Stupid paradise

Betrayal

‘Uksmar wants to see you.’ The feather warrior was expressionless under the angry, intricate face paint.

Kihlanni stopped weaving. What could Uksmar want? She had just left him, after breaking fast in his home with tapioca bread and a warm chocolate drink with vanilla and cinnamon. She shared most nights with the leader, and the first waking moments, but they rarely spent time together during the day.

She stood up. ‘Take me to him.’ She remained outwardly calm, but her heart was beating fast in her chest.

She followed the warrior through the rainforest path that led to the settlement. The leaves above were wet and a the few branches fallen from the canopy were covered in bromeliads and orchids.

‘You wanted to see me?’ She asked as she stepped into the tent of the man who was her leader and her lover. He looked up at her. There was a map on a table in the middle of the room and around it stood the four head warriors. Mekh, his second in command, was standing next to him, hands clasped in front of his broad body, his back straight and his dark surly gaze fixed on her. She smiled disarmingly at Uksmar, and then nodded at Mekh. Had they found it?

‘Yes.’ His voice was soft and guarded. ‘Do you recognise this?’ He held out one of her markers, a short dart with green and gold feathers. She tried to think quickly. Where could they have found it? If they had found it by the secret entrance, there would be no doubt that a traitor put it there. Or could they have found the ones she hid in her tent? That would explain how they traced it back to her, but it hardly warranted a solemn meeting like his one. But why had they called her? Had someone seen her placing the dart?

She studied it carefully. ‘I don't believe I do. I'm confused, my chief. What's the importance of this?’ She used a sweet voice and ignored the cold sweat running down her back. She fixed her eyes on the leader, getting strength from the love she knew he felt for her, and avoided Mekh's eyes altogether.

‘She's lying’ His voice boomed. Uksmar shot an angry look at his captain. ‘Let her speak.’ And to her, ‘Mekh believes that you placed this dart as a signpost. One of his warriors claims he saw you.’

‘A signpost?’ she said, her eyes open wide. ‘Signpost to what?’

‘The secret path.’ The one that would lead general Diego to us. You do know his army is stationed north of the rock hill?’

She nodded. Everyone knew this. The invading general had been looking for them for many moons. Theirs was the only tribe that remained unconquered, largely due to their ability to remain unseen. Hidden in a small recess of the rainforest, next to the canyon cliff, a long fall at one end, and a small path through the rocky face of the mountain as the only entrance on the other end. A path that had been protected with magic, the one weapon that the enemy neither possessed nor expected.

‘The dart is showing exactly where to walk into the heart of the rock. We don't know for how long it's been there, or whether Diego's army has seen it. And we don't know who...’

‘It was her, Uksmar. Mo' Nab' saw him.’ Mekh interrupted, his voice a low growl.

Kihlanni felt sick. So they had seen her. It was over. She would now die the painful death of the traitors, it didn't matter that she was the chief's lover. Uksmar didn't say anything, waiting for her response. The silence in the room was thick as brume, and all the men were looking at her. Her mind raced looking for a way out.

‘My chief,’she said, allowing some of the fear to slip into her voice. ‘I have never seen this object. I understand the grave accusation made against me, and I beg you not to believe it. I don't know why anyone would accuse me of such treason, but whatever their motives, I believe you're being betrayed twice over., by placing the blame on me.’ She kept her voice steady and her eyes locked with her lover's. In his eyes he saw a desperate hope growing as she spoke. She knew him well.

Uksmar gestured a man forward. ‘Mo' Nab', tell us what you saw.’

The young warrior cleared his throat. ‘I, I saw her, my chief.’ He took a small step forward. ‘She, um, she was walking into the path through the rock. I saw her because the moon gave some light. There was a shining object in her hand. I was out checking my rabbit traps. She didn't see me. I thought it was odd, but none of my business, so I didn't say anything.’ The soldier looked down.

‘When did this happen?’

‘Two nights ago. I only remembered today when I heard the men talking about the marker by the false rock and about how the invaders will now find us and kill us.’ the young man looked embarrassed. ‘I mean, that's what the others are saying, my chief.’

‘I want to believe you,’ he said to her, and his voice was heavy with sadness. ‘But I don't see what this warrior would gain by lying. If you did place that dart signalling the entrance to our settlement, I ask you to admit it now. If you have betrayed this tribe that welcomed you and accepted you as one of us,’ he said and his eyes hardened, as if he no longer addressed her but a stranger ‘say so now. You will find us merciful. You will have a quick and painless death, and will be given a decent burial.’

‘But, my chief,’ Mekh started. Uksmar silenced him with a raised hand but didn't stop looking at Kihlanni.

‘Accept what you've done.’ His words were stern but she saw in his eyes one last desperate question. He still clinged to the hope that she was innocent.

She let tears run down her cheeks. ‘I didn't do this, my love. I don't know why I'm being accused like this. I would never do such a thing. But do with me as you wish.’ She fell on her knees before him. If she got out of this alive she would run to the hills and to the general's tent.

For a few moments, the room fell silent again. Mekh broke the silence by banging his fist on the table. His eyes were dark and furious, but he spoke respectfully. ‘My chief,’ he said. ‘If you'll allow me, I'll conduct a search of her quarters. And yours.’ At this last words Uksmar looked up, surprised. After a few moments, he nodded.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will go with you. Everyone else waits here.’

> go to page 3

> go to page 5

Mist- page 3

2009-08-27T13:34:00.000-07:00

Army

The man standing on the hill looked at the rocky face at the end of the valley below. Frowning, he pondered his options.

‘The marker is gone’, he said. Beside him stood a younger, leaner man. General Diego had promoted him to captain after his remarkable bravery during the defeat of the Akalla tribe. Captain Andrea was very capable, and what he lacked in experience he compensated with courage, but his pride sometimes became stubbornness and that was no way to win wars. Still, Diego trusted him and was very glad to have him as second in command.

‘Do you think the woman was discovered?’ Andrea asked his General.

The General didn't reply. He looked at the valley below. This was a wealthy, beautiful land, with long pastures, extended coast lines of crystalline waters, dense vegetation and blue skies. The most incredible animals roamed the rain forest. Just the other night his men on patrol had seen a small spotted panther watching them from behind a large tree trunk, its eyes shining green discs under the moonlight. It was a magical land, with its abundance in gold, silver, jade and other precious stones the empire had never seen, its brave if rudimentary savage soldiers, and its imposing temples to pagan gods.

Magic, yes, in the sense of the wonders a new world can hold, but a path hidden by magic? A false rock on the foot of the hill, an illusion of a rock?

He had seen it himself, once the collaborator woman had placed the signpost as she had promised. She had arrived to the camp three nights back, and his men had had the sense to bring her to him unharmed. She spoke their language well enough to make herself understood. She was different from the savages he'd encountered so far. She hadn't asked for gold, or for safe conduct for her family. She hadn't been terrified like the other natives who turned on their people to save their own necks. No, what she wanted was power. She had asked for a place by his side. And in return she offered a wealth of information. She promised she would lead them to the elusive Shilapa, and to their renowned treasure. Magic, she had claimed. Spells. A book of chants that was a book of magic. General Diego sighed. He had heard of this book but he had no interest in it. He thought it another quaint pagan book, like the many they had found in the tribes. The conquered Akalla had had a small library in their temple, one that had been burnt after the suggestion of father Antonio. Interesting how father Antonio would have the savage's books destroyed but would insist on keeping the jade figurines and the silver bowls that were used for ceremonial purposes in the temples. General Diego didn't mind. He wasn't particularly interested in the mines either, although he did like bringing golden necklaces, amethyst rings and other ornaments to his wife in the old continent.

He was interested in the significance of the battles in this conquest. He wanted glory and a place in history. The savages were brave and resourceful, they were a proud people. And although they were no match for his army's gunpowder and armour, they knew their land very well and they didn't surrender easily. The Shilapa tribe, the last in the southern region of the peninsula, had hidden extremely well. The other tribes admired them deeply and the stories of their treasures and magical powers were most far fetched. The General had come close to deciding that they were just a legend. His men had canvassed the land, patiently and thoroughly for two months. They had seen no sign of the Shilapa.

And then this woman had come. She had arrived in the dead of night, and had asked to see the leader of the army. She was dressed in silk, with amber and jade adorning her neck. A sign not only that she was important in the hierarchy of her folk, but also that she didn't belong to any of the tribes they had encountered in the region, which were all colourful but simply dressed in their cotton garments with patterned embroidery.

She had shown him a golden dart with bright red and green feathers attached to its end. ‘This will lead you to my people,’ she said. ‘It will open the secret entrance for you and for the inevitable progress you bring to these lands.’ Of course didn't believe her, but had been intrigued all the same and had agreed to her terms out of curiosity. Provided she gave them access to the Shilapa and their secrets, he guaranteed her safety and a place by his side in the campaign, and once it was over, she would remain a counsellor. If it played out this way, she would have to be watched constantly, he thought. She was, after all, a traitor.

Still believing that she was lying, he left the next night, leading a group of ten heavily armed soldiers to the foot of the hill below, looking for the dart she had claimed would be marking the entrance to the ‘magic door’. They found it on the ground, in front of the solid rock wall at the edge of the valley.

He didn't believe anyone could live on the other side of the rock wall, the ships had reported a high cliff top above the canyon on this side of the river, inaccessible and populated only by eagle's nests and gnarled trees.

He ordered his men to approach the bright green red feathers shining under the moon. He then asked them to have their firearms ready and dismounted the horse in silence and walked to the dart. He picked it up under the curious eyes of his men, and looked around him. Nothing but a humid ground covered in lichen, and the rock wall. He took two cautious steps along it and then back, looking up, searching for any other signal. Perhaps a hidden ladder? Or a play of light and shade hiding an entrance? The naked rock stared back at him. He put his hand against the rock wall, thinking of pushing it. His arm touched only air and he almost fell, taken off balance by the unexpected gap in the wall. He squinted, his eyes disoriented in the sudden darkness. This was an entrance. On the other side a narrow path ran inside the rock. He went back to his men and rode back to camp. He would assemble his army and go back in full strength.

Two days had passed since then, and he stood now at the top the hill, looking down on the secret entrance to the Shilapa lands, his army behind him ready for his command.

‘We march,’ he said to Andrea. ‘The hidden tribe might be expecting us but that makes no difference. By this time tomorrow their lands will belong to us’.

> go to page 5

Mist- page 4

2009-08-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

< go to page 3

Decision

Uksmar and Mekh watched the girl Bansha and her grandfather the craftsman from the chief's tent.

The old man was holding a wild white-nosed coati. The long nosed creature had a lame leg, and the craftsman held it in his hands, humming in an even tenor voice and caressing the cinnamon soft fur. The animal had initially struggled but was now still. Bansha, stood in front of them, asking questions in her high pitched voice.

‘Can you imagine them as slaves, Mekh?’ asked Uksmar. ‘Forced to work in the mines until they go blind or die?’

Mekh didn't reply.

‘Or Bansha, taken away from her grandfather and held as a domestic slave, the richness of her life here replaced with house chores, her mist dancing on the top of the cliff becoming a faint memory while she's treated little better than an animal?’

Mekh shook his head slowly. ‘My chief, we can face them. I am willing to fight them to my death.’

‘That would not be helpful, Mekh. They only kill the warriors. You, me, the other strong men. Then they capture the rest of the tribe and chain them to a life of misery.’

‘We can hold them while you walk south and take the forest path. Kihlanni only gave them the entrance she knew about. You can then look for a secure place on the other side where the Shilapa can live.’

‘That plan holds no hope. Even if you did hold them long enough for the rest of us to reach the forest path, the lands on the outside are densely populated, and all of the other tribes are now under the control of the conquistadors. We would only be postponing the inevitable’ Uksmar didn't comment on the accusation. It didn't matter anymore that they had found the feathered darts among Kilhanni's clothes. They stood in silence.

Down the path, the craftsman released the black and brown coati on the ground. The animal took a few tentative steps and then darted for cover on four perfectly healthy legs, provoking an excited squeak from the girl Bansha.

Uksmar smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes. ‘We will all leave together, Mekh.’ All but one, he thought. She has made her choice. ‘Nothing is to be gained by facing them.’

His captain growled. ‘I am sorry my chief, but I can not do that. I will not run from them like a scared insect. I will stay and fight, even if I am the the only one who does.’

The chief's voice was flat as he answered his most trusted man. ‘I said nothing of running.’

> go to page 5

Mist - page 5

2009-08-27T13:08:00.000-07:00

Path

In the hard edged darkness, the passage waited, silent. They had to remove their plate armour to step into the corridor. Torches and firearms at the ready, every step brought them closer to the Shilapa territory. There was no shouting, no clang of sword against armour, no decisive stamping on the earth. Instead there was stealth and a rushed expectation. The long corridor inside the rock transformed them into quiet thieves, into careful explorers.

Darkness ahead and darkness behind, on and on the passage went, long beyond what they had expected. The wall of rock on each side tightened high above their heads until only a sliver of stars remained of the outside world.

Smoke. A scent of burning. General Diego knew very well what that meant. ‘We must hurry, they are on the run,’ he said in a half whisper, and raced deeper into the passage, fast even when his sides banged and scraped against the sharp rock.

* * *

Her father had once told her that everyone is alone in the world, and that to believe otherwise is to trust an illusion.

Those were the last words she heard him say, and after that she was captured by another tribe. Kihlanni, princess of the moon, dew gatherer and golden daughter of pillis, had been stolen when she was eight years old. Being of noble birth, she had not been made into a slave, but had nevertheless led a life of eternal captivity and isolation. When Uksmar had visited her host tribe, and fallen in love with the beautiful, solemn young woman, a trade had been made and she had been glad for it.

She had ended living with the Shilapa, and had been grateful for it at the time. But years went by, and for all her weaving, singing and poetry transcriptions into bark codices, she was still a foreigner and still felt utterly alone. In this tribe of magic makers hidden away from the world, she had replaced one form of captivity for another. She felt trapped. She couldn't see the world and the big changes she suspected were taking place in the ruling classes of the main tribes. But the worst thing was that she was no longer princess of the moon, dew gatherer and golden daughter of pillis, she was only plain Kihlanni, the adopted one, the one without magic. She was, as her father had said, alone in the world.

And that was why, when she heard Uksmar talk to the guards outside her tent, and after she realised they had all left, she remained inside. She wore her silk dress and her jade and silver earrings, and she waited for the new world that was coming to find her.

* * *

‘It's time for us to leave,’ said Uksmar to his tribe. They were all in the clearing. The children had sleepy faces as they had been woken up for the gathering. Completely still, they watched him. A fire blazed bright in the middle of the circle they formed. Above them the pale night, the stars weaker now as the sun made its way to the edge of the earth. There was no wind. ‘We must go before sunrise,’ he added. ‘They are already in the path inside the rock and soon they will be here.’

They burnt the sacred books of chants and their scrolls of poetry, the flower and the song. Carrying small bundles of their belongings, music instruments, carvings, dry herbs, they left their settlement.

Mehk, wearing his battle face paint, walked tall by his leader's side. The rest of the tribe followed closely, flanked by the warriors. Bansha held her grandfather's hand, picking her way carefully in the uneven ground in light sandalled steps.

Uksmar lead following the slope down. He turned neither north to follow the rock toward the second passage, nor to the southern trail, but went on into the dense vegetation leading to the river. They crossed the thickest part of the rainforest under broad leaves and cricket songs, treading softly on increasingly damp soil under the shade of lush canopy. When they stepped out of the dense forest and into the rocks surrounding the cliffs, the wind picked up, dampening their faces and clothes with humid morning.

In the cold light of the early hours, bird song showered the earth. The Shilapa walked on, side by side, mothers and sons, warriors and artisans. Between her mother and grandfather, Bansha walked, her muddy hands inside theirs. She had insisted on planting the last of her mother's medicinal herbs before leaving.

They reached the edge of the cliff cold under their cotton cloaks. Silently they stood, those who arrived later gathering behind the first. Above them the sky begun to warm up to daylight, and around them the buffeting wind cried. Far below the river sparkled like their jewels, ever flowing and free.

A woman standing too close to the edge slipped on a loose rock and had to be helped up by those near her. Bansha took in a sharp breath and gripped her grandfather's hand tightly.

Uksmar and his warriors were the first. They jumped into the gap, into the vast basin of wind and mist that separated them from the river. Others followed, and all around them Bansha heard the wind whispering secret words she could almost understand. Her mother's hand holding hers hesitated briefly, like a butterfly, but finally her grip became soft and sure, and as she took the last step, she said ‘come with us, Bansha.’

Draft - A vastness

2008-07-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

A vastness expands within me,
inside a particle with no measure -
like an instant of space.

I am much smaller.
It threatens to explode,
I will fall from this horizon.

My heart opens,
I spill forth like a fountain. The gates
also open, then flood
my body,

a symphony through my veins, tumbling,
unfolding
symmetries, crystals, paper flowers.
Snowflakes.

I spill from this wound and into
the night of space, into a cave buffeted by wind,
onto heavy seas under winter rain.

A silent child stands under a tree,
above him a leaf shining in warm sunlight,
around them

many worlds flutter and spin, drawn
to the center they define
just by breathing together
free from death.

KIMA - TABLE OF CONTENTS

2008-07-09T18:39:00.000-07:00

KIMA

I-Arrival

II-Instructions

III-Senzala

IV-Shebeh

V-Fields

VI-River

VII-Casa grande

VIII-Games

IX-Bonfire

X-Alebrije

Chapter 1 - Arrival

2008-07-09T18:32:00.000-07:00

Arrival

Kima arrived to the new world on a bright summer afternoon. She came up to the deck of the ship with the others, their ankles still locked and linked, right foot of one together with the left foot of the next. The sun was round and intense and she squinted, disoriented after weeks spent in the lower decks.

The men who guided them were mostly African, but they often spoke a foreign language. Kima had heard it during the trip, and she understood some of it now. At the very least she understood the orders they were given. It was a deceptively melodic language; it didn’t have the rough edges of the meanings it conveyed.

‘Move,’ yelled the overseer. He was a thin, stringy man, with long hair and a bony face. He pushed them, grabbing them by the shoulders, rushing them down the plank, down the hulking ship and unto a long wooden dock that led to the street. Kima tried to walk steadily, but the dock bobbed up and down under her. The port was bright and humid, the air smelled of salt and there was a lot of light and many unfamiliar noises. There were men shouting in the docks nearby, and crates being moved. There was the constant sound of people clambering in or out of boats and the loud cries of seagulls as they circled around fish containers.

Her hands were free of chains, and she used them to rub her eyes. Her dark hair was tangled and her dress was grubby and soiled. Her legs were stiff after being still for so long. She walked, half tugging and half tugged, but she was glad to be outside; she liked the sound of the ocean, the smell of clean air, the feel of the slippery wood under her bare feet and the sight of the seagulls standing on the planks, looking at them with curiosity.

Kima had never seen seagulls before. She walked past one of them perching on a cleat with a rope tied to it. It was not the most graceful of animals, but it was strong and unconcerned. The girl reached for it with her hand, and it took flight and then landed back without urgency. When the slave traders had come to her village, Kima had run in a panic with the rest of the villagers: she had been caught and carried away nevertheless.

Arrival page 2

2008-07-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

Once they reached the street, they were split into groups of around a dozen each, and separated. The thin overseer took her group to a wagon. It had bars around the walls on the inside, and they were chained by the ankles and wrists to wooden stalls. They were crammed inside, shoulder against shoulder, the heavy chain between their feet. A thick cloth was used to cover the wagon, and then it creaked and shook into motion. Kima fell back into a familiar dark, crowded and humid world; one where she fell in and out of sleep, where all she could feel was the close proximity of the other people. Over a third of the original captives had fallen ill and died during their journey, her father among them.

The heat had been unbearable in the ship, the air very rare. The day her father had died, she hadn't been able to be near him. She saw it and she felt it, but from a distance, shackled as she was to the wrist of another sick man who couldn't move. The moment after her father died she hadn't cried, but every breath she took had been a wheezing, rasping sound and she had felt a sharp pain in her chest. Her limbs had become numb and even in the heat of the crowded deck, her feet became icy cold. She drifted out of consciousness then, maybe for a long time, and after she came back to, she found that she knew how to ignore the sounds and the presence of the others, and to spend her time in a dozed state, making time thin and soft, waiting.

She woke up again once they reached their destination. The wagon was uncovered and a bright curtain of light splashed her face. They were led out, and a soft green, sweet smelling earth welcomed her bare feet. Another wagon was behind theirs, and more slaves where coming out of it. The day was still warm, although the sun was close to the horizon. The thin overseer guided them across the field. She could see drops of dew in the grass, and wild yellow flowers growing here and there, and in the distance a wall. The rusty chain held her ankle tight, pressing and pulling as they took their synchronized steps. They followed the man until they arrived at a door standing in the middle of the tall brick wall. It had intricate flowing patterns carved on light wood. Their guide shouted a greeting and banged on the door with his stick, three times. They heard quick footsteps approaching on the other side.

‘Who’s there?’ came a voice from behind the doors.

‘Ghero,’ replied their overseer, in Bantu. ‘I’m here to deliver the next lot of slaves. Open the door’.

There was a sound of the door being unbolted, and the doors were open wide by an old black man with white curly hair and a slightly bent back. He closed the door after them and instructed them to follow him, his jaw quivering slightly as he spoke. He led them across a path on the green grass and around a tall white house with arched windows, into an inner patio at the back of it. There they waited.

-> Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Instructions

2008-07-09T17:16:00.001-07:00

Instructions

Side by side they waited. They were all tired, weak after the weeks they had spent aboard the ship. Kima looked around. There was a fountain, and green plants she had never seen before. The house itself folded around the inner patio where they stood; it was a white and burgundy building, with wide arches opening into a hall. Flowers spilled down from baskets hanging at the top of the arches, under wrought iron banisters in the second floor. There were iron ornaments also in the entrance gate and on the windows. Under her feet, red-brown tiles defined a path that crossed the patio and led to the main building.

The sun was coming down, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Kima's legs where shaking slightly, and her joints felt stiff and achy. She looked at the man she was tied to. He was a young man who regarded her with expressionless wide eyes before looking away.

Every now and then someone would shuffle and the chains would rattle together. They heard voices coming from the upper floor of the house, running steps, and then a girl's giggle. A black woman walked past them, and into the house, carrying a heavy sack.

She didn't know for how long they waited. It felt like a long time. It was uncomfortable to be standing, fixed as they were to each other. After what felt like a long wait, a young man arrived.

He talked to Ghero in that other language, and he smiled with an easy, relaxed smile. But the look he gave the slaves was not relaxed. With a quick glance of his intense green eyes he took them all in. He had short, light brown hair that hung closely to his head like his clothes hung to his lean, strong arms. He talked a lot, a steady stream of words flowing from his mouth. Kima picked up words here and there, she thought she heard the words ‘tomorrow’, ‘again’, and ‘dead’.

Instructions page 2

2008-07-09T17:16:00.000-07:00

This man reminded Kima of an angry colobus monkey, walking all tense and looking ready to bite you if you came close. But in the surface, he smiled. He smiled while he walked, and he talked smoothly. Kima wondered who he was, and what he was going to do with them. She knew she would have to work as a slave from now on, but she wondered how it would be. None of the slaves had said anything since they had arrived at the port, they had all found their silence during the dark trip across the ocean. She didn't know why, but when the colobus man walked past her, she stood a little bit straighter. The man barely looked at her and moved on. He gave what seemed to be his final instructions to Ghero and then left, trotting up the steps to the arched hall and striding quickly away and into the house.

‘Listen to me now!’ Ghero said loudly, puffing his thin chest, addressing them in Bantu. ‘I will take you to the senzala, where you will live. Four of you will go in each room. Families can live together. You are not allowed to walk out beyond the fence. It is not allowed for you to leave the compound. If you try to leave, you will be shot and killed. Start walking now, this way’ He led them out of the patio and into the path they had followed earlier, this time walking in the opposite direction, into the fields and away from the fence and the main doors. The sky was almost dark and the slaves stumbled many times on loose rocks or holes in the ground.

They arrived in front of a tall, old building and Ghero had them stop. He kept talking as he started opening the shackles and removing the chains.

‘The punishment for entering the main house without been requested is twenty lashes. You'll soon learn how bad it can get if you break the rules. Ask those who are already here if you don't believe me’ He chuckled, and he hit the ground with his stick. ‘The upper floor is where you're likely to find empty rooms, the downstairs area is full with those who came before you. Further down this path you will find the river, where you can wash yourselves and your clothes. Every evening you will be given corn and rice to cook once you return from the fields. That's all you need to know. Tomorrow morning, there will be a bell ringing to wake you up, and you need to be back down here, ready to go to work in the fields, ten minutes after you hear it.’

And without saying another word, he left.

-> Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Senzala

2008-07-09T17:11:00.001-07:00

Senzala

It was a tall building, painted a faded pink and its walls were scarred with cracks. Older than the house with the patio, it had long blue framed windows, and a tiled roof. Kima could not see the fields around them any more, but she heard a flock of birds calling in shrill voices as they flew past.

The slaves looked around them and at each other, nobody saying anything. Two families grouped together, a man holding his wife and two young brothers standing close to each other. Eventually, the silence was broken by soft talk, with those in groups talking hesitantly to each other, asking quiet questions on what to do next, and they soon started to walk to the old steps that led to second floor of the pink building.

Kima stayed still, looking at them. The building in front of her seemed to her like a big monster with blue teeth and a cracked hide. She looked at the wooden door leading to the first floor rooms: it was a mouldy, old door. She stood still in the night.

The song of the crickets grew louder as the darkness around her made the empty spaces grow, separating her from the main house, stretching the fields and moving everything away, isolating her. The tall trees and the senzala where small islands of reality that seemed too far away. The path they had followed earlier was also surrounded by darkness, she could see a few meters of it and then it drifted into nothing. She felt very small and she thought anything could come out of the dark at any time. She knew that that which was beyond her sight was not the same as what had been there before.

Her breath became short and wheezing, and she held a hand against her chest. A woman walked past her, carrying a bundle of wet clothes, rushing into the building. She didn't look at Kima.

Senzala page 2

2008-07-09T17:11:00.000-07:00

An owl called from a nearby tree. As if she had just woken up, Kima started walking, following the woman who was now disappearing into the senzala's wooden door. Kima walked up the steps slowly. They were cold under her feet, and they creaked as she stepped softly on them. The entrance to the second floor was a dark, narrow corridor that turned right after a few meters and ran along a series of doors. Most of them were closed, a faint light spilling out from under some of them.

She opened a heavy, broken door which led to a small dark room. It was very dirty, and it smelled like the ship, of illness and faeces and blood. There were some old rags in a corner over the cement floor, and insects buzzed around them

She crouched in the centre of the room, as far from the rubbish as she could, and she held her knees together with her hands. She rested her head down over her legs, and closed her eyes. An unbidden memory came to her then, of her mother. She wished she could see her now. Her mother would want to comb her hair because it was so tangled, and it would be painful because her mother was never careful when she combed her hair.

She couldn't stay here. She got up and left the room. She walked down the corridor until she found another dark door. She tried to open it, but it was locked on the inside. She went to the next door, she could see light coming from it, so she knocked.

A middle aged man with sunken eyes and yellowed skin opened the door, then looked quickly around the corridor before focusing on her.

‘What do you want, little girl?’ he asked, in Bantu. Kima recognised him from the ship.

‘I need a place to stay, ’ she replied.

‘No, no, no,’ he said, looking around her at the corridor. ‘We have no space left. Sorry, little girl’ Then he shut the door without another word.

Kima thought of the darkness outside and then ran back up the corridor and downstairs. She found the door with most light behind it, and knocked on it as hard as she could.

-> Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Shebeh

2008-07-09T17:07:00.001-07:00

Shebeh

‘Al right,’ Shebeh said, as soon as Kima finished explaining. ‘You can take a small corner in the room. But let’s be clear about two things. I am not your mother, and I don’t need to feed you. What food you bring to the table, you can eat. And don’t start taking more room than your corner. My children belong here and they always come first. Now don’t look so sullen, girl, make the most of it. It’s not my fault that your da decided to die on that ship.’

She had made it sound as if her father had chosen to die, as if it had been his fault. The fact of the matter was that he had been ill even before they were chained on the ship’s lower deck. The journey in the closed space, with all that coughing and so little to eat, that had killed him.

‘Konu, take this girl to the river. What's your name, girl? Take Kima to the river. Help her wash her clothes, and then hurry back so you can both have some rice and go to sleep.’ And then, to Kima, ‘But from tomorrow you'll get your own food.’

The boy was probably one or two years younger than her, maybe around ten years old. He proudly led her by candlelight out of the building, around the path and into a trail that led down a small hill and into the river. Tall trees grew on both sides of it, Kapok trees, Konu said they were called. The river itself was not too deep, but it was wide. She put her hand in the water and it was fresh. Her hand swam like fish amongst the reflected stars, making them shine and flicker as the dark water stirred between her fingers.

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She walked slowly into the water. It was cool but not cold. She closed her eyes, and she could feel her breathing become slower and deeper and her body relaxing. She rested her head back in the water, and then opened her eyes, and all she could see where the shades of green from the leaves of the kapok trees, and fireflies fluttering around them.

She didn't know how much time had passed when Konu spoke.

‘Here, you can use this to scrub clean. Give me your clothes, I will wash them while you do it. We must hurry back.’ he gave her a lye soap. Kima took off her clothes and handed them to the boy, who took them without hesitation.

‘Why are you alone?’ he asked, while he washed her dress against a rock in the riverbank. ‘Did your mother also die on the ship? Orphans don't survive long here. You really need a mother to take care of you.’

Kima didn't reply. She used the soft soap to wash all the dirt from her skin. Once Konu was done with the dress, he asked her to hurry. Kima reluctantly came out of the water, and she put the wet clothes back on, and although the night was not very cold, she was shivering by the time they got back to the senzala.

‘It's very late, you took too long.’ Shebeh told them, and she didn't look happy. ‘Here, get out of that dress and wrap yourself in this.’ She gave Kima a brown rough spun blanket to wrap in and took the dress to dry next to the fire. Then she handed them both a bowl with rice, and they ate it with wooden paddles for spoons.

‘Tonight you can sleep in this blanket, by the fire. But from tomorrow, you will sleep on the corner by the door, and you will have to help with the cooking. Now go to sleep. We must be dressed and ready to leave tomorrow, straight after the bell rings.’

-> Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Fields

2008-07-09T16:53:00.003-07:00

Fields

Morning came and they gathered in the grass in front of the senzala. From there they were taken a few miles away to the fields. It took them more than half an hour to get there, so they needed to get started while it was still dark.

Kima walked in silence like everyone else. Shebeh’s husband, Kwame, had explained to her that it was better to behave well. He told her that their master was kinder than other planters, because he allowed them to come back from the fields as soon as it was dark, that was unless they were in the sugar-boiling season. Their master was good, and he believed that it was better to let the slaves rest and live longer, and even have children. He also gave them two barrels of ears of corn and a pint of salt per month, even some meat when it was cheap. We should be grateful for that, he had said. But as Kima walked beside the mules, hearing them snort in the dark, she didn’t feel grateful. She didn’t care much about the two barrels of corn, in fact she didn’t care much about anything. She wished she was back in Ndongo, and she wished her father hadn’t died on the boat.

They arrived in the fields and the sky was already a light grey. She felt the breeze on her skin and she tightened her shoulders. It was never really cold here, but the lack of sleep made her shiver. Her body felt slowed down.

There was a man standing in front of the plantation. He was a tall man, with square shoulders and an angular face, not fat like the overseer who had led them from the senzala. He counted them as they walked into the path bordering the sugar canes. When Kima came, slightly ahead of the mules, he put out an arm to stop her. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘She came in with the lot that arrived on Saturday,’ replied the man who had taken them to the field. ‘She was with the rest of the cargo, she came almost for free.’

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Fields page 2

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‘Another useless bony one,’ said the burly man as he stared Kima down. She stood in front of him, her thin arms bending at her pointy elbows, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her head was tilted down but she was looking up at the overseer, her eyes wide open and direct. After a moment the man made a dismissive gesture with his hand and as she went past, he said ‘in a couple of years she’ll be more useful.’

Once in the field, Shebeh gave her hurried instructions. She gave her a machete that was as long as her arm, and she told her how to hold the cane stems with one hand while sawing with the other. The men could cut them branding the machete like an axe, but Kima was too small for that, and the skin of the canes too thick. She had to work through each one, sawing it at an angle. She had to stoop to cut the cane at ground level because the most sugary section was the lower one and it couldn’t be left behind.

Once she had accumulated a pile of them she was to take them back to the mules so Konu could tie them into a bundle and then fix them to their backs. Shebeh warned her to be careful with the machete, because cuts from it where very common. Kima held it and it was heavy, difficult to balance. At first she had to hold it with both hands to keep it steady, but after a while her body learnt the weight of the tool, and she could hold it with one hand. It still took a lot of effort to cut the thick, fibrous sugar cane.

The sun soon came out. The earth started getting hot straight away, and the slaves worked in rows, busy and silent. After many sawed stems, Kima’s right hand had blisters and her left hand, which she used to hold the canes in place, had many small cuts. She carried on, quietly, trying to do her share. She was very tired, and the more tired she felt the less she cared about anything. Her body felt numb, the ache reaching her as if it was hiding under rags of cotton. She tried to do her work and be good like the others. Shebeh and Konu had said that if she broke the rules, they would all get a whipping as well, not only her.

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With the sun fully out, the field was revealed, full of green canes slightly bent by the breeze, the nearby palm trees with thick leaves, and a small plantation hut at the other end with it’s dry brown roof. The mules don’t like the work either, she thought when she went back with the cane bundles to be tied. They are also tired. She went back and asked Shebeh if she could work tying bundles with Konu for a while. Shebeh dismissed her with a ‘shhhh, carry on’. So she went to Kwame, and asked the same thing.

‘We’re not supposed to talk,’ Kwame whispered back, hunching his shoulders.

‘Why not?’ she replied in her girl’s voice. Kwame looked at her with worried eyes, and before he could answer the whip came down. It hit Kima in her back, her left shoulder and her left hand. The overseer shouted behind her, ‘Get back to work!’, and Kima’s hand also shouted, it seared, in an explosion of pain. She felt her hand burn, but also in her mind there was a burning red feeling. She stared at the overseer, who brought his whip back again. At that moment Shebeh pulled her strongly and brought her back to the work.

Kima’s hand bled for a while, but the wound was not deep. It swelled under the heat of the sun, and it opened again sometimes when she held the cane stems. But she carried on working, her mind silenced for a time. She patted the mules next time she went to them, and she looked past the crops and into a large world, green under the bright blue sky. Shinning in the heat, far away, but next to her at the same time. She wished she was that darker band of air far in the distance over the earth, just out of reach, looking but not being, elsewhere under the sun and the wind. ‘The overseers like to scare us’, she thought.’ They shout, and they whip, but I am not afraid of them.’

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Fields page 4

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< go to page 3

They got back to the senzala after it was already dark, and then they had to carry out many errands and chores that the masters had accumulated for them during the day, such as mending and washing clothes, cooking and taking care of the horses and the mules. Shebeh went out to grind the corn, and told Konu to stay and help her clean her hand and bandage it with a rag. Kwame went to chop wood to make a fire for cooking. As they ate, nobody talked about the day.

That night, as the previous night in her new world, Kima couldn’t sleep well. There wasn’t enough moonlight, so there was no point in going to the river, and she rested in her corner by the door staring at the ceiling. She didn’t feel like sleeping. She wished she didn’t have to get up the next day, either. Her whole body wanted to seep into the floor, it ached in several places, and she felt a heavy tiredness.

She drifted in and out of sleep. When she was awake, she was aware of something sweet and pungent that lived in her forehead, behind her eyes. A feeling that extended into her arms and legs, a hurt that ran inside her from one end to the other, overwhelming everything else. Making her numb inside. Blind too: she remembered the things that had happened during the day, but the memories only touched her after they went over an internal wall that rendered them grey, lifeless. She was separating things, the outside world and her inside world, obscuring both. She could feel her skin’s heat where the whip had touched her, in her shoulder and her arm, and in her bandaged hand. And her arms felt loose, without strength. But all of this felt far away, as if she couldn’t hear it.

Very few things felt real. ‘Do I need to wake up tomorrow?’, she thought, and then she heard the birds singing as they started to wake up before the day began. The singing was beautiful and painful, like the feeling that had grown inside her. But the bird’s songs were sharp, agile, a little world contained in each melody.

Chapter 6

River

2008-07-09T16:48:00.000-07:00

River

The following days were all the same. Kima would wake up early in the dark, eat a bowl of cooked corn, or rice, and gather in the lawn in front of the senzala with the others. They would then walk to the fields, where they would work a long, tiring day under the sun. She gradually learned more of the language of the planters.

On their return, they would always have to take care of all the extra chores in the main house, as well as of their own. Kima became very good at washing clothes by the river, and at grinding corn to make dough. When she was not occupied with these tasks, she would often sit in the kitchen and look out the windows and into the fields, while listening to the sound of Shebeh cooking. Sometimes she would stay in the kitchen long after everyone had gone to sleep, or she would walk outside, gradually getting used to the unwelcoming darkness. In the beginning she had hated the darkness because it reminded her of the lower decks of the ship. But slowly she had started associating the night outside with the stars instead, with the leaves of the trees in the breeze, and with her walks to the river.

She also like the kitchen because the main room was full and loud, and Shebeh had been clear about the fact that she was only borrowing space with them. She liked looking out the window, into the path leading to the senzala and its kapok trees. She liked seeing the comings and goings of women with food, with laundry, of the stable boys taking the horses and mules back for the night.

Her blisters and her whip wound where healing very slowly. It took longer than was normal because every day they would re-open in the sugar cane fields. She was still glad they were out of that boat, and working under the sun. She was grateful for that, and she always made sure she would walk near the back of the column, close to the mules. Sometimes she would try to drift back to the end of the column, so she could walk alongside a mule, and stroke its side while it walked.

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‘You, get back in line!’ the fat overseer said one day, pushing her with his stick. Kima moved aside and avoided it, and then ran up to join the back of the line. The overseer caught up with her in his horse.

‘I don't want to see you holding back behind the column again. Don't think for a moment that I'm not watching you. Next time you fall back, I will show you what this is for.’ He bent his flexible stick and then let it snap in the air.

‘I like the mules,’ Kima replied, in his language. ‘I like walking next to them, is all.’

The overseer seemed taken aback, he didn't expect her to reply. ‘You snotty mouse,’ he said, and lifted his stick and whacked her, hitting a man standing beside her in the same motion. ‘Keep your mouth shut, and keep walking!’ The overseer rose his horse to a trot and rushed to the front of the column.

‘Don't be stupid,’ hissed a woman next to Kima. ‘Your arrogance is bad for all of us.’

Kima thought that what was bad for them was how easily they agreed with everything. But she didn't speak. She rubbed the back of her head where the stick had hit her. It was pulsing with pain.

The woman didn't think the matter was settled. ’She is a stupid one, she will get us all punished,’ she snarled, to no one in particular. ‘We should help keep an eye on her.’

Later that day there had been singing in the plantation. The oversees where out of sight, and the slaves had started clapping a rhythm and singing while they kept working. Kima didn't join in. She felt far away from them, as if they were out of focus.

-> Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Casa grande

2008-07-09T16:40:00.002-07:00

Casa grande

She woke up again the next day when Konu shook her shoulder. They didn’t say anything as they put on their clothes and went outside to be counted. They were almost ready to start walking when the mistress of the house went over to them. She was a short woman. Her dark hair was tied up, leaving some curls to fall over her shoulders. She wore a dark yellow dress, and walked with a lot of energy. She asked the overseer for the weakest hands he could spare, to clean her garden. Kima followed her back to the main house. There the mistress told her to take out all the weeds in the garden, and she gave her a small blade and a coarse sack for the task.

‘When you’re done, remove all the dead leaves and brittle stalks.’ Her skin was pale, and she made her mouth small while she talked, which she did in a strong, clear voice. ‘Once that’s done, come inside the house to clean the halls. We have guests for dinner.’

She left and Kima looked around her. The garden was very big. On the edges there were tall roses and other flowers that she didn’t recognise, and in the centre there was a stone fountain. She started to work. Kneeling down she pulled at the weeds, cutting them with her small blade when they were too thick. Her left hand throbbed when she dragged the thick stalks. She found the sound of the water cascading in the fountain soothing.

After a while she decided she had removed all the weeds. The grass was not very tall, but the woman had shown her how short she had to cut it. This proved harder to do than she thought. The thick rag in her left hand prevented her from clasping the clumps of grass tightly, and the dew made them slippery. She tried cutting the grass using only her left hand, but that just resulted in some uprooted patches. She resigned to cutting very small wads at a time, holding them with the tips of her fingers.

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She turned to see who had talked. At the edge of the garden, outside a door leading to the side of the house, a boy stood looking at her. Kima didn’t say anything. He was slightly taller than her, his hair was light brown and short. He stood very straight, and he looked at her with curious eyes but without expression in his face. A much smaller girl was hiding behind him, her head poking out behind his back, staring at her with raised eyebrows. When Kima wiped the sweat from her neck and started to walk towards to them, the small girl squeaked and darted back to the house through the door. The boy, who looked like her brother, grinned and then looked back at Kima. He went serious again.

‘You’ll never finish like that,’ he informed her.

Kima’s knees were soiled from kneeling on the grass. She stared at the boy, who was now a few feet away, but didn’t say anything. The boy held her gaze, serious. His eyes were the colour of dark wood. They looked at each other for a long time, until the boy laughed with a free, joyous laugh.

‘I’m Gil,’ he said.

Kima didn't smile.

‘It's a pleasure, girl with no name.’ He walked to her. ‘I'll help you cut that grass so you can finish sooner. Then, you can join Eli and myself in a game of queimada. I'm supposed to babysit her the whole afternoon. Why did mother give you that pitiful blade?’. He went to the garden shed and came back with shears , then and knelt next to Kima, grabbing big wads of grass and cutting them. He would toss the cut grass to the side, leaving a trail of loose greenery behind him. Kima kept putting hers in the sack.

Eli came and stood next to them, sticking her belly out and sucking a lace of her light blue dress. Gil more or less ignored her, except to say ‘go and stand under the shade of the tree’, once he wanted to work on the grass where his sister was standing. Eli walked to the shade and sat down unceremoniously.

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‘What happened to your hand?’ Gil asked.

‘It has blisters,’ Kima replied. Gil kept looking at her until she added ‘from cutting sugar cane’.

‘I can see why,’ said Gil. ‘If you're as good at it as you are at grass cutting. You should be working in the kitchens. If you want, I'll put in a word for you’.

‘I'd rather work outside.’ Kima liked the open air, the fields, the garden. Also, if she went back to working the sugar cane maybe one day she could steal a mule and escape.

The grass cutting went much faster with Gil's help. He went back to shed at the end of the garden and got out a rake with which he collected all the loose grass and filled the sack with it. They took it together to the the shed.

‘Now let's go and play queimada’, he said.

-> Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Games

2008-07-09T16:34:00.001-07:00

Games

From that day, Gil and Eli where Kima's regular companions. They would join her sometimes early in the morning, and in those cases Gil always helped with her work. Sometimes, she asked Eli to help too. Sometimes they would arrive later, in the afternoon, an ask Kima if she was almost finished so they could play. She learned to play queimada, hide and seek, and also cards and checkers. Initially, she played only because it was better than working, but she soon took a liking to it. She started to smile more often, and she felt very good when she could spend time with them. She also grew used to taking care of Eli when Gil wanted to run off to do something else. He would always bring her something back.

‘Here,’ he said one afternoon, handing her a dark red drink with ice cubes. ‘It's hibiscus flower, you'll like it’.

Kima was sitting crossed legged on the floor on the sitting room which was their regular spot for playing indoor games while the grown ups where not in the house. Eli was sitting on her legs. She took the glass and tasted the drink, which had an overwhelming sweet and sour taste, crisp and honeyed and refreshing. She hadn't noticed how thirsty she was.

‘It looks like I'll have to bring more,’ said Gil, laughing, and disappeared again. Eli reached for the glass and pulled at it until Kima helped her bring it to her lips and drink from it.

‘Right,’ said Gil, back from the kitchen, with a jug of iced hibiscus tea and two more glasses. ‘What shall we play today?’

He had dark, intelligent eyes like his mother, and he spoke in the same articulate and confident way. He was always nice to Kima, and she liked spending time with both of them, sometimes she almost felt used to it and she could stop thinking of her brother and mother. But sometimes, she would imagine them, in the deep green, under the same sun, but a world away. Her mother would be wearing a red and brown hand-woven dress, maybe with flowers, with a wrap-around and her head tie, or maybe beads weaved into her hair, and a shell necklace, and bead bracelets. Or maybe she would be dressed in her makishi dress, yes, Kima liked picturing her in her dress made of woven beaten bark.

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‘Mother won't be back until the evening, should play checkers?’ Gil asked. He often looked very serious, as now as he stared into Kima's eyes, waiting for her answer. But he was serious in a way that made her feel protected, like he would take care of any danger and she didn't have to worry. Eli answered first, with a little squeak of delight. She liked all games: she would spend them trying to grab the pieces, and then Gil would get grumpy, and Kima would have to make sure it didn't happen any more. It was their daily routine.

‘Yes, let's play checkers,’ Kima said.

They were in the middle of a game, and Gil was winning as he often did, while Eli was still sitting on Kima's legs, contained in her embrace but proudly sucking the one white piece she had managed to steal, when Vania, Gil's cousin, walked into the sitting room. She looked down at them and sighed loudly.

‘You know you're not supposed to play with her,’ she said to Gil. ‘She's here to work, not to entertain you.’ She looked at herself in the wall mirror, passed a fingertip under her eye, cleaning up a little bit of make-up. Then she looked back at Gil. ‘And she's a slave.’

‘What's it to you,’ replied Gil, looking at Kima. Kima was not breathing.

‘What's it to me?’ Vania said, smiling. ‘Well, it's very simple, I'll tell you. If you keep inviting her to sit down and play games, and you keep spending your afternoons with her, I will have to tell Raquel. I will tell her that you've fallen in love with your pet here, and see if she doesn't send you away to boarding school.’

Gil didn't say anything. Kima still held her breath. She studied his face. His eyes were fixed on the floor. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at her. ‘Perhaps it's better if you go.’

‘And I don't want to see you playing games in the house ever again. You must understand,’ Vania added, sweetly, ‘it's not good for anyone.’

Kima looked from her to Gil, and he was now looking squarely at her; his doubts seemed to have been washed away. She took a sharp breath and tightened her mouth. She held Eli and handed her slowly to Gil, and then stood up slowly. She walked out of the sitting room looking down.

-> Chapter 9

Chapter 9 - Bonfire

2008-07-09T16:18:00.002-07:00

Bonfire

Sometimes, when the day is really hot, the rain evaporates before touching the ground. Somewhere on its way from the clouds to the earth, it sizzles into nothing. That's how Kima felt, running out of the house. She felt like she would evaporate before reaching the river. She ran, fast, hard, tears streaming down her cheeks; her eyes the puffy dark clouds they came from. She slid on the trail that went down to the riverbank, got up and kept running downhill. When she reached the river, she knelt next to it and cried silently.

Under the canopy of the trees that leaned over the river, her hand touched the water. Softly, gently. It floated. The leaves in the branches above, the stars, the river, her hand, they all floated. She breathed deeply. She felt she was flowing, expanding, and in that expansion everything was linked. In that moment, everything was pulsing together, together in the night and the darkness.

She realised it was very late when she started shivering. The moon was out and the temperature had dropped. She got up and started to make her way back to the senzala. The cool night breeze touched her wet legs and her arms, and she had goosebumps. The grass was soft and cool under her feet.

On her way up the small slope that lead to the green behind the senzala, she heard a rhythmic buzzing. A metallic beat, drifting down mixed with smoke and a strange oaky smell. She kept climbing the hill, and when she was high enough she saw a man, sitting by a bonfire, holding a long instrument she had never seen before. It was a wooden bow, with a steel string tightly strung to it, with a dry, hollow gourd at the bottom end. The man was dressed in bright reds and yellows, he held the gourd against his stomach, and he played it striking the string with a stick. In the same hand with which he held the stick, he held a small rattle and made it sound every now and then. Kima walked closer to the fire and then stood, looking at him, her eyes reflecting the flickers of the flames, her shoes in her hand and her wet feet in the grass. The heavy smoke made her throat itch.

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‘Little princess,’ the man said, still playing, ‘come and share my song.’

Kima didn't say anything. She watched him move the long instrument, balancing its weight, striking it with his left hand and moving it up and down his abdomen, making it emit a different sound, almost like an animal saying “waah”.

The man didn't talk to her, he kept playing. ‘Who are you?’ Kima asked after some time, never taking her eyes of the percussion.

‘Who am I, who are you,’ he said, playing. ‘We'll soon know.. Sit, sit, grab a sit’.

Kima crouched by the man. He stopped playing. Letting the last hum fade slowly. Once it was quiet, he set his instrument aside and grabbed a small drum from the grass. He handed it to her, without saying anything. He looked at her with a little smile, and then tapped the drum as he raised his eyebrows. The drum was not very loud, but it had volume and the sound changed whether he tapped it with one finger or with the whole hand. Then with a gesture of his hands and a nod, he encouraged her to play.

He stood up, then took some leaves from a pouch tied at his side, and threw them into the fire. Then he walked back gingerly and sat down next to the girl.

‘Our little princess is here,’ he said, reaching for his long buzzing instrument once more. ‘She has arrived.’

The smoke from the fire smelled funny, Kima's throat was itchy with the smoke, and she felt tired. All around her the night had coalesced into something different, something more alive. This was not the empty darkness of her fears, this was a darkness full of secrets, full of things she could almost see and almost remember. There was soft music in the distance and fireflies lit the path leading down to the river. She stood up and started walking, on a trail that was much wider than she remembered it. The trees near the river bank were so tall she could see them from here, and as she slowly walked back down she saw their great white-trunks, towering at least two hundred feet above, surrounded by fireflies.

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The night felt thick as the water, as she stepped into the river. She could hear whispers, ebbs of conversations, and she could see them around her, walking through her, downstream. With the current People and words, thoughts maybe, or lights, flowing and sometimes being carried away by the breeze.

It started to rain, and she stood waist deep in the river, trying to see where the people were going. She could not focus on any of them for long, they seemed to drift in and out of sight, their beings like strands of colour and light, and sound, easily unwoven away and down the river. The rain falling on the surface of the water added to the hum of the music that was all around her now. Perhaps if she went with them, downstream, she would be able to see them more clearly. She took a step, and lurched. She felt nauseous and her stomach fell inside her. But it felt as if it was happening to someone else. She took another step. The heavy rain fell on her shoulders and her face, and the music was soft.

‘No, little princess, don't go that way.’ The man grabbed her by the elbow and gently pulled her back. She felt the smoke swirl around her, the dim colours of the people in the river mixing briefly with the cooler, sharper night. For a moment, she felt she wasn't attached to anything, but slowly the world seemed to solidify around her. The night was once more edgy, the stars glinting and the leaves in the trees crisply tapping under the rain.

She turned to see the music man, he was saying something to her, and his big, open smile was gone, but she still felt dizzy and confused, and she didn't understand what he said. She let him guide her back, up the slope, and past the bonfire, and didn't quite realise when he left her side, but she arrived at the senzala drenched under the rain and with the humming sound still playing in her ears.

-> Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Alebrije

2008-07-09T16:01:00.001-07:00

Alebrije

It was raining outside. Kima could see the fat drops bursting on the window from her chair in the kitchen. She didn't know for how long she had been sitting there, looking out. She still felt dizzy, and the sound had faded down to a buzzing in her ears. The fields were empty, now that the mules and the horses where resting in their pens. She sat on the kitchen’s chair.

‘Orphans don’t survive long here.’ Konu, the smallest son of Shebeh had told her the day before, pursing his small mouth, trying to look serious. She wondered if that were true. The words ran in circles in her mind, but they were just words, drifting just out of reach.

Outside the clouds where long and heavy, a fibrous Kapok tree the only visible contrast under the moonlit sky. The moon was a big glowing orb on its way to hide under the mountains. She pressed her fingertips against the window, following the path the rain made as it streaked down. It was getting darker but she didn’t light a candle.

Once all colour went out of the world, the alebrije came to the window: Skinny red legs, body of a butterfly, dragon wings, chicken feet, and the face something between a horse and a snake. Of course its wings were green, with red dots, its body blue and yellow, a shower of colour expanding out from its silver middle. It was about the size of her hand. She opened the window enough to let it through. It stood on the kitchen table and splashed her as it shook the rain off.

‘Where do you come from?’ she asked. The alebrije peered at her from the tiny specks of black that were its eyes.

‘An egg.’ It shifted its weight to one foot and flapped its wings.

Kima got the impression that it wouldn’t be extremely talkative, but it felt nice to be distracted. She watched it as it made itself comfortable, lying on its belly and letting its wings flop loosely at its sides. Kima thought it was smiling. She looked beyond, the grass outside was a grainy grey and the Kapok’s leaves were pausing, waiting for some resolution. She looked back. The alebrije still stared at her.

Alebrije page 2

2008-07-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

‘What?’ She said.

‘That is a very good question,’ it replied, and rested its long face sideways. It made a strange clicking noise. It kept her eyes fixed on her. Kima noticed something was drawn on its forehead. Was it writing?

‘What’s this?’ She asked, pointing, almost poking the creature with her finger. It pulled back, tensed up. Then it relaxed again and yawned.

‘That,’ it said in a whisper, ‘is not such a nice question.’

There was a creaking sound, and light spread through the kitchen as Shebeh looked in, a candle in her hands. ‘What are you doing awake, girl? If you don’t rest you won’t last a week longer. Get to sleep. Now.’ The door closed behind her and the candle light ebbed back out of the room. Kima turned her head quickly, but all she saw was the slender, worm-like back of alebrije as it squeezed out through the open window, its yellow spots like bright freckles. It left, and it was then that she stopped being able to breathe. It got really dark, as if she were inside a box and the lid had closed above her.

To be continued.

Closing in

2008-05-26T11:38:00.000-07:00

‘We’re late.’

Private Jensen may be right. Our hails to the underground station have gone unanswered- they might already be dead.

‘Let’s go find out,’ I say. ‘Open the lock and land the ship.’

We've arrived by night. We had to. This desert planet is so close to its sun that the scorching sunrise melts the rocks on the surface every morning. It was meant to be the perfect hiding place.

Central command gave us the codes to operate the station, but as we approach we find we won’t need them. The airlock has been blasted, its metallic mouth open to the moonlit night. We fly through and hover slowly down the five-kilometre tunnel until we dock in the main landing platform. There are no signs of alien ships, no alarms ringing.

‘I bet the Intuitives are hiding,’ says Private Gale as he checks and locks his gun. He opens the door of the ship and steps out into the station. ‘Hiding deep down in some dark tunnel like desert rats.’ He makes a disgusted face as he says this. He’s not the only soldier who despises the Intuitives.

‘Don’t blame them. I’d do the same thing,’ says Mary Jensen. ‘Especially after their regular protection unit was hacked and gutted like slaughtered pigs. Yeah, I’d go and hide in the darkest tunnel I could find, and pray the Slashers have had their fill and moved on. I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about any unit sent to protect me.’

Gale grunts and sets down his backpack.

‘OK, people,’ I say. ‘You know the drill. We split into five teams. Gale, you take the old mining wing. Slade, get to the command room and check the computers; make sure everything is in working order. Li, cover the infirmary and the hydroponic lab. Jensen, you stay in the landing docks. Watch our backs. My team will take the habitational area.

Keep the comms link open and report as you go along. If anything moves, hold your fire until you’ve identified it. We'll assume the enemy is here until we've explored the whole station, so stay alert and ready. Every team stocks up with pulse grenades, flame throwers, and your regular guns. Let’s be quick. Go!’

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Closing in-page 2

2008-05-26T11:37:00.001-07:00

I lead my team down the corridors to the habitational area. I think Jensen is right, we are probably too late, and the Intuitives are probably dead. They alerted central command two days ago that the Slashers were coming. It’s what they do, the Intuitives; they sense things. They know things nobody else knows. Or actually, that’s not strictly true. I’m told that they only know things by sensing the intentions or the feelings of others. So what they sensed was the horror and the pain their protection unit up in the orbit satellite went through as they were massacred by the Slashers.

Central command took no chances; the Intuitives are too valuable an asset to lose. There are twenty battleships circling the planet now, ready to attack once we identify a threat.

My team is an elite recon unit, but we are combat ready. I hope we have the opportunity to face the Slashers. We know next to nothing about them, only that they kill viciously, that they arrive without warning and leave no survivors, and that everyone fears them. Go to any bar in this galaxy and you’ll hear incredible tales – legends even – about these monsters. The fact is that nobody knows how they look, or how they always go undetected or how they manage to kill everything they touch. I want nothing more than to face them and – even if we die - to send information about them, intel that will give humanity a standing point from which to defend itself. For this opportunity I am grateful to the Intuitives, however weak or pampered they may be. If the Intuitives die, we may never get advance warning on the Slashers again.

Soon it will be dawn. We will have to wait until night comes again before we leave for the surfface. I am ready to report the station as empty when Li calls.

‘Major, you’ll want to come to hydroponics.’

The corridors echo the sound of my boots as I run. I arrive to find Li’s team surrounding a small, thin boy dressed in a nightshirt, holding an apple in his hand.

‘He hasn’t spoken, sir.’ Li tells me as I arrive and then makes room for me to approach the child. I make my way through the hanging vines in the warm and moist lab. I kneel next to the boy.

‘What’s your name?’ I say in the gentlest tone I can manage.

The boy doesn’t reply. He is looking down, and his hand is pressing the apple so hard, his knuckles are going white. He has already taken a bite. The soft inner flesh of the apple has gone brown and sticky juice is dripping down his hand.

‘Don't worry,’ I say. ‘We are here to help you and your people. Intuitives are precious to central command, and we care about you very much.’

One of the men behind me lets out an involuntary snigger. The situation becomes clearer to me. If I can see the contempt my men have for him, this young intuitive must experience it as if insults were being shouted directly at him. I try to concentrate on how much I want to save them, on how important a part of humanity the Intuitives are, and on how crucial, if we are to stand a chance against our enemy. I try again.

‘Don’t be afraid; pay these fools no mind. We’re here to help you. We will take you to a safer place.’

The boy stands up a little straighter under his night shirt and looks up at me. As he looks into my eyes, I can see him relax a little.

‘I just wanted an apple,’ he says.

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Closing in- page 3

2008-05-26T11:36:00.001-07:00

He is a source of useful information. He explains to me that they don't know where the Slashers are, that they have stopped sensing them.

‘It's not like we can sense everything,’ he says. ‘Only strong emotions, or when someone is really close by. The Slashers are alien and horrible. I hope we never sense them again.’

He also tells me that the rest of the Intuitives are hiding in the infirmary, past the quarantine control doors, in a secret area they commissioned to have built without the knowledge of central command. He shrugs apologetically as he says this. He takes us there, and announces our presence. The doors open for him straight away.

‘We are here to protect you, and escort you to safety,’ I tell the dozen or so skinny people inside. They are all dressed in loose robes, all barefoot and they stare at me and they move their lips silently in a disconcerting way as I speak.

They seem to accept what I say. Or what I feel. They also seem happy to talk to Jensen. But when the rest of my men arrive, I notice they refuse to talk to Gale and a few of the other soldiers. I order my men to treat them with courtesy and to help in any way they can.

‘We need to wait until night comes again before we leave the station,’ I say to the room in a loud voice. The Intuitives watch and listen closely; they all turn to face me, and they start moving their lips again. I find it eerie, but I put it out of my mind.

‘Let’s prepare this room for a defensive situation.’

My men get to work straight away; they make a perimeter with tables, chairs, backpacks, and everything else they can find. They re-check their weapons, and two of them stand guard by the door, which is excellent: solid and tight like the quarantine doors outside. The Intuitives huddle together in a corner on the other side of the room.

I establish two-hour shifts and take the first one together with two privates. As we wait, soldiers and civilians fall asleep and silence descends on the room. I sit with my back to a wall, gun ready, completely alert. Now that most are asleep, I appraise our situation honestly. I am not optimistic. It’s not like the Slashers to get so close to an inhabited planet and then leave. But for now we should be safe. There is no way they could land on the surface during the heat of the day. Not unless they’re a completely different life-form.

‘Excuse me,’ says an older Intuitive. He is black. His eyes are soft and gentle; his voice is husky. ‘Nobody is saying anything, but it’s clear to us that your men are very afraid.’

I wonder if he thinks the same of me.

‘We are an elite unit, and I believe we can deal with the threat,’ I tell him in a calm voice. He doesn’t say anything. He looks at his hands, and they are trembling.

‘I also think we are doomed,’ he tells me as if he hadn’t heard what I just said. ‘But I can’t feel the Slashers anymore. It’s very odd. They’re nowhere near, but at the same time it feels like they’re waiting somewhere just out of reach, that they will still come. And when they do, well…’ He looks at me and then down at his hands. ‘When they come, we’re dead.’

I don’t say anything, and after a while he sits next to me, a thin man in light clothes next to a hardened man dressed like an armoured tank

‘My name is Luke,’ he says as if it were an afterthought.

Closing in-page 4

2008-05-26T10:58:00.000-07:00

< go to page 3

Nothing to do but wait. The Slashers must be smart. Cunning and strong, surely, to be such a formidable enemy, one that leaves no survivors and no trace other than their victims’ remains. I try to imagine how they could be outsmarting us, what we might have overlooked. It’s reassuring to think we have the help of Luke and his group.

I hear a rattling noise, like something scraping on the inside of the walls. I stand up straight. Luke, at my side, straightens up after me. I say nothing and after some minutes we both rest our backs against the wall once more, but stay alert. I take out my radio and put it on the floor next to me. Something buzzes close to my ear, moves my hair like a waft of wind. I shake my head. I look around but there’s nothing there. I stand up and walk around the room, looking carefully for anything that might be out of place.

My hand starts tingling, an irritating feeling like when you test a battery with your tongue. My back starts to tingle as well, and I know something is wrong.

‘Are you OK?’ Luke asks with genuine concern, his hand on my arm. I shake it off.

‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘It’s nothing.’ But he keeps looking at me as the sensation invades my whole body.

‘Everybody up!’ I shout. My men are instantly alert; the Intuitives take longer, but they start waking up too. Luke is still by my side.

‘Something is wrong,’ he says, echoing my feeling. I try to find something reassuring to tell him, but my mind is racing. I take a big breath to steady myself, to regain my military discipline, but I can’t. Inside I feel like an overflowing river: strong and chaotic, irrepressible.

The Intuitive understands an instant before I do. He jumps back, but it’s too late. I lash at him with my sharp claws; I tear his arm off. I feel strong, joyous. I look at Gale and the others, and I see them now the way they truly are. We stand surrounding them. Our real memories start to come back, and we anticipate the kill. We are a formidable enemy. We can outsmart any opponent, even if first we need to outsmart ourselves.

The Intuitives stand in a circle with the small boy at its centre. He is staring at me in fascinated terror. He is hiding behind the others to postpone the inevitable, but he doesn’t have any real hope. I can see his death reflected in our bright eyes, and in our pink tongues running over our sharp teeth, a terrible beauty.

War echos burnt the glittering butterfly

2008-05-10T13:26:00.000-07:00

I might just be like the foraging squirrel
rustling its bed of brown leaves.
No answers,
no forgetting.

I am still crushed
by the exhibition of lonely eyes -
a dog was starved to death.

Cold crispy tongues of wind
brush my tingling skin,
a soft bite
of strawberry fills my mouth.

My stomach is ashen and swollen -
war echoes burnt the glittering butterfly.
A fence of indifference built
around its charred sides.

Questions -

Under the oak
I fall inside myself, fall
past the leaves and into the earth.
The soil nurtures me, I grow
like a mushroom in solitude.

Crescent moon

2008-04-22T06:17:00.000-07:00

I was crossing the fields, going back home from the pub. The crescent moon was like an ochre yellow dagger glinting behind sharp grey clouds, and I could barely see one step ahead of me.

Without a warning, something hit me hard and fast in the back. I put out my arms to break my fall, and landed on my side. It jumped on me, and bit me where the neck joins the shoulder. Luckily the bite was closer to the shoulder. I pushed it with all the strength I could muster, rolling over and using the impetus to unbalance it. It growled. It bit me in the arm. Blood gushed out of both wounds. I tried to kick and push free but it was pinning me down with its weight. It tried to bite my neck again. I protected it with my arm and it sank its teeth into it, taking a big chunk off. It was so quick. I knew it was a matter of seconds before it got me in the neck. I thought of my wife, I saw her in my mind, and a flashing pang of sadness mixed with my fear. The creature stopped and narrowed its eyes as if listening. I was terrified. I saw a blend of curiosity and malice in its eyes as it looked straight into mine. It looked a lot like a wolf, but bigger and longer; its eyes were human and they shone with intent; looking at those eyes was the scariest thing I have ever done and yet I couldn’t stop doing it. In that pause all I could sense was my wild heartbeat, the creature’s fetid breath on my face, and my warm blood pouring slowly into the grass. I wished for it to stop looking at me. I wanted it to be over. It snarled. I desperately wanted to see my wife again. My breathing was too fast and my blood kept running. I was being killed by a werewolf. Stupidly, I thought it unfair, weren’t they supposed to come out only with the full moon? It turned its head up and made a breathy, hissing sound that sounded a lot like laughter. Then it spoke to me.

“Full moon?" it growled. "It guides your steps and not ours. Ours are soft and sure, our running silent until you scream, until your heart betrays your souls of mice.

You’re arrogant and weak, easy to kill. Your blood is sweet as your pain is when we bite off a limb, when we chew on your meat. Sweet as the chill of the night and the panic in your hearts. ”

I felt its paw on my centre, pressing me down.

“I will let you live,” it said, “so you tell your people. Tell them we come out when it’s dark, when you’re alone. Tell them we prey on your confidence and we feast on your minds, because you are ours.”

Chapter I -Arrival

2008-04-15T11:10:00.001-07:00

Arrival