has gone away. He has gone far away, so we may not see him for a very long time.’
‘Where has he gone to, Dad?’ Pio seems as surprised as I am to hear the news.
‘He has gone to England.’
Lord, that is far away. I have sometimes dreamed about going to England – by aeroplane.
‘Why?’
‘Pio, it is complicated, but he was not very happy here any more. He needed to make a fresh start.’
It feels like Dad does not want to say any more, and so I say something to stop Pio asking more questions,
‘One day perhaps we can all visit Uncle Leonard and Auntie Rose in England!’
Dad finishes his tea, gets up, kisses my head and grabs his machete from its place by the door.
‘It is time for me to go to work and you to go to school. Nice to see you again, Jeanette. Say hello to your mother and father for me tonight.’
‘I will!’
But as Dad walks out into the brightness, Mum hurries after him.
‘Finish your breakfast and prepare for school,’ she says over her shoulder. Then in her stern voice we hear, ‘Jean-Baptiste!’
Pio and I look at each other for a moment to see if the other is going to do as they were told or do what is more tempting. We quickly jump up and go to the doorway, being careful to stay just inside where it is dark, and we listen.
‘Jean-Baptiste, do you leave me to explain the truth to them when they see Rose is still in Nyamata?’
‘She rarely comes this way and it is not likely they will go that far if they think she has left too.’
‘Do not fool yourself; they will see her eventually and they will ask her where Leonard is if we have not told them the situation.’
‘I will explain later, darling.’ Dad sounds tired suddenly. ‘I will!’
‘You tell that story to Clem this morning to mock me then.’
‘No! Chantal, perhaps I tell that story to tell myself what an idiot Leonard has been. But he needs help too. He is my brother and I pray he will find the help he needs in England.’
‘You pray he will not bring shame on your family, so you help him to go as far away as possible.’
‘It is for the best. Especially now.’
Nobody is speaking. There is just the sound of the earth in our courtyard being scraped by a foot.
‘I must get to the field. I love you.’
I think I hear the sound of a kiss but Pio has run to our room so I follow before Mum returns. As she enters the house I hear her say,
‘Thank you,