least bit shocked that the other boys wanted to go on the adventure, or worried about his own safety. Ethan felt as if he was the only one who had any sense of the danger at all.
A single drum began to beat a tattoo that sounded almost like Morse code, and Ethan could hear an answering drum in the distance.
“Is signal to come off fields now, and message to tell about witch and about duiker,” Jimoh said. As people arrived, another drummer and another joined the first drummer, until eventually the drumming changed from a message to the regular rhythm of a tune.
A group of mothers wove their way up from the kraal, balancing groceries and utensils on their heads. Ethan marvelled at the front two, each of whom carried a heavy cast-iron cauldron with only a rolled up scrap of fabric and their own curly hair to cushion their heads.
The women laughed together and greeted their children, then noisily set about preparing a meal. Maize meal was poured into boiling water in one enormous cauldron and churned into a very stiff porridge. Onions and a spinach-like vegetable called rape bubbled away in the other. When the roasted duiker was ready, a grizzled old lady took charge of plopping down spoonfuls of porridge onto tin or plastic plates with a shaking hand. Small girls distributed these amongst the community, starting with Gogo Maya the witch, whose fear of grown-ups had evaporated at the friendliness of the villagers – or everyone’s willingness to believe her story. It looked to Ethan as if she was the guest of honor, holding court from an old fold-up chair someone had fetched her from the kraal. She grinned happily, enjoying the fuss, and a large tin of the pungent local beer, which had bits floating in it. Ethan had literally gasped at the smell of it when Tafadzwa took it to the old woman.
Hunkering down on his haunches beside the fire with the rest of the boys, Ethan felt at a bit of a loss. He was so worried about Joe, he was not sure if he could eat; besides, there were no knives and forks. He was going to have to dip his fingers into the same bowl as everyone else. The thought made him nauseous.
“Like this,” Jimoh said, squeezing into the circle beside him. He broke off a bite-sized piece of stiff porridge and rolled it into a ball, pressing a hollow in to it with his thumb. He dunked the ball into the communal gravy, filling up the hollow, and popped it into his mouth, then turned grinning to Ethan, whose stomach growled loudly. Without thinking too hard about it, Ethan did the same, sending the kraal kids into fits of applause and hilarity.
After eating, everyone shared in the work of cleaning up. Even the littlest, who could barely walk, took their plate to the water’s edge beyond the pool and rubbed it clean with sand, then rinsed it and returned it to a plastic basin. A murmur of excitement ran around the camp as young and old gathered around the witch for the entertainment. Most of them had heard of scrying but no one had ever seen it done before. Mothers sat on the floor with their legs straight out in front of them, their small children clambering onto their laps, making themselves comfortable. Despite their skepticism, several men sat around on low stools, or upturned paraffin drums, enjoying beer out of mugs made from used baked bean tins with wire tied onto the sides for handles. Ethan, Jimoh and Tariro sat cross-legged right in the front, near the witch, and waited.
9
Smoke and Mirrors
The witch stood up and stretched, sending armfuls of ivory and seed-pod bangles jingling down her upraised arms to pool at her elbows. Ethan was sure she only did it for dramatic effect. Her creamy white dreadlocks hung in fat sausages down to her waist as she turned her face to the stars.
What she wore did not look in the least bit African to him, or witchy, for that matter. It looked more like plain black pyjamas – loose-fitting trousers with a tunic. Her tattered skirt lay drying over a nearby bush.
A single drum began to beat a tattoo that sounded almost like Morse code, and Ethan could hear an answering drum in the distance.
“Is signal to come off fields now, and message to tell about witch and about duiker,” Jimoh said. As people arrived, another drummer and another joined the first drummer, until eventually the drumming changed from a message to the regular rhythm of a tune.
A group of mothers wove their way up from the kraal, balancing groceries and utensils on their heads. Ethan marvelled at the front two, each of whom carried a heavy cast-iron cauldron with only a rolled up scrap of fabric and their own curly hair to cushion their heads.
The women laughed together and greeted their children, then noisily set about preparing a meal. Maize meal was poured into boiling water in one enormous cauldron and churned into a very stiff porridge. Onions and a spinach-like vegetable called rape bubbled away in the other. When the roasted duiker was ready, a grizzled old lady took charge of plopping down spoonfuls of porridge onto tin or plastic plates with a shaking hand. Small girls distributed these amongst the community, starting with Gogo Maya the witch, whose fear of grown-ups had evaporated at the friendliness of the villagers – or everyone’s willingness to believe her story. It looked to Ethan as if she was the guest of honor, holding court from an old fold-up chair someone had fetched her from the kraal. She grinned happily, enjoying the fuss, and a large tin of the pungent local beer, which had bits floating in it. Ethan had literally gasped at the smell of it when Tafadzwa took it to the old woman.
Hunkering down on his haunches beside the fire with the rest of the boys, Ethan felt at a bit of a loss. He was so worried about Joe, he was not sure if he could eat; besides, there were no knives and forks. He was going to have to dip his fingers into the same bowl as everyone else. The thought made him nauseous.
“Like this,” Jimoh said, squeezing into the circle beside him. He broke off a bite-sized piece of stiff porridge and rolled it into a ball, pressing a hollow in to it with his thumb. He dunked the ball into the communal gravy, filling up the hollow, and popped it into his mouth, then turned grinning to Ethan, whose stomach growled loudly. Without thinking too hard about it, Ethan did the same, sending the kraal kids into fits of applause and hilarity.
After eating, everyone shared in the work of cleaning up. Even the littlest, who could barely walk, took their plate to the water’s edge beyond the pool and rubbed it clean with sand, then rinsed it and returned it to a plastic basin. A murmur of excitement ran around the camp as young and old gathered around the witch for the entertainment. Most of them had heard of scrying but no one had ever seen it done before. Mothers sat on the floor with their legs straight out in front of them, their small children clambering onto their laps, making themselves comfortable. Despite their skepticism, several men sat around on low stools, or upturned paraffin drums, enjoying beer out of mugs made from used baked bean tins with wire tied onto the sides for handles. Ethan, Jimoh and Tariro sat cross-legged right in the front, near the witch, and waited.
9
Smoke and Mirrors
The witch stood up and stretched, sending armfuls of ivory and seed-pod bangles jingling down her upraised arms to pool at her elbows. Ethan was sure she only did it for dramatic effect. Her creamy white dreadlocks hung in fat sausages down to her waist as she turned her face to the stars.
What she wore did not look in the least bit African to him, or witchy, for that matter. It looked more like plain black pyjamas – loose-fitting trousers with a tunic. Her tattered skirt lay drying over a nearby bush.
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