Rosa. Uncle Kufa was an outsider.
“Aren’t you going to punish him?” said Uncle Kufa.
The muvuki ignored him. He called for his son to bring him a seat. The young man went into the trader’s house as though he owned it and returned, lugging Joao’s easy chair. After the doctor had settled himself down, he told his servants to untie Joao and the assistant. Rosa ran to her husband, crying.
Uncle Kufa didn’t understand the delicate trading that had gone on under his nose. He looked both angry and bewildered, something Nhamo would have enjoyed if her own situation hadn’t been so desperate.
She knew the battle was over. She was doomed. She watched passively as Grandmother was bundled into a carrying chair. Rosa wept in Joao’s arms, and he looked past her into the dark forest. Nhamo turned away, resolutely following Ambuya ’s chair as it swayed along the trail. Perhaps the trader and his wife saw her leave, perhaps not. It didn’t matter. The sooner she was gone, the safer they would be.
11
N hamo stared at the open door of the hut. The light outside was blinding; inside, it was cool and dark. She heard Grandmother’s steady breathing from the mat behind her.
Tomorrow was the first day of the handing-over ceremony. Beer had been brewed and the nganga from Vatete ’s village had arrived. During the ceremony, he would be possessed by Goré’s spirit and would list the things it required to leave Nhamo’s family in peace. All the conditions had already been decided. The ceremony was only a formality.
The following day, Nhamo and her relatives would travel to Goré’s village for the second part of the marriage. She would wear a red cloth over her head until she sat beside the ceremonial pot shelf in her new home.
For the first time in her life she wasn’t burdened with chores from dawn to dusk. It was as though the village had already said good-bye to her. Masvita, Tazviona, and the others gathered wood and weeded the gardens. They spoke politely to Nhamo when she ventured from Grandmother’s hut, but there was already a wall between them and her. The only encouraging event was the reappearance of Masvita’s menstruation. It seemed the ngozi had forgotten some of his anger.
What would her new life be like? She knewthat Goré’s brother, Zororo, had three wives already. They were all older than Aunt Chipo and so they would be jealous of her. She had seen Zororo. His hair was peppered with gray, and the whites of his eyes had turned a dull yellow. When Uncle Kufa’s hunting dog growled at him, Zororo gave the beast such a kick in the ribs that it ran yelping into the forest. Goré’s brother clearly didn’t tolerate opposition.
And what would she do about Mother? Only once, in the weeks since her return, had Nhamo gone to the ruined village. It was too disheartening! “Could I take you with me, Mai ?” she asked. It might be better to leave the picture where it was. She could always imagine Mother waiting for her there.
“Little Pumpkin,” came a faint voice behind her.
Nhamo was so startled she almost screamed. She spun around and saw Grandmother watching her from the mat.
“D-did you speak, Va-Ambuya ?” she quavered.
“Come here.” The old woman’s voice was low, but perfectly clear. “I don’t want anyone else to listen.”
Nhamo crouched next to the mat, trembling.
“I’ve been able to talk for several days. And to listen for much longer. I had to think about what to do.”
“D-do?” murmured Nhamo.
“I’m very, very weak,” Grandmother went on. “I doubt whether I can argue with Kufa about your marriage.”
“You know about it?”
“I remember everything, including the night we were taken from the trader’s house. I’ve had a long time to think about what Rosa said. Little Pumpkin, you might be a Catholic.”
“How can I tell?” Nhamo automatically dipped a cloth in a pot of water. She had been cooling Ambuya ’s skin so often during the hot days, she
“Aren’t you going to punish him?” said Uncle Kufa.
The muvuki ignored him. He called for his son to bring him a seat. The young man went into the trader’s house as though he owned it and returned, lugging Joao’s easy chair. After the doctor had settled himself down, he told his servants to untie Joao and the assistant. Rosa ran to her husband, crying.
Uncle Kufa didn’t understand the delicate trading that had gone on under his nose. He looked both angry and bewildered, something Nhamo would have enjoyed if her own situation hadn’t been so desperate.
She knew the battle was over. She was doomed. She watched passively as Grandmother was bundled into a carrying chair. Rosa wept in Joao’s arms, and he looked past her into the dark forest. Nhamo turned away, resolutely following Ambuya ’s chair as it swayed along the trail. Perhaps the trader and his wife saw her leave, perhaps not. It didn’t matter. The sooner she was gone, the safer they would be.
11
N hamo stared at the open door of the hut. The light outside was blinding; inside, it was cool and dark. She heard Grandmother’s steady breathing from the mat behind her.
Tomorrow was the first day of the handing-over ceremony. Beer had been brewed and the nganga from Vatete ’s village had arrived. During the ceremony, he would be possessed by Goré’s spirit and would list the things it required to leave Nhamo’s family in peace. All the conditions had already been decided. The ceremony was only a formality.
The following day, Nhamo and her relatives would travel to Goré’s village for the second part of the marriage. She would wear a red cloth over her head until she sat beside the ceremonial pot shelf in her new home.
For the first time in her life she wasn’t burdened with chores from dawn to dusk. It was as though the village had already said good-bye to her. Masvita, Tazviona, and the others gathered wood and weeded the gardens. They spoke politely to Nhamo when she ventured from Grandmother’s hut, but there was already a wall between them and her. The only encouraging event was the reappearance of Masvita’s menstruation. It seemed the ngozi had forgotten some of his anger.
What would her new life be like? She knewthat Goré’s brother, Zororo, had three wives already. They were all older than Aunt Chipo and so they would be jealous of her. She had seen Zororo. His hair was peppered with gray, and the whites of his eyes had turned a dull yellow. When Uncle Kufa’s hunting dog growled at him, Zororo gave the beast such a kick in the ribs that it ran yelping into the forest. Goré’s brother clearly didn’t tolerate opposition.
And what would she do about Mother? Only once, in the weeks since her return, had Nhamo gone to the ruined village. It was too disheartening! “Could I take you with me, Mai ?” she asked. It might be better to leave the picture where it was. She could always imagine Mother waiting for her there.
“Little Pumpkin,” came a faint voice behind her.
Nhamo was so startled she almost screamed. She spun around and saw Grandmother watching her from the mat.
“D-did you speak, Va-Ambuya ?” she quavered.
“Come here.” The old woman’s voice was low, but perfectly clear. “I don’t want anyone else to listen.”
Nhamo crouched next to the mat, trembling.
“I’ve been able to talk for several days. And to listen for much longer. I had to think about what to do.”
“D-do?” murmured Nhamo.
“I’m very, very weak,” Grandmother went on. “I doubt whether I can argue with Kufa about your marriage.”
“You know about it?”
“I remember everything, including the night we were taken from the trader’s house. I’ve had a long time to think about what Rosa said. Little Pumpkin, you might be a Catholic.”
“How can I tell?” Nhamo automatically dipped a cloth in a pot of water. She had been cooling Ambuya ’s skin so often during the hot days, she
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